Sleepy Buddies [REWRITE] //Dreambur

Chapter 27- What I Would Give to be Free

TW: Blood, extreme gore, cursing, torture, and a lot of Dream being physically and mentally destroyed.  Read at your own risk.  (Lemme know if I missed anything, this is an intense chapter)

Word Count- 2220

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Dream was hauled down bleached corridor after bleached corridor. It smelled like chemicals, was the brightest white he had ever seen, and reeked of artificial sanitation. Sometimes, prisoners would throw themselves at their doors, screaming and weeping and swearing and cackling. But the silent wards were the scariest, devoid of doctors or guards. They had almost a possessed hum to them, as though ghosts of prisoners still haunted the halls.

Eventually, the pattern of dull hallways came to an end, and the stench of unwashed bodies and blood filled the air. Dream swallowed, trying not to gag as he wished he hadn't complained about the bleached smell. He was dragged through water stained hallways made of stone, his guard's boots thundering against the floor. They passed the first cell and Dream nearly passed out from pure fear as he stared through the bars.

It was dingy, with only a table, a light embedded in the ceiling, and two chairs. There was a person in the chairs, too bloody to identify. They had a shaved head and blood ran down their temple, dripping off their cheek and landing in a horrifyingly large puddle on the floor. Their nose was broken, also leaking blood, and they did not appear to be breathing. Dream's guard clucked her tongue.

"They were supposed to keep that one alive," she said in a gravelly voice, tugging Dream along like he was a dog. "What a pity, he probably had important information as well."

"I'm gonna be sick," Dream whispered, arms clutching his stomach. The guard groaned to herself.

"We'll save it for when you're in your cell. I don't wanna clean that shit up."

Dream stomach turned at the thought of being in such a hellhole and he looked away from the dead body, trying to take deep breaths and ignore his surroundings. But every room they passed held horrors impossible to tear his eyes away from. One had a woman getting her stomach carved open as she laid on the operating table, twitching silently. Dream looked away before they made eye contact.

The next had a man staring at what Dream assumed to be an interrogator. It was completely walled off, save for a viewing window and a door. The interrogator was screaming at the prisoner, who did nothing in response. Even when he was punched in the stomach. He only slid out of his seat and coughed up blood, looking up at the other with tired, defeated eyes.

The last cell held a man with golden hair and bright green eyes that peered uncertainly at Dream. When they made eye contact, the man turned a violent shade of purple and threw himself at the bars, spitting and screaming madly. Dream stumbled back in horror, making his guard shove him.

"Oh calm down, he's harmless," she snarled over the insane prisoner. "Now hurry up."

Dream stumbled over his own feet, trying not to fall as his ankle throbbed. The arm of his jumpsuit was stained with an alarming amount of blood from the torn open scab. The guard opened a door at the end of the hallway and shoved Dream in, snickering in amusement.

Dream turned to look at her, anger simmering in him. His guard just rolled her eyes and slammed the door closed. Arms crossed, he turned in a circle and took the room in. It was a mostly sterile, white room. There was a metal table in the center with one chair on either side, a dirty mattress tucked in the corner, and an overflowing toilet. Dream's stomach lurched and he turned away, pacing. Was Fundy telling the truth? Methods of torture flew across his mind and he slapped them away.