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“I’m just sayin,’” Technoblade said, his arms crossed, “I still think this is a bad idea.”
Philza looked over from the Nether portal, folding his wings back behind him. “Look, mate, we’ve been over this,” he said. “You want to make sure Dream’s alright, we both know it’s a trap, it’s either you or me, and I can’t die. Seems pretty straightforward, yeah?”
“Technoblade never dies,” Techno said. “You know this, c’mon, man.”
Phil laughed. “See, but I actually can’t. Whatever nonsense Sam or Quackity or whoever else tries to pull on this little prison field trip, I’ll be alright.”
“I can still go,” Techno said. “Dream’s — well, it’s my favor, not yours. He’s a homeless loser, but he’s still… yeah. Don’t want him to die or anything stupid like that. I get so much money from Chat when he’s around.”
“Don’t worry, mate, I’ll be fine, and I’ll make sure he’s alright,” Philza chuckled, stepping one foot into the Nether portal. “Want me to get him out, too?”
“Get a better understandin’ of the situation first,” Techno said. “Whatever you can do in three days, anyway. I’ll pull ya back, and then we can decide what to do. Might bring down the whole prison, I dunno, just a thought. Could be a fun weekend project.”
“We’ll work it out,” Phil promised. “See you in three days, Techno.” With that, he stepped into the portal.
***
Pandora’s Vault prison was huge, dark, and ominous. Phil had seen many redstone creations over the course of his life, many of them Sam’s, but none held a candle to this. Everything about it made him want to fly away, and yet here he was, right at its heart, standing in front of a curtain of lava.
“Move with the platform once the lava comes down,” Sam said, his voice a flat monotone from behind him. Phil glanced over at him — he looked different than he had, all those centuries ago, but he couldn’t tell if it was just the passing of time, or a new body entirely. Something about his former friend’s dark, looming demeanor made him not want to ask. Now wasn’t the time.
“You’ve got it,” Phil said, his response slightly delayed. He turned his attention back to the lava, eyes narrowed, shifting his wings behind him. The enormous complexity of the prison, the security protocols, the Warden’s ominous presence — all of it contributed to the insurmountable feeling of wrong that made his wings itch, his avian instincts urging him to get out of this obsidian box as soon as possible.
Three days, Phil told himself. If anything went wrong, he would only be there for three days, at most. It would likely be much less than that — for all he knew, this would be a short visit. A quick check to see how their mysterious ally from Doomsday was doing, and then he would return to the arctic.
The curtain of lava finally fell, enough for Phil to glimpse the cell through a haze of steam rising from the lava. He quickly looked down to move forward with the platform that ground to life underneath him, extending his wings slightly to keep his balance. He could fly, yes, but since the explosion of L’Manburg it had been limited, and he didn’t want to test his luck within the close confines of the prison.
The moving platform thudded against the obsidian edge of the floor, and Phil stepped off it, finally looking up into the cell.
The first thing he registered was the white. White feathers, white wings, in this cramped, dark place, was so absurdly unexpected that for several seconds, Phil just stared, unable to comprehend what he was seeing.
“…Dream?” he said, his voice hushed.
The wings stirred, shifted, and there was a person attached to them, and it couldn’t be Dream, because Dream didn’t have wings, and yet — “Philza?” he demanded, and his voice was weak and hoarse but undeniably Dream’s. There was blood on his face, Phil noted distantly, distractedly. “What—what’re you—you can’t be here.” A cut across his cheek, just under his left eye. “Philza, you have to leave, I—I didn’t write that note, it’s a trap, you—“ There was more blood, too. On his face. His neck. His shaking hands. The cell. His wings. His wings were bloodied and torn apart, and feathers were scattered all around the cell and Dream was shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright and Phil was just standing there—
“Mate, you need to sit down,” he said hurriedly, rushing forward, his heart hammering in his chest. “You’re hurt, mate, you —“ Dream flinched back, hard, hitting against the wall and pressing against it, his wide eyes fixed on Philza. “Dream… what happened?” Phil asked slowly. “Who did this?”
“It’s—it’s not—Philza, you need to leave,” Dream whispered. “You’re not—you’re not supposed to be here, you—“ His eyes fixed on a point somewhere behind Phil. “Sam, Sam, no, you can’t, stop, please—“
Phil whirled around, and the lava was falling, slowly cutting off the entrance to the cell. The Warden stood on the other side, one hand on a lever cut into the wall. “Philza, you just stay right there,” he said impassively. “Just stay right there where we can keep an eye on you. A nice, long visit, alright? Don’t go causing any problems.” The lava barrier fell past the floor of the cell, sealing both Dream and Phil inside with the shivering finality of a tomb.
Dream’s breathing was heavy behind him, strained. “You shouldn’t’ve come,” he said. “You’re stuck here, you—why would you come?”
“Techno wanted to make sure you were alright,” Phil said, turning back around to face him. He really was covered in blood. It made Phil feel faintly sick — not at the sight of Dream himself, but at the audacity of someone actually doing this to him. “And apparently we were right to check, because you’re clearly not. Did you…” He scanned Dream’s agonized face. “Did you not think he’d come?”
“No,” Dream gritted out. “I didn’t think he’d be enough of an idiot to—to care, but you—why are you here?”
“I’m immortal, mate,” Phil said. “We decided it was better this way. It was really all Techno, though.” He shifted half a step forward. Dream pressed himself further into the wall. “Mate, you need to sit down, you look like you’re about to fall over.”
Dream stared at him. He was still shaking. His vast wings were curled loosely around himself, awkwardly filling a good portion of the cell. They didn’t quite sit right — something had to be broken. Phil shoved down the anger building in his chest.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Dream,” he said quietly, carefully, because Dream looked like he was about to fall apart right there. “We’re… allies, remember? Techno’d be upset if anything happened to you.”
Dream exhaled sharply, and it might have been a laugh. He slowly sank down the wall to the floor, clenching his hands together in front of him. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said again.
Phil knelt down in front of him. “What happened to you?” he asked. “Was it — Sam?” It had been a long time since he’d seen the man, and he had to have changed, but even then, Phil didn’t think he would have done this. Then again, he’d clearly at least allowed it. He’d let this happen to Dream.
“He… no,” Dream said. Phil reached out for one of Dream’s hands and, after a moment of hesitation, Dream let him take it, with something that looked like resignation. “He—it was his—his weapons, his tools, but he didn’t—“ Dream exhaled sharply. “I didn’t write that note. Or—I did. But you… he didn’t keep it.”
“Quackity?” Philza verified, remembering the large, curling Q at the bottom of the note left at Techno’s house. Dream took a shuddering breath, but didn’t respond. Phil saw the same curling Q on Dream’s neck, burned into his skin, and that was enough of an answer. That feeling of anger was still growing, but again he shoved it down. He took Dream’s hand, carefully turning it over in his, examining it. He had at least one broken finger, and the nails on all but his pinky finger had been torn out. Scars and cuts crisscrossed his hand, and there were purplish bruises circling his wrists. There was a bracketed smile cut into his wrist, just below his palm. Phil looked up at Dream. “And he just… left you? Like this? He — Sam couldn’t have given you a healing pot or something, anything?”
“He does,” Dream muttered. “Sometimes. When I need it.” He awkwardly tugged his hand away from Phil, tucking it against his chest. “‘s not the point.”
The point. Of bloody, brutal, vicious torture. Phil wanted to murder someone. Preferably Sam and Quackity. Stab them through the heart and toss their corpses into the lava and watch them burn. Except that might be too merciful for them.
“Well,” Phil said, keeping his voice carefully steady, “I don’t have a healing pot, but I do have a fair bit of traditional medical training, if you’re alright with that?” It was a rhetorical question. Or, well, it was supposed to be. Dream shrank back from him, his wings twitching uncomfortably, hands clenching in front of him.
“Dream, you’re going to bleed out,” Phil tried. “Please let me help you.”
Dream offered only a slow blink in response, his wings shifting again. A single bloodied feather drifted to the floor.
“I’m not going to hurt you, mate.”
The lava bubbled behind him, the monotonous noise intermitted with the drip drip of the crying obsidian.
“…there’s no point,” Dream said despondently. “There’s really not. It’ll just… happen again.”
“I won’t let it,” Phil said firmly. “I can promise you that, Dream. No one is going to lay a hand on you while I am in this cell.”
“Don't. Just… don’t,” Dream said. He let his head thump back against the wall. Whatever energy he’d summoned up when Phil had entered the cell had clearly left him. “Doesn’t work. I… tried, y’know. At first. For a while. To… take care of things, or whatever. It doesn’t… work. Just makes it worse, whenever he —“ Dream’s breath caught in his chest “— comes back.”
“Mate —“ Phil started, but Dream cut him off.
“Don’t. Please don’t.” With what looked like a great deal of effort, Dream dragged one of his wings from curving around the walls of the cell, and curled it around himself, effectively hiding himself behind white and spotted red feathers. “‘m… sorry. I am, really,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. I didn’t want—you weren’t supposed to come. Neither of you were.” He pulled his other wing closer to him, dragging it along the floor. Definitely something broken in it. But the injuries and the blood and the general state of horrible mistreatment couldn’t hide the fact that Dream’s wings were immense. Bigger than Phil’s, even. Huge and beautiful, despite their injuries. They looked vastly out of place in this miserable, bloodstained cell.
When it became clear that Dream wasn’t about to start talking—or moving—any time soon, Phil pushed himself to his feet, tucked his wings behind his back, and stared examining the cell. It was far too small, especially for an avian. A cramped space and a low ceiling and not enough room to spread his wings out properly. He didn’t like it. He also didn’t like the blood puddled and smeared across the floor—and the walls, Prime, what had Quackity done that left splatters of Dream’s blood halfway up to the ceiling?—or the feathers. Far, far too many white feathers scattered across the cell, too many stained with red. Phil couldn’t see how extensive the damage was with Dream’s wings curled up like that, but if it was anything like the injuries on the rest of the avian, then it had to be very, very bad.
Avian. There was yet another avian on the Server, and Phil had never even known. How had he not known? He’d seen Dream before on many occasions, had worked with him during Doomsday, and yet not a hint of any avian features. How he’d hidden those massive, wonderful wings for so long, Phil had no idea. Now wasn’t the time to speculate.
“Dream,” Phil began, and winced as Dream jumped violently at the word, his wings briefly flaring out before curling back in. “Sorry. You—look, I’m sorry, but I need information.”
Dream shuddered, full-body, but didn’t respond.
Phil didn’t move any closer, still on the opposite side of the cell to Dream. Every instinct he had—fatherly, avian, all of it—was screaming at him to help Dream, but he didn’t dare try it while the boy was still so high-strung. “You’ve been here… a while,” Phil said, keeping his voice low to try and avoid alarming him. “You helped build the prison, and you know everything about the—“
“I’m not giving you the—the book,” Dream said, his voice cracking midway through. He curled his trembling wings tighter around himself. “I—I won’t. I can’t. I can’t. I won’t.”
“The—what? Mate, I’m not after any books, I need to know about the prison,” Phil said, confused. He refolded his wings behind him, glancing over at the lava barrier. Could Sam hear them through it? Was he even still there? Phil didn’t want to take any chances. He shifted closer to him. “Dream,” he said quietly. “Techno and I are going to get you out of here.”
Dream’s head jerked up, his wings falling aside as he stared at Phil. His eyes were wide and red. Prime, he was so young. Barely more than a boy, really. Younger than Wilbur had been. “You—what?” he whispered. His voice was barely audible.
“I have a way out,” Phil said, matching his volume. “In a few days it’ll activate, and I’ll be gone. But I can’t take you with me that way. Techno and I will need to break in to get you out, and I need to know everything you know about the prison so we have the best chance.”
Dream stared at him, for a long, long moment. Finally, he shook his head, pulling his wings back around him. “No.”
Phil blinked. “I’m—sorry, what?”
“No. I’m not—no.”
“Mate, I’m not going to hurt you, I—“
“You won’t make it.”
“What, out of prison? It’s a foolproof escape, mate.”
“In. You have a way out, don’t come back.” Dream’s voice was muffled behind his wings, but it couldn’t hide the fact that he was on the verge of tears.
“I’m not about to leave you here,” Phil said incredulously. “Besides the fact that this is just… an abhorrent example of inhumane treatment, Techno owes you a favor.”
“The favor is l-leave, and don’t come back,” Dream said, in a tone that was probably meant to be vehement, but broke again and just made Phil want to give him a hug.
“Out of the question. Not leaving you here.”
“I’m not letting you—you can’t. You can’t.”
“Why n—“
“I can’t let you die!” Dream burst out, his wings pulling back again. His face was agonized, desperate, and Phil drew back. “I’m not—I’m not letting you die, not anyone else, not again, I can’t—you weren’t supposed to come, neither of you were, I don’t want you here!” His voice had risen until it cracked, and he hid himself behind his wings again, shaking.
The cell was silent for a long moment.
“Oh, mate,” Phil whispered. He reached out a hand, then drew it back. “Dream, we’ll be alright. No one is going to die, yeah? But the more information you give me, the easier it’ll be. I’m coming back either way—Techno owes you that favor, not me. You can’t stop me from coming back.”
The crying obsidian dripped onto him, sliding down his feathers, and Phil flicked a wing to get it off.
“…I can’t stop anyone from coming back,” Dream mumbled. “Can I.”
“Please, Dream. I swear we’ll be alright, Techno and I. And we’ll get you out, too. It’ll all be alright. I just need information.”
“You… and everyone else.” Dream’s voice was despondent, detached. “What’re you gonna do if I… if I don’t tell you?”
“Ask you again, I suppose. I’m going to be here for a fair few days, mate.”
“What are you going to—do?” Dream repeated. He was trembling, still, hidden behind his bloodstained wings. Another feather drifted to the floor.
The meaning of the question hit Philza with the force of a blow, and he actually jerked back. “I’m not—Dream, I’m not going to hurt you,” he said quickly. “I swear I’m not going to hurt you. I would never—“ He swallowed. “I would never do something like that.”
Hesitantly, he reached out a wing and laid it over Dream’s, curling it around him. Dream’s wing jumped, twitching away, before stilling.
“Don’t hurt me,” Dream whispered. “Please don’t.” His wings shifted, and he inhaled shakily. “You—you’re not going to stop. Are you?”
“I’m coming back either way,” Philza said gently. He settled more comfortably onto the ground next to Dream, avoiding a dark puddle of blood. “Not gonna lie, it would make it quite a lot easier with your help. Safer for everyone involved, including me and Techno. None of us will get hurt.”
Dream shuddered. He drew back his wings, looking right at Phil. His eyes were wide, teary and desperate. There was blood on his face, a recent cut under his eye still leaking it. “Promise?” he whispered.
Phil’s heart just about broke. “I promise.”
Dream stared at him for a long time, as if searching for any hint of insincerity. Finally, finally, he nodded. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. I’ll—I’ll tell you.”
Phil nodded, his throat too tight to speak, not blind to the massive amount of trust Dream was placing in him.
He swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure that trust wasn’t in vain.