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“See, fun thing here. I hate both of your guts. Sit down.”
Dream glanced at Wilbur. Wilbur looked back.
They both decided neither of them quite dared to disobey Quackity.
Dream sat on the floor with minimal hesitation, heart in his throat, head spinning from the slight movement. Quackity had rammed his axe into Dream’s gut somewhere between Pandora and here, and his head had been spinning ever since. It didn’t help he hadn’t had his mask for a long time, and being outside made him paranoid about catching anyone’s eye.
Wilbur didn’t sit. He eyed Quackity with something between disdain and raw hunger, his eyes drifting places Dream’s frazzled mind didn’t want to register.
“Ducky… why so harsh?”
“Behave, and I won’t throw you out tonight.”
Wilbur crossed his arms, raising one eyebrow. Dream was staring at the foot of Quackity’s desk, breathing carefully to avoid throwing up on the avian’s carpet.
“Charming. And why-“
“Wilbur.” Quackity’s voice came out through gritted teeth, and Dream flinched on instinct. “Sit the fuck down. This isn’t foreplay. I will tear out that thing you call a heart if you don’t behave right fucking now.”
Dream was definitely going to be sick. He could feel it, in a clammy sort of way, creeping up the back of his neck. He was going to throw up, and Quackity was going to slit his throat, and he’d bleed out without even getting to see Techno again.
How had he gotten here?
Sam hadn’t been there. Dream remembered absences. He remembered the absence of the warden, he remembered the absence of chains once Quackity removed them, he remembered the absence of wings on his back, a phantom weight he’d never regain.
Wilbur sat next to him, scowling. Dream hardly noticed. He was trying not to pass out on Quackity’s rug.
The avian hopped onto his desk, perching next to a stack of documents with his eyes narrowed like a hawk.
“I really need to make clear how much I fucking hate being near you two. Just-“ Quackity gestured vaguely, first at Dream, then at Wilbur. “You’re a murderer. And you hurt Tommy, and a hell of a lot of other people, and there is no way in hell I’ll ever hurt you enough to make up for that. And you, Soot, are a whore.”
Wilbur actually seemed satisfied with that, smirking and glancing over at Dream smugly.
“Eyes up here, slut.”
Dream smiled weakly, watching Quackity’s boots swing back against his desk, scuffing the varnished wood. Wilbur had gone slightly red. So funny, the things people cared about. Names, nicknames, pet names, they all reacted slightly differently to each one.
“And you, mutt. No masks now.”
The names went for him too. Dream hated how his body reacted to Quackity’s commend, tensing up and obeying without question.
“Look, Wilbur, someone knows how to obey simple instructions.”
Dream wasn’t really looking at Quackity. He couldn’t, obviously. But even without avoiding eye contact, he was zoned out. His body had learnt how to obey without being conscious.
“Hmph. What’s this about then, darling?”
Throwing up. That wasn’t going to be fun. Dream was breathing in through his mouth, out through his nose, but he was only getting more lightheaded.
“Dream. I took him out of Pandora today.”
“Really? Hadn’t noticed.”
“Shut up.” Quackity hissed, actually hissed at Wilbur, and the hairs on Dream’s spine stood straight upright. “Because you’re going to have to live with him.”
Dream’s eyes refocused, shock stabbing vaguely through what part of his mind was still lucid. That didn’t sound right.
“Ducky… what have you done?” Wilbur sounded drawlingly amused, casting an equally ravenous glance over at Dream. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“You don’t fucking touch him, Soot. I thought it would be easier to have him here.”
“Don’t I? Dreamie, darling, can I-“
“Shut up. I will make you sleep outside.”
Dream felt hot and cold and sickly all over. He was going to throw up. He was actually going to throw up.
“Make me, darling. You’re not the only one attached to the poor thing.”
“He’s an avian, and he’s mine. You might have gotten lucky with whoring yourself out around me, but do t think I’ll let it work twice.”
“Yours, hm? Dreamie-“
Quackity swung off the desk, and Dream straightening his posture. But the again didn’t spare him a glance, storming across the room to kick Wilbur square in the gut. Dream’s own bruised abdomen ached in sympathy, and he felt a fresh wave of nausea wash over him.
Wilbur doubled over immediately, whistling breathlessly in pain.
“G- gods above, ducky, that feels-“
“Shut it. Right fucking now.”
“You’re going to give me internal bleeding, you know. You can’t just go around abusing me like this.”
“You love it, first of all, and you don’t have enough blood for it to internally bleed anywhere.”
Hey. Internal bleeding.
Dream might be internally bleeding.
Well. Quackity would have to deal with that. Dream had long since accepted he shouldn’t be trusted with the words to change anything about his or anyone else’s situation.
“Still. Ow. If only you’d be that rough when I ask you to, darling, then I’d-“
Wilbur stopped talking. Quackity hadn’t interrupted him, he hadn’t been kicked again. He’d just stopped.
That didn’t happen.
“Q. Q- what’s wrong with him?”
Him?
Oh.
Dream.
Good question, that.
Dream realised extremely belatedly that his face had begun to dissolve at the edges, a slow-motion type of teleportation as his body slowly shut down.
“Madre de Cristo, what the fuck-“ Quackity crouched in front of Dream, who only remembered in the nick of time to avert his eyes. “Shit. What?”
Dream swallowed hard, and forced himself back together, head spinning in every direction as his vision began to grey out. Stupid ender hybrid genes.
“What was that about?” Quackity reached out, and Dream screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself to breathe normally, to avoid eye contact and the siren trill of instincts. “I’m talking to you, mutt. What’s wrong?”
Did he not want to hit Dream, around Wilbur? Quackity certainly seemed more restrained than usual.
Besides, Dream didn’t talk. Not now. Quackity knew he didn’t talk. And it wasn’t a real question anyway, because Quackity never cared about him.
But now Wilbur was next to him. Dream could feel him. Dream could feel his own pulse in his ears, sluggish and sickening as his head just kept spinning.
Wilbur didn’t ask to touch him. And Dream wasn’t trained not to flinch away, so he did, and felt nausea and dizziness grab at him as he fell backwards, eyes still shut in panic.
“Down, Soot, I will-“
“Q, let me. Please.”
“…fine.”
“Hey, Dreamie?”
Dream shook his head. Not his name. He didn’t need another name. He’d made a name for himself, made it good, and now everyone was changing it.
Wilbur got even closer, one hand on his cheek, the other taking his wrist gently, and it felt so constrictive Dream would have screamed if he’d had the energy.
“Q.” Wilbur’s voice was soft, his fingers cold against where Dream’s pulse should be. “Can I get Foolish? He knows what to do for this.”
“Yeah. Yeah- whatever. Go. Did- shit, Wil, I think that was me.”
“Not surprised, darling. He’s a lot more fragile than he looks.”
Wilbur’s hands left him, although not without stroking his hair soothingly, and Dream tried not to let his breathing turn too ragged.
“Whatever. Go get Foolish.”
“Don’t hurt him, ok, ducky? You can take it out on me later.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“Wonderful.”
Wilbur’s footsteps were almost inaudible, but the door clicked shut in a way that felt like Dream’s mind breaking for the hundredth time.
Quackity. He was with Quackity.
“How you doing there?”
Not good. Faint. He was going to faint. Something felt very wrong inside him.
“You’re staying here, by the way. Thought Wilbur might like having you around.”
He didn’t like being around Wilbur. Too many reminders of what he wasn’t anymore.
“And there’s no way Technoblade’s getting you back.” Quackity scoffed, but there was something guilty under it. “Hold on there, ok? I don’t need an avian dying on my hands today.”
He wasn’t an avian. He’d lost his wings long ago. Ender genes had never done anything for him. He wasn’t much of anything, really.
Dream realised, vaguely, that he was barely keeping himself upright, kneeling on the floor with his eyes still shut as his body felt like it was shutting down.
Quackity’s shortened talon found his temple, and Dream froze, a small, keening noise escaping him.
“Shush, mutt. Trust the process.”
Quackity moved his fingertip, tracing under Dream’s eye in a shallow arc, then to his opposite temple, then down his cheek to his chin. Dream held his breath shallowly as the talon trailed down his throat, but shivers followed all the way to his collarbone.
Against his better judgement, Dream felt the violent spinning slow to a kind of foggy exhaustion. This didn’t feel like Quackity’s usual touch. It just felt calm.
“See? I’m not such an asshole.” Quackity’s voice was quiet, his words laced with something bitter. “Not always.”
Dream really hoped Wilbur was going to get back soon.