Work Text:
It takes Sam a few moments to realize that the pounding he’s hearing isn’t coming from his tools, his head, nor the neighbor’s constant abuse of loudspeakers. He blinks away the afterimage of his plasma cutter, moving his safety goggles out of the way and taking off his headphones.
The sound immediately becomes clearer. It’s coming from his workshop’s backdoor.
For a moment, Sam just stares at it dumbly. He glances at the clock perched precariously on the edge of his repair desk, pushed there by various tools and knicknacks. It confirms what he already knew - it’s way too late for anyone to come in for repairs. Most people should be asleep.
The pounding on the door keeps going.
Wary, Sam pulls his respirator off his face, leaving it to hang around his neck, and heads to the door. He grabs a wrench on the way, holding it tightly.
The door lock, as always, jams when he tries to open it the first time. Sam tries again, and finally gets the door open. He peeks out suspiciously, ready to slam it closed again-
And ends up throwing it open wide when he registers who’s standing there.
“Oh thank fuck you’re here,” Punz says, almost sagging in relief.
They don’t, though, holding themself upwards and tense, an arm looped around Dream’s chest for support. Punz doesn’t look hurt, but they’re stained with green blood, fresh thirium splattered over their white hoodie. Dream’s blood.
Sam stares, horrified, his wrench slipping out of his suddenly nerveless fingers.
It clatters loudly to the ground.
“Hey Sa-a-am,” Dream greets him wanly, voice a mess of static and echo-stutters. He waves his arm in greeting. It’s cut off at the wrist, exposing neon wires that are still dripping blood. Dream’s smile is stiff and pained, “Could you gi-i-ive me a hand-”
“Oh my god,” Punz groans.
“ Oh my god ,” Sam says, horrified, and immediately rushes forward to help Punz carry him. Dream lets out a halting, distorted wheeze that Sam barely recognizes as a laugh, and Sam hisses out, “That’s not funny !”
“Get it?” Dream wheezes. “Because I nee-nee-need a hand?”
Sam ignores him, focused on getting him and Punz into the workshop.
He kicks the wrench out of the way, then kicks the door closed, hearing the telltale click of the lock engaging - and probably jamming yet again - behind them. It’s not a long walk to the repair table, yet it feels like miles, with Dream injured and bleeding out in his and Punz’s arms.
When they get to it, Sam leaves Punz to support Dream’s weight alone for a moment, quickly shoving all the clutter away to make space for him on the desk. His clock goes down along with a mug, the latter shattering in a splatter of what looks like a mix of chemical thinner and coffee.
“Shit,” Sam curses, then decides to ignore it for now. He turns back to Dream and helps Punz lift him up onto the desk, asking tersely, “Why is one of you always injured when you come see me?”
“You’re a repairman,” Punz points out.
“That’s not the point,” Sam says. “I’d like you to drop by without needing repairs!”
Whatever retort Punz would have made gets drowned out by the high-pitched, static-filled whine that Dream lets out as the both of them tug his clothes off to access the connecting ports on his back, leaving him in boxers. His synthetic skin is rippling and vanishing in several spots, and Sam doesn’t know if it’s a stress response or if that too is damaged.
One emergency at a time.
He reaches behind Dream, getting another cut-off whine.
“Sorry, sorry,” Sam breathes out, grabbing two power cables and connecting them quickly into the correct ports. Dream jolts, even as his vitals and specs start flooding the various monitors above the desk. “Sorry,” Sam whispers again. “Almost there.”
He grabs the tubes connected to the thirium tank, connects them too, then quickly goes to turn the pump on. It starts with a gurgle, and Sam lets out a small relieved breath. There. Now Dream won’t bleed out on his workshop desk.
Of course, that’s the moment Punz grabs him, drawing their knife and pressing it to Sam’s neck.
“Really?” Sam sighs.
“You know the drill,” Punz answers wryly.
“I would fix him even without the threat,” Sam huffs. “You know this.”
“Call it a habit,” Punz says.
Sam rolls his eyes at them, and focuses back onto his task. Punz is right, in a way - it is habit. Repairing androids is Sam’s job and so the procedure flows naturally, almost absently. Lost in the process, it’d be almost easy to forget that it’s Dream sitting on his desk, and not just any android in need of repairs.
Except Sam could never mistake Dream for anyone else.
“I’m going to mute down your pain receptors,” Sam tells Dream absently.
“Sure,” Dream says.
It takes barely a second, the flick of a switch, and then Sam turns to inspect Dream’s arm.
He gently removes the damaged wrist socket, then, after a closer look, the entire forearm component. It’s damaged too, cracked and sparking. Once done, Sam grabs clamps from one of the drawers, and quickly shuts the still bleeding thirium veins.
“There you go,” Sam says. “I’ll see about finding you a replacement.”
“Do you ha-a-ave one in stock alrea-ea-eady?” Dream asks.
His voice is still strange, words varying in pitch and coming out stuttery. Distracted from his precious goal, Sam frowns turning back to him. He leans closer, gently manhandling Dream’s jaw to look at his throat. There’s no obvious damage there. He glances at one of the monitors, looking for the status of Dream’s voice box. It looks fine, surprisingly.
What’s causing the issue, then?
“Are you still in pain?” Sam checks, worried.
“No-o-o,” Dream tells him, slowly. He reaches out with his working hand, patting Sam’s arm, “I think I have a misa-a-aligned component. I’m getti-ing error warnings.”
“You took a pretty big hit,” Punz says, closer than Sam expects them to be.
Sam stills, suddenly overly aware of their position.
He’s standing between Dream’s legs, one hand still cupping Dream’s jaw, the other having somehow found its way to Dream’s waist. It sits there, easy. Like it always was meant to rest on the dip of his hips, feeling soft synthetic skin under his fingers.
Punz is standing behind him, so close Sam can feel them, can feel the warmth of their core radiating from their chest.
Want, sudden and selfish, alights in Sam’s stomach.
It’s nothing new, of course. No one with any sense would see Dream and Punz and not want. But they come to him for help, and it would be a terrible breach of their trust to act upon his shameful desire while they depend on him for repairs. Sam swallows, throat dry.
The bobbing movement reminds him of the pressure at his neck.
Punz’s knife is a cool, sharp anchor there.
Sam clings to it immediately, desperate not to lose his composure. He clears his throat, and tries to remember what he wanted to do, before he realized he had Dream, half naked, in front of him.
“Right,” he says, “You, uh, what sort of hit?”
“It wa-asn’t anything too ba-a-ad,” Dream says.
“Love, shut up,” Punz says flatly. A glance backwards tells Sam they’re rolling their eyes. They meet Sam’s gaze directly, explaining, “The idiot took a charged pellet to the gut.”
“Hey-” Dream protests.
“Oof,” Sam says, wincing with second-hand pain. “That’s bad , Dream.”
And it is.
Charged pellets hit hard on impact, and that’s before the electric charge in them usually downs their target with a burst of over 10 000 volts. That sort of force is bad enough on humans, but for an android the damage can be irreversible much easier. Deadly, in fact.
They are full of fragile electronic components, after all.
His hand spasms on Dream’s waist. The glitching skin makes a lot of sense, suddenly.
“Look, I’m re-e-esistant to tha-a-at sort of things,” Dream reminds him and Punz.
“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Punz tells him, to which Sam nods empathically.
They’re lucky Dream is a special, advanced android, more resistant than most currently hitting the market. A charged pellet to the chest would have fried the processors of any household model, for sure.
Sam reaches over Dream’s shoulder for the monitors displaying his specs and vitals, and starts combing through them. Nothing obvious screams back at him, but that just means the damage might just be more insidious, more complex. He spends several minutes just scrolling through seemingly endless data, fine combing through the error reports that Dream helpfully transfers along to the screens.
All of them are basically indicating a misaligned component, but none of them agree on which one, and there’s no actual critical damage warning coming from anywhere.
It could be a good thing, just as it could be bad - the charge might have fried the nerves and the receptors that usually are used to diagnose such damage.
Finally, Sam has to admit defeat. He won’t be able to find the issue without taking a look at Dream’s components himself.
“Could you open your core compartment for me, please?” Sam asks.
Dream nods, and his skin recedes from his torso, revealing the white, gleaming chassis underneath. With a near soundless sliding of plates, his entire chest cavity opens like a maw.
To the untrained eye, what lies inside would seem a mess. A riot of colors and glowing circuits, neon veins flowing with liquids, alimenting components of strange sizes and shapes.
To Sam’s professional gaze, it’s a work of art.
There’s not a single pocket of wasted space, not a single outdated component, not a single superfluous thirium pathway. Everything is efficient and organized, built with the best things mankind can access.
Dream is the most gorgeous, efficient, state-of-the-art creation on earth.
As always, the sight leaves Sam breathless, makes him want to reach inside and start deconstructing everything, figure out the genius that went into building every single piece. He wants to extricate every single component, to inspect each of them, to admire every single circuit.
Sam’s family used to say that androids were an affront to God. That creation of something in their own likeness was hubris. Heresy.
Creation, they used to say, is for the divine.
On this, Sam agrees.
Dream certainly is the closest thing to holy he’s ever seen.
With reverent hands, he brushes at exposed wires and main components, carefully looking for damage. There’s none at the outer edges, but as he follows the pathways back to the core, he can see some minute traces of strain. Nothing too bad, nothing that would actually be harmful even in the long run. Cosmetic at best, and easily replaceable during a check-up.
Heart in his throat, Sam looks at the core last, and almost deflates.
It’s not damaged.
He’d almost expected it to be, given that the core tends to attract electric impulses to it. But of course, Dream wasn’t made with such a fragile piece for a heart. It’s fine. It’s a healthy, glowing green, stable and strong.
The problem, in fact, comes from the stabilizer that holds it.
Like every piece of Dream’s chassis and support structure, it’s sturdier than anything available on the market. Anything else might have shattered on impact, which would have been disastrous. As is, Dream’s core-chamber is still miraculously sound.
It is, however, covered in thin, hairline fractures.
As long as Dream doesn’t do anything strenuous, doesn’t move much, it might last for a while. But it will keep sending warnings every time he moves, since the finely calibrated sensors that Dream was built with would register the resulting, minute change in integrity.
And of course, it will deteriorate with time.
It’s not as urgent as Sam had feared, but it’s still very dangerous.
Too much so for his peace of mind.
“What is it?” Punz asks, when Sam stays still and contemplative for too long. There’s barely there anxiety in their tone, that Sam wouldn’t have caught once upon a time. “Did you find the damage?”
“Yes,” Sam confirms, and then looks at Dream, who meets his gaze with no fear at all, only full confidence in Sam’s ability to fix him. It’s more than Sam deserves. “Your core stabilizer is cracked.”
Punz inhales sharply. Dream, though, doesn’t seem as alarmed as he should be.
“You can fi-i-ix it?” He asks.
“I can replace it,” Sam nods.
He hesitates, then, mouth working uselessly.
In itself, the procedure isn’t too complicated. Sam is a professional. Removing the core and replacing the damaged stabilizer with a new one won’t take long, nor be too difficult. The problem is that cores are capricious, delicate components. Vital components. Made to fit their stabilizer chamber perfectly, snug, to avoid any sort of damage or wear.
It’s not removing them that is difficult, it’s putting them back in.
It would be very easy to cause accidental damage with improper handling, into a new stabilizer.
There’s a reason most people simply reset their androids when their cores have any sort of issue. Repairing any damage there without risking a short-circuit of any kind is difficult.
Of course, that’s not an option here.
To reset Dream would be-
Sam kills the thought.
“It’s going to be dangerous,” he eventually says. “I could- If I mess up, you could get damaged beyond repair.”
“What sort of damage?” Punz asks sharply.
“Memory purge,” Sam tells them. “At least.”
“Then we do-o a memory ba-a-ack up,” Dream says with a shrug. In the background, one of the screens connected to Dream’s processors immediately goes darker, initializing said back-up at a thought. Dream hums, looking at Sam, “What a-are the other o-options?”
Sam shakes his head. Any other type of damage would simply result in the same thing, in the end. The loss of who Dream is. His individuality. The memory back-up is the only safeguard, but it’s not perfect.
“You could leave it be,” Sam suggests, even though he knows that Dream won’t allow it. He still tries, hopeful, “As long as you don’t go around doing anything strenuous, you’ll be fine.”
He wants to offer more, to tell Dream that of course, both he and Punz are always welcome at his home. They could stay. No one would look for them here, and even if someone came by and saw them, well, what would they think? Androids at an android repair shop? Revolutionary.
They’d be safe, here, with Sam. He would take care of them.
Dream’s expression prevents him from voicing any of this, a rueful smile that speaks more than words.
“You kno-ow I can’t do that,” Dream tells him, not unkindly.
Sam nods, dejectedly. He does. He knows.
As much as he wishes otherwise, Dream and Punz are not his to keep. They just come in for repairs, and then they leave. That’s how it is.
“Alright,” he says. “Alright.”
Punz’s knife presses hard against his throat, their other hand tight on Sam’s shoulder.
“Don’t mess it up, Sam,” they say, a tense warning.
Sam just nods. He bends down to retrieve the right tools he’ll need, along with a replacement for the stabilizer. Then he braces himself on the table, held between Dream’s legs and Punz, and starts.
The removal goes just as smoothly as he expects it to. He unhooks Dream’s core carefully, leaving it plugged in through the wires.
For a moment he just holds it, with the reverence it deserves, feeling the warmth seeping in his skin, watching the glow of it - a warning orange now.
Sam’s holding Dream’s heart in his hands.
And Dream is letting him hold it.
“Sam,” Punz growls.
The point of their blade stings the underside of Sam’s jaw, a warning. Dream may trust Sam with the most important, vital part of himself, Punz doesn’t. They let go of Sam’s shoulder and extend an expectant hand.
Swallowing roughly, Sam carefully sets the core into Punz’s waiting hand, then goes back to his work.
He removes the cracked stabilizer easily, then carefully replaces it with a new one. It slots into place without any issue, which is wonderful. Sam lets out a shuddering breath as he glances to the side, to Punz’s hand, holding Dream’s glowing heart.
His hands start shaking.
Punz must notice, or maybe they notice the way he’s bracing against the table, because they let out a sharp exhale.
“Do you need a chair?” They ask him, surprisingly considerate.
“That would help,” Sam admits, but- “But I don’t have one.”
Both Punz and Dream stare at him, in surprise and judgement, and Sam can feel himself flush. Look, he used to have a nice, serviceable stool. And then a few weeks ago, he had to replace a rotator arm on a machine and his stool had legs the exact dimension needed for a quick, temporary fix and so-
Anyway, he hasn’t gotten around to replacing it, yet.
He’s about to suggest going to grab a few crates - it serves in a pinch - when Punz just sighs and gives him Dream’s core back. Sam blinks at it, surprised, holding it as carefully as he can.
Then Punz grabs him by the hair and yanks him down.
Sam yelps, but follows the movement slowly, scared to jostle Dream’s core.
He ends up on his knees, Punz’s hand almost harsh in his hair, their knife pressing against his throat at an angle. Sam almost loses his breath, staring up and finding Dream just watching him with a small smile, fondly amused.
It’s so incongruous, given the gravity of the situation, that Sam stares a bit longer, transfixed.
At this angle, with his back to the many monitor screens above the desk, Dream looks like the subject of a religious painting. A benevolent holy man, smiling down at Sam as he holds his heart.
“Is that better,” Punz asks, breaking through Sam’s thoughts. “Sam?”
“Oh, uh, yes,” Sam says, shaking himself. He shifts, adjusting his position to be more comfortable. It’s true that with his balance closer to the ground, he feels more steady, “Thank you.”
Punz snorts, simply yanking Sam’s hair slightly. A wordless reminder to get a move on.
Sam does, hooking the core back onto the magnetizing tool carefully, and then reaching up to put it back in. It starts sliding in without a hitch, right until Sam’s fingers spasm nervously.
The glow of the core seems, for a heartstopping moment, to sputter. Sam freezes, the edge of Punz’s blade pressing into his skin harder.
Dream is the only one that doesn’t seem worried.
“Punz,” he chides, voice still slightly echoing with static but much, much better already. “Having a knife at his throat won’t help him have steady hands.”
Punz scoffs loudly. The knife doesn’t move.
Sam gives Dream a small smile.
“It’s fine,” he assures him. “I don’t mind.”
“Sam,” Dream says.
“No, no, I promise,” Sam says. “I don't mind.”
He squeezes Dream’s calf lightly, clumsily trying to reassure him without words. Sam’s telling the truth after all. By now, he’s used to it. The pressure of the blade on his skin, and the weight of Punz’s hand on his head, fingers tangled in his hair, is familiar. Almost comforting.
It’s certainly a comfort to Punz, to feel in control over the situation when they’re leaving Dream’s safety to someone else. Sam can’t take that away from them.
“Okay,” Sam says, and takes a breath. He looks at Dream, and warns, “I’m going to try that again.”
“I trust you, Sam,” Dream says.
The words leave Sam feeling so warm he wonders for a moment if he was turned into an android and given a core while he wasn’t looking. Dream’s smile and his trust glowing between Sam’s rib like a second heart, a little ball of heat tucked deep in his chest.
His hands are steady as he pushes Dream’s core back in place, twisting the fragile piece precisely into the slot. It pulses twice, first a warning orange then a calibrating yellow.
A second later and it’s back to steady green, healthy and strong.
Just like that, the tension in the room deflates, replaced with relief. Dream relaxes, expression easier. Punz’s knife stops pressing quite so hard against Sam’s throat, and their grip on his hair vanishes.
Sam sits back on his feet, taking a moment just to breathe.
“How are you feeling?” Punz asks Dream, the hand that was in Sam’s hair now reaching out to him.
“Better,” Dream says, and reaches back.
Their fingers tangle easily, and Punz’s synthetic skin recedes automatically at the touch. Dream’s expression melts into something so loving it takes Sam’s breath away, even though it’s not directed at him.
He stares anyway, drinking it in, watching the gleaming white of Punz and Dream’s revealed chassis where their hands are joined. Yearning.
Mere moments later, the two androids stop interfacing. Dream turns his face, still full of warm affection, towards Sam.
“Thank you, Sam,” he says.
“Of course,” Sam manages, and then, “Any time. My door is always open to you.”
He means it entirely. Dream must be able to see that, to understand he’s being genuine, somehow, because he smiles at him, soft surprise turning into something pleased.
Sam loses himself a little, contemplating the curve of Dream’s lips and the way his eyes crease when he’s happy. A hand lands on Sam’s head again, startling him.
“How generous of you,” Punz drawls behind him.
The words would sting more, if not for the way they start combing their fingers through Sam’s hair, blunt nails scratching his scalp pleasantly. Sam looks up hesitantly.
Punz looks down at him, their expression surprisingly fond.
Sam’s heart misses a beat.
“Would you like to stay?” He blurts out.
Punz blinks, and Sam flushes, and looks away - which ends up being a mistake, as he meets Dream’s bright eyes instead. Green has never looked so lovely.
“We’d love to stay,” Dream says, “If it’s not bothering you.”
“Yes! I mean, no! You could never bother me,” Sam quickly denies, smiling a little foolishly. Punz snorts above him, and Sam goes on, cautiously hopeful, “I’d like it if you stayed.”
“Really,” Punz says, wryly, “And what was that, earlier, about wanting us to drop by less often?”
“ Needing repairs, ” Sam reminds them, quickly, empathically. “I want you to show up without injuries!” He wavers, then admits quietly, “I would like to see you when you’re not hurt.”
Punz doesn’t reply, their fingers frozen still in Sam’s hair. Sam doesn’t look at them, scared of what reaction, what expression they might be making.
Then the pressure from their knife vanishes entirely, and Sam startles, looking back. They stare back, eyebrow raised, putting their blade away.
“I guess we don’t have anything better to do for the next few days,” they say. “We could stay a little. We do need a place to lay low.”
“Punz,” Dream huffs, and then reaches out to pat Sam’s hand, “What they mean is that we’d love to stay with you for a while. You’re right. We see too little of you.”
“Oh,” Sam says, dazed, and then smiles back, “That’s great.”
He intends to say more, but gets interrupted by a yawn. With the tension gone, the late hour is catching up to him. He hears Punz make a small, sighing sound, and then suddenly there’s an arm around his torso, hoisting him up to his feet.
“Come on, Sam,” Punz says, supporting Sam’s weight effortlessly. “Let’s get your fragile human ass to bed.”
“I’m not fragile, and my human ass is fine, and-” Sam protests, and looks back at Dream, “Wait, wait, Punz, I need to at least give Dream a cover for his arm-”
“Dream’s got working legs and another arm,” Dream tells him, rolling his eyes. “I can get a cover myself. Go to bed, Sam.”
“But-” Sam tries one last time, even as Punz drags him away.
“Go to bed,” Dream repeats, and hops off the table. He walks up to Sam and Punz, and smiles, before brushing a light kiss to Sam’s temple, “I’ll be right there.”
Sam, stunned into silence, face feeling so warm he might combust, nods dumbly, letting Punz drag him away into the living area. He’s barely conscious of the way to the bedroom. So he yelps when Punz suddenly starts yanking at his clothes.
“Wh- Punz! ” Sam protests, flailing.
“You’re not going to bed in your dirty work clothes, Sam,” Punz tells him.
“I can undress myself!” Sam says.
“Sure,” Punz says, and then their tone drops into something frankly unbearably suggestive, eyes all but glowing blue, “But maybe I want to undress you, hm? How about that, Sam?”
They’re grinning at him, while Sam splutters. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so flustered.
Punz takes advantage of it and efficiently starts removing his clothes. Sam lets them, too tired and too confused to do more than protest weakly. He’s feeling so warm.
Then Punz reaches for Sam’s underwear, and Sam can’t.
“What are you doing!” He exclaims.
Punz’ look is telling . Sam lets out a high-pitched noise, and skitters back until he bumps into the bed. Right! The bed! Quickly jumping on, Sam yanks the covers and hides under them. He can hear Punz laughing at him, muffled through the fabric.
Then, footsteps.
“Punz,” Dream sighs, fondly. “Why is Sam hiding? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Punz says, like the liar they are. Whatever expression Dream makes, it makes them amend their statement, “Just some light teasing I swear. He’s just so cute when he gets flustered.”
Sam decides that he needs to hide under the pillow as well, actually.
“Hm, that’s true,” Dream says, unaware that his warm tone and his words are killing Sam. “He is pretty cute.”
“Right?” Punz says.
Sam curls up on himself, wishing he would just combust and die.
Of course, that’s when the bed dips, on each side of him. Sam freezes.
Dream and Punz slide under the covers, and huddle close, as if trying to hug each other and forgetting that Sam is right there between them. They’re warm and solid and real, and Punz’s hand seems to immediately settle around Sam’s waist, spooning him.
“Is this okay?” They ask, quietly.
“We can leave, if you want,” Dream adds, even as he huddles closer, lifting Sam’s arm to snuggle into his chest.
“I- I-” Sam stammers, his heart beating too fast. “No. No that’s fine I-” He hesitates, then quietly, asks, “What are you doing?”
“Staying,” Dream says. Softly, he asks, “Is that not what you wanted?”
It is. It’s everything Sam’s ever wanted, and more. Everything he thought he didn’t deserve to want. He nods, wordless.
“Good,” Dream says.
In the dark, under the covers, his eyes glow eerily, and yet it only feels comforting. Sam can see the hint of a smile, lit up just barely by the blue of Punz’s own eyes, peering around his shoulder no doubt.
“Now go to sleep, Sam,” Dream goes on. “We’ll be there in the morning.”
“Okay,” Sam says. Punz squeezes him, and he slowly relaxes. Closes his eyes, and embraces Dream hesitantly tighter. It gets him an approving hum. “Okay. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Punz and Dream echo.
Sam’s heart is still trying to beat its way out of his chest. Surely, he thinks, he’s too nervous to sleep. There’s no way he can actually rest when he has both Dream in his arms and Punz at his back.
And yet, soon enough, he falls, safe in their embrace.