Chapter Text
“Don’t tell Quackity,” Dream breathes, quiet and desperate. He trembles in the back of his cell and tries to keep his breathing steady.
Sam crosses his arms and stares down at Dream. “You’re not in any position to be telling me what to do after what you just pulled.”
Dream doesn’t deny it. “He’ll kill me! You’re supposed to be keeping me alive, aren’t you? If he finds out I’m still here, he’ll murder me! You know he will!”
Sam hisses. Half frustration and half gunpowder. At least if Dream’s lucky. “What am I supposed to do with you, then? You know Quackity will get suspicious if I keep coming back here.”
“Just tell him that you’re still searching the prison. You think I’m still in here somewhere, just not the main cell.”
Sam laughs and Dreams prays that the spark he sees between Sam’s lips is a trick of the light. “How long do you think that’s gonna last for, huh, Dream? How long can I pretend that I’m still searching for you? The prison’s big, but it’s not that big.”
Dream looks down and away. Sam’s right.
“If you want to stop being tortured, all you have to do is give us the book.”
Dream laughs bitterly and sinks down to sit with his back to the wall. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting your prisoners?”
“I can’t protect you from your own stupidity.”
“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” Dream scoffs. “You sound like, like–”
“Like you,” Sam finishes.
Dream doesn’t reply. Just stares past Sam towards the guard room on the other side of the lava moat. It’s so close and yet so far. “What if you build another prison?” he asks after far too long. “You can knock me out to move me. Take whatever security measures you need to. I’ll still be locked up, just somewhere Quackity can’t find me. If he kills me, no one gets the revival book.”
Sam grits his teeth. “Alright. First off, there’s no way I’m building another prison. But, I might – might – be able to work something else out. If you cooperate. I gotta make some calls. In the meantime, if you so much as put a single crack in one block, I’ll make you beg to have Quackity back.” He leaves without another word.
Dream is good while he waits. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he doesn’t try anything. Doesn’t even write in his books. Just sits in the back of the cell and stares at the crying obsidian. Watching the strange particles from the blocks is the closest thing he has to entertainment. The threat from Sam and the hope of something else is enough to keep him in line for now. Between Techno escaping to parts unknown with the prison blueprints and Sam’s… whatever Sam is doing, Dream doesn’t see much need to push his luck. He just has to survive.
He doesn’t know how long it takes, but he knows he’s fallen asleep frequently enough to lose account of exactly how many times when a message comes through to him.
[Awesamdude whispered to Dream: I have an arrangement figured out. Whitelist Docm77]
Well. That’s something new. Normally, Dream would be reluctant to let a stranger into his server. But he’s been trapped in this hell for long enough. He’ll take any out he can. He pulls up his admin panel cautiously, half expecting the usual alarm bells and dispensers of lava he would usually get for something like that. But, no. It must be temporarily disabled. He punches the name into the whitelist and hits the enter key.
[You whispered to Awesamdude: done]
[Docm77 joined the game]
Dream is prepared for another long wait, at least long enough for someone to travel to the prison from spawn, but the lava curtain begins to fall after only a couple minutes. For the first time in a very long time, Dream stands up. His joints crack worryingly as he does so and he sways with dizziness. He supports himself with one hand on the wall as he approaches the netherite bars, still making sure to keep a block back from them.
Across the lava stand not one, but two trident wielding creeper hybrids. The new one is shorter than Sam by a head and has only two legs instead of Sam’s four, but he’s nearly as intimidating. His right arm and the left half of his head are both fearsome looking redstone prosthetics and his broad, tightly curled ram’s horns look like they could do some damage too. Not to mention the trident or the full complement of netherite armor, all glistening with enchantments.
Sam downs a fire res potion and offers one to the other creeper, who waves it off. As the bridge starts to advance across the lava, the creeper – Docm77, Dream assumes – crouches down to examine the mechanisms behind it, supporting himself with the trident. He doesn’t appear to have any fear of the lava.
He steps off the bridge a moment before it touches down and strides over to Dream. “This is the one you were telling me about, Sam?” His voice is dark and deep and smooth.
“Yep,” Sam replies. His own voice is ever so slightly less steady than usual. Dream doubts even he himself would have noticed if not for so long without any stimulation at all making him hypersensitive to every detail.
Docm77 looks Dream over slowly. “He told me you think you’re a god.”
“I am a god,” Dream says without thinking. He doesn’t know how much he believes that anymore. Gods aren’t supposed to bleed like he has.
Docm77 just smiles at him. It’s not a pleasant smile. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you are or not.”
“And why is that?”
“If you are a god, then you won’t be the first I’ve beaten.”
It’s not a threat and it’s not a bluff. Just a simple, incontrovertible statement of fact. The player standing in front of Dream has fought gods and won.
“I’m not planning to fight you,” Dream says, willing his voice to remain steady.
“Of course not,” Docm77 chuckles. “You need something from me right now. It would be stupid of you to fight me. Now, to business. I’ve already spoken to your warden and my admin–” What the fuck? He isn’t the admin? What the actual fuck? “– so it’s down to you to accept the deal or not. There will not be negotiations. Understood?”
Dream swallows and nods. “Understood.”
“Alright. The deal is this: You will be moved to the Hermitcraft server and kept in custody there. You will still be considered a prisoner, but you will have far more freedom of movement and access to the sky. You will be expected to work for your keep, though you will have the right to request different work than what you have been given, within reason. In exchange, you will obey whoever is acting as your warden and, if someone dies here and fails to respawn, you will return for long enough to revive them promptly and without question. Let me be clear: we’re called hermits for a reason. We don’t like strangers showing up on our territory without permission. If you prove to be more trouble than you’re worth, you will be returned to this cell. Do we have a deal?”
“We do.” Dream doesn’t hesitate. It’s better than he expected. He keeps the book and the chance to use it as leverage and he escapes to a whitelisted server where Quackity has no chance of reaching him. This will be simple to twist to his advantage, he’s sure of it. He just has to gain their trust.
Though, from the knowing look on his new warden’s face, he suspects that won’t be easy.
Dream spawns in a large, wooden structure. He shivers. The temperature isn't all that cold, but he's spent months living only a handful of blocks away from lava. He breathes in the cool, fresh air. It doesn't smell like burning anymore. It's sweet with the scent of the glow berries hanging from the ceiling and wooden walls and an absolutely delicious smell coming from a nearby chest. His stomach rumbles, but he doesn't go and investigate. He knows he's on thin ice. He has to toe the line at least until he's recovered.
“Are you ready to go?” The deep voice of the creeper hybrid startles Dream out of his thoughts and he realizes how long he's been staring off into space.
He nods. “Yessir.”
“You can call me Doc if you like. Everyone does.”
“Yessir.”
Doc’s eyes flicker up and down Dream’s body and it takes all of Dream’s willpower not to shrink back. Did he fuck up already? Surely being respectful is more important than being like everyone else. Doc’s already made it clear he won't be treated like an equal here, much less given the respect he's due.
“We’ll go in the Overworld,” Doc decides “I’d rather not have to deal with the Nether.”
“Yessir.” Dream is relieved. He doesn't want to deal with the heat of the Nether so soon.
“Give me your hand.”
Wordlessly this time, Dream complies. His hands come up together at first until he realizes they aren’t cuffed and he drops his left hand back to his side. He watches as Doc fastens a bracelet around his wrist. It’s unassuming. Steel instead of the netherite cuffs of before. But Dream can feel something settle into his player data. It’s not comfortable. Still, he’d take some mild discomfort over a visit from Quackity any day.
“This is your tether,” Doc explains. “If it is damaged or if you break the rules, you will be teleported to a holding cell so we can decide what to do with you. Any of your wardens can also send you to the cell at will if you’re causing trouble that the plugin doesn’t account for.”
That’s… honestly better than Dream expected. He’d expected to be teleported right back to the… to the server he came from. “What are the rules?” he asks softly.
Doc doesn’t answer immediately. “The only one you need to worry about now is proximity. You’re injured and tired and I’d rather not have to repeat them.” He reaches into his inventory and pulls out something white and round, holding it out to Dream. “Put that on.”
Dream takes it cautiously. It’s another mask. Just like the one he has on now except without the massive cracks across its surface. He turns his back, making sure to keep both hands visible, and swaps the masks. Thankfully, Doc doesn’t comment when Dream tucks the old one back into his inventory. The new mask is comfortable and it comes with an overlay. Faint particles hang in the air a few dozen blocks or so away. Dream wants to ask, but Doc answers before he can decide if it’s worth the risk.
“Those particles show the range of your tether,” Doc explains. “Currently, it’s set to forty blocks. Once we get to the base you’ll be staying at, it’ll be set to the perimeter there. If you leave that area, you will be teleported to the cell. Do you understand?”
Dream nods. “Yessir. Stay near my warden or in the area I’m tethered to.” He can feel himself start to tremble. This is the longest he’s been on his feet in a while and his wounds ache. He should count himself lucky that Quackity hasn’t cut the tendons in his ankles recently.
“Good.” Doc looks like he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t. Just walks outside.
Dream drifts along behind. Walking is even harder than just standing still. He wants to look to the sky. He wants to so badly it hurts. He has to follow Doc though. He can’t bear to see the sky just to have it snatched away again. There’s a donkey tethered outside that Doc leads him to. The creeper hybrid even helps him lift himself into the stirrups.
“I’m taking you to Cleo’s,” Doc explains as he sets off walking, holding the horse’s lead in his left hand. “I haven’t had time to get a proper clinic yet, so I’ll have to use her lab to patch you up.”
Oh. Dream’s getting patched up. He hadn’t expected that. “Thank you, sir.”
Doc looks at him like he’s said something strange. “I am a doctor.”
“Yessir.”
As the donkey plods along, Dream’s need to see the sky finally outweighs his fear. The warmth of the sunlight beckons to him. The sky is clear and blue and vast . Soft clouds drift overhead. He thinks he’s too tired to find shapes in them, but the associations come to his mind unbidden. Creepers. Blades. The craggy peaks and valleys of glowstone that almost look like mountains when you’re so, so desperate to imagine one. Dream can see real mountains now. Huge pillars piercing the sky with water cascading down their sides.
“That’s Etho and Iskall’s base,” Doc comments. Dream quickly drops his head to the ground, but Doc just keeps talking. “I can take you back here to sign up for the No Wings Club later, if you’d like. Elytra really doesn’t mix well with a prox tether.”
So they have elytra here then. Makes sense if Hermitcraft is a powerful enough server that they feel confident trying to contain someone like Dream. Not that it takes much to contain Dream right now. Maybe once he’s recovered some. The rocking of the donkey’s gait is not helping any of Dream’s injuries. Still beats walking.
The sun is low in the sky by the time they come to another structure. Or something that's supposed to be a structure, at least. It's a half built mess of sandstone looming unsupported in the sky. In its shadow sits a small cluster of orange roofed buildings and armor stand facsimiles of cod headed children hang from stray beehives. Doc leads Dream to the larger of the two buildings, ties the donkey to a nearby fence post, and helps Dream dismount. Dream hisses in pain as the movement pulls his injuries. He's eager to get inside before mobs start spawning though.
Inside is clearly some sort of a tavern. Crimson wood chairs and tables cover the floor, lit by purple candles on the table and lanterns hanging from the roof beams. There’s a stage off to one side and a pleasant smell coming from a room off to the side.
“Joe?” Doc calls. “You in there?”
“Howdy, Doc!” a voice replies from inside the room with the pleasant smell. A moment later, a man emerges. He’s dressed simply, the @ sign on his chest the only real sign of personality there, but his hair is long and bright green as are his glasses. He’s drying his hands on a towel. He catches Dream’s eye and smiles. “You must be Dream, then. Joe Hills, here, baking Cleo blood bread as I always do in Nashville, Tennessee! What can I do for y’all?”
“Cleo said we could use her clinic,” Doc explains before Dream can ask what blood bread or Nashville are. “She also said you had the key.
“Sure do,” Joe replies easily. “Right this way.” He leads them back outside, where the sun has already risen again. They must have single player sleeping on in the server. They walk over to a stone church building surrounded by a graveyard. Upside down bees fly in and out of the open graves. Inside the church, a three wide staircase leads to a birch door surrounded by white concrete.
Joe unlocks the door and ushers them inside. There's an exam table against one wall surrounded by standard medical instruments and a curtain that could surround it for privacy. Cabinets and drawers line the walls, all neatly labelled with signs too small to read from a distance. On the far side from the door is a hallway blocked off by obsidian.
Dream balks when he sees it, but Joe just pats the bed while Doc starts fiddling with the equipment.
“We ain't gonna hurt you,” Joe promises. “The obsidian is there to protect you.” His voice is far more reassuring than his words are.
“Joe, why don't you let me handle my patient?” Doc cuts in calmly.
“Stop by the inn when y’all’re done and I’ll have a warm meal ready for y’all,” Joe offers as he leaves.
Once he's gone, Dream relaxes just a little bit.
“Undress as much as you're comfortable with and lay on the bed,” Doc prompts. “You can keep anything you like on, but remember I can't tend any injuries I can't see.”
Dream pulls off his prison jumpsuit without much hesitation, leaving just his boxers and his mask. He knows he looks like a weak, pathetic mess, but there’s no point in being shy about it. His skin is crisscrossed with marks from Quackity’s shears ranging from pale scars to wounds that are still oozing blood. He stares up at the stone brick ceiling lit by shroomlights and grips the bed nervously.
Doc’s bedside manner turns out to be much better than Dream expected. He may look the part of the mad scientist (and probably is one), but he simply cleans and bandages Dream’s wounds. A couple need stitches and Doc even goes so far as to give Dream a local anaesthetic for those. Dream feels tears welling in his eyes as Doc brusquely asks him about his diet and exercise and the extent of his injuries. Never pushing for anything Dream can’t bear to speak about, but still getting the information he needs. As Doc finishes up and gives Dream a spare set of clothes from Joe, it occurs to Dream that he’s lucky Doc isn’t an interrogator. He’s built up his mental walls against cruelty and left himself vulnerable to something approaching kindness.
He follows Doc back to the inn where a meal is already spread out on the table. It’s not exactly what Dream was expecting. The steak is normal enough, but the loaves of bread are far darker than he’s used to, though they don’t smell burnt. There’s also sausage. It’s dark too, so dark it almost looks black. Doc looks at it dubiously, but still sits down and starts eating, gesturing for Dream to do the same.
“Don’t eat too fast,” Doc warns Dream. “This is pretty rich stuff.”
“Oh shoot, I didn’t think of that,” Joe says. “I can get you some potatoes or something if you’d like.”
“I’m fine,” Dream grits out, bringing a piece of the sausage to his lips. It does taste good. It also sits heavily in his empty stomach. He paces himself like Doc had advised and manages to keep it down.
Just as he’s starting to settle in and feel something like calm, the door is flung open with a loud crash. He turns to see a zombie with bright red hair stalk in. The zombie is hunched in on herself, growling with more rage than Dream has ever heard in an undead before. He backs away from the table, reaching for a sword he already knows he doesn’t have.
“Cleo!” Joe exclaims brightly, holding out a loaf of bread to her. “I made you lunch!”
The zombie pauses, grabs the loaf of bread, and shoves it in her face. She tears through two more and a few of the sausages before she flops down in a chair next to Doc.
“Joe. Drink.” Her words are harsh and clipped, but Joe seems entirely unbothered. He takes out a red bottle and passes it to her. She tilts her head back and chugs it.
“So, how’d your trip go?” Joe lilts, passing Cleo another bottle. “Make any new friends?”
She drinks this one slower. “Oh, yes. The new girl is lovely. We’re gonna kill her husband.”
“That’s fun.”
“How’s Ren doing?” Doc asks.
Cleo shrugs. “Talk to him yourself. I didn’t see much of him.” She looks around and finally notices Dream. “Sit down. I’m not gonna bite your head off right now.”
Dream doesn’t disobey, but he sits on the edge of his seat, still tense. Cleo is unarmored, but he doesn’t know if she has the power to send him back to Pandora’s Vault.
“So, do you know where you’re staying yet?” Cleo asks.
“I was thinking of having him stay with me,” Doc cuts in. “I can have him run the tunnel bore while I’m doing other things.”
“The tunnel bore?” Cleo repeats with dull disbelief. “You mean the tunnel bore that digs up dozens of mobs for a guy with no weapons to deal with?”
“Yes?”
“The one that constantly digs forward so that you’d have to get X to shift the prox tether around every five minutes?”
“... yes.”
“The one that’s made up entirely of TNT dupers that you want to leave in the unsupervised hands of a criminal so dangerous that he couldn’t be contained in his own server?”
“He was contained… and you know I just can’t resist a nephew asking me for help…”
Cleo doesn’t say anything, just stares at Doc, who has been wilting more and more this entire time.
“He won’t run the tunnel bore,” Doc finally concedes. “But we’ll need to figure out somewhere else to keep him in that case because I’m not letting him into the Death Chunk either.”
Before Dream can panic, Joe speaks up. “He can stay with us. We got a lot of chores around here that need doing and Cleo’s not gonna be around as much for the next little while anyhow.”
“I’m only gonna be gone on weekends,” Cleo argues.
“Yeah, but I gotta spend those weekends slaughtering enough cattle to make sure you don’t go entirely feral when you get back. That cuts into my work week too, you know.”
Cleo nods. “Fair enough. Thanks for that, by the way.”
“Of course! Happy to help!”
All three hermits turn to Dream, who is caught staring at them, lost for what to do. He’s gone from months behind bars with no stimulation at all to… whatever this is and whoever these people are. It’s a lot to try and take in.
“Well, if you’re gonna take him, then I should get going,” Doc says. “I really should check on Ren.”
“Boatem too, while you’re at it,” Cleo advises. “They all joined in this time.”
Doc grimaces. “Will do.” He taps a few buttons on his communicator and the particles centered around him shift, instead forming a perimeter around the building. “You’re registered as warden now, Joe. Thanks for the meal.”
“Anytime.”
Once Doc has left, Joe turns back to Dream. “You look dead on your feet,” he says. “Take the downstairs bedroom and lay your head down and– and get some rest. I’ll give you the tour once you’ve had a chance to rest up.”
Dream lays down in the provided bed, but despite his bone deep exhaustion, he can’t fall asleep. For the first time in months, he’s somewhere no one is trying to torture him. But for the first time he can remember, he has no one he can control.
Not yet he promises himself. Not today, not tomorrow. But you’ll get them wrapped around your finger eventually. Take your time. Don’t be stupid. And whatever you do, don’t let them figure you out.