Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sweat dripped down the crooked bridge of Dream’s nose, his breathing ragged, arms falling taut in self admitted exhaustion at trying to break himself free. The more he tried something new to free himself from the steel that held him down like an animal, the image coming to fruition the more he struggled, the more energy he was wasting on a possibility he couldn’t rely on. He wasn’t the kind of man who accepted defeat, but found himself recently growing into a man who could at least accept a break from something futile.

His body ached, the narrow space between his shoulder blades and neck screaming at him for putting so much strain on muscle that was already weak from the angle that his arms were pulled into, the headache he woke up with subsiding or, at least, not seeming as strong as the ache he felt everywhere else.

His shoulders slouched, spine curving as he slumped his body forward, panting for a breath after clearly, exerting himself without proper rest. Accommodation for straining not being a privilege he yet granted himself, because he was too busy coming to a daunting realization of his position. No matter how he tried looking at things, no matter the possible outcome he could somehow find himself in, even with best case scenario; he was fucked.

From the moment his eyes blinked open, he recognized the first thing he could understand his awareness was attempting to bring to his attention being pain, throbbing and nearly reeling from how intense it was in his skull until he was made aware of the slow building ache in the rest of his body. By then, a primal urge of survival had long kicked itself into overdrive, sending him to find any way he could to at least get himself out of these debilitatingly restrictive chains.

Admittedly, he was a bit scared when he woke up. The surroundings felt unfamiliar from what he last blinked his eyes closed to, nearly too dark to make anything out—he was certain he was awaiting execution until he managed to adjust to the dim lighting provided by the smallest window he’d ever seen, granting only the kindness of a breeze of fresh air and taunting anyone who was unlucky enough to wind up down here with a window too small for anyone’s foot to squeeze through, let alone their entire body.

Other than the fact he was in a dark, creepy brig at the bottom of a ship he actually knew all too well, he wasn’t fond of his position—even ignoring the chains. Because, as he would find it, the bars staring back at him made him come to a slow realization that he wasn’t a guest this time around, he was considered something much less welcome. A prisoner.

The word alone made him scoff as he sunk into the floorboards. A prisoner. The title was offensive, disgraceful even, spitting on the title of a ‘Dark Knight’ he had worked so hard to earn, kicking dirt over his drive and dedication to the people of Kinoko. It was derogatory, to categorize him in the same light as muggers, and robbers, and assailants—the cell alone brought him genuine offense.

He was chained down to the floor like he was a wild animal. His wrists were scraped, too tight for him to dislocate his thumb and squeeze out of, circulation not properly coursing through, bruising already taking place. The tightness alone wouldn’t be so terrible had it not been for his chains falling below the floorboards, connected to a mechanism he regrets not trying to educate himself more on prior, whatever it was below there, whether it be balls of steel or the entire crew taking a jab at pulling at it so he couldn’t escape, he didn’t know. He just hated it with a burning passion the longer he had to endure it.

His wrists lay at either side of him, his arms long slumped, matching the numbing feeling of his knees having to support his weight being dragged down. Those same knees kept him propped upright. He wasn’t certain they’d bruise, but he was dramatic enough to assume they would be by morning. Forced to kneel down to his prison cell, he was beginning to think that perhaps this was just a bit cruel for anyone to endure.

A short sigh fell past his lips.

His mask was gone, his sword was gone, his clothes—the only white shirt he owned now stained a deep, velvet hue he’d never be able to wash out, and to top everything off with a bitter cherry on top of it all, he was shackled in the brig of Captain Puffy’s ship. Hooray him.

Obviously, this wasn’t anything he preferred. But if there was one thing he was grateful for, it was the ship he recognized. He knew the crew, the people who managed the ship all too well, he had faith that ran so deep he didn’t worry about any other possibilities other than the one that when Puffy descends down the stairs herself, she’d let him go. Or, at least, out of the chains that weighed him down, allowing him to give his defense to her personally. This wasn’t entitlement, this was what he expected to save what was left of his dignity.

The sky was strokes of orange and yellow, cloudless as the sun set in the west. It gave him an idea for how long he had been passed out, considering it was as dark as a raven’s wing outside the last time he was awake. He had been unconscious from sunrise to…late afternoon. Maybe a bit longer.

He doesn’t actually remember when he began trying to free himself, only becoming aware of the colors in the sky to indicate the time as his eyes fell on the spots of sunlight leaking through that small, mocking window, colors barely dancing against the steps and glints against the bars to his cell. He had stared at that orange shade for a long while, his thoughts a jumbled mess he couldn’t stick to one idea to think on.

He couldn’t rip out the floor boards, he couldn’t kick any in, he couldn’t dislocate his thumb and wiggle his way to freedom, and he sure as shit couldn’t begin to bargain for his freedom. His belongings? Perhaps. But, freedom would come at a cost—it always does. His current plan was to behave; show no signs of attempting to defy their scare tactic of locking him up, be upfront and honest if they were to ask questions. As honest as he could afford to be, at least.

Give him a break; he’s running out of options here.

For just a moment, he thought about allowing himself to have a small break—a nap if he was honest with what he could really take advantage of right now. Despite being knocked unconscious for almost a whole day, he didn’t exactly feel rested, guilty conscience not allowing him a breath of comfortability.

That idea of allowing himself a break didn’t live long, however. Just when he teased the idea of it, there was the slightest rattle beyond the antiquated door that led to the brig. His head lifted, curiosity piqued.

The hinges to the brig’s door creaked with a cry, high and squeaky when it slammed open, the handle scraping against an indent in the wooden wall. Dream’s shoulders stiffened, his frame tense for only a moment until his eyes settled on the pointed boots that just peeked out from the strict view his cell provided.

Her feet fell heavy on each step, multiple pairs following after her as she led her small, but very capable crew to the brig. Only about a handful of the team, from what Dream could make out.

Her custom cut coat was asymmetrically pointed—the fabric still too clean for it to be something she’s owned for longer than a month. The collar was popped high enough to reach her pointed chin as she held her head high, the tricorne she wore was comically large enough to cast an uncomfortable shadow, darkness falling over her hard gaze that refused to look his way. Instead, she looked ahead, like she was on a mission of her own. Each of her steps fell heavier than the last until she stopped in front of his cell, more composed and authoritative than he’s ever seen her before.

She looked like something to fear, and while that wasn’t the emotion he was stricken with, he did acknowledge the discomfort he felt seeing her in such a light. Or…lack thereof.

Dream’s eyebrows tightened into a tight furrow as he looked up at her scowling face, an expression of discontent meeting her in return. She refused to look at him, even with his face bare for her to cradle—a rare occurrence within recent years.

Blood stained his clothes, oxidation not yet setting in to make it brown—this wasn’t a sight he could say he wanted her to see him in; disheveled and dirtier than one of the rats scurrying in a cell over. He couldn’t be *upset* with her for not wanting to see him in the current state he presented himself in.

“Where’s my mask?” An entitled question that stemmed from his confusion of her formality. She’s acting like his warden, as if he was just a prisoner aboard her ship. His question was met with a tight lip and the flicker of anger flashing across her expression for a quick moment of weakness, her forehead creasing with a furrowed brow that matched his own.

“Unlock the cell,” She ordered with a gruff bark, one of her more loyal and, frankly, more enjoyable lackey’s following her order without hesitation. An old, rusted key that matched the upkeep of the hinges to the brig’s door slipped into the well-kept lock, a click resonating as it twisted, pushing the springs inside the hunk of metal into place.

Puffy’s hand, calloused and rough grasped onto one of the bars, her knuckles white when she pushed it open. Stepping inside of the cell to make room for her crew who piled in one at a time, stepping past her to begin unchaining him; It didn’t bring any sense of comfort, however, new ones ready to be shackled in their place.

Dream rolled his eyes as Vikstar and Lil’ Nas’X, to be at least somewhat appreciative, he was just a bit grateful he would be able to move his arms with better ease in the new shackles. They were still heavy—a good five, ten pounds give or take, but at least fifty less than the ones they were freeing him from. Cold metal clamped around his neck, locking in place with a click, a quiet groan sounding from the back of his throat as the pressure relieved off his left wrist in an instant, feeling the blood slowly begin proper circulation once more.

The new chains rattled, lighter but arguably more restrictive with cuffs clamped around his wrists, Vik and Nas’X shackling him up one limb at a time, not allowing him to be truly free for even a moment. The fact they even had a pair for his ankles made him scoff, looking to their Captain—half expecting her to announce—order they not dare restrict him further—but no. This was what she preferred. For him to be chained and stripped of freedom, hell, he knew that not even he could try and convince them to allow a bit more freedom than they’d actually like to him, but he was at least entitled to ask his own mother what the hell she’s doing.

“Mom,” Dream began, his voice calm and composed, less defensive than before. “You’re not actually-”

“Walk him,” She interrupted, Dream’s face dropping as he was guided to his feet, hands hooked underneath his elbows, his hands being left to dangle in front of him. His ankles were chained too thinly for large steps, leaving him to uncomfortably shuffle as one of the…less favored amongst the crew, McChill, led him, keeping him separated from his mother. The rest followed behind like dogs.

Dream couldn’t help but scoff, his molars grinding together with a set jaw.

Dream liked to think he wasn’t an idiot, but obviously he was incorrect, he was absolutely a fucking idiot. Not just for fumbling so miserably as to be held aboard her ship like a common criminal, but also for assuming that his own mother would attempt to understand what he’d done outside a court of law.

Dream’s posture whispered of unease beneath the control he attempted to step with. Nowhere near as composed as his mother’s strides, long and powerful with every step and followers in toe ready to heed her every command. Dream was transparent and easy to read. Clearly, he didn’t favor his position, but he hadn’t lost his resolve yet. Nothing more than a chip at it.

“Did you really have to leave me chained to the floor?” He inquired, wincing as the bespectacled man behind him lifted him by his armpits, mumbling an apology for what Dream could only assume was for the discomfort he was putting Dream through while just trying to do his job. Dream could only feel slight remorse; he worked up a sweat with his attempt at freedom. This guy absolutely would have to wash his hands after helping him up the stairs.

Lifted up each step, he could feel his shoulders tense. Still too sore, too strained from the weights that pulled him down even if he stayed perfectly still. It was a cruel and unusual punishment, not just a safety procedure put in place to keep him dormant until…what, transport? Hard to assume. Not actually, but, who is he to dismiss the effort they put in to keep him in the dark?

As much as his body was paying the price at every turn with aches and pains, bruises and torn skin, he’s beginning to realize his own physical limits. A terrible time for that realization, but a realization nonetheless.

Puffy led with straight shoulders, her hat too large and feathers too fluffy keeping her eyes safe from the glaring sunset—a privilege Dream nor the other crewmembers had.

Blinking away the brief burn from directly looking at the sun, he squinted as he was pushed through the door to the brig, his feet set flat on the deck’s floorboards.

With a turn of his head, he avoided the glare of the sun by looking past the taffrail and old shroud. The first thing he recognized were the big, glamourous buildings with slanted roofs that reflected the sun like a mirror.

Polished iron and quartz, chiseled into the perfect mix of aesthetic and architecture, and stained glass catching beams of light which danced on the polished cobblestone tiles and stone bricks in pathways to different parts of town.

Drywaters was recognizable for its beauty, using the advantage of prosperity to make authority blend in with everyday society, as shown by the guards-in-training following enforcers on patrols. Those very same guards glancing at the scene with wide eyed curiosity. Dream was no stranger to this scene—quite the contrary, having a few complimentary tours of the city on behalf of his only friends.

His head whipped back to his mother, his line of vision peering above the head of the man standing between him and his mother while he was being walked to what could very well be his final day as a ‘free’ man. McChill always had a massive skull, god damn.

On either side of him, Nas'X and Vikk kept a hand hooked underneath Dream's elbow... They looked ready to frolic had it not been for his ankle restrictions, though neither one was looking very ecstatic. Nobody did, really. Vikk must have taken some kind of…sympathy for Dream, however. His expression was almost remorseful as he spoke under his breath.

“You’re being brought to The Council,” Yeah, thanks Vikk, would have been great to know like twenty minutes ago.

Nas’X sent Vikk a stern look, having a better grasp on the professionalism they have to carry out. “Vikk,” He warned in a mumble. Vikkstar straightened himself once more, facing ahead and sparing Dream no more verbal sympathy.

He only heard of The Council through Sapnap’s tours or a few offhanded comments made by George. He never had enough interest to meet them personally—they were far too busy for meet and greets. The Justice Assembly as a whole was running blank, his memory on the details of what they pertained to specifically not prevalent enough to give him much to prepare for, other than basic knowledge that everyone is granted a hearing, and The Council themselves determines the punishment to match the offense one would be on trial for. No influence from Citizens—they were the epitome of ‘Fair’ across the Kingdom, the executioners of justice for those under Kinoko Kingdom’s citizenship. They were the strongest heads of power just below The King.

Guess they’re, technically, the strongest heads of power in general now. He doesn’t know if he should curtsey when he enters. Do they count as royalty? Should he still bow down to royalty in general? He doesn’t actually know.

It was probably too late to leap over the taffrail and take his chances on drowning. As tempting as it was, considering it longer than he should have, they wouldn’t let him off so easily. They’d all just leap in after him and drag him back sopping and wet, like a sad cat.

“Huh.” Dream offered with a bland tone. “Guess that’d…explain where all of my things had gone.”

He didn’t attempt to ask anymore questions—he’d just be cut off or ignored anyways. For what was left to feed his assumptions, he wouldn’t be far off to believe his belongings were now evidence. His chances for sweet talking his way out becoming more and more bleak the more that was revealed to him.

He wasn’t getting out of this—not with this crew, at least. They were too set on their decision, and there wasn’t an opportunity that presented itself to work for his benefit. His sigh was wearier than the last.

“Lower the gangplank!” Puffy shouted, barking over her shoulder at Slimecicle who obeyed like a dog. Corpse stepped out from the formation to help. Pulling levers and adjusting hinges, the mechanism lowered above the docks, the gangplank slowly unfolded, lowering until it smacked against the dock securely. Slime and Corpse stood aside, making room for Puffy to lead the way again. Her boot’s heel knocked against the top of the gangplank twice to test the durability before deeming it acceptable.

Dream really could jump now—he could say with a vague memory and a lot of hope both Vikk and Nas’X knew how to swim—oh it’d be so easy. They’d let him sink, he could just quickly drown, throwing away his pride in the process to take the easy way out as a last resort ‘fuck you’ to all of this.

Dream’s lips pressed together at the thought.

Yeah, no, actually, that isn’t favorable either.

People were littered around the dock, most of the people lining it had barrels and uniforms, preparing stock for trade. The ship that arrived wasn’t the one they were expecting, before anyone could complain about the traders arriving early, Captain Puffy and her crew silenced any quick complaints. Instead of wines and produce import, they carried a disheveled man covered in blood.

The sight was uncommon for the regular civilian to witness—uncommon enough to spark curiosity, probing each other with questions nobody would have the actual answer for. The workers and a few off-the-clock civilians taking a stroll bunched together in small crowds, whispers and murmurs breaking out amongst each other.

Dream really missed his mask. Made it easier to hold his head high in front of everyone who gazed upon him with bewilderment or fear. Without it, he was forced to face them as he was—a man to be put on trial, not a symbol of peace he’s worked his ass off to be seen as.

He didn’t want to jinx it, but damn, could it get any more pathetic than this?

Puffy took long, heavy strides down the gangplank and dock. The crowd parted to either side of the dock as she approached, not needing to demand their disperse. Their whispers, which were quiet in their own conversations blended together in a loud jumble of confusion, questions grasping the public nobody had enough courage to demand an answer for.

“Whose blood is that?”, “Is it his?”, “What’s happening?”, “Where did they even come from?”, “Why is he so sweaty? Kinda gross…”, Dream could only make out some of the questions as they dragged him by, not allowing him a shred of dignity in front of the public.

His pride didn’t allow him to hang his head from anyone, he instead held it high enough to scan his gaze over the crowds, anyone he made eye contact with darting their own gaze away from his.

They were afraid of him.

The Council’s building could be seen from as far away as the docks, the general area for it at least. The highest peak in the city undoubtedly being the five estates that towered over the Assembly itself, encasing it like a cocoon, each one distinct enough from the others you could recognize fairly easily who it belonged to. Dream stared at them for a long, hard moment.

During his first tour, he remembered the woods just behind Callahan’s estate. Empty, and ever going.

There was bile at the bottom of Dream’s stomach. Something cryptic and glum, pooling like spilled tar and inking his insides. It was like each step he took, there was a stronger impending sense of doom filling him and mixing with that bile-y tar that continued to fill him. He didn’t want to admit that he was anxious—just a bit. But the guard and enforcer at the front entrance of the council didn’t bring him any ease.

The only thing that brought him a bit of ease were the horses next to their handlers.

The guard wore a simple uniform—heavy metals plating his chest, arms, and legs, the shine it caught from the sun was almost blinding. It clearly almost never got used—the metals still fresh and clean, tip-top shape and perfect. Too neat for a guard—a good one, that is.

The enforcer was a different story. What stood out was his dyed leather padded armor, a muted blue that matched his boots. While he looked less armored than the guard, he was the more intimidating one of the two. His scabbard was around his waist, two shortswords sheathed on his person for easy access, his uniform worn, older than the one his friend wore. He looked more…capable, for lack of a better word.

“Nice day we got, huh?” The guard asked, glancing over at the enforcer he was paired with for today’s security. He hummed in acknowledgement. His eyes were more focused on the slight commotion breaking out over town. Nothing that had to be intervened—but, commotion nonetheless. “Yeah…hey, Sam—can I call you Sam?”

“…That’s my name, so, yeah.”

“Cool,” He breathed out with a slight chuckle. “Yeah, good name, good name…I was actually thinking—” Sam closed his eyes, mindfully breathing out slow enough Boomer didn’t pick up on his sigh.

“You’re super respected in the Enforcers, right?”

“I’m the top patroller.”

“…Yeah. So, do you think you could put in a good word for me at the station?” Boomer asked, his attention elsewhere as Sam’s curiosity sparked. Not because of Boomer’s request—but because of Captain Puffy being the center of attention of the crowds.

Or, it seemed that way, until someone was pulled along just behind her—covered in blood and locked in chains.

“I’ve kinda been meaning to change career paths a bit, but not too much, y’know?” His monologue which was meant to provide context for the sudden request fell on deaf ears, Sam’s hand falling on the grip of one of his swords.

“The armor can just get pretty heavyyyy…?” Boomer trailed, noticing the hand Sam kept on the grip of his sword. Boomer cleared his throat, dropping the question. Didn’t want to get stabbed for a recommendation, fuck that.

“You should be used to it by now.” Sam remarked, the comment on his armor registering as the Captain made her presence to the two known, approaching the grand steps to The Council.

She was very stiff. Her shoulders were squared to make her appear larger than she actually was, her hands were balled into fists at her side. She was just a bit taller than Sam, even as he straightened his spine in front of her.

“Captain Puffy,” He acknowledged, bowing his head in a form of respect. Boomer mirrored the motion, his head dipping lower than Sam’s. Peering through white eyelashes up at Puffy, Boomer greeted her own name quietly.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?” Sam asked, his eyes shifting over to Dream. Puffy’s eyes narrowed at her visitation being seen as a ‘pleasure’.

“I’ve come to deliver a court case to the Council.” She curtly replied.

Sam hummed an ‘ah’, gesturing with his head to the closed doors behind him. “I’m sure they’d love to see you,” He told her. “But an important meeting is currently taking place and is not to be interrupted under any circumstan—”

“King George has been murdered.” She interrupted. Sam and Boomer both fell silent, both of their eyes opening wide at the news. “We need a trial. Immediately.” She croaked out, clearing her throat to cover the slight waver in her voice as Boomer looked to Sam for a bit of guidance on what to do.

Sam stared at Dream, half expecting the latter to deny the accusation despite being covered in blood they could smell from here—a gross metallic smell wafting around them. Instead, under the accusing gaze, Dream shrugged his shoulders, staring back at Sam without so much as a hint of remorse.

Mocking.

Disrespectful.

Wicked.

Sam’s eyes narrowed into a thin glare. Nothing would be vile enough to describe the new light that shined on Dream—the stain he would be seen as. He had an outrageous amount of audacity to stand here and shrug without a glimpse of remorse. To stand there like he had nothing to fear.

Without turning his body, he grasped the door handle, his thumb pressing against the thumb latch handle so hard the tip of his nail became pale underneath his gloves.

“You’re free to enter,” He granted. Boomer looked over at him, unsure. His attention flickered from Sam to Dream, then back at Sam.

“Uh—Sam—”

“Shut up, Boomer.”

“Okay.”

Begrudgingly, Boomer reached for the knob until Sam stopped him, grabbing it instead. “Tie up the horses and meet us inside.” He grunted, Boomer being pushed aside and left on horse duty so Sam could push open the doors, a quiet prayer that the prick behind him would lose that confidence he walked so calmly with.

The doors were large and heavy, creaking open mid conversation between Council members. Interrupting Hannah just as she began to make her point, her voice cutting off at the doors opening to make room for Sam with Captain Puffy’s crew in tow.

“Nobody listens anymore,” Hannah complained, gesturing to the group that piled inside with her hand. The guards that lined the walls perked up at the unscheduled intrusion, hands moving to their swords grip—pausing only when they saw Dream chained and bloodied.

Eyes of the council fell onto Sam, who strayed by the door and dipped his head Puffy’s way, allowing her to take the lead.

The Council could immediately recognize her thick pile of curls and signature red-clad uniform. Antfrost’s nose scrunched up, a low growl scratching at the back of his throat as the faintest smell of something metallic and irony lingered in the air, his paw clasping around his nose. Bad looked from Antfrost to Puffy, then to Dream.

“What the muffin?” He murmured, needing to do a double take Dream’s way. “H-hey- Captain?” Bad called from his seat, cringing at the projection—way too loud, holy shit. “Captain, I apologize to uh, sound informal? But, we’re having a very important mee-”

“The King is DEAD,” Puffy was getting sick of having to repeat herself. Her tone was gruff, barking out the reason for the intrusion of their meeting. While normally her tone would have been criticized, rightfully, everyone in the room fell silent. Guards looked at each other, concern written in their expression. The Council all wore wide eyes and paled faces, looking from Puffy to one another.

Alyssa shared a glance with Hannah. Both of them seemed to have a hard time collecting themselves.

Antfrost looked to Bad, finding him staring, his attention drawn to Dream. Oh, Bad felt sick. He felt that sick crawl of anxiety trailing his body like spider legs dancing inside of him. Callahan shared a similar sentiment—at least, in the sense of looking to Dream with something that almost felt accusatory.

“I had just docked the port when I was informed. My son—” Dream’s eyes casted away from Puffy’s silhouette. He didn’t like how hard it was for her to say he was her son. “—Dream, had just been detained. Sapnap caught him in the act.”

Bad’s frown deepened.

Puffy’s nails were dull. She did too much work for them to grow anything longer than her fingertips. But even with how dull and how little length her nails had, they still managed to prick against the palm of her hands the harder she balled them, plunging into the flesh.

Boomer had just finished trying the steeds, quietly entering through the now open double doors. Nobody spared a second glance at him, but he still kept his head down, placing himself next to Sam.

“I have a duty to bring forth to you any criminal that must be brought to justice,” She continued. There was a brief moment of hesitation that followed. A small twitch of her face, expression crinkling. She took a breath, something she had to muster for the sake of her calm composure, the tremble in her exhale quickly being covered up.

“I ask that you do your duty as the council, and put your current meeting on pause to hold an immediate trial.”

The whole room fell silent. The weight of the situation was slow to fall on everyone's shoulders, a dawning realization. George was dead. He was the only heir to the throne, the only one an entire kingdom could rely on to take care of them, and he was just…gone. No time to prepare, no time to find someone who could take his place, no time to think of what to do next.

Everyone still seemed to be processing. That they were now without anyone to protect them—without someone to lead, to provide. It wasn’t like anyone on the council knew what to do, either. But, even the guards were looking to them now for what to do. Their eyes lingering on the five heads of justice—both for guidance on what to do next, and what they will do next.

Even within the council, they looked for guidance in each other. Almost everyone looked to Callahan, the silent head of their organization. But Bad couldn’t look away from Dream.

Bad knew Dream. Dream was a good kid—a good friend. He’d seen it plenty of times, the lengths he would go to just so the people he cares about were happy. Self sacrificing, doting, compassionate—those were the descriptions that fit him best.

Bad knew he had a good heart. One of the most genuine and loving he had ever seen—which is why none of this made sense to him. Why he was waiting for Dream to say something, anything to deny it. A naive part of him was waiting for him to say it wasn’t true, that he was innocent. His silence unnerved him.

It only took a nod of his head in Puffy’s direction to make the decision of putting their meeting on hold to begin Dream’s trial.

Nas’X and Vikkstar were intent on walking Dream to the pitiful podium they had designated for floor speakers, their hands already hooked underneath his elbows to guide him, but their path was quickly blocked by a guard.

“Allow us to walk the prisoner.” The guard ordered.

It was protocol, they said. Dream didn’t really pay much attention to the brief back and forth shared between Nas’X, Vikkstar and the guard. He didn’t really care who walked him or what protocol called for, rather he cared to feed his intrigue in watching the Council, all whispering amongst themselves. Rather frantically, might he take note of.

Obviously, Dream couldn’t hear a word of their exchange. He could only pick up on their expressions and gestures. Hannah was hissing through clenched teeth, her eyes narrowed into thin slits. Bad whispered back to her, with a quick gesture to the courtroom with a distressed wave of his hand. Alyssa was frantically writing notes on a piece of paper, eyes darting between the two’s exchange. He only snapped his attention back to where it should be when he felt a large hand roughly gripping him by his elbow.

It only took one guard and his aggressive tugging on Dream’s limb to drag him to the podium. It was something that looked like it belonged inside of a church more than the Council floor. Deep mahogany and swirled engravings, tall enough to reach just below where his chest began. The guard let go of his arm, and Dream placed his hands atop the wood.

He leaned his weight against it, but quickly stopped when he could feel the slightest shift, podium lifting just an inch off the ground.

“Huh.” Dream hummed quietly, his gaze lingering on the podium for a moment longer.

They should really nail this thing down.

Alyssa rose to her feet, jogging the short stack of papers in her hands against the crescent table the Council sat at, the other members having fallen silent. Dream looked up as the oak legs of her chair scraped against the marble floor in an ugly screech, his lips curling into a cringe at the sound.

Alyssa, from what he could remember based on brief descriptions of her, was nothing short of brilliant. She was calculated, composed, and observant, and even now he could see that. Her shoulders were rolled back and pin straight, her spine following the strict posture, similar to Puffy she appeared tall and domineering. While Bad on the other hand sat slouched, his spine curving like a shrimp and his face falling deeper into the palms of his hands, Alyssa stayed as the definition of professional.

“Welcome, everyone, to the impromptu trial of Dream.” Alyssa began, her voice projecting throughout the room with a calmness she had managed to muster. “I would like to personally thank our guards for remaining professional, and bearing witness to the trial.” She acknowledged, giving a low nod to the guards who, for the most part, had managed to keep their composure throughout the duration of the announcement. Sam’s eyes flickered to Boomer, noticing his spine straighten in pride at her praise.

“The Council begins this impromptu trial with the quick, unanimous decision to determine how we as not just a nation, but a community are to follow through with the sudden news of King George’s death, and Dream’s successful assassination attempt. We will swiftly uncover the truth, and should he be found guilty, we will swiftly ensure he is held accountable for his crimes.”

With a snap of her fingers towards Puffy’s crew, she continued. “I call forth Captain Puffy to present the evidence she has collected.” The crew was quick to part, stepping aside for the designated ‘evidence holder’ to make way. Slime stepped forward—fuckin’ Slime.

The bloodied sword—his sword was laid atop a pillow, the best they could do on such short notice. The oxidization was the same to the sword as it was to his shirt—seeping into the microfibers enough to become uncomfortably sticky, but still fresh enough to maintain the deep red without splotting brown. Dream glanced away at the sight of his own sword.

“Normally, I would ask our dear Council member, Antfrost, to personally validify the claims coming forward, his nose being able to distinct smells we cannot,” Alyssa said, gesturing over to Antfrost, who sat at his seat with his nose covered, quietly gagging at the metallic smell being brought forward. “But from the moment Dream stepped into our council, Antfrost has displayed repeated signs of disgust for something he has been able to pick up on. I do not think we need request of him to inspect further—”

“Oh, please, no.”

“However, his reactions from the very beginning lead me to already assume the obvious—that along with Dream’s bloody presentation of himself, his sword aids in being recognized as evidence of the murder.”

The sight of his sword was unsettling, to say the least. For Antfrost, it wasn’t the sight of blood that made him sick—rather the smell. It was metallic, distinctly mammal. Hemoglobin made mammal blood iron-rich, aiding to make it distinctly pungent, and quite frankly unbearable.

“While we acknowledge Captain Puffy can only provide eye-witness, I ask the Council to acknowledge the weight her word holds,” Alyssa’s attention fixed onto Puffy, who remarkably as ever, kept her stoic expression. “Captain Puffy has always been a trustworthy authoritative figure. Taking on a more noble title of a Knight, she’s always upheld her role with grace, dignity, and truth. In the ten years of our Council entrusting her to keep our waters safe, and internationally fighting for Kinoko, I cannot recall a single moment she has led us astray nor used her title to lie.”

Dream didn’t have nearly as close of an honorable reputation as his mother did. And, as it stood, that aided against him currently. He wasn’t a simple, noble Knight, but rather a Dark Knight. Knights, as they stood, abided by law and order, acting in favor of the legal system to maintain peace. Whereas Dream, while he would consider himself noble and honorable in his own sense, stood to fight for individuals.

People who, whether it be the law not acting in their favor or the law actively working against them, needed someone like Dream. Someone who when the criminal was caught, he extended a hand to them as well.

It was controversial. Even Puffy had her qualms regarding the path he chose, worrying he’d stray too far from what was right in favor of what he thought was kind.

He didn’t want to know how she felt about his path now. He had a feeling he knew—of course he knew. He just didn’t want to know how she felt about him.

“Although Dream is currently on stand, I would like to request that Captain Puffy give her statement recounting the events she bore witness to.”

Puffy closed her eyes, taking a long, deep inhale.

The Council was, at the very least, patient. With Puffy’s hesitation to speak, they watched her, giving her those few moments of recollection she needed, because they knew that was all she would need.

She wouldn’t make them wait.

“Me and my crew had docked in front of his castle, intent on being in and out.” Puffy recounted. Dream’s attention shifted to her, his eyebrows furrowed. “He had yet to send me this month’s reports. I was intending to speak with staff, I believed this was an error on staff’s behalf and the report had been stuck in the mailing room.”

Dream’s jaw clenched.

He didn’t know George didn’t fill out an important report.

That would…explain her sudden appearance. Very well, actually.

“As I was coming to the gates, I took notice that only Purpled stood present.” The corners of her mouth pulled into a slight frown. “He only allowed me in on the condition I uphold my duty as Knight, and arrest the killer who was being apprehended in the throne room.

Bad looked back to Dream while Captain Puffy recounted her side of events. It only brought a slight sense of comfort to him that Dream seemed, for the most part, calm. The occasional furrowed eyebrow and clenched jaw, but his expressions displaying any pessimism were as quick to fade as they were to appear.

Bad felt like he knew Dream well enough to make an assumption. He assumed that if Dream was guilty, he wouldn’t be so calm. He’d be anything, angry, scared, betrayed. He’d be what he knew him as; human. He wouldn’t be blank, like all of this was, at most, an inconvenience to him.

Bad had faith. He had faith in Dream that he was okay because he was innocent.

“—I didn’t bring any witnesses aside from myself,” Puffy informed, “I only witnessed the aftermath of the crime. But, I did manage to receive a statement from Sapnap, who did witness it.” Bad’s attention immediately shifted to Captain Puffy. “As well as a statement from Purpled and Punz.”

“Captain, would you be inclined to share the statements the three men have provided, as well as their involvement with the case?” Alyssa requested.

Dream sighed, leaning against the podium, being mindful not to apply too much of his weight on it. He’s not rushing for punishment, but Alyssa knows how to drag a trial out.

Puffy must have shared a similar sentiment. Dream could spot from a mile away the twitching of her shoulders and grinding of her jaw when she’d get fed up with something.

While the Council was patient, they couldn’t exactly be described as empathetic. This was a trial, after all. She wasn’t a mother under this roof—she was a Captain. That was what she was expected to be.

It was what she would be.

“I wasn’t able to get much out of Sapnap,” She admitted. He was inconsolable; George was the only thing he cared about after he apprehended Dream. Sapnap was a blubbering mess, who didn’t care about the blood spilling against his suit or the eyes that watched him as he held George’s body. When she questioned him, all he could muster was a sentence.

“All I could get out of Sapnap, the head Paladin of the castle, was him saying Dream killed him.” There were a few words he tried to get out, but his voice cracked too much for her to understand. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know, either.

She had known these boys nearly all their lives. Before this, she thought of their little trio of Dream, George, and Sapnap as the Dream Team, something undefeatable and unbreakable, so loyal to each other that it rivaled her own crew’s loyalty.

Obviously, that wasn’t the case anymore. Easily broken in one night.

But in all her years of knowing them, she had never once seen such anguish in any of them. She’s seen mothers have to bury their own children with more composure than Sapnap had when he was holding George’s corpse.

Sapnap was a strong man. It was something she was grateful for, deep down. In all honesty, she believes it was the only thing that saved Dream’s life that night; Sapnap having enough self control to not avenge George on the scene.

Truthfully, she doesn’t know if even she would have the same revolve had she been in his shoes.

Dream’s expression held melancholy, his vision down casting to the podium instead of his mother.

He was actually grateful he was knocked out when he was, if that were the case.

He doesn’t think he could continue to go through with it all had he witnessed Sapnap’s breaking point.

“Punz accounted he came rushing when word throughout the castle had spread, guards being alerted to the scene. He had left Purpled to continue guarding the gate, something they both attested for, and he can testify for many guards who were already close to the scene that they heard Sapnap shout, and fled to the scene.” Punz had more useful information than Purpled did. Unfortunately, Purpled could only testify that they had both gotten word of the incident at the gate, which Puffy informed the Council.

Dream stopped paying attention to her recount of events and attesting of statements taken.

He could only guess how Sapnap was holding up after…everything.

Dream was calculated. He was careful, he planned everything out from A to Z, to ensure a scenario like this didn’t happen. To ensure nobody saw what was happening.

Sapnap shouldn’t have been taking that route for patrol, Dream had his schedule memorized. Nobody was meant to be at the throne room, his mother wasn’t meant to be there to arrest him, he wasn’t meant to be caught.

For all his planning, “—Dream?” for all the preparations he painstakingly went through to ensure it would go as smoothly as possible, “—Dream.” none of it was full-proof for the unexpected.

“Dream!”

Alyssa called for the third time, Dream’s attention finally snapping back to where it should have been.

Her eyes were narrowed in his direction. His eyes narrowed back at hers.

“Allow me to repeat the accusations against you.” She offered. “Your mother, our esteemed Knight of the Seas took you into custody under the accusation of you assassinating King George.” He KNOWS. “She brings forth evidence, both what you’re wearing,” She gestured to his bloodied shirt as emphasis. “As well as your sword.”

Dream glanced to his sword at its mention.

“With evidence and witnesses stacked against you, we bring the focus back to you.” Alyssa told him. But, to be frank, almost nobody besides the Council paid him mind. A few guards were taking the brief redirection of attention to wipe their eyes that grew misty, or drag a hand down their face with a breath that gave away their internal fatigue.

It was difficult to hear Captain Puffy’s side of things. The recount of what she found, the recount of how she saw such intimidating figures brought to tears as they bare witness to the alleged murder that took place.

It was by vast majority the men that took it the hardest. Hearing of another grown man being brought to inconsolable tears as he held his best friend’s corpse, it was a living nightmare to experience. It was something that tugged at them—empathy. And something that plagued them; the very thought that they could experience something similar because of people like Dream.

Alyssa continued. “Before we pan to your defense, the Council wishes to have their own chance at fairness and question you personally.”

“I’m an open book.” He huffed, shrugging his shoulders in an attempt to ease their sudden stiffness.

Alyssa only regarded him a frown.

“To open the Council to possibilities and pave way for them to ask you their questions, I will go first, solely for the fact of how complex your task was. I find it hard to believe that you were working alone.” He couldn’t help but sigh. It would be a compliment had she not followed it up with “Despite your failure in leaving the scene undetected,” Fuck you. “I am led to the theory that you must have had help on the side to follow through as undetected as you did.” Until the part he got caught, you mean, yeah.

Dream considered her question for a moment.

He acknowledged the fact he was in a pickle.

Not even a pickle—as he saw it right now, he was fucked.

There was evidence stacked against him, as well as sources far more favored than him giving a very specific recount of what had happened.

But, he was also aware of the fact that they didn’t know everything. They were trying to see what he’d spill, and how much of it could be the truth. They were nothing short of obsessed when it came to finding an answer they felt pleased with.

So, to lie or fib was something that crossed his mind.

After a long moment, Dream straightened his posture, mimicking Alyssa’s upright spine and rolled back shoulders. Trying to appear somewhat ‘professional’, for a stretch of what he could be considered.

“While I appreciate the thought you think this was a two-man operation, I’m afraid I’m the sole perpetrator in your accusation.” He offered her a smile she didn’t return. “I’ve known George for years. I know every entrance and exit, all it would take to know the schedules of anyone you’re observing is a week of picking up what time they pass by and stand guard.”

He was careful with his wording, Bad noted. accusation, would, to know, not admissions of guilt—not directly. He was, arguably, giving hypotheticals, Bad reasoned with himself.

“And did anyone have knowledge of what was going to take place?” She asked. “Say, Captain Puffy, for example?”

“Excuse me?” Puffy scoffed at the accusation.

Dream snorted. “You think if my mother had the slightest idea of something bad happening, she wouldn’t take care of it before it happened?” He looked around the court waiting for someone to find it half as amusing as he did, raising his bound wrists to emphasize his point. “You’ve known her for like, ten years. Come on now.”

“Yes, or no. Did anyone have knowledge of what was going to take place—your mother being the accused suspect of the possibility?” Alyssa repeated.

She was trying to push buttons, bringing Puffy into accusation. His buttons, specifically. Clearly, the situation was a game to him, something he was still trying to weasel his way out of. But even Dream had people he still had a stretch of care for—that much she could read.

His smile slowly withdrew. Resting his hands against the podium, he clicked his tongue, exhaling a small sigh at her stern repeat. “No, my mother—nor did anyone else have the slightest clue to what was going to happen to George. That much I can assure you.”

Alyssa isn’t satisfied, not entirely.

Alyssa opened her mouth to fire another question his way, but Bad had beat her to it.

“Did you do it?” Bad asks. Dream blinks, and turns his head to him.

Sam couldn’t help but softly scoff at the ignorant question.

“Did you actually…kill him, I mean.” Bad clarified, noticing Dream’s hesitation to answer.

Dream blames his silence on the intense expression Bad wore. His eyes were large and doe like, wide enough to be considered crestfallen had it not been for the soft gleam he stared at Dream with; mercy.

Bad was the most merciful of them all. It was something Dream respected him for—so strongly believing things aren’t black and white. That there could be room for misunderstandings—misunderstandings that can be resolved.

His intent was true—he believed Dream was better than this.

He didn’t think Dream was capable of this.

“If you didn’t, we can—”

“Of course I did.” Dream interjected. Bad fell silent.

“Of course I killed George.” His words were meant to come off as assuring, but they were anything but. “Alyssa said mentioned a defense.” Dream recounted. “But, in truth, I do not have one.”

“No…” Bad murmured, softly shaking his head as his head fell into the palm of his hand. Antfrost frowned at Bad’s low plea. Bad didn’t want to believe Dream’s words. He wanted to argue, argue that Dream wasn’t that kind of man, but what could he do when Dream backs him into a verbal corner he can’t help him in?

Dream already knew everyone saw him as a murderer. A monster, dare he stretch so far as to accuse. He doesn’t quite blame them, either. The sight wasn’t meant to be so gruesome—but when you witness it first hand, it’s bound to be so.

Bad asked him an uncomfortable question. He asked him a question he couldn’t dance his way around.

His eyes flickered to the large oak doors Sam and Boomer continued to guard by, flickering back to the Council a moment after. His voice crawled out loud enough to mirror Alyssa’s earlier projected tone. “I know right from wrong. I will not insult my title as a Dark Knight to pretend I do not. My mother served as an influence for me to go down the path of a Knight of the people, my path straying from hers but always serving with nobility and honor.” He promised, his eyes shifting over to Puffy’s stiff stature. He couldn’t help but frown at her dispirited gaze, blankly staring ahead of her.

“My path was always promised to pave way for others. From the very moment I picked up a blade,” Though the memory was true and something he held dear, it did not bring him joy to express to the Council. “I swore to fight for others and what they needed. Me killing George was no different.”

Hannah couldn’t help but scoff. “You say this is fighting for others?” She interjected, her lip curling in disgust at his flippant statement. “How, pray tell, is this anything like your Dark Knight duties?”

“Freedom, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Hannah repeated with a scornful gaze tossed his way.

“No,” Dream corrected. “Freedom. Definite. There wasn’t exactly one person I did this for. There was just one goal with it.”

“A goal of freedom?” Alyssa clarified. Dream nodded. “Freedom from what? What could the people of Kinoko possibly gain from his death?” Alyssa asked, her tone and expression scrutinizing.

He knew they all looked at him cross. He sounded crazy—he knew he did. His lips curved into a small, almost proud grin.

Callahan stared back at him with disappointment.

“Without restrictions for how people should live, people finally can live. The way they want to. Not held down by a crown.” Dream stated. He leaned against the podium again, recognizing his effort of matching their high and mighty stature was no longer needed. “With King George dead, freedom is to take his place. I can assure the Council that was the purest form of my intent.” He swore, emphasizing his words by holding a hand to his heart. The other he could only straighten to show his fingers were not crossed.

“There was no other motive. No malice, no pay, no desire to take his throne—nothing the people of Kinoko may think of the situation.” He dismissed, insensitively. “I knew the impact it would bring on people—on the Kingdom. But this is for the better, that I firmly believe.”

Alyssa couldn’t hide the slight quiver of her lip, but bit down on the inside of her cheek to still it.

“For the better?” She dared to repeat, letting his words sink in once trying them on her own tongue. “Our people need government,” Alyssa stressed. “Without George, who is to take his place?” She asked. She gestured to the Council with a still hand. ”We are unfit to step in line as a permanent solution. We are a court of law, foundation, justice. We cannot govern our people.”

“I never expected you to.” Dream clarified.

“But we are the next highest power people will look to when the news reaches the public.” Alyssa sternly clarified. “We can not be government and justice. It would be an abuse of our collective power—of individual power.”

Antfrost chimed in, after a long moment of watching Bad attempt to compose himself, he finally looked at the cause of Bad’s distress; Dream. “Who will people look to when the Kingdom is in dire need? Who will they know they can depend on to lead them, to lead us in the right direction?” He asked Dream.

Dream did not answer.

“People need someone they can rely on, someone they can trust. There is no heir in line to take King George’s place.” Antfrost continued. Dream’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Your selfish desire to free us from an imposition that did not exist has put the entire country in danger.”

Admittedly, what came after King George’s death wasn’t a priority in Dream’s mind. He was told “They’d figure it out”, figured he’d be long gone from the scene, wouldn’t need to be burdened of the aftermath.

He just knew that, eventually, somebody to take George’s place as king would be found. Even if the kingdom was momentarily left in a state of disarray, it would only be for a short period of time. He still didn’t believe it would impact Kinoko as severely as they worried.

“And what will you do if someone is able to take George’s place?” Hannah asked.

Dream raised an eyebrow in her direction.

“Will you kill them next?” Probably not. Dream didn’t respond.

“Dream,” Alyssa called. “You speak with an attempt to make your actions seem noble, but this was an act of treason. Assassination of a public figure, the entire country will be affected by the hastiness and recklessness on which you acted. Before even given the chance to aid in your own defense, you deny the privilege with pride, arrogance, and no remorse. I believe you knew the impact this would have would not be of prosperity for freedom. It was a chance you were willing to take.”

He acted selfishly, that much he could admit. When considering the price for freedom, he hadn’t expected himself to be the one who must pay for it. But, even as he stands at the podium with a tarnished name and sullen title, he can’t find himself cowardly enough to regret what he did. Not even close.

“Every story has the right to be told with fairness. And every story has the right to be judged, as fairly as possible. Normally, I would not make the statement I am about to make, but I fear that your behavior towards your own actions have led me to believe that if we do not make an example out of you, this will only happen again.”

Oh.

Dream doesn’t like where this is going.

“I ask my fellow Council members to understand my fear, and I emphasize that the punishment must fit the crime. Not only to uphold justice—but so future individuals who wish to follow Dream’s footsteps do not make the same mistake.”

Dream sucked on his teeth, softly sighing with a shake of his head. It was probably too late to plead insanity, see if that could help his case at all.

“With that, I leave the floor to the Council, and invite them to continue questioning Dream as they see fit.” With her announcement, she sat back down in her chair, letting out a small sigh and holding her head in her hand.

“I have a question for Dream.” Hannah stated. Dream regarded her with a simple glance.

"Do you have any remorse for what you've done?" Hannah asked. "Because so far during the trial, I've seen you smirk, your chest puff with pride, and wave off the crimes you've admitted to—but I have yet to see an ounce of remorse for your actions."

Hannah's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, Dream didn't meet her gaze. "The least you could confess to is any remorse."

Dream wanted to say he wasn’t impulsive. That he was calculated with every move, with every word, that he was always intentional. But when he was made to recognize where he could feel remorse, it wasn’t for what he'd done.

"I'm remorseful that Sapnap caught me." He didn't know why he chose now to be honest. What came over him to dig the final hole of his own grave by giving a response he knew they'd resent as soon as he spoke it.

Murmurs and whispers spread throughout the room like a wildfire, between the five heads, the guards, and Puffy's crew. His response was met with immediate backlash from everyone in the room. Why do they not provide lawyers? He's just a guy, he is not fit to represent anyone, especially not himself. He's so cooked.

Dream hung his head, staring at the podium Infront of him, avoiding the angry and disappointed gazes thrown his way. Nothing anybody whispered was loud enough for him to understand as distinct complaints, everyone in their own quiet, heated conversation.

Earnestly, Dream thought that no matter what he said it wouldn't bring comfort to anybody. He knew he was behaving far too flippantly for anyone to believe him if he said he regretted the murder. He thought that if they had an inkling he lied about the one thing they hoped for—regret—it'd only scorn them deeper.

He put his hands underneath the lectern of the podium he stood at. Pressing upwards, he felt it lift again just slightly.

His attention flickered upwards towards the Council, hearing their conversation come to a stop.

Bad’s face was cupped in the palm of his hand, taking steady breaths as the rest of the council fell silent, avoiding each other’s gazes. The only sound being small, shaky breaths through his hands.

He didn’t like that reaction.

It wasn’t just disappointment.

He stared at Bad for a long moment, before his attention flickered to Callahan, who stared back at him.

The Council had come to a decision.

Antfrost could see Bad’s distraught over it clear as day.

While normally, Bad would have been scolded by the others—reminded that he had to be professional at all times, they all felt weighed down by their decision.

Because it was as Alyssa expressed. Not only should the punishment fit the crime—they needed to use Dream and his lack of remorse to be an example. An example of consequences meeting actions, every time.

“The Council has come to a decision.” Antfrost announced. He turned his attention from Bad, to Dream. There was only a spark of sympathy for the man he stared at.

Puffy looked up at the Council. Their sullen demeanor made her heart feel heavy, and her stomach churned.

For the first time since his arrest, she flickered her gaze to Dream, taking in his disheveled state. Covered in blood and hair still damp at his roots from sweat.

Her hands balled into fists, her nails cutting deep against her palm.

“The punishment the Council is in most favor of, for the assassination of King George, is execution.” Antfrost announced. He hardly sounded pleased, despite being in favor of it himself.

Puffy’s nail plunged past her thick, calloused skin, a thin trickle of fresh blood trickling through the new self inflicted wound. Her bottom lip briefly quivered.

Dream held back a groan, filtering it through a heavy sigh instead. The one time he does something illegal, he gets caught. And, as his luck would have it, he is to face a gruesome punishment.

“For the severity of the punishment, the vote must be unanimous.” Alyssa continued in place of Antfrost.

Bad felt sick. He could feel the crawl of anxiety and shame swirling inside of his stomach, threatening to bubble back up his throat. He truly was trying his best to separate work from bias; but he was clearly having a difficult time doing so.

The Council has never once suggested execution before.

They were all stepping into something new; agreeing to use their influence to end another person’s life, essentially. Even if it was deemed as ‘fair’, an attempt to fit the crime, it didn’t make it any easier for anyone to digest.

“I cast my vote to honor King George’s life. I vote with the intention of bringing justice forth not only for him—but for everyone in Kinoko who will be affected by this tragedy.” With her testament, Alyssa’s hand rose to the air, casting the first vote in favor of Dream’s severe punishment. Her arm held the slightest tremble, but she wore it bravely.

Hannah raised her hand next, Dream’s attention shifting to hers. A small bead of sweat trickled down his forehead, his breathing growing heavier as a second hand shot up. “I follow Alyssa’s intentions with her vote.” Hannah proclaimed. Dream’s gaze shifted, not wishing to hold her vacant stare. “I vote on behalf of the Kingdom, being left in a wake of confusion to follow the tragedy.” Suck up.

Callahan’s hand raised next. Silently, he only regarded Dream with a stiff upper lip.

Antfrost glanced from Callahan to Bad. With a small, trembling inhale, his hand followed in the air. “Without a show of remorse for his actions, I cannot in good conscience vote for anything less.”

With only one vote left, all eyes fell onto Bad.

Bad’s gaze lifted, meeting Antfrost’s sympathetic stare. Antfrost could only offer him a slight nod of his head.

Dream’s hands were steady underneath the podium, his eyes not straying from Bad’s wary gaze.

People were expecting him to uphold his position. People were expecting him to uphold what was fair, or what they agreed was meant to be fair.

Captain Puffy was able to arrest him. His own mother was able to put her heart aside, and do what the people needed. To follow through with her duties as a Knight before her duties as anything else.

He felt so shameful for having more hesitance than she did.

With a weak arm, his hand raised into the air, casting the final vote. Unanimous.

“Dream,” Alyssa spoke, breaking the thick tension that spread throughout the air. “You will be taken to a holding cell while the Council prepares the preparations for your execution,” She told Dream, gesturing with a nod of her head for the two guards closest to him to detain him, and escort him him to his new designated cell.

Dream was ordered to die, just like that.

Dream looked away from the Council, his attention instead on the guards that approached him, none of their swords drawn, their demeanor authoritative—but not cautious.

Dream waited until they were merely steps away from him. He was so grateful this podium wasn’t bolted to the floor.

With both hands on the bottom of the lectern, he lifted the podium off the floor, and with a quick twist of his body he threw the wooden podium at the two guards, watching as it hit both of them square against their chests, knocking them down and the wind out of them.

…Oh. Okay. Yeah—he’s gonna be in a pickle now, shit.

The guard that received the brunt of the blow groaned, arms straining to try and lift the podium off his body, barking out an order for backup. The other guards were quick to obey, charging towards Dream.

Dream stepped back, feet shuffling, he glanced down at his shackled feet. He couldn’t take the quick steps he needed with them still bound.

One of the guards he attacked managed to push off the podium, leaving his friend to wheeze as he now bared its full weight alone. He had armor—he’d be fine. Probably. He slid out from the edge of the podium, flailing on his back like a turtle until he was able to flip to his side, using one arm to push himself up.

May as well go for the guys who are still down.

Pushing off his back foot, he ducked and tumbled, closing the distance between him and the guard he just knocked off his feet. Puffy grabbed her axe that kept strapped underneath her coat, the handle fitting against her palm like a glove.

“DREAM, STOP!”

Dream threw himself like a human cannonball, diving for the guard on the ground still struggling to get up. Dream pulled the sword against the guard’s hip out of the sheath, raising the sword above his head.

”NO!”

Puffy’s aim was precise, aiming her blade for his hands held high above his head.

Dream separated his legs as much as he could, the chain straining. With a swift plunge, he brought down the sword, the tip plunging through the chain that bound his feet together, breaking both the sword and the chain. Puffy’s axe whizzed where his hands were a millisecond before, continuing to fly until splicing into the wall.

His legs could finally move—and without much time to think, he darted to his right.

Dream wouldn’t have been able to take everyone on—nor did he plan to. He was massively outnumbered. Charging towards Slime, who had long now forgotten the evidence, tossing it aside, his own blade in hand. Slime returned the charge, lifting his blade and quickly bringing it down.

He ducked underneath Slime’s swing, raising his hands and catching the blade with his chains, the metal only scraping. He threw himself to the ground, rolling next to his sword, still caked with blood, his nose scrunching only for a moment.

He wrapped both hands around the grip of the sword, his left foot behind him, his body turned defensively.

“Oh my Prime—oh Prime, they’re all fighting—oh what do we do?” Boomer asked, taking a meek step back, pressing against the oak door. The only reason he took this job was because they never actually had to *do* anything.

Sam grabbed the hilt of his swords. “Our JOB.” He barked out, leaving his post by the door.

Boomer shakily grabbed the grip of his longsword, unsheathing it with clear inexperience in comparison to Sam. “Right—I’m trained!” Boomer expressed, following quickly behind Sam.

A good opponent doesn’t let you know their next move; a good opponent is hard to read, Dream reminded himself. They’re all good opponents—great ones, in fact. That’s why he was counting on making them think they want to do something that’d catch him off guard—

Holding his sword like he just wanted to cut—not counter move, Boomer charged Dream’s direction, who was yelled at by Sam to get his ass back now.

—when in actuality it’s precisely what he needs them to do.

Dream could see why Sam didn’t want Boomer in the front lines—while he was charging, he was clearly tense as hell. His shoulders squared tightly, he leaned on his front foot—nervous and twitchy, springing in at the wrong moment. Charging with a swing over his arm, intending on helping the other men, Dream side-stepped, letting Boomer tackle Slime in the process.

The guards had armor—something Dream actually didn’t envy. Because if they both get downed, Dream likes to play a fun game of “who can get up first”, and surprise, it isn’t the guy wearing heavy metal.

He had to make it past Sam, now.

He didn’t hesitate to sprint, trying to put as much distance between himself, the guards, and Puffy’s crew as possible.

Sam didn’t stop his charge, either. Sam raised his sword, and Dream quickly followed the motion, quickly holding it in front of him defensively.

His sword clashed against Sam’s. Sam had a greater initiative than Dream did—not only did he have more manpower, but he also led the fight with the first swing. Dream was in the nach of their tempo. He could only move after Sam did.

Sam drew back his sword, Dream following the motion, both their bodies turning a pace, the two’s sides against . Sam was intent on doing another taking action—Dream noticed this, and as their swords clashed together again, he reacted only then, his sword gliding along Sam’s until the tip was threatening against Sam’s adams apple.

Sam quickly drew back, taking two large paces back with his sword now drawn defensively—but Dream wasn’t here to fight. He was here to run. Having the advantage of two paces ahead of everyone, he turned on his heel, darting out the two large doors that were left ajar.

“HE’S RUNNING, GET HIM!”

Skidding on his heel, he took a sharp turn once out the doors, raising his sword to cut the rope that held the horse to a pole. He grabbed the reins of the white horse Boomer was trusted to properly tie up, the beastie huffing out a puff of protest, stomping its foot down as Dream slipped his foot through the stirrup of its saddle, hoisting himself up just as Sam made his way through the front doors.

Dream kicked his heel against the horse’s side, flicking the reins with one hand. The horse followed the command and took off, not obeying Sam’s yell ordering for him to stop. He raised his sword, and in a desperate attempt to stop Dream from getting further on his steed, he chucked his blade with a strong arm, aiming for where he thought Dream’s back would be as he rode off. But, his aim was slightly off, the blade instead slicing against the horse’s rear end. The horse let out a loud cry, kicking off its back hooves into a sprint, speeding away from Sam.

As the other guards fled out the doors, they made the hasty decision to run after him on foot, not having their own steeds on standby. Sam let out a loud growl, a “FUCK!” gritting from the back of his throat as Dream took off with his horse.

“DAMNIT!” Sam shouted, running a hand through his hair, tugging on his roots as his eyes landed on Boomer’s horse.

Fucking Boomer.

Boomer was useless; the least he could do to make up for it was allow Sam to borrow the only steed available. Sam quickly slashed at the tether that held Boomer’s horse in place, being more quick than careful as he slipped a boot into the stirrup of the saddle, tossing his leg over its body, and harshly smacking the reins, the horse galloping after Dream.

Dream’s other foot barely managed to slip into the other stirrup as the horse sprinted throughout town. Dream was trying to manage safely riding the horse—as safe as he can be on a stolen horse and one hand holding onto a very dirty sword, the other holding onto the reins.

Admittedly, he wasn’t very used to riding on horseback. He’s only done so a handful of times—usually ones that aren’t nearly trampling over citizens in the process, but hey, he’s in no position to complain (he wants to complain so bad).

He tried to navigate the best he could, his limited knowledge of how to direct a horse leading him to tug the reins, left and right. Dream was trying to avoid running over people, but some of these people had the survival instincts of a hamster, and the horse had too much care for its own safety to care.

The city was large—but not so large he could get away undetected on horseback. Especially not when it was nearly trampling over everyone in its path (HE WANTS TO COMPLAIN SO BAD), he already assumed that the city wouldn’t be optimal for him to disappear into.

The horse was difficult to control, but following the tugs of his reigns the horse allowed him to direct them both to the timberline of the forest.

Horses were supposed to be good at sensing danger and getting away from it, right? He can only hope it was true.

Sam had only lost sight of him for a moment when he entered the timberline. It was only a second, and now Dream was nowhere to be found.

His sword remained tightly gripped in his hand, his head darting left and right, trying to follow any tracks left in the dirt.

He was specifically in search of the track pattern. Horses left a unique track pattern; gaits. Assuming his horse continued to gallop, he should be looking for a four-beat gait—following a rhythm of 1-2-3-4. It was easier to track patterns than individual animal prints.

It hadn’t rained for a week. The dirt wasn’t considered wet or damp, which would be optimal for tracks, but it wasn’t entirely dried out either. It wouldn’t be impossible for an animal as heavy as a horse to be able to leave tracks behind in this dirt.

The grass was overgrown in most areas of the forest. He would have easily overlooked the tracks had his horse not abruptly stopped, dragging its front hoof against the ground twice, head shooting up, darting to the left.

Boomer, you’re not getting this horse back.

He didn’t hesitate to flick the reins again, hollering at his horse as he rode off into the direction the horse seemed intrigued in.

Sam ducked underneath branches that threatened to knock him off at the speed they were running, narrowly avoiding a few low hangers, biting back his agitation. He couldn’t make sense of what the horse seemed to pick up on, but he trusted—

“WOAH-!” Sam yelled, quickly pulling back on the reins, the horse’s head flying backwards with the motion as it skidded to a stop, rearing onto its hind legs and letting out a cry. Sam’s legs tightened around the horse’s body, his body horizontal in the air until it settled back down onto all fours, squealing and aggressively shaking its head.

Sam heaved, his gaze on the moss and vines growing against a mountain that his horse was about to crash into had he not stopped it.

He stared at it for a long, hard moment, catching his breath in puffs, his teeth grinding together.

Never mind. Boomer’s getting this stupid thing back immediately.

He let out a growl of frustration, hitting his sword against a nearby tree, bark flying off as the blade wedged between oak. “Damnit.”

Dream’s hand clasped over the white horse’s muzzle, holding his other hand over his mouth to stifle his breathing. He could see Sam’s shadow through the vines, tall and imposing. If he took just a few steps closer, Dream would be undeniably fucked.

The cave was small, the ceiling low enough his horse had to duck its neck to avoid bumping its head every time it moved. It was uncomfortable—especially with its butt already injured and being backed into the furthest corner of the cave, it was growing antsy.

The horse exhaled through its nose, snorting as its ears pinned back. Dream pressed his forehead against the horse’s muzzle, his breath falling shakily. He hoped with everything the horse wouldn’t make any noise, instead of clamping his hand over the muzzle, he gently ran his hand down from the bridge of its nose to its muzzle.

Admittedly, he was doing it to soothe himself just as much as he was hoping to soothe the horse itself.

Dream closed his eyes, keeping his breathing muffled as he listened to Sam blame his horse. “You really are Boomer’s horse—just as stupid as he is, of course…” He couldn’t help but insult. The horse whined as he tugged on the reins again, forcing it to take off to another direction.

Dream let out a soft breath of relief, his lips quirking up as his hand fell from his mouth. “Ohhh that could have been bad.” He chuckled, his voice soft as his thumb ran across the snout of the horse, attempting to be soothing. “Thank you, girl.” He quietly coo’d. “Or, boy. I’m inclusive...”

He pulled his head away from its muzzle, his hand falling down the bridge of its nose one more time before taking a small step away from it. His hand was about to reach for the reins, but he hesitated.

Instead, his hand cupped underneath its chin groove, allowing its head a bit of support as he led it out of the cave, gingerly peeking his head out to scope his surroundings, making sure it was safe to fully come out.

Sam was gone—and he wasn’t going to wait for him to come back.

He led the horse out of the cave, brushing the mossy vines away, once able the horse was more than happy to lift its head back up, ears straightening back up. He let it walk ahead of him, making sure its tail wouldn’t get caught in the vines.

His forehead puckered when he noticed the large slash against her rear. “Ohh, girl…” He murmured. “Or guy. How’d you get this?” He asked, frowning at the fresh wound she wore, only deep enough to break through a few layers of skin, a trail of blood mixing with her fur down her leg.

He made a mental note to take care of it when they made a bit more distance between them and the city. He offered her hip a small pat, ready to hoist back up, but a glimpse of gold against the back of the saddle’s cantle caught his eye.

In a small gold plate embedded against the leather was “SPIRIT”, in cursive almost too curly for him to read.

“Alright, Spirit,” He tried out, chuffing when Spirit’s head turned at the sound of its name. “Gotcha.” He, with better ease than his first attempt, slipped his foot into the stirrup, holding onto the horn this time as he settled onto its back. “Sorry to get you in this mess,” He murmured. Spirit didn’t seem to pay any care, however. “…You’re probably better off without him, though.”

Dream had extensive survival skills. Of course he did.

He managed to pop some balsam fir sap out of tree blisters for Spirit before their first nightfall. It wasn’t perfect, but it would be fine enough for its cut until he could find something better. He was still looking for usnea he could stick on top for the antibiotic properties balsam fir sap didn’t provide.

So far, they’ve spent two nights and three mornings navigating the woods. All the trees eventually started to look the same, from thick, healthy bark by the city led to thin, grey trees that were clearly dying and dried out the further east he set.

Time would have been a blur had he not been using the sun to help him keep track of east and west. He planned to keep going east until he could find a clearing. Use that spot to set up traps until he caught something for the both of them.

Nights weren’t comfortable. He slept against a tree, Spirit remaining by his side the whole time. He was prepared to run—prepared to flee at any moment, so prepared he unintentionally trained his body to wake up every hour, his heart racing each time.

Him and Spirit were trotting together toe in toe, deciding to walk and give her slash his back a break from carrying him. He noticed Spirit would stray close to him, always just an arm’s reach away without him needing to guide it.

Dream’s boot crunched against dead leaves on the ground, noticing the dirt was damper in the area. Glancing from tree to tree—he noticed a pattern. There were a few trees every few feet that had their bark stripped off, chipping and showing a paler layer underneath the bark. Each stripped bark would face inwards. Almost like a trail.

Of course he followed it. He was curious—and Spirit seemed to be as well. Spirit didn’t seem skittish—and so far, Spirit has had a good sense of danger and leading them both to safety.

Of course, the only time they were actually in danger was with Sam. Fuck you Sam.

Cobwebs intertwined with the leaves that were still attached to trees. Sacks of eggs and bugs wrapped in silk were caught in it. Disgusting, but the area seemed vacant.

His hand would trail along the chipped back, idly needing to touch all the unique trees the more he would see them. He came to a stop, the largest tree he’s seen yet catching his attention.

It was curved, similarly shaped to a crescent moon. It made a near perfect archway, the tree line leaning against a smaller, slightly less curved tree right across from it.

Dream glanced at Spirit—who was calm as always.

He trusted Spirit. And whatever animal instinct he was sure it had.

Using his arm, he brushed aside the cobwebs, shaking off the bugs and stepping through first, leading Spirit and placing his hand on top of her head to help her duck low enough to avoid getting stuck on the vines.

The area was…different. Muddy—despite it not having rained the past three days. He wasn’t really in any position to care—but he took note of the drying soil that quickly changed to mud in just a few steps.

Once they were past the archway, the trees were no longer dead.

It was like a gate, to keep others out, trees that already sacrificed themselves for the healthier bark and grass on the other side.

Dream stopped Spirit just so he could hop onto its back. There was finally a clearing, small, but it was devoid of trees. The first clearing he had seen—after days of searching. His smile reached his eyes.

Spirit seemed happy too. As soon as it saw the clearing—a patch of land not covered by trees, somewhere it could roam, it took off running, neighing in excitement.

Dream quickly grabbed onto the saddle’s horn, trying to use his legs to direct Spirit. He doesn’t know what he did, but after her gallop across an empty patch, she turned.

And they were face to face with the back of a cabin.