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Dream is on fire.
There are hands all over him, pushing and pulling and burning every inch of his flesh as they drag along it, too hot against the already smouldering air. His lungs are heavy with ash that catches in his throat as he tries to scream; and it reminds him that he isn’t supposed to cry out.
His mouth snaps shut, jaw locking in place. And the sensation doesn't stop- it worsens, if anything- but Dream knows better than to fight back. It’s easier to let the inferno rage on until the flames die out, than to fight fire with fire and condemn himself to burn.
Nails dig into his skin, twisting into half-healed scars and prompting phantom pains to flare up all across him. And it’s hell, he’s been dragged back down to the deepest pits of hell to burn and burn until there’s nothing left of him but smoke and ash, the remnants of bones broken and cracked, forced out of place.
The world shifts, air catches in his throat as the flames lapse up against him, suffocating, never ending and oh, god, it’s- it—
—god, it hurts.
He wonders, distantly, what he’s done this time to be dragged back down to the depths of hell. He’s been careful, so very careful since his escape, because the idea of ever facing such a fate as the hell of Pandora makes him sick to his stomach (though he won’t ever admit that, in all his pride).
Arms wrap around him, clinging on tight no matter how desperately he tries to push them away. His hands find nothing solid when he reaches out, but the hands against him still feel so real.
It’s not at all a fair fight, barely a fight at all. It’s just him, being torn apart, all over again.
He would cry, if he wasn’t sure that would only make things worse. So he stays quiet, and his whole world is quiet, the silence just as suffocating as the soot buried in his lungs.
Until it isn’t.
All at once, there is sound. A screeching in the back of his mind that isn’t at all intelligible but still hurts all the same as it barrels its way into his skull, a steady, rhythmic drilling. It’s loud, overwhelmingly so, and there’s only more sounds being added to it, screaming and pleading and begging. It almost sounds like him. He prays it’s not him. He really isn’t sure anymore.
And then - through the haze of the cacophony, suddenly - there is a voice.
“Dream…?”
And oh, it’s so gentle compared to everything else, and somehow that’s worse because usually a gentle tone only seeks to lure him in. Create a false sense of security, weaken him with a promise of relief before he is doused in even more agony.
He tries to pull away, escape the voice, but he can’t move. He can’t move.
“Dream?”
Again, it’s there again and he hates it (and he longs for it to be genuine, for the tone to not betray itself with a hidden malice). He wills himself to do something as the voice keeps talking and the flames keep lapsing up but he is stuck. He is utterly useless.
Such a familiar feeling, he thinks.
And yet he’s still so underprepared.
“Dream-!“
The voice is louder now.
God, god.
Everything is so fucking loud.
Dream jolts awake, suddenly. His hands reaching out blindly until the knife he keeps beneath his pillow (for protection, he had said. The “because I never feel safe anymore” went unspoken). He jerks upright, raising the weapon up, up until it rests above the delicate flesh of someone’s neck. His eyes are wide and wild as they scan around the darkness of the room, struggling to make out the blurry figure in front of him. It’s too dark, the room is too small and too warm and he can’t think, can’t breathe.
The world seems dead-set on suffocating him.
Dream wishes it would.
His throat is tight as he tries to blink back the black spots still lingering in his vision. He’s dizzy from sitting up so fast, and still hazed by a dull ache buzzing under his skin. There’s a sharp pain in his side, from an old wound he must have agitated in his sleep. His free hand moves to grip at the sheets beneath gim, fingers curling in the fabric. It’s soft, safe. He blows out a long, trembling breath.
“Hi, Dream. You with me?”
The figure in front of him is talking and oh, that voice is so familiar. So gentle and careful and so, so full of worry as the stranger speaks to him.
Except, no, it’s not a stranger; and Dream feels guilt settle deep in his stomach as he recognises Punz in front of him. Punz, who Dream has been trying hard to assure he was fine, to keep from worrying. Punz, who has a knife to his jugular, held between shaking hands as Dream stares at them, sweat rolling down his neck.
“Fuck.” Dream croaks. “God, Punz, fuck..”
He blinks once, twice, before his better judgement finally seems to kick in and he quickly pulls the blade away. There’s a small red line on Punz’s neck, droplets of red beading along it. They seem unphased though, still looking at Dream. Their expression is practically unreadable in the light, but in the little cracks where it fades in and out with the flickering of a candle somewhere off to the side, Punz beards a face of worry. Pity, even.
Dream hates it.
“Punz…” He mutters, pulling away to lean against the headrest as he tries desperately to compose himself. “Sorry, I- sorry… your neck I- you just… startled me, you- fuck, I’m sorry.”
Punz raises his hands quickly. “It’s okay.” They placate. “I know you didn’t mean to and it really isn’t that deep, I promise.”
“N- no.” Dream mutters, shaking his head. “It- it’s not okay. You don’t have to just… say that.”
He looks down at his hands, folded in his lap with the knife resting against his thigh. His palms are sweaty and he moves to pick at a scab on his wrist. It stings. He doesn’t care.
Punz shifts where he’s half-sat, half-crouched on the bed. “I’m not-” They sigh. “I’m not just saying it, I mean it, Dream. It’s alright, yeah? We all have bad nights sometimes, I get it. Really, I do.”
And of course they do, because Punz always “gets it”, always understands how Dream feels better than anyone else seems to. Dream mentally reminded gisnowd that he’s not the only one of them that’s suffered , no less because of his own actions. Punz understands all too well the horrors of this lifestyle. the damage it can cause and the nightmares it brings.
They shouldn’t have to, though.
Dream hates it.
“Okay.” Is all he says, because he’s still dizzy and tired and aching all over and he doesn’t want to try and argue with Punz now. Doesn't want to try and tell him that he couldn’t possibly get it because he doesn’t know everything that happened. (Because Dream has been keeping them in the dark).
(He says it’s all just for Punz’s own good).
(Sometimes, though, he doubts that).
“Okay.” Punz echoes. He brings a hand up to wipe at his neck, trying to keep the moment subtle. They don’t miss the way Dream’s eyes crease at the sight, though, head tilting away from them in shame.
Silence, all too familiar but suddenly sickening, falls over the room. Dream wonders if he stays quiet long enough, Punz will stand up and go. He’d want to follow along with them, make sure they take proper care of the little cut along their jaw, but he knows ultimately he’d stay put and pretend nothing happened. Go back to sleep with the hope that the nightmares come quieter this time.
But Punz doens’t budge, Punz sits, somewhat awkwardly with his hand fluttering about as they struggle to find somewhere comfortable to style them, and Punz waits.
Dream chews at his lip. It’s metallic. It grounds him in its familiarity as he heaves out a sigh. “Did… did I wake you?” He mumbles.
“No.” Punz says quickly. “…Yes.” He admits. “But I would’ve been getting up soon anyway and I know you didn’t mean to! So it’s… you don’t need to worry about it man.”
“Okay.” Dream repeats, the word rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s simple, only two syllables and easy to get out. (Easy to force out even when your throat is bruised and vocal cords strained from screaming, crying, begging pleasepleaseplease—
Dream shudders at the thought.)
Punz tilts their head. “Dream?” They say, drawing out the word, the last letter dissolving into a huff of air, maybe a sigh. Dream can only hope Punz isn’t annoyed at him, though he wouldn't blame him if he was. Their patience is admirable, but it is far more than Dream deserves.
“Yeah…?” He whispers, cringing at how his voice cracks. He wants to run and hide from Punz’s worried gaze, but he is rooted in place.
“What…” Punz swallows. “What happened, dude?” And it’s more blunt than they meant it to be- they see the way Dream winces at the words- but he pushes on, because he’s sick of being kept in the dark.
“In- in the prison, I mean.” He adds quickly. “You… I’ve heard you other nights, too. But you sounded… bad… this time, enough for me to check. And you were- you’re fucking- you were trembling, and I- I just- I’m sorry.” They heave out a sigh. “I know you like your privacy- I can relate to that- and I never wanna force you to talk about… any of that shit. But you don’t seem to be doing any better and it’s been weeks, Dream. Weeks. And I- I just wanna help. I thought maybe… if you talked about it you could- it might… help, a little bit.”
Dream doesn't respond, he looks down at his hands, fingers curling in until his nails are digging into the delicate flesh of his hands. It stings. He doesn’t care.
Punz swallows, licks at his lips. “Dream?” They press. “Can you say something? Please?”
And Dream exhales a low, shaky breath. “You,” He grunts. “You don’t get to decide any of that.”
“I- Dream I’m not following…?”
“Me. Talking to you. About- about everything. You’re not… you aren’t the one who gets to choose when it happens because you’re- what? Sick of seeing me like this? ‘Cause guess what Punz- this is me now! This is who I am and no amount of fucking heart-to-hearts is going to change that. So you don’t- you don’t get to tell me when to talk. No one… no one gets to tell me when to talk.” His voice cracks its way through the last sentence. He’s shaking, again. He hadn’t even noticed it start.
“Dream.” Punz whispers. And god, he’s getting really fucking tired of hearing them say his name like that. It feels wrong, too soft and pitying. All of this is wrong and it makes his chest tighten in a way he longs to escape.
Dream doesn’t remember the last time he breathed easily during the night. Or at all, really. But at least on his own he can suffocate without worrying about the concern it causes.
He can drown in peace.
It’s easier that way.
“Punz.” Dream bites back, though the name lacks any venom and his voice is trembling too much with the rest of his body to really come across as anything other than upset.
“I- god, Dream I’m sorry. Fuck I- you’re right it’s not my place. I just- I wanted to help but I didn’t mean to say that there’s anything wrong with the way you are now. It’s just… you seem like you’re hurting and I wanted to help-”
“I don’t need your help!” Dream snarls, and the words leave him breathless as his skin burns and hands wrap around his throat, press down on his chest. He’s dizzy, so fucking dizzy, but he needs Punz to understand. Just once, he needs someone to listen. “I am fine on my own. I have been- I was! For a year, Punz! I got through the isolation just fine! And the heat and the shitty food and the- the-”
He stops, partially panting now. There’s more, so much more. But he holds himself back. “All of it. I got through it fine. Alone. And I appreciate the hospitality now, I really do but- but I don’t need you to play therapist with me. Because I’m f- fine. Fine. I’m fine, Punz.”
“You’re shaking.” Punz replies, and it feels so out of the blue. “You need to sit up properly, you can’t breathe right hunched up like that.”
And Dream hadn’t even noticed himself curling up together against the headrest, but he finds his knees drawn to his chest with his fingers curled in his pant legs at the knees, and oh, his chest is aching.
He slowly unfurls himself, dropping his gaze as he moves. He feels stupid, suddenly, becwuse Punz is gudiing him along like a child and he disproved his own point so agonisingly fast.
“Punz…” He gasps out, because everything is suddenly too much and this is also so stupid and he’s stupid for even open his mouth. He was taught to stay quiet- silence was always so much easier that digging yourself deep, deep into a hole with an ignorant tongue. And yet he cracked and shattered in front of Punz so pathetically fast and now he can’t breathe. Oh, god.
He can’t breathe.
“I’m here.” Punz tells him. “I’m right here, yeah? It’s just me and you. Let’s count to ten okay? follow my lead, and try to match my breathing.”
Dream nods against his protesting muscles. He dares spare a glance at Punz and they offer him a small smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but his irises flicker bright and ready. Determined.
“One.” Punz says, voice calm and clear. Dream closes his eyes, listens to their breath.
“Two.” He shifts himself to sit up straighter, and Punz shifts with him, keeping the weight on the bed evenly spread. The frame groans beneath them, but otherwise it is quiet.
“Three… Four...” Dream tries to match Punz’s breathing. The air catches. He blinks back tears.
“Five— it’s okay, keep trying— Six... Seven…” And he does, Dream tries again. The exhale comes a little easier this time.
“Eight.” Dream sucks in a full breadth.
“Nine.” He huffs it back out, shaky but unrestricted.
“Ten.” Punz whispers.
“Ten…” Dream echoes. He’s shaking a little less.
“Good job.” Punz coos. “See, sometimes help is necessary. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
Dream swallows. “I know.” He admits. “You don’t need to give all the “it’s not weak to ask for help” bullshit, I- I know that. It’s just…”
“It’s not you.” Punz supplies. “I know dude. And I also know it’s pretty hypocritical of me to be all on your back about this ‘cause I’d probably be the same. But this isn’t just some everyday upset that’s got you shaken up. You were in prison for a year, of course you’re going to need a little grounding from time to time. That’s okay.”
Tilting his head back, Dream blinks away tears. “I know.” He exhales. “I just… I don’t like to think about it like that ‘cause that means it- it did affect me. And it- it wasn’t supposed to. None of what happened in there was meant to go the way it did. I had it all planned out so perfectly but then it- it just…”
“Just what, Drean?” Punz pushes. “What happened? I- I just want to understand-”
“It all went to shit.” Dream gets out. “God, Punz, fuck… It went to shit, so fucking fast. And I- it…” He screws his eyes tighter shut. “I… I know you’ve seen the scars. I know you know they weren’t there before and they- they didn’t just come from the prison break. I know you wonder about them a lot, and you're too afraid to ask. I know you, Punz, if you were a cat your curiosity would have killed you long ago.” He laughs, bitterly. “I know you wonder about what happened in that cell, and I'm sure you probably have your own ideas. That you’re itching to know if they’re right or not.”
“Then- then tell me-!” Punz blurts out. “If you know all this then why don’t you just explain it to me, lay it all out. Then you won’t have to worry about me wondering so much… Why didn’t you just tell me…?” And they sound so utterly defeated. So betrayed but it all.
(It stings.)
(Dream finds he suddenly cares too much.)
He sighs, brings his hands up to rub at his eyes, dig in his heels until he gets lost in the swirling colours. “Because it hurts.” And those words have never felt so heavy. “Because speaking it makes it real, means it really did happen. If I'm the only one who knows then maybe I can kid myself that none of it was real. But as soon as someone else knows- as soon you know- then it isn’t just a bad dream anymore.”
“Oh.” Punz replies dumbly. There’s so much more they want to say, but words are escaping him as he tries to process everything. “I- yeah. God, yeah, that- that makes sense. God, Dream… I- I don’t know what to say… I just- fuck I keep making this worse I’m sorry.”
Dream shakes his head. “No.” He croaks. “No, you’re not, I mean- it was already pretty shit to begin with. You’re just trying to get down here with- with me and all my bullshit and you have every right to want to. I just- I thought I’d be ready for this but I guess not.”
“That’s okay.” Punz assures quickly. “You don’t have to be ready. We don’t- we don’t have to do this now. Fuck, sorry, I can leave you be. I should… I should leave you be.”
“No, no I- don’t. Don’t do that. Just… okay,” Dream swallows. It’s dry and scratchy. “I… if I tell you this you have to promise you won’t- you- just don’t dwell on it too much. Not now, at least. Just… let me get it out and then- then you can go.”
“Dream, got don’t have to-”
“I want to.” Dream affirms. “I- I want to talk. You’re not making me, no one is making me. It’s my choice. I get to choose.”
“You get to choose.” Punz echoes. “And you can choose not to… but if you’re sure….”
“I am sure.” He isn’t. “Just- just don’t say anything. Please?”
Punz nods, moves back a little, gives him space. “I won’t.” They say. “I promise.” And they mean it.
“Okay.” Dream whispers. “Okay.”
He takes the knife discarded on the bed and sets it aside, out of sight somewhere on the bedside table. His hands move to press together, palms brushing against each other in a rhythmic motion. He counts to ten in his head, and he knows Punz would scold him if they heard how he rushed it, but in the moment he has no will to care.
“When… I was in Pandora… when I was away for a year I- I wasn’t just locked up. Not- not towards the end. Or- I guess… god i don’t even know when it started. Six months, maybe? I don’t- they took my clock…” He laughs. He wants to cry. “But- it doesn’t matter, just- in however long it was I wasn’t just in prison. And I wasn’t alone. Not… not all the time…”
He can practically feel Punz’s gaze burning into him as they wait for him to continue, and there’s pinpricks of that same fire all across his skin, hands grabbing and pushing and pulling. He counts to ten once more, skips over seven because he can barely think. He tries to pat out the fire. He tries not to suffocate on the ash, yet again.
His heart feels heavy at the memory of Punz’s voice, so obviously lined with concern. And it hits Dream all at once just how much Puzcares.
Someone cares.
And that alone burns right through to his heart.
“I…” The words are bitter on his tongue, and he can only hope they don’t choke hi’. fully as they bubble up. He takes a breath, because he can, he can breathe. He’s here, with Punz, and he is safe.
Punx waits. Dream swallows. The words come easy to him, and yet they’re so easy to get out. “I was tortured, Zee.”
And then his chest is tight all over again because oh god, god, he said it. He made it real. Punz is talking, quick and desperate, and Dream asked them not to- thinks he did, he can’t remember now, but he’s sure he heard Punz promise it- but then no one ever listens to him. He’s sure they don’t have ill intent and sure an admittance would surely make a man forget a promise like that, let alone want to keep it; but his voice is loud and it’s all so loud.
And Dream is so fucking tired of drowning.
The next minutes- hours, he isn’t sure- pass in a blur. Dream curls up tight, tight against himself as he suffocates in a pathetic display. He’s floating, body light as he loses touch with the sheets beneath him. It’s all too much, the lack of anything is far too much and it overwhelms him as he pushes himself to be tiny as his limbs fold in under his chest and he heaves out sobs around too-little oxygen.
He floats for what feels like years. And then suddenly he is anchored, as he’s pulled against something solid. Dream curls up tight against the rock, clings to it before he can be pulled back out into the sea of burning nothingness. And the rock reaches out to wrap around him, with strong and gentle arms.
Punz pulls him close, and Dream sobs.
They sit like that for longer than either keeps track of, Punz holding Dream close as he breaks in their arms, spills out all across the bedroom floor in shards that mimic the scattered bath of the candle’s light. The sun lets its rays slip in to mesh with it all, as dawn creeps up on them. Still, Punz doesn't let go.
He doesn’t say a word, either, save for the occasional little reminder for Dream to breathe or a soft praise when he manages a few breaths without stuttering. And it’s not at all how either of them expected that night to go. And despite everything, it’s the most progress they’ve made.
In the morning, Punz is sure Dream will try to brush all this off, and maybe they’ll let him for a while, until he’s had time to collect himself fully. Some day soon he’ll sit Dream down and try to figure things out a little better, work out where they can go from here. What he can do to make it easier.
And Dream will turn down his help, he’s sure of that. But they’ll offer it anyway, and knowing that Dream knows they're there would be more than enough for Punz.
(In the morning, or later in the night depending on how long it takes Dream to push him away while he pulls himself back together, Punz will go to his room and scream. They’ll lean their head against the wall and punch at the plastering till it cracks. And then he’ll sharpen his blades with an equally piercing glare.
And maybe someday, Punz will take those weapons and drive them through the heart of wherever dared to hurt Dream, whoever dared bring him to such complete and utter ruin. But not now, not yet. Not ever, maybe. Because it’s not their place to seek revenge, not before Dream. As much as they may want to, what happens about all of this is Dream’s choice, alone.
And Punz won’t tell him what to do.
Punz will let him choose.)
Soon, they’ll try to figure all this out and move on as best they can, as friends, brothers in arms who will stick together, no matter what. Punz did not wait a year for nothing.
Punz waited a year for Dream.
And one day they will both make sure that all that time was worth it.
But for now, Punz holds Dream close and tells him over and over again that things will be okay, that they’ll get through this, and they’ll work to shape reality to be the way they want. The way they deserve to have it. And for now—
—Dream dares to believe him.