«☆Dream angst oneshots☆» (Slow Updates)

✧☆Speak No Evil☆✧

Summary:
Dream won't be getting out of this prison without lasting injuries.

-=<+>=-

Quackity rips Dreams lower jaw off in prison. This will be fun.

Notes:
These are going to be the extreme of the extreme.

If this isn't your cup of tea, that's totally fine. Stay safe, and Enjoy!

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Work Text:

Quackity stormed out of the prison, blood still drying on his white button-up. Sam always hated seeing those dress shirts get so dirty, they must be expensive. Judging by the sour look on Quackitys face, though, now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

“He’s gonna need some help, Sam,” Quackity grumbled, using a sleeve to wipe the blood off his face. It just smeared it, really, causing the neat splatter to become a streaky mess. “Stitches and potions, if you want him to live, maybe more. I honestly couldn’t care less at this point, so it’s your call. Let him die if you want.”

   Quackity stepped into the swirling portal and disappeared, still working at the blood on his face.

    The Warden let out a sigh of relief when the other man was gone, not even realizing he had been holding his breath. He hated the feeling of tension Quackity seemed to carry with him all the time now, it made every conversation feel like Sam was tiptoeing over a field of eggshells.

  Of course, Quackity didn’t really mean his extreme words. It was clear that Dream had been difficult today, and Quackity was angry. If Sam really let Dream die, he would never be forgiven.

      So, he gathered potions and some basic first aid and began dropping the lava. This kind of thing had happened before, so he wasn't really surprised to see the absolute mess of blood painting the walls in the cell, nor was he surprised to see Dream lying, unmoving, with his face to the wall. 

  He called out to Dream and got no answer. It seemed the prisoner was out like a light, and that just made Sam's job that much easier. No talking or pleading.

   He stepped off the platform and made his way into the cell, slightly disgusted when his boots stuck to the drying blood on the ground. Sam rolled his eyes and made his way to the back of the cell, where Dream was laying.

     He set the supplies down on the lectern, balancing them precariously on the tilted wood. Then he went over to Dream. He wedged a hand under Dream's shoulder and flipped the man to his back, exposing his front and his face—

    Oh— oh, Prime.

  Sam gagged, turning the other way and putting a hand on the obsidian walls to steady himself. What had Quackity done?

   His throat was lurching, and his stomach swooped, making him feel dizzy and threatening to bring him to his knees on the hard ground. He couldn’t breathe. His large hands scrambled to remove the mask that covered the bottom of his face as fast as he could. The mechanisms hissed as they released, as he breathed in deeply through his mouth.

   He can do this. It’s not that bad. His hands were shaking as he pushed his hair back from his face, but no one was there to see that.

         He was the Warden. He was The Warden.

   Sam steeled his nerves, slipping back into the part of the Warden as well as he could. Nothing bothered the Warden.

   Nothing.