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It was a weird thing, to be stripped of your own bodily autonomy in such a short amount of time. To be completely in control of everything and anything one moment, and then suddenly just… not. Is this how Tommy felt? When he was stripped of all his items and forced to explode them over and over again? He shakes the thought away as fast as it comes. At first, it enraged him. He was angry, face red, screaming, baring his teeth like a wild animal. He was mad, and he made sure Sam knew it. But he knew this was his own fault.
He got himself stuffed in this prison, he designed this prison. He paid Sam to make it this way. Told the man how he wanted it to run, he set this system up himself. He's just experiencing the consequences of his actions. And after a while he accepted that. He sat down, and decided to stay quiet. He found that screaming and yelling got him nowhere. It gave him something to do but it also served only to make his throat sore. He decided the sore throat wasn't worth the trouble.
And then Quackity came. And then he was stripped of his bodily autonomy all over again. He wasn't expecting Quackity to torture him. That's not the type of man he was, the type of man he seemed to be. But Dream never thought he would end up in the prison he designed, so he shouldn't be surprised.
It wasn't so bad at first– well. It was bad, horrible. Dream wished for death more often than not. Begged for it, screamed and cried until he found his throat growing sore, his voice long gone.
But it wasn't that bad. Nothing compared to what was to come.
And then Quackity decided it wasn't enough– he wasn't getting results. It wasn't enough. He remembers Quackity saying as much, with a sneer on his lips. It wasn't enough. It echoes in his head like a twisted chant– it wasn't enough it wasn't enough it wasn't enough it wasn't enough it wasn't–
“Dream. You aren't being very cooperative. You know, I'm starting to think this isn't enough..” He says it cooly, as he pushes Dreams head into the cauldron once again. The man does not make an attempt to escape, body limp.
The only indication that he is conscious– alive– is his body tensing up.
Quackity pulls him out, and lets the man drop to the floor to gasp and gag. He watches as he coughs, heaving as he whimpers and cries and spits up dirty red water.
He nudges the man on the floor with his foot, “I'll be back tomorrow. I don't want to have to do what I have in mind.. So, Dream. If you tell me about the contents of the book now, I won’t have to hurt you later.”
He says it almost softly, like he cares. He gently runs his foot down Dream's side, as if he's petting him. It's a false comfort. Dream knows better. The man on the floor shivers, before shaking his head. Quackity scowls, knowing it means no. He won't say anything, won't tell him about the book. He kicks Dream one last time before huffing.
“Fine. Have it your way. You'll regret this decision, Dream. Just know, whatever comes next is your fault.”
And regret he did. Oh how he wished he just spilled it all right then and there. He wished he broke sooner. In all honesty, he didn't know what he was expecting, really. Maybe he thought the man would bring in a new weapon, or maybe he thought up a new way to use a previous tool.
So when Quackity is back again the next day, just like he said, with a calm look on his face Dream assumed he was right. Though, Quackity always looks confident when he comes. Never ever hesitating. Almost as if he's done this before. Dream knows he hasn't. He's only so calm because this is Dream, the villain, the monster of the server. He waited for the man to pull out a knife, or sword, anything. But then Quackity had him up against the wall, his hands reaching for the zipper to Dream's orange jumpsuit.
Was he going to strip him before he tortures him? Was Quackity’s goal to humiliate? That wouldn't work. Dream didn't have much dignity left. But he stayed quiet, speaking only brought more pain. More discomfort. Quackity began stripping the jumpsuit down over his shoulders, down, down until he was in nothing but his boxers.
Dream's face started to heat up, embarrassment he deduced. He knows he looks worse for wear, the torture ruining his body, the starvation eating away at his muscle and fat until he was a husk of a man. For some reason he started to feel sick, he was bare and Quackity was dressed. He felt weird, scared he realized. He tried to push Quackity off, he tried to bare his teeth and act mean. It didn't work. It was like a cat hissing with no claws or fangs. It was useless. It only served to piss Quackity off more.
Dream was confused at first, he didn't understand the goal. What was the purpose of this? Beat him while he's half naked? Dream bit back a scoff. And then Quackity's hand wandered down, down, down, down. And then suddenly it hit Dream like a train. He immediately felt cold– which is weird because he's surrounded by lava, he should be sweltering hot.
Before he could react, Quackity was pulling his boxers down, off, off, off, off. For a minute Dream was frozen, he couldn't move, he was shocked. His body was stuck in place. And then Quackity was laughing in his ear, his breath hot and moist against the side of his face. And then Dream started to thrash in the other's hold, and then he was on the floor. Quackity on top of him as he grabbed his thighs. Spreading, splitting him open, open, open.
Just not with a knife or axe or sword this time.
He began to scream, he remembers. He screamed for Sam, pleaded. He thinks he vomited at some point. He remembers screaming for George, for Sapnap, Puffy, Techno, Bad, hell he screamed for Fundy. Anyone.
And when Quackity didn't stop, he went away. He retreated to the safety of his mind for a long while. Pretended he wasn't on his back under Quackity imprisoned in Pandora's Vault. He was in a field with George and Bad and Sapnap. They were around a fire, laughing. Bad made them s'mores, a cheerful smile on his face. It was a nice get away.
He doesn't remember what happens after, and doesn't remember Quackity leaving. But he remembers helplessly pulling his clothes back on. He remembers vomiting again, though there wasn't much to puke up. He remembers walking to the wall of lava, staring aimlessly at it, the way it flowed down, before stepping into it.
He respawned with a new jumpsuit.
____________
Being free felt weird. Was he really free if he still felt trapped?
Techno didn't expect anything from him, and neither did Phil. So he was left to sit in the corner of Techno's house all day. No one told him to do anything, no one wanted anything from him. So he stayed in the corner. It was easier that way, if he stayed in one spot then no one would hurt him. He couldn't do anything wrong if he didn't move.
Occasionally, Phil would offer him food, a look on his face Dream can't name as he insisted he try to eat. And, like the obedient prisoner he is– was– he did. He would eat until his stomach was cramping and twisting, until Phil could tell he was hurting based on the look on his face and would tell him “You don't need to eat it all. If you feel sick, stop.”
And, because he's good, he stops. Sometimes it's Techno who offers him food, stuffing bread in Dreams face. Dream, of course, will take small nibbles of it. Eating it. Because he's good.
He doesn't know how long he managed to keep himself still as a statue, or how many days passed but eventually Techno was in front of him nudging him. Telling him to move, to get up. So Dream did, because he listened. It was easier to just do as you're told. He couldn't decipher the look on Techno's face as he led him up to the bathroom, but he looked tense. Dream worried he was in trouble, but once they made it to where Techno was guiding him he understood.
They were in the bathroom. Dream looked at the piglin hybrid, trying to figure out what exactly the man was asking. He didn't understand. But also he did.
He started to pull at his shirt– Phil had given it to him. He pulled it over his head. His wounds pulled and ached, and he could feel one or two reopen. He did not pay it any mind, and continued to strip down. Suddenly, Techno had his hands on his arms, and was telling him to stop. His face looked red, but Dream couldn't tell.
Dream tilted his head, was he not supposed to get undressed? Did Techno not want him to?.. But then why were they in the bathroom? Why had they moved somewhere more secluded?..
“Dream. Dream. My dude. I don't want to see you naked.” He says it so weirdly.
Dream tilts his head to the other side. Then what does he want?
“Let me leave the room before you strip, yeah? The door ain't even closed. What if Phil saw? He'd go into cardiac arrest. His poor, old man heart wouldn't be able to handle it.” Dream doesn't understand it.
“You– what do you want me to do– sir?..” He says the last part hesitantly. It feels weird calling Techno that. His voice is scratchy, and hoarse, he notices. He hasn't spoken in a while, that's probably why.
Techno visibly flinches, and pulls away from Dream. He looks down at the other, his face seeming to go through a series of emotions. He looks conflicted and angry and upset all at once. It scares Dream. But he doesn't move. What if Techno gets physical? He has to be good. Stay quiet, don't move. This is why it's better when he is in the corner. He can't make anyone mad that way.
“Don't call me that. I'm Techno, Technoblade, Tech, fuck even The Blade, whatever. But not– not.. Sir. Don't call me that. Or Phil. Or anyone else for that matter. No one is above you, Dream. We're all equal.” He says it matter of factly, like it's true. Dream does not believe him.
He does not trust him, he only trusts Sir, Quackity. His rules fixed him, he's better now. He's obedient, he doesn't do anything wrong and when he does Sir is there to correct him. He wishes he had more rules here. He wishes he knew what to do, he misses the prison. He misses his routine, he misses Quackity and Sam. He misses knowing what to do and when to do it. He misses the rare occasions where Quackity would turn soft, and would pet his spine as he cried.
But he– he also doesn't. He doesn't miss that.
It makes Dream's head spin at the realization. He doesn't miss Quackity or Sam. Not truly, not really. Because at the end of the day, Quackity was the one who stripped him of all he was in that cell, conditioned and ruined him. And Sam let it happen. Sam watched. Sam let Dream be tortured. He let Quackity in, he let Quackity rape him–
No no no, he can't do that. He can't blame them, it wasn't their fault. They didn't do anything wrong, not really. It was Dream's fault for being bad, disobeying. He should've just given Quackity the book– he should've– he shouldn't have hurt Tommy. He should've let them have L'Manburg.
He shouldn't have done a lot of things.
He shouldn't have let himself be raped most of all, though. He can't blame Quackity or Sam for something that wasn't their fault. The torture, the assault, it was all his own doing. He had it coming, it was a necessary evil. He needed it– Quackity was fixing him. He was going to be better.
Why doesn't he feel like it?
Dream nods his head, he can't even remember what Techno said.
“Okay.. Okay. I'm gonna go, you shower or take a bath. Actually, just take a bath. You probably shouldn't be standing for too long. Clean yourself up. I'll get Phil and he can fix up your injuries. I'll be back in a minute.” And then Techno is gone, the bathroom door closed behind him.
Dream stands there, stunned, before he strips the rest of the way. He was ordered to bathe, so he will. Because he's good. He turns to look at the tub, and it takes him a minute but he figures out how to turn it on. He doesn't know what to do– does it make it hot or cold? Does he deserve a warm bath? How much water does he put in it?
He decides to just do whatever and hope it's right. He gets into the tub once it's not too full, and curls up. He examines the bottles of different soaps, feeling a little overwhelmed. What is he allowed to use? Maybe Techno wanted to choose for him? His head is starting to hurt. He has no one here to guide him, no one to tell him what to do. He feels lost.
He wished Sir was here to help. Sir would know what to do. But what if Sir reached his hands under the water, touched him? Dream shivers. No no, it wasn't bad. Sir touching– having sex with him wasn't bad. It wasn’t malicious or cruel. He was doing what had to be done. He had to fix Dream. He had to make him better.
Why didn't he feel better?
Dream is pushed out of his thoughts by the door opening. He's greeted with the sight of Phil, with Techno close behind him. Dream doesn't know what to do with himself. He feels weird and dizzy and he just wishes he knew what to do. He just wanted to be told what to do.
Phil comes up to the side of the tub, kneeling down. He puts the bag he was holding down, his wings twitch behind him.
He has a look on his face, and Dream thinks it's sadness. Or maybe its disgust? Dream can't tell, he can never tell. Not anymore. He used to be so good at reading people, he could predict and act accordingly based on someone's body language, but now he's useless. Quackity messed with him, with his head. He'd come stomping into his cell angry and shouting and then he'd pet Dream and caress him as he stripped him bare and told him he was good, so good for me Dream. Tell me about the book, like the good boy I know you are.
Or he'd come in happy, smiling and then he'd grab Dream's hair and bash his skull into the obsidian wall until all that was left of his face was red blood and gore. He'd kill him with a serene smile on his face, digging shears between Dream's ribs and cutting him open, gutting him as he softly told Dream this is your fault. You asked for this.
Dream could never tell what Quackity was feeling. He always sent mixed signals, when Dream thought he finally understood Quackity, how he worked, what to do and what to avoid, Sir would flip it all around. It was like riding a rollercoaster except he was blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back.
“Alrighty Dream, let's get this started. Can you tell me where it hurts the most, so we can get that out of the way?” Phil says, and he stays calm. He doesn't touch Dream. He takes a quick once over the other's body, eyes scanning.
And it's a weird question, what hurts the most. Everything hurts, it all hurts. His chest, his legs, his thighs, his head, everything aches. A nonstop hurt that won't go away.
His ear twitches, and he brings a hand up to feel it. And then he reaches for his horns– well. Where there used to be horns. Warden filed them down when he first got to the prison, and then Sir had a field day ripping, sawing them off over and over again until they didn't grow back anymore.
“Your head?” Phil asks, he tilts his head. He doesn't sound upset, but then again Sir didn't sound upset as he grabbed a knife and cut his finger off.
Dream grinds his teeth, hand moving to his jaw. “I– uhm.. I don't know, S– Phil. Philza. Everything hurts the same.” He tries to be honest. Because it's good to be honest, Sir told him so.
It's bad to give away what hurts. If they know what aches then it's easier to make the hurting parts hurt more. But Dream is good, he knows better than to withhold information.
Yet he never said anything about the book. Is he really that good?
Phil nods, wincing, “Yeah, I bet. Okay, how about I work on the open wounds first, and then we can see about resetting any broken bones. Okay? I know you probably can't handle potions right now, so we'll have to do this old school.”
He says it calmly, he doesn't hesitate as he grabs a washcloth and dunks it into the already tinted red and brown water. He takes a moment to ask can I touch you?
It catches Dream off guard, and some deep part of him wants to say no. No don't touch me, no one can touch me ever again. Don't touch me please. But Dream nods.
He tries to stay still when the washcloth finally touches his back, but he can't stop the way he flinches so hard water splashes over the side of the tub. He keeps his mouth shut. Phil does not say anything other than mutter a soft apology.
He drifts away after that, occasionally he'll wince or whimper when Phil washes over a particularly fresh wound. But other than that he doesn't complain, doesn't make a move to get away, he sits. He lets Phil do what he wants. It's easier that way. Phil wants to clean him, fix his wounds so Dream won't argue. There is no use in arguing anyway.
When Phil asks if he can check his thighs, Dream nods. He tries not to cry when Phil's jaw drops at the sight of the brand.
And then Phil says he's done, and reaches over to unplug the tub. Dream watches the dirty bloody brown water get sucked away. He would've gagged at the sight if he was in the right headspace. Been repulsed. But he didn't care, not really.
“How about a proper bath now, hm? Your hair could use a bit of TLC.” Phil chuckles, and turns the faucet on. Dream nods, words too much on him. He feels drained. He's tired. Although he's always tired now.
The water is warm, well it should feel warm. Dream was so used to the boiling heat of his cell's molten water, that the water in the bath that should feel warm just feels cold. He shivers, but he doesn't curl back up.
He watches Phil grab a bottle, and he just then realizes Techno isn't here anymore. He would feel scared, but then he looks at Phil, who has a calm look on his face. He doesn't seem angry, he doesn't seem mean. Dream doesn't remember Phil ever hurting him before. Not truly.
So Dream forces his body to relax.
He listens to Phil mutter, having a one sided conversation. Dream would listen, it's good to listen but he's so tired. It's getting hard to focus. He tries not to whine when the avian tugs on the knots in his hair, he knows his hair is a mess. Matted with blood and sweat and god knows what.
And yet, Phil is gentle as he gently attempts to untangle the knots in his hair. Dream thinks he gets a brush at some point but he can't be too sure. He zones out after a while, letting Phil tug his hair however he needs. The pain feels.. Nice. It's grounding him. Keeps him tethered to his body as he and Phil sit in the bathroom for hours? Minutes? He isn't sure.
Then Phil mutters, “Okay, that should be good for now.” he pulls away from Dream, examining his handy work. His hair is still tangled, but he managed to get the worst of it. Now it just looked messy. He's sure if he sat and brushed it some more it would look semi put together, but his knees are starting to ache and he's sure the bath water is cold by now.
Dream lets Phil guide him up so he's standing, and he lets Phil wrap him up in a towel. It's oddly tender. He feels weird, his head fuzzy, and normally he would question the odd kindness he isn't deserving of but Phil is being so gentle, so soft. Dream can't help but be greedy just this once. Just this once. Then he can apologize later, he can make up for it later.
Phil dresses his wounds, bandages him up until he looks like a mummy. He lets Phil clothe him like he's a doll, only feeling uneasy just for a minute. He feels drowsy and cold and weird but Phil remains a steady presence. He grabs Dream's wrist and pulls him along out of the bathroom once the goat hybrid is dressed.
Dream is shocked at the softness of the clothes, they hang off his frame like a dress but he pays it no mind. Clothes are clothes, he is thankful. At least he got something to wear. At least he isn't naked.
He expects Phil to lead him back to his corner, but instead he's dragged to a room. Dream tenses, is he?.. No no, Phil wouldn't. He wouldn't. Phil is good, he's nice. He untangled his hair, and he helped with his wounds. He wouldn't do that.
But what if he was just making Dream look presentable? So he could ra– no no, he couldn't be raped. He's not capable of being raped.
Dream waits with a baited breath as Phil takes him to a bed, pulls the covers away, and gently nudges Dream. The man takes the hint, and climbs into the bed. He looks up at Phil, who sort of looks slightly upset. He thinks he's upset anyway, Dream can't tell.
“Alright, you can sleep here, okay, mate? If you need anything just holler, or you can come down by yourself. But I advise against it until your wounds are healed up properly. I know I said I'd reset any broken bones but it's been a rough day for you, huh? We can do that tomorrow, or the day after that. Whenever you're ready.” Phil says, hand going to his chin to scratch at his stubble.
Dream just stares up at him, before nodding. He doesn't understand it, doesn't get the kindness but he won't question it. He knows better.
He lets Phil push on him until he lays down in the bed he forgot how comfortable beds were. He realizes just now that he missed them. Missed beds.
When his head hits the pillow, he immediately begins to drift away. Phil grabs the blanket, pulling it over Dream's body and tucks him in. Like he's a kid or something. It's weird, but oddly comforting. He wants to tell Phil to stay when the older man goes to leave, but he holds his tongue. He's already done so much for Dream.
But it seems Phil's some sort of mind reader, because he simply grabs a chair that was in the corner of the room and drags it so it's sitting next to the bed. Dream feels his heart beat calm. Since when was it racing?
His eyes droop, and Phil says something and he doesn't know what but his voice is so soft and soothing that Dream immediately falls asleep. Lulled by the comfort.