Chapter Text
Dream had gone quietly.
He had gone through the portals and the process of being locked into Pandora’s Vault without a word, staring down at the ground. He had stripped when he was told to and put on the orange jumpsuit that hung on him loosely. It had been sized when he had first been locked up and he had lost almost all the weight he used to carry, an awful reminder of the passing of time. Dream followed all the instructions Sam gave him, trying not to invoke any of the warden’s wrath.
It wasn’t until he was standing across the lava lake with the main cell on the other side that Dream felt the panic flare up, breaking through that wall of resignation that he had built. His feet were stuck to the ground, unable to move despite Sam’s commands. The words were lost on Dream and he trembled.
“You listen to me when I speak,” Sam hissed, grabbing his arm and Dream blinked.
Had Sam spoken to him? He didn’t even know. All he knew was that he couldn’t go back into that cell. If he did, Dream knew what would happen. He knew the pain that was awaiting him. Without looking at Sam, he shook his head.
The grip on his arm tightened until it was so painful that Dream thought his bone would snap and his knees began to give out, his vision going white around the edges. Then the sound of the bridge hitting the side of the platform filled the room and the pain stopped.
“This is your last chance, Dream. Move or I’ll make you move.”
Dream glanced up.
“Are you going—Are you going to let Quackity torture me?” he asked.
Anger flashed in Sam’s eyes and his hand shot out quicker than Dream could even react to, grabbing him by his ears. Without a word, with no answer, Sam began dragging him onto the bridge, activating it. Even on the moving platform, he didn’t let go of Dream’s ears, forcing him down onto his knees. When the platform made it to the main cell, Sam dragged him in, past the netherite barrier and tossed him into the cell.
The silence carried as Sam raised the barrier and stepped back onto the platform.
Dream hadn’t been expecting an answer but he supposed this was one.
There was no way to tell time in the prison cell, not anymore.
His clock was gone and Ranboo hadn’t come to visit in so long that Dream couldn’t even remember the last visit, as much as he tried to. Dream wanted to remember but his memories were blurred together, some didn’t even feel like his memories but the memories of someone else, someone that he didn’t know.
(It was the rabbit, he knew that, he did, but Dream didn’t want to think about it or what that meant for him and his mental state. Dream also knew that it wasn’t good.)
Part of him hoped that Quackity wouldn’t visit this soon, wondered if this even was soon, when the lava began to descend. Dream curled himself into the corner. His eyes flicked from the floor to the bridge and back and forth, heart beating so quickly that he thought it would explode in his chest.
He could hear the sound of wood being dragged across stone and Dream pressed his hands over his ears, closing his eyes and trying to pretend that what was happening, wasn’t.
You did this to yourself, he thought. You didn’t have to come back.
It was true and somehow that made it worse.
“Hey, Dream, long time no see, pal,” said Quackity.
Dream dug his fingers into his ears, squeezing his eyes closed even tighter, and bit his tongue, trying to hold back the unwanted pleas that bubbled up in his throat.
“Aw, come on, aren’t you happy to see me? I mean, you came back on your own, so I have to assume that you missed me.”
He came to stop in front of Dream.
“So did you?” he asked. Something cold and sharp was pressed against his chin. Even without looking, Dream knew it was the axe. “You’re not being very polite here, Dreamie. It seems like I’m going to have to teach you some manners.”
The axe dug into his skin and Quackity used it to force Dream’s head up. Dream finally opened his eyes, hands hovering uncertainly near the side of his head, as far away from the axe as he could get. His mouth was dry and it hurt when he swallowed.
“I—I don’t know—I don’t know what y-you want me to say.”
Quacktiy pressed the axe even harder against Dream’s throat, digging it up into the bottom of his chin. The back of Dream’s head hit the wall and he had to use his hands to stop himself from sliding forward and cutting himself on the blade.
“You really did forget your manners,” said Quackity, the grin on his face cold and malicious. “What are you supposed to say?”
It felt like a trick question and Dream licked his lips.
“I—I’m sorry, sir.”
That’s what he wanted, wasn’t it? It had always been what he wanted. Dream waited. The axe pressed harder once more and then dropped. Quackity shoved one hand into his pocket and grinned.
“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asked. “But it looks like we have some work to do, don’t we, Dream? Well, get up.”
Dream blinked, the confusion clear on his face.
“What—”
“I said, get up, Dream.” Quackity gestured to the chair that was behind him. It hadn’t been cleaned since the last time it was used. “Now.”
He knew that tone and knew if he didn’t do what he was told, it would be worse for him in the end, but Dream wasn’t sure he could stand.
“I can’t,” he said, stuttering over the words. “I can’t, sir.”
“Tsk, tsk. You can’t even do something so simple.” Quackity shook his head, hefting the axe up onto his shoulder. Digging his fingers into Dream’s hair, Quackity jerked him towards him. It caused Dream to pitch forward and he barely caught himself with his hands. He pulled him to the chair and shoved him into it. “That’s okay, Dream. We’ve got plenty of time for a few lessons.”
Dream didn’t resist as Quackity strapped him into the chair. It was useless at this point, he knew what was coming and there was no way to stop it. He felt dizzy. The leather straps cut into his wrists and ankles uncomfortably.
Leaning against the lectern, Quackity dug out his pack of cigarettes, stuck one between his lips, and lit it. He took a long drag, slowly blowing the smoke up towards the low ceiling of the cell. It hung there. Dream felt sweat beading on his forehead.
“Where do you think we should start?” asked Quackity as he took a few meandering steps towards Dream. “Hm?”
“I don’t know, sir,” he said, trying to lean away from Quackity even as he sat on the arm of the chair, trapping Dream’s arm beneath his thigh. It hurt and Dream grimaced.
With his free hand, Quackity brushed Dream’s hair away from his forehead. It was a touch that Dream couldn’t protest and he hated that. It was a gentle touch and it made what Dream knew was coming all the more worse. Using his other hand, Quackity moved the cigarette closer to Dream’s face. His chest rose and fell quickly, trying not to move. He could feel the heat of the cigarette on his skin, making his eyes water.
It hovered near his eye until Dream thought he was going to pass out from the anxiety of what might happen.
Then Quackity pressed the cigarette into his skin, right beneath the corner of Dream’s eye.
It hurt but Dream was silent, tears running down his cheeks. Quackity looked at his cigarette with an expression of disinterest. He shifted where he sat, the motion causing Dream’s arm to be pressed awkwardly against the edge of the chair’s arm. He gritted his teeth.
“Open your mouth, Dream,” said Quackity, the same disinterest in his voice.
Dream looked at him, confused and horrified, all the possibilities running through his head.
Quackity leaned closer, hand still on his forehead and digging his nails into Dream’s skin. There was a moment of hesitation and then Dream did what he was asked, opening his mouth slightly. As soon as he did, Quackity shoved the cigarette into his mouth and then held his chin, forcing his mouth closed.
The taste of paper and tobacco and ashes made Dream gag and he struggled in the chair, trying to spit it out but not able to, drool leaking from the corners of his mouth.
“Swallow it.”
Dream shook his head. If he did that, he would vomit.
With both his hands, Quackity slammed his head into the back of the chair, still holding Dream’s mouth shut, and then he did it again, and again. Dream choked and then did as he was told, swallowing the cigarette. It stuck in his throat and when Quackity let go of his face, he coughed violently, spit dripping from his lips.
“You know, it’s rude not to thank your host for the meal,” he said, reaching into his pocket. There was a familiar flash of silver as Quackity opened the switch blade. He pressed the tip of the knife into the soft flesh of Dream’s cheek. “What do you say, Dream?”
“T-thank you, sir,” said Dream and he could still taste the ashes on his tongue.
“You’re welcome, Dream.” Quackity patted his other cheek, gently at first but it turned into a slap that drove his face into the blade. Laughing, he got to his feet and stood in front of Dream. “Whoops. I guess that’s a sign we should get started, huh?”
Dream stared at him, blood dripping down his cheek and the spit on his chin only now beginning to dry.
“Get—Get started?” he asked, voice trembling.
Quackity grinned and his gold tooth glinted like the knife.