Chapter Text
As soon as he was done writing, the letter and pen were snatched from his hands. Dream let them go without a fight, sinking further back from Quackity as the man read over the letter, his good eye skimming the lines of shaky handwriting.
Dream winced when he backed into the walls a little harder than he meant to. His body was shaking, both from fear and the pain, blood seeping from his shoulder and chest from the slashes from Quackity’s diamond sword. He wanted to sink right to the floor, to curl in on himself and hope Quackity was satisfied for the day. However, he forced himself to remain standing as he watched Quackity closely, trying not to hold his breath.
Quackity shook his head, throwing a mocking look Dream’s way. “Wow, Dream, I had no idea you were this stupid.”
Dream’s blood froze. Had he seen it? Quackity looked taunting, but not angry, which is what Dream would have expected if he’d seen it. The shiny shard of hope in his chest was almost painful to feel.
“Your spelling is shit, did you even go to school?” Quackity continued. “Or has our time together just fucked your head that much? Huh, Dream? Did your head get knocked around too much?”
Please don’t make me rewrite it, Dream prayed silently. Please, please, please, please.
When Dream offered no response, still huddled against the wall watching the duck hybrid fearfully, Quackity shrugged and tucked the letter into his pocket. Dream swallowed a sigh of relief.
“Whatever. Let’s just hope Technoblade can read it.” Quackity checked his watch. He then leveled Dream with an assessing gaze, stepping closer and leaning into Dream’s space. Dream sank down the wall to avoid him, but Quackity grabbed his jaw and forced his head up, knocking Dream’s skull against the hard obsidian uncaringly. “Maybe I should just leave you for the day. It’s getting late, and I have a lot of work to do, Dream. Then again, you did act out quite a bit today. You tried to take my axe, and you didn’t listen very well at all. I really should punish you, shouldn’t I?”
Panic burned in Dream’s chest, and he shook his head as well as he could with Quackity’s iron grip on his jaw.
“No? But then how will I know you’re sorry?”
“I am,” Dream assured him fervently. “I am sorry.”
Quackity made a doubtful sound. The hand that wasn’t holding Dream’s face came to rest on Dream’s shoulder, and before Dream could beg him not to, Quackity pressed down against the bleeding gash in Dream’s right shoulder. A groan of pain escalated to a scream as Quackity roughly dug his fingers into the wound, pushing the torn skin apart.
“I’m sorry!” Dream wailed, a couple tears rolling down his dirty face. “I’m sorry, sir, I’m sorry, please! Please stop! I’m sorry!”
Finally, Quackity’s fingers pulled away, and Dream tried to catch his breath through the pain as it simmered down to a more manageable level. It still burned so bad, but at least it wasn’t as sharp and overwhelming as it had been under Quackity’s merciless hand. Meanwhile, Quackity looked at his now blood-covered fingers in irritation.
“Ugh, you always get me fucking filthy,” Quackity complained. “Do you know how many of my clothes you’ve ruined? Clean this up, bitch.”
Dream had to go cross-eyed to see the fingers held right in front of his face. Quackity had done this before; Dream used to fight it, but that defiance would always lead to something much worse. So he opened his mouth obediently, and bloody fingers were shoved past his lips, almost choking him as they pressed against his tongue. Dream gagged, but didn’t pull away, sucking and licking Quackity’s fingers clean, his mouth and nose filled with the heavy stench and taste of his own blood.
“You should be thankful, you know,” Quackity said. The hand that wasn’t in Dream’s mouth moved almost gently down his cheek. “If I was someone worse, I’d make you use this mouth for something else entirely.”
Dream shut his eyes. He didn’t want Quackity to see the terror he felt at the hybrid’s words, and the sick feeling in his chest at the thought of being used like that.
“Then again, you’ve really become a stupid bastard in here,” Quackity continued. “An empty-headed thing like you would probably enjoy sucking my cock, if it meant you’d actually be good for something.”
Sometimes Dream thought times like this were worse than the sword, or the axe or the shears or the whip. Times when Quackity would just stand over him and talk , telling him how bad he was, how worthless he was. Dream fisted his hands in his prison jumpsuit tightly, keeping his eyes shut to hide the fresh wave of tears threatening to bubble up.
It’s not true , Dream told himself. I’m not stupid. I’m not...I’m not bad, I’m not worthless...I’m not...I’m not...
“Aw, don’t like that, bitch?” Quackity’s fingers were abruptly yanked from his mouth. Dream coughed and gasped for breath, keeping his eyes shut tight and not daring to move, not while Quackity was still looming over him. “Look at me, Dream. Now.”
Dream opened his eyes. The moment he did so, a few tears ran down his cheeks. Quackity looked satisfied, and Dream wanted to curl up in shame. Quackity didn’t let him though, resuming the grip on his jaw as he spoke.
“Deep down, you know that’s all your pretty face is good for. Unfortunately, I really don’t feel like tainting myself with someone as dirty as you. And besides,” Quackity turned Dream’s face side to side, looking over all the bruises and still healing scratches that littered his grimy, hunger-sunken features. “It’s not even all that pretty anymore, is it?”
Then Quackity spat in his face.
Dream recoiled at the feeling of warm saliva sliding down his cheek. Quackity laughed, loud and cruel, before releasing Dream’s chin and turning on his heels.
“That’s all for today, Dream,” Quackity said, ringing a bell to tell Sam to start lowering the lava. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
It took a moment for the words to register.
“Wha--tomorrow?” Dream gaped at Quackity. “B-but! You said if I wrote the letter--”
Quackity turned, leaning against the far wall of the cell. “The one week break?” He shook his head with a mocking smile. “You really are empty-headed. That deal expired when you didn’t listen to me the first time, bitch. So, I’ll see you every day of next week, and the week after that, and the week after that, and...well, you get it.”
Dream let out an involuntary whine of despair, clutching his knees to his chest. His blood-soaked right shoulder throbbed at the motion.
“Let this be a lesson, Dream,” Quackity said, turning to the lowering lava. “In listening to what I say, when I say it.”
The platform clicked as it reached Dream’s cell. Quackity stepped onto it without a backwards glance, and before long, Dream was alone again, separated from the world by a curtain of lava and walls upon walls of obsidian. A pitiful whimper echoed in the cell. His only hope now was the letter in Quackity’s pocket. Dream could only hope beyond hope that Technoblade would get his real message.
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Dear Thechnoblade,
It’s beeen so long sinse we’ve had a cance tu talk. You weer a greaT ally, someone i even consinder a friend. I’m wantin to see you again soom. Pleas gome visit me at thee prison in tto weeks, on the morming after thee new mooon. I want tu cach up.
Your ally,
Dream :]
Technoblade stared down at the letter in his hands in pure bafflement. It had been delivered to him by a bird that morning; his first thought was that it was from Philza, as he and Ranboo had set out on a week-long trip for some rare materials three days prior. However, the bird was a regular grey carrier bird, rather than one of Phil’s crows. He’d taken the letter from the bird’s beak and torn the envelope open to find this inside.
He reread the message again. He entertained the idea that it might be fake. Hell, Technoblade wasn’t even aware Dream was allowed to send letters. However, a simple look at the written and magical signatures showed that notion to be false. Dream had indeed written it. Also, shakily written as the letter was, Techno did recognize it as Dream’s penmanship, albeit much messier, like his hands were trembling as he wrote.
Still, in all the times he’d seen Dream’s writing, mostly in battle plans, he’d never seen it like this. The short letter was riddled with errors. There were extra letters, misspellings, improper capitalizations, and even letters missing altogether. Dream was a precise man; he’d never send a letter that was so clearly poorly written.
Technoblade stilled as a thought occurred to him.
He’d never send a letter so poorly written...unless it was poorly written on purpose.
Technoblade gave another thought to the shaky penmanship, and the fact that Dream had never made any indication of wanting to see Technoblade before. His suspicion grew, and he wondered with a daunted curiosity what had made his tentative ally so unsteady when writing. Technoblade sat down at his desk, smoothing the letter beneath careful fingers, and took out a pen, this one with red ink instead of the black used to write the letter. With a careful eye, he underlined every out of place or incorrect letter, and also wrote the missing ones in.
Dear T H echnoblade,
It’s beeEn so long sinSe we’ve had a c(h)ance tU talk. You weeR a greatT ally, someone i even consiNder a friend. I’m wantin(g) to see you again sooM. Pleas(e) Gome visit me at thEe prison in tTo weeks, on the morMing after thEe new moOon. I want tU ca(t)ch up.
Your ally,
Dream :]
A hollow pit formed in Technoblade’s stomach as his suspicions were realized. Buried in misspellings and errors was a simple but desperate message.
He’s hurting me. Get me out.