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Vaguely, Dream knew Quackity was still watching him. Just to make an effort, he curled up a little tighter, trying to minimise the target as much as humanly possible. Not that it really mattered.
He knew, in some abstract way, through the haze of pain and humiliation, that he was crying. Weak, hiccuping sobs, that barely even sounded like him. It was the only noise he’d heard from his own mouth aside from screaming in months.
“Get up.”
There was none of the sadistic glee to Quackity’s voice, just blunt expectation. Dread curdled in Dream’s stomach. The avian in a bad mood only made things worse for him.
Slowly, agonisingly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, muscles screaming in pain, panting with even that exertion. He hadn’t been eating enough, he knew that, but somehow he still felt like throwing up.
A boot connected with his side, and Dream collapsed again, letting out a strangled noise of pain. He had bruises there already.
“Come on, mutt, are you really that pathetic?”
Yes. Apparently he was.
This time, Dream was allowed to struggle to his feet, leaning heavily on the wall. It felt unnatural, being on Quackity’s eye level, but he kept his gaze fixed firmly on the floor, on the sheen of his own blood pooling on the floor.
“Beg.”
Dream took a deep breath, relaxing his muscles in an attempt to soften the coming blow. That was the one command he refused to obey. He shook his head, preemptively closing his eyes and holding his breath.
It wasn’t that he couldn’t, exactly. He had begged, relatively willingly, after the first few of Quackity visits. Then his voice started failing him. And, after a while, it seemed wrong to speak for his torturer when he wouldn’t even speak for himself.
It was the one thing Quackity had allowed him, albeit condescendingly. Still, sometimes the avian decided to test him like this, always just a precursor for another punishment. Only Quackity could find a way to twist Dream’s defiance into another reason to hurt him.
“Fine. At least look at me. Last chance.”
Dream looked up, dead eyes staring at Quackity, who smiled mercilessly.
“Well, at least you can do something. Tell me, mutt, do you still want out of here?”
This was definitely a trick. Dream blinked, thinking. If Quackity didn’t even give him time to think, there was no way there was a right answer anyway.
He studied the avian’s face, and nodded, once, shortly. The most emotion he’d shown for ages. Quackity grinned, sliding his ax into his belt.
“Good. Follow me, take anything you care about.”
Dream didn’t move. Quackity walked over to the edge of the cell, giving some sort of signal to Sam. He wasn’t being subtle. It didn’t sound like a trick.
That just made it worse. It felt like his thoughts hit a wall, whichever angle Dream came at Quackity’s offer from. Leaving seemed as incomprehensible as giving Quackity what he wanted.
The avian turned back, displeasure in the turn of his lips.
“Ten seconds, mutt. I’m feeling nice.”
That startled Dream into action, because even if everything Quackity was saying was a lie to torture him, he didn’t have much to lose by playing along.
After a moment of hesitation, he grabbed three of the books from under the bed, holding them close to his chest. He didn’t have anything else. He glared at Quackity, daring the avian to reveal this was a ploy to find the last things he valued.
“Don’t look at me like that.” Quackity scoffed, glancing towards the sound of pistons getting closer. “I’d hope I’d have taught you something, but if you try anything you’re ending up in the lava.”
Dream could feel his hands shaking, and took a small step away as the platform drew closer to the cell. He wasn’t getting on that thing. Absolutely not.
Quackity stepped on without hesitation, looking back at Dream disdainfully.
“Come on, mutt, it’s not going to hurt you.”
It might. Still, Dream took a hesitant step forward, because he had a horrible feeling that whatever Quackity would do as punishment for disobeying would be worse than falling in lava. Or being pushed.
Under Quackity’s faintly disgusted gaze, Dream edged onto the platform, suspicion growing with every step. He knew there was no way he was making it to the other side of this. Maybe it would be a more painless death than his body just giving out from torture.
His lips moved silently, maybe a plea, a final, desperate cry for XD’s attention. Quackity watched him, expression lapsed into almost boredom, as the pistons started moving again.
Dream wanted to hold onto something apart from his books, that suddenly seemed so flammable and fragile, but there was only metal below him and Quackity beside him, too close, too hateful for Dream to feel like he even deserved to exist.
“Don’t cry, conejito.” The avian’s voice cut through the hissing of the lava around them, clipped rage and impatience. “Don’t break down on me now, at least wait until we’re on the other side.”
He hadn’t been crying. He was just standing, so still, watching the box that had been his whole world disappear behind a wall of fire. It felt like something inside him was burning, and maybe he was crying, tears running down his burning cheeks as his dread grew. He still didn’t want to die. Even now, he didn’t want to die.
They were reaching the other side. They were nearly there, and somehow, he still wasn’t dead. He should be dead by now. Why wasn’t he dead yet?
Quackity’s hand found a vice grip around his wrist, and Dream stumbled after him, the denial of a choice making it easier.
What was going on?
Unprompted, Dream cast a half terrified, half longing look over his shoulder, back at the moat of lava that seemed so small now.
“You weren’t kidding then?”
Sam seemed to materialise from nothing, and Dream squeaked audibly, flinching away only to collide with Quackity far harder than he was comfortable with.
“Nope.” Quackity spoke grimly, tugging Dream a little closer. “I don’t think he’ll be a bother to anyone anymore.”
Dream could hear his own heart pounding in his ears, choking him with fear. The haze that had been his confusion had broken, and now all he was aware of was that this was far too new, and far too scary.
“Alright. I think we’ve both gotten sick of this, haven’t we?”
They were going to kill him. They were actually going to kill him and he couldn’t even try to talk his way out of it. He was going to die. He couldn’t breathe.
“Damn right I have. Oh- fuck it, Sam, give me some cuffs. He can make himself pass out if he feels like it.”
Quackity sighed dramatically as Dream stumbled slightly, half leaning on the avian even as his instincts screamed for him to get away. This was wrong. They were going to torture him, then they were going to kill him. But they weren’t. They were just talking about him like he didn’t even matter, probably because he didn’t. Maybe they wouldn’t kill him. Maybe that would be worse.
“Sure thing. When did he stop talking?”
“Few weeks ago, I think.” Quackity grabbed Dream’s wrists, forcing them together roughly, nearly making him drop his journals. He did drop one of them, actually, and didn’t have the courage to even mention its loss. “I’m not complaining.”
“Nor here. Alright, good luck. Way out should be clear, but I’ll keep an eye.”
The cuffs locked, and through his tightening throat, Dream couldn’t help but laugh, because his wrists were so thin he could probably pull his hands out of them. If he didn’t mind some broken bones. Which he didn’t, not really.
“Thanks. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
Quackity grinned, and Sam chuckled as the avian lead Dream away by the cuffs.
It was… a long way, apparently. Dream wasn’t quite sure he understood what was happening. Quackity was probably just taking him somewhere to kill him. That seemed likely.
“I’m not going to kill you.”
Oh. After a moment of thought, Dream decided he didn’t believe Quackity.
“I’m fucking shocked too.” The anger was seeping into Quackity’s voice now, frustration making itself at home in his terse words. “Wilbur always cared too much. I don’t know why I even keep him around.”
Dream nodded shakily. So Quackity really wasn’t going to kill him. That was strange.
They passed over the threshold with barely a pause, even if Dream came to an abrupt stop as sunlight hit his eyes. Quackity tugged him forward a few steps, then paused, looking back with frowning suspicion.
“What- oh. Yes, fine. Have your moment. Don’t get a sunburn, mutt.”
It was funny. Quackity’s words didn’t cut so deep, in the open air. None of it seemed quite real. Dream stared into the sky, eyes roving across clouds and birds and the sun- oh, he’d forgotten that hurt.
Quackity’s hand covered his eyes, and the avian sighed again.
“Alright, and we’re done with that. Come on, mutt, I haven’t got all day. I’ve got an ex-president to attend to in the evening. No, don’t ask. Please.”
Dream was hardly listening. On a logical level, he was sure this wasn’t real. A dream, a potion effect, he didn’t know. But if Quackity was allowing him even a moment of reprieve, he wasn’t taking it for granted.
They walked for a while, or, Quackity walked with increasing ire, and Dream tried not to fall on the avian or drop either of his journals or look too long at the sun. He couldn’t resist brief glances though. This felt real. Maybe he could pretend it was real.
“Stop.”
Quackity kicked him in the back of his knee, and Dream almost fell over. Then did, when the avian pushed down on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. The books fell to the ground, landing by his knees, and Dream could hardly even bring himself to care anymore.
Then, after a moment of consideration, Quackity crouched down to be on his eye level, scowling.
“Here’s how this is going to go, mutt.”
Ah, this was where he was going to die.
“I’m letting you go. Figure out the cuffs and clothes yourself. Don’t come looking for me or anything equally pathetic unless you fancy working as a prostitute, in which case you can fight Wilbur for it.”
Quackity straightened, frowned for a moment, then nodded.
“And tell your little blood god that you’re compensation for any problems he might still have with me. I want him off my feathers, frankly, him and his syndicate.”
Dream nodded on instinct, waiting for whatever blow was going to come next. But Quackity just looked around, and nodded again, glancing down at him for only a moment. Dream might have imagined it, but the avian’s lips twitched, just for a moment.
“Pleasure doing business with you as well, Conejito. You owe me.”
With that, Quackity seemed satisfied, and sauntered off, not looking back. Dream watched him blankly for a long moment.
None of this made sense.
And that was, somehow, the only comprehensible thought in his head right now.
He didn’t move. He was waiting for Quackity to come back, or Sam, or maybe whatever other executioner either of them had found. But no. It was just him, kneeling in some clearing, staring at someone who didn’t seem inclined to come back.
He kept waiting. What else was he meant to do? The birdsong sounded alien, the sun suddenly scalding every exposed bit of his pale skin.
Maybe he could get these cuffs off though. That seemed easy enough, and something to distract him until someone came along to kill him.
Tearing his eyes away from where Quackity had been, Dream frowned down at the cuffs. His wrists were concerningly thin. But that could work to his advantage, for this little task.
His eyes flicked down further, at the books just in front of him. It seemed pathetic, now, seeing the only things he’d found any value in caked in dirt. He wasn’t even sure what was in them. They’d just been the closest ones, and he hadn’t had time to think.
Back to the cuffs. He’d see what he’d written in the journals after he’d gotten them off. One task, then the next, so he didn’t have to think about anything bigger.
Dream jammed the small chain under his knee, and started tugging, feeling his bones grate against the metal painfully. That seemed like it was doing something. Maybe with the right angle…
Oh, fuck, that had hurt. Dream felt fresh tears spring to his eyes, and his thumb definitely didn’t feel right, but at least his hands were free.
Someone tapped his shoulder.
Dream jumped, and almost fell over as he whipped his head around. Then- a laugh bubbled in his throat, and he was crying again.
Callahan. Why Callahan? No, he didn’t care. The admin sat down in front of him, eyes shining with concern behind that reindeer mask that was so wonderfully familiar.
Dream smiled, or tried to, through his tears. It was shaky, and he probably just looked deranged, but he didn’t care. Maybe this was real. Maybe this could be real.
Callahan stared at him for a moment, then started typing at lightning pace on the communicator on his wrist. At some point, he seemed to decided one handed wasn’t cutting it, and pulled the device off to write even faster.
Then he held it out to Dream, back to staring into his soul. Still smiling and blinking too fast, Dream took it.
where have you been? we missed you. I missed you. Sam said no one could see you, then Quackity started going in anyway, and techno kept trying to break in, and I think he was planning something anyway and how did you get out?
I missed you
Maybe none of it had ever been real. Maybe he’d just gotten lost in the woods, and he could go home to his friends.
Dream’s hand moved slowly, shaking fingers clumsy on the keyboard as he typed a response. The broken thumb didn’t help either.
Prison. Quackity was torturing me. Tell Techno I’m ok. Quackity let me out. Thank you.
It didn’t feel like the way he’d say any of that, but who cared, he could say something, something that wasn’t just crying or screaming. It hurt to pass the communicator back to Callahan, but Dream couldn’t think of a single person he trusted more right now.
The admin read it quickly, nodding in his blunt, businesslike manner and starting to type again. Dream waited eagerly, wiping away his tears around his desperate smile.
It didn’t take long for Callahan to pass it back, and Dream could have died with the exhilarated shock of being tested as someone equal, for the first time in so, so long.
I’ll tell techno. don’t worry.
do you have anywhere to go?
Dream hesitated, glancing down at himself. Handcuffs still dangling from one wrist, blood soaking through his ripped prison jumpsuit, bruises blooming on his few patches of visible skin as dirt caked his knees. He really did look a mess.
No. I’ll be ok. Just tell Techno and Punz.
Callahan read the message, then looked up at him, incredulity palpable even behind his mask. Dream shifted awkwardly as the admin typed, shooting him derisive glances every so often.
absolutely not. no way am I proving techno right about you being homeless. you can come back to kinoko with me
Kinoko. Dream knew that. He’d barely read the message, and given Callahan a faintly baffled look, when the admin snatched the communicator back, grinning.
Tina already said she wants to meet you, so this is mostly for her. most of us are there now. your friends.
we still miss you
Dream’s hands started shaking again, and he stared at Callahan, a desperate question just on his lips, but unable to be voiced. The admin’s smile softened, and he added a short like at the end, holding the communicator out to Dream like an offering.
george is there
His heart might have stopped. This couldn’t be real. But he didn’t care.
Dream nodded frantically, beaming again, nails digging in to the communicator as he typed as fast as possible, practically throwing it back at the admin.
Yes. Please. I’m better now, I won’t hurt any of you. Please.
He would do anything they asked him to. Anything. If it meant he could pretend this world was real, one he could still live in with his friends.
Callahan read his message several times, and Dream was just starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach, a steady drum of dread and anticipation pounding in the back of his mind, when the admin looked up again, and held out his hand, nodding once.
The communicator was placed on the ground between them, one last line under Dream’s begging.
I’m not scared of you, Dream.
That shouldn’t have been surprising, not really. But it hit him, somewhere Quackity’s had never quite been able to reach. Dream stared at the dim screen, trying to do something, not just be useless and pathetic when faced with the slightest challenge.
It didn’t matter. Dream didn’t care what Callahan thought. If they weren’t scared, good. That meant he didn’t have to be scared of them either.
Trembling, he took Callahan’s hand, electric pain shooting through him on actual contact. Dream yanked his hand back like it had burned him, eyeing Callahan in apprehension.
The admin just shrugged, getting to his feet awkwardly, and gesturing for Dream to get up too. He grabbed the communicator and his books as he scrambled to stand. He wasn’t going to risk disobeying anybody.
Callahan took his communicator back gently, then hesitated, giving Dream another questioning look. After a moment, the admin seemed to come to a conclusion, and started typing once again.
A second later, Callahan looked up, grinning in pride, and Dream felt something fall into his hands. He flinched on instinct, even as he held on to it, eyes closing just in case it was going to hurt him.
Callahan’s hand tugged at his wrist, soothing in a strange sort of way, clearly asking Dream to relax. To trust him. Could he still do that?
Slowly, Dream forced his eyes open, casting a fearful glance at whatever was in his hands.
Oh. A communicator. Not his communicator, that was probably long gone. But it was something.
He clutched it to his chest immediately, looking up at Callahan in terror. He wanted this. It meant he could speak, in some way, even if it wasn’t quite him. It meant he had something.
The admin smiled gently, nodding in encouragement. His own communicator was back on his arm, and he typed out a short message without looking at it.
Dream felt the device in his arms buzz, and twitched again. He was so on edge, even the slightest flicker in the corner of his eye was making him feel like dropping to the ground and pleading for mercy.
Cautiously, he glanced down at the screen, and saw a message from Callahan.
it’s yours. everyone on the server is meant to have one. you can talk with it, like I do
Dream didn’t know if he trusted this. Maybe this world was real, but Callahan wasn’t? Maybe all of this was real, and still an elaborate setup to hurt him. The kindness couldn’t be coming without a catch.
no one will use it to hurt you.
Callahan’s next message appeared before his eyes, words gentle even through the screen. Like he was a scared animal, needing everything clearly explained. Maybe he was.
want to go home?
That broke him. Dream flinched into action in a heartbeat, shoving the communicator back at Callahan as he hugged the books tightly, sinking to his knees as tears clouded his vision again.
He didn’t have a home. He’d never had a home. No one would ever give him a home, because he didn’t deserve it, he was a useless, pathetic animal who could only hurt people. He should be dead already. Why wasn’t he dead already?
Dream’s shaking fingers danced along his arm, searching for something, and he found it. A cut, a deep one, half scabbed over, just below his elbow. That would do. He dug his nails, bitten short, into it, digging them deep into his flesh, trying to tear out whatever in him was so broken.
Callahan grabbed his wrist without warning, struggling to pull his hands away, but succeeding in extricating Dream’s nails from his own skin.
Dream looked up, wild eyes pleading silently to just be allowed to die, so he didn’t have to be scared anymore.
Callahan shook his head silently, expressionless.
They stayed like that for a moment, neither of them able to reach their communicators to talk. It was almost funny. Funny in a last few heartbeats before it all gave up sort of way. Funny in hopeless, helpless self-hatred sort of way.
Dream was crying again. He didn’t want to die. They weren’t going to kill him, not yet, not while he could still behave.
Callahan withdrew his hands, not taking his eyes off Dream for a moment. He typed slowly, deliberately, searching gaze trying to work out what exactly had broken in him.
should I call someone?
Shaking his head, Dream tried to wipe his eyes, but there was no point, he was still crying as his hands were still shaking.
happy tears or sad tears?
He could barely read the screen through said tears, but Dream still found it somewhere in him to point at the communicator, point at the word happy. Because maybe that could be true.
Maybe this could be real.