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Nobody believed him.
Sam didn’t know what to do–he didn’t think he could be any clearer than he was. It’s–Dream wasn’t good. Dream…hurt him. Dream had hurt a lot of people, actually!
This fact was easier for people to understand when aforementioned people were not Sam.
Dream says this is because Sam was a bad person. Sam did a lot of bad things, and so nobody wanted to believe him anymore. Or maybe–maybe they did, but because Sam was so horrible, they didn’t care. He was beyond their sympathy, anymore. Every last one of them. Sam had taken every last relationship he’d ever had, even with the most forgiving of people, and ruined them.
He ruined himself, too. Sam was ruined.
…Dream wanted to be around him, though.
“You know, Sam,” Dream begins one day, setting a bag on the singular table as is their routine. “I still want you around.”
Sam has spoken to nobody but Dream for many days, at this point. Other people give him looks, and weave a wide bubble around him. Dream says they talk about him when he’s not around. He doesn’t really understand why that is, because nobody seems to have any problems talking about him to his face, either. That’s part of how he got here to begin with.
“You do?” He asks quietly, unsure. Sometimes, it’s hard for him to tell what Dream really wants to get out of him. There are some days where he wants Sam to converse, yet others he’d rather Sam stay quiet the whole time. Dream gets mad when Sam assumes the wrong reaction on the wrong day, gets violent when a day is particularly bad. Sam is so tired of violence, now. He thinks he might be scared.
Apparently, this reaction seems to appease him. Dream makes a noise of amusement, though the mask on his face remains unchanged. This can only be good, too, then.
“Yeah, Sam. Obviously. You really are an idiot, aren’t you?”
“I’m not,” he replies robotically, more out of the habit than any actual opinion either way.
Dream accepts this as part of their routine, and doesn’t call him out on it.
“I like having you around, because I think you can understand me. Did you know that? It’s so easy to talk to you, too. Always so eager to listen.”
A clawed hand grabs for his jaw, squeezing his cheeks. Sam is so scared, here. He doesn’t dare to move. He is so warm, now.
“Did you know you’re pretty useful, too? You have to know that, of course. You’ve built a lot of things for me here. For a lot of other people, too. They all threw your work away, though. Isn’t that so sad?”
It’s almost like magic. Dream tilts his head, and his mask seems to morph into a comical frown. His pity is fake. It’s just there to toy with Sam. He, too, is used to their game. He knows better than to try to respond.
“I guess it’s because you fucked up real bad, Sam. Ah–Don’t try to deny it!” He wasn’t. “It’s true! And they won’t forgive you for it! But I know what it’s like, Sam. I know what it’s like to fuck up, and have everybody blaming you for all this shit.”
The grip on his face tightens for a moment before Dream lets go.
“Do you remember what all of you told me?” Dream asked rhetorically, as he moved towards his bag. “What you insisted every day, all of the time?”
Sam says nothing. His lungs hurt. His stomach hurts. His heart.
“That it was all my fault. And so–so if that was all my fault,” he continued, pulling out week-old table scraps and far-staled sweets, “Then everything happening to you is your fault. You brought this upon yourself. You asked for it. Pretty enthusiastically, even!”
Dream brings him food. Dream always brings him food, even when he’s mad at him. Dream is the only one to give him food, even. This is the only kindness he’s ever been given. He’s so grateful, for something so much more than he deserves.
Sam feels like he’s rotting. Sometimes he wishes Dream would just let him fester.
“But that’s okay, Sam. I forgive you.” He puts the scraps in a bowl, slides it over. His hand moves to comb through Sam’s hair.
“I’ll take care of you, Sam. Even when there’s nobody else, you’ll always have me. It’ll always be you and me.”
Dream is quiet, then, when Sam cries. His hand stays in Sam’s hair; claws twitching to remind Sam not to let his mind stray too far.
Dream could be so good to him, sometimes.