Chapter Text
Quackity’s mind buzzed with excitement as he strode down the obsidian halls, almost outpacing Sam. He didn’t even notice the Warden’s cold glances; he was too wrapped up in his own anticipation. His hands moved through his inventory yet again, checking and re-checking his equipment. He had plans today, he thought with a grin, and he almost ran into a door that wasn’t unlocked yet before stopping short.
“Are you even listening?” Sam’s irritated voice broke in on his thoughts.
“Hm?” Quackity looked at him innocently. “Oh, were you talking to me? I zoned out.”
Sam closed his eyes and took a sharp inhale. “I was saying, ” he repeated, “That you need to start taking in more healing supplies. Even if you want me to do it afterward, you should give him at least half a potion or something right away. Sometimes the things you do would be easier to fix if you didn’t just let him sit there waiting for me.”
“C’mon, when was the last time you had to come heal him?” Quackity scoffed.
“When was the last time you were practically skipping down the hallway to get here?” Sam replied, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve got that look in your eyes telling me you’re about to do something reckless.”
“Aww, you notice my eyes?” Quackity mocked. Sam grabbed the collar of Quackity’s shirt and shoved him against the door.
“I’m only going to warn you once,” he hissed, “If you get too eager, Quackity, if you take it too far and Dream dies …”
“I need him alive just as much as you do.” Quackity held his gaze unflinchingly. He pushed Sam’s arm away and straightened his collar. “But he’s not made of glass, mkay? I’ll tell you whether he needs you to patch him up, just like always. Relax, Warden.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, then sighed and reluctantly unlocked the door. “Just be careful,” he muttered.
“Sure, sure,” Quackity said vaguely, already moving on to more interesting things in his mind. He stepped onto the bridge, pulled a bloodied apron from his inventory, and put it on, tying a delicate bow at his waist as the lava parted. “Hey Sam, do me a favor and go get a happy meal sometime, yeah? Might do something about your constant scowl.” Sam did not grace him with a response before pulling the lever to send the bridge.
As soon as he was in view, Quackity’s eyes fixed immediately on the prisoner. His lips cracked into another cheshire grin that showed off his gold tooth.
“Ohhhh Dreeeeam,” he sang, “I hope you’re excited…”
The prisoner quickly threw himself out from the corner of the room between the chest and the wall, crawling towards the center of the cell. His shiny, terrified green eyes kept to the floor as he positioned himself in a kneeling position, shaking the entire time. Despite all of this, he gave the meek response,
“Y-yes sir…”
"Good!" Quackity hopped off of the bridge and strolled over to him with a bounce in his step. "I've got a brand new game to teach you. But I don't think you're ready to play just yet." He put a foot against Dream's shoulder and shoved him over onto his back. "You need a little warm-up first, don't you think?"
A whine escaped Dream’s throat as he nodded his head in a jittering manner. His eyes were squeezed shut, hoping to block out whatever pain might come next.
"What was that? I couldn't hear you." Quackity cupped one hand to his ear. His foot pressed down gently on Dream's throat, leaving him just barely able to breathe. "Go on, use your words. What do you wanna do first?"
Dream coughed a bit, only able to force out a “yes sir” in between each one. The prisoner wouldn’t dare to speak more than necessary. His hands reached to his throat as he desperately grasped the sides of his neck that were still exposed. His eyes once more were wide open, seemingly pleading towards Quackity’s gaze. Quackity scoffed and stepped down a little harder before releasing him.
"How tough are your ribs, Dream?" he asked. Without giving him time to answer, Quackity landed a harsh kick on one side of Dream's torso. Then, unsatisfied, he kicked him a few more times until he felt a crack.
“S-stop-" Dream gritted his teeth, curling up on himself on his side, tucking his knees to his chest and holding on tightly to them. He attempted to push himself backwards a bit. Fear had completely taken over his eyes at this point. He whimpered and kept trying to make himself smaller. “Stop, stop pl-please.”
Quackity laughed. "Oh come on , you can take more than that." His next kick connected with the middle of Dream's spine. The prisoner yelped out in pain, sprawling his limbs out. Ignoring his better judgment, Dream shoved himself backwards away from Quackity, shouting out,
“Stop it! Stop it, sir, stop!” In the process of getting away, he kicked his legs in the direction of his tormentor, trying anything to get away. Quackity stopped smiling.
"What's gotten into you?" He narrowed his eyes. "You were so good yesterday! I didn't want to have to punish you after this, but if you're gonna fight me…"
“No! No, no, no, I’ll be good!” Dream tried his best to return to his kneeling position, but instead let out another cry of pain. To make up for it, he crawled over in Quackity’s direction, trying to resist the urge to grab his ankles as he begged, “I’m good, I’ll be good, sorry, I’ll be good, didn’t mean to, sorry…”
"That's better." Quackity's tone was still warning. "Hold still." He knelt down and grabbed a fistful of Dream's hair, then held out a pair of dice where the prisoner could see them. One was red, the other white. "You wanna know what these are for?" The prisoner swallowed, glancing down at the dice. He seemed to have a few predictions.. “Yes sir, w-what are they for?”
Quackity shoved the dice into Dream's mouth. "Hold those," he said, and he opened his inventory to pull out a handful of sharp, vicious-looking metal stakes. He dropped them on the ground, still gripping Dream's hair to make sure he couldn't look away, and got out another handful, then another.
The prisoner whimpered, trying not to gag on the pieces while doing so. So many. There were so many stakes…He attempted to crouch in on himself more, feeling pain spike in the roots of his hair when he did.
"We're gonna start like this," Quackity began, "You spit out the dice and see what number you get." Fearful eyes glanced at Quackity before he quickly spit them out. He froze, the game Quackity having chosen suddenly becoming very apparent to him.
"Ooo, nine," Quackity grinned, "Strong start, huh? Don't move." He pushed Dream flat on his stomach and selected a stake. He poked the iron tip teasingly in a few different spots along Dream's back, as though trying to decide where first to puncture. Then, a violent thrust sent the spike into the flesh just below his ribcage on the right side.
Dream let out an animalistic shriek and shoved himself up onto his knees, immediately throwing Quackity away from his back. He desperately clawed at the spike, trying to pull it out of his flesh. “STOP IT!” He shouted once more, throwing his head back in Quackity’s direction, for once having something else slowly fill his eyes. Was it anger or determination? Quackity got to his feet and kicked Dream in the side, sending him sprawling.
" Stay down," he growled as he added another kick to the stomach for good measure. The prisoner must’ve not heard him, because he just got to his knees again, bloody spike finally free in his hands. A wild gaze overcame him as he looked towards Quackity. A look he hadn’t seen since this whole thing had started. The look of wanting to fight. Something twisted in Quackity's stomach, but he refused to name it as fear. He grabbed a stake in one hand and drew his axe with the other.
" I said, " he breathed through gritted teeth, " STAY!" The axe sliced a wicked arc through the air, embedding itself crookedly in Dream's shoulder. Once the action had been done, the prisoner threw all of his weight into toppling over Quackity, throwing both of them to the ground and dislodging the axe. With that same wide eyed yet defensive look, Dream attempted to pierce Quackity in the arm with the spike he was holding. Due to the struggling of the stronger person beneath him, it only pinned into the floor, but it did hold a bit of his sleeve down.
Dream backed up on his bottom a block or so, watching Quackity like a hawk, not making any more moves towards the remaining spikes on the ground. “It hurts,” he stated the obvious in a soft tone. “Please don’t, I c-I can’t take it, it feels wrong!”
"What do you think you're doing?" Quackity spat, freeing his sleeve and scrambling to his feet. "I taught you better than this. " He lunged forward and grabbed Dream's hair, then dragged him mercilessly back to where he was. This time, when he shoved the prisoner onto his stomach, Quackity knelt on top of him to keep him pinned.
“Stop it, stop it sir, stop it!!” Dream squirmed beneath him, trying his best to escape. Just the same old annoying phrases. The prisoner attempted to smack away the person behind him, proving very difficult with the position his arms were in. “It’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wrong, it’s wron-"
"SHUT UP!" Quackity stabbed a stake into Dream's side. "I don't wanna hear your whining!" With a thud, Dream’s struggles stopped as he went completely lax beneath Quackity, head dropping to the floor. It was unsettling how quiet Pandora’s Vault had become in a matter of seconds. Especially when Quackity hadn’t touched his head. And Dream never was silent, even on the days that Sam was upset at Quackity, so the latter would try to get the prisoner to be quieter.
Dark crimson blood pooled around the prisoner’s body, his breaths becoming much more labored by the minute. His eyes stayed half-lidded for about thirty seconds before rolling back into his head.
Quackity finally paused and registered the damage he had done. In his fury, he hadn’t given a second thought to where the tip of the spike landed, but now that he was seeing a little more clearly he realized that he had torn through the tissue in between two of Dream’s ribs. Furrowing his brow, he tugged the stake out, only to find that a new waterfall of blood gushed out the second it was removed. Eyes widening, Quackity clamped his hands down over the wound. A knot was forming in his gut as his eyes darted all over Dream’s limp form, looking for any sign of consciousness.
“Dream?” He shook him a little, earning only a faint gurgle from somewhere in the back of the prisoner’s throat. “Dream, say something. Dream! ”
Silence.
“NO!” Quackity yelled. He grabbed Dream’s hair and yanked his head up off the ground, refusing to believe what he had done. “Wake up, wake up you stupid– you can’t–” He let go, and Dream’s head fell limply back to the floor. “No no no no nonono–” Panic fluttered in Quackity’s chest. His hands clutched at Dream’s back feeling for a heartbeat, a breath, anything.
“SAM–” His hand flew to his mouth, cutting off his own cry. If the Warden saw this… Quackity was in big trouble. He needed Dream alive. Sam would kill him if Dream was dead. He had to fix it. He had to fix it. He had to fix it.