Chapter 1: i see the stars through the mirror | Dream I
Notes:
title: lindsey stirling — shatter me.
sorry for my absence!! very much not planned, but i’ve been having various health issues lately and it’s been impossible to write at times because of that
obligatory disclaimer: english isn’t my first language, so sorry for any mistakes lol
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It ends like this:
He lies on a cold floor, enclosed in black walls, only a small lamp in the corner illuminating the room. The only thing he can hear is the slow dripping of water.
Cuffs around his wrists, tied together by a chain; his core is icy cold. He can’t feel the electricity that used to run through his veins, not even his fingertips spark anymore.
He knows what it means.
He will never return home.
He hits the ground too hard when he lands on the rooftop. He quickly kneels down as he takes in his surroundings, half-hidden behind a chimney.
It’s bright, the sun blinds him, and he’s not used to this kind of environment during a villain attack. They like to move in the shadows, they stay undetected until the first explosion, and they’re far too close to the Citadel.
His chest is cold. He has a really bad feeling about today.
He glances back when another hero lands behind him. “Stay,” he orders, “and only engage if you have to.”
Normally, they would immediately try to restrain any attackers, but people reported at least five villains, and there are only two they’re able to locate; he has to find the rest before worse can happen.
It wouldn’t surprise him if this is just distraction, and the real thing happens somewhere entirely else—it’s been a long time since he’s last heard of an entire group of villains working together.
He jumps down on the next rooftop, but no matter how further away he gets, he’s not capable of finding the rest.
“Status?”
“I can only locate Phoenix and Error,” he says, words muffled by his mask. “The rest has disappeared.”
“Do you need more backup?”
“Not yet,” he says, gaze flickering back to the two villains. They sent three heroes with him—young and inexperienced, and he’s told their supervisors, they’re not ready yet, but no one ever listens to him.
But so long as they don’t know where the rest is, they can’t risk sending too many heroes to the same place.
Dream bites on his lower lip, moving again, so he’s closer to their front. They’re not attacking, they’re not even really moving. It looks more like they’re arguing with each other, but…
If this really was some sort of distraction— he shakes his head. He needs to focus on the situation right now, and if other villains truly have a different target, he still needs to take care of this first.
Electricity crackles between his fingers as he leaps over a bigger gap between two rooftops.
He’s not close enough to be able to hear them yet, but they’re still not attacking, and he can feel the three younger heroes slowly getting nervous. The one time, a mission isn’t as straight-forward as they usually are during villain attacks.
Error gestures towards him, Phoenix turns around, his hands and arms on fire. Energy builds up in Dream’s hands.
Phoenix raises a hand, but it looks more like a wave than him wanting to attack Dream, and he’s still trying to figure out what exactly is happening when he sees movement in the corner of his eyes.
“No!” he yells, reaching out to yank the other back, but he’s too far away and not fast enough, and Phoenix has already turned further, and his hands are still standing in flames—
The fireball hits the hero right in the chest, he stumbles but still stands, and Dream thanks the Association that they finally fully switched to fireproof uniforms for all of their heroes and not just the top-ranked ones.
He steadies the young hero—Cosmos if Dream remembers correctly—, scans him quickly for any external injuries. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”
Cosmos’ breathing is erratic, he looks panicked, but Dream doesn’t have the time right now to worry about the hero as he pushes him over to the next roof and instructs him to get further away from the villains. There’s no way this ends peacefully, and there’s no way a panicking hero will help them in any way.
“Dream!” Cosmos screams, and this is the only warning Dream gets before something heavy hits him over the head; he almost falls, yanks his axe out. Just in time to block Error’s next hit.
His ears are ringing, and he’s pretty sure his head is bleeding, but he’s the only experienced hero here, and even if he called for backup, it would take at least ten more minutes for them to appear and—
He only realizes that he hasn’t kept track of the other villain once he feels his chest go cold, once he hears the familiar crackling of fire.
(A setup?)
Someone shouts his name, but when he turns, it’s already too late.
The voices around him are muffled, muted as if there’s cotton in his ears. He can’t make out words, can’t even recognize who the voices belong to. Almost like he doesn’t know these people—but that’s not possible. He knows everyone working for the Association.
He frowns, tries to hold onto the voices, the words, tries to understand their meaning instead of letting them slip away, but no matter how hard he tries, nothing seems to make sense. Are they speaking a different language?
Where is he?
He shakes his head, flinches when the pressure in his head gets unbearable, as if someone is trying to squeeze his brain, break through his skull—
It’s a dull pain, nothing like the sharp stabs of the headaches he usually suffers through.
A healer? But the Association wouldn’t waste their resources on something like a simple headache. Painkillers then. Probably.
Once he’s able to focus on anything but the throbbing in his head and the blood rushing through his ears, he notices that the voices have quieted down, barely more than whispers, and when he blinks, he’s enveloped in silence.
He stares at the white ceiling of an unknown room that looks like it belongs to a hospital. It’s so silent. There’s not even the beeping of an EKG, almost like he’s completely cut off from the outside world.
Where is he? That’s not the Association’s infirmary, nor any of the city’s hospitals. Not that he would have ended there if he’d gotten injured so badly that he needs any kind of medical care—because, well, hospital and doctors mean the injuries were too severe for the Association’s healer to cure him, and since people don’t like getting involved in Superhero business…this is bad. This is really bad.
Take a deep breath, he tells himself. There’s no use in panicking. He’s not getting answers or out of here by working himself into a panic attack.
For a moment, he closes his eyes, forces himself to focus on his breathing rather than the foreign environment he woke up in. He really should’ve picked up meditating during his trainee days; it would’ve made this a lot easier.
He wants to shake his head to fully get rid of the fog in his head, but he doesn’t. Not when movements make his headache worse, and it’s nothing but dull and barely noticeable, an afterthought at the moment.
It takes him a bit of time to completely calm down, to listen to his breathing, and to feel his heartbeat. He forces himself to take another deep breath. He can still hear the blood rushing through his ears, and his head is still throbbing, but…
He pauses, sits up far too quickly, and regrets it the moment, black spots fill his vision, and the throbbing gets worse, almost the usual piercing pain that accompanies his headaches. This…has not been his smartest moment.
He presses a hand against his eyes, ignoring the bright flashes while he rests the other hand on his neck, two fingers against the carotid artery, trying to find a pulse.
In…and out. In…and out.
In.
Out.
This isn’t the first time he’s dealt with bad headaches, and yet he still doesn’t know how to make them more bearable. Painkillers don’t work; not that he’s even able to get them right now. So, most of the time, the only thing left to try for him, is to keep himself occupied and forget that his head feels like it might explode.
Once the world has stopped spinning in front of his eyes, when he can focus again and the pain has subdued once more, he sees the thin cuffs around his wrists, joint together by chains. They blink slowly, a constant reminder. It’s obvious what they’re supposed to tell him: This is not friendly territory.
He lets his head fall back, takes another deep breath.
Neutralizers.
It makes sense that it took him so long to notice—he can still feel the energy crackling through his veins, and if he looks closely enough, electricity sparks along his fingertips. He wiggles the fingers of his left hand, grateful when they move without a hitch. It’s not a very strong neutralizer, just barely enough to contain the raw power of electricity.
It almost feels like they’re trying to mock him.
He breathes out, forces the panic, bubbling in his throat, down; he’ll worry about it later. Right now, the focus should be getting an overview of the situation he’s managed to get himself into.
If he doesn’t know where he is or what happened or who the people are that keep him here, it really doesn’t matter whether he can use his powers or not.
(At least, he still wears his mask. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about it.)
The room looks like any other hospital room he’s ever been in—white and bare and small. And there aren’t any cameras.
The door probably isn’t even five steps away from him although the bed is on the opposite side of the room.
He tilts his head. Is that a heavy-duty steel door?
He slowly swings his legs over the edge of the bed, this time mindful of his aching head. He doesn’t seem to be injured anywhere else which is great, even if a bit confusing. He’s pretty sure that Phoenix hit him with a fireball against his chest.
Just to be sure, he pulls up the white t-shirt (he definitely didn’t wear before), carefully scanning his chest, but nothing hurts, and he can’t see anything beyond the white scars he’s had ever since his first gone-wrong mission.
It’s not the first time that Phoenix hit him with a fireball, and he’s always ended up with bruised or broken bones from the force of it. And the Association’s healers don’t usually heal fractured bones.
What is going on?
He pushes the thought away, forces himself to stand up (even the mattress is softer than his bed in the Citadel) to explore the room, grimaces as the throbbing becomes more painful again. (He’s been fighting with headaches since he was sixteen, this really shouldn’t be so tiring.)
It’s not surprising that the door is locked, and there’s nothing on him or in the room that could help him with breaking the door open. If he just could get rid of the neutralizers, he wouldn’t have all of these problems.
Whatever. Maybe he has more luck with the windows—he doubts it, but he can try. And hope.
The windows aren’t reinforced in any way, but the closer he gets, the louder the buzzing is. It’s not electricity—not that it’s surprising. No one would be stupid enough to secure a window with electricity if they try to keep a Superhero whose superpower is the manipulation of electricity, imprisoned—, but it’s definitely some sort of energy. And whoever that person is, they seem to be powerful.
He leans closer and almost immediately flinches back. Making contact with the window didn’t hurt, though it was also far from pleasant. But whatever that energy is, it forms a wall between him and the window, and there’s no way he will be able to actually get through it without having access to his own power.
A steel-reinforced door, secured windows, but no cameras or any other kind of surveillance.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest, sighs. And he doesn’t even know where he is—all he’s able to see, is grass and a forest that’s most likely a few kilometers away from here, so even if he got out of this room, he would never escape without being seen. Not that it would even help him to get to the forest because what is he supposed to do then?
He doesn’t have a phone, doesn’t know where he is or how far away from the city this place is. Hell, he can’t even be sure if they’re still in the same country—for all he knows, they could be on an entirely different continent.
It’s definitely not a good sign that he can neither see the mountains nor the sea.
Maybe the best plan would be to wait and see. Find out what they want from him. Hope they’re not going to kill him the next chance they get once they realize that if they should want something from the Association, they’re not going to get it.
(But would they really just kill him if they went through all this trouble to abduct him and then even go as far as healing him?)
They’re villains; Dream wouldn’t put it past them. Well. If the villains are actually the people who were behind the kidnapping—just because they most likely planned and executed it, doesn’t mean the idea was from them. So perhaps, there’s another person involved Dream has yet to meet.
At least, he can safely assume that Phoenix and Error are involved in some way.
He groans, turns away from the window.
Hopefully, the other heroes are okay; he doubts that the villains were after them, but to be able to just…take him with them—
It wasn’t their first mission, and still, Dream knows what it feels like to mess up one of your first few missions and how much it fucks with your head. He’s had the luck that all the older Superheroes had been so supportive, but none of them are active anymore, and the new generation of the Senior heroes are barely in their twenties.
He sits back down on the bed. And Dream—
He won’t be going back either.
He’s not sure how long he’s been lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when the door finally opens.
He immediately sits up, winces before he turns to the person entering the room. Maybe he would be able to fight them the next time they visit, even without his powers accessible.
But…he tilts his head. He knows them, knows the mask although they don’t wear the usual costume Dream only ever sees them in. Probably the reason why he didn’t instantly recognize him.
“You’re awake,” Error says, words clipped and voice cold. Which means…which means that the chances are high, Error and Phoenix have more to do with this whole situation than just abducting him? Maybe? Hopefully?
He doesn’t know Error and Phoenix that well, obviously, but he’s more familiar with them than with most other villains. And vigilantes. They’re only B-ranked villains unlike a lot of the villains he fights on a daily basis—not that it has anything to do with how powerful or destructive their powers are, instead the ranking focuses on how much destruction they actually cause—, but neither Error nor Phoenix has ever been known for being extremely violent or bloodthirsty.
It doesn’t necessarily mean anything—after all, they are villains. Even if they might not be the most murderous of the bunch, they have killed before, and they will kill more if they have to.
But…knowing who the people are that kidnapped him and somewhat knowing what kind they might be, is more reassuring than some completely unknown person even if he’s aware of what they’re capable of.
“Uhm,” Dream says, “yeah. I guess.”
Error just stares at him, and for a moment, Dream wonders if he’s already fucked up before he could even ask questions, then Error snorts.
He doesn’t come closer, just puts a small plastic bag on the floor as if he’s scared that Dream might attack him, should he even put one foot too close to him. He’s not wrong. If Dream knew more and if he had his powers or at least some sort of weapon, he most likely would’ve done that.
“Why…am I here?” Dream finally dares to ask. He has absolutely no idea how he’s supposed to behave in situations like this—the Association trained them for a lot, kidnappings are not part of that. But, he guesses, being careful might be the best choice for now, and the best chance that he will get out of this alive.
Still, he has questions and he needs answers. It’s worth a try, even if Error doesn’t give him what he wants.
Error tilts his head. “Hm,” he makes, then he shrugs as if he’s decided that it doesn’t matter whether Dream knows about their plans or not. It doesn’t help with calming himself at all. In fact, it just makes the nausea worse. Should Error truly not care if Dream knows about their plans, then he might have a problem. A big problem. A “he’s most likely going to die” problem.
(Not that this kind of problem would be anything new for him.)
“We want something from the Association,” Error tells him, arms crossed in front of his chest, mask trained on Dream like he’s trying to read his mind just by looking at him.
He would be a lot more worried about the possibility of this actually happening if he didn’t know Error’s superpowers. So maybe that’s another advantage of being kidnapped by Error and Phoenix.
“Oh.” Dream presses his lips together. That’s…not going to happen. And he should’ve honestly expected that. There’s not really another reason for people to kidnap Superheroes, no? The only connection heroes have is to other heroes or well, the Association, and Dream heavily doubts that someone would want anything from any of the heroes.
But— well. Whatever it is that they want from the Association, Dream’s more than sure that they can wait for an eternity and more for an answer.
He has seen it before. That a hero was kidnapped, and their kidnappers wanted money from the Association. Back then he’d barely started his training, and he doesn’t even know for sure anymore which of the heroes it had been. But—
But he remembers that the Association hadn’t cared, that they had ignored the demands and the hero’s pleas and that they had let them die as if they weren’t a human being and just some replaceable…thing.
There haven’t been a lot of hero kidnappings since the Association’s establishment, but the heroes who had been kidnapped…well. None of them ever returned.
“Can I…uh, ask what you want?” Dream carefully says.
Error doesn’t answer instantly.
Dream shifts, a finger pressed against the pulse point on his wrist.
Bad idea? Probably. He still wants to know, or maybe he needs to know. It’s not…it’s not like he thinks he will be able to give them whatever they’re searching for—whether it’s information or money or maybe something entirely else—, but...
But.
But what?
It’s not like they would trust him enough to let him help them. It’s not like he trusts them enough with sensible information that might plunge the entire world into chaos.
They are villains. Dream doesn’t want to know what they could—would?—do with information that might destroy everything they’ve ever known. And he really doesn’t want to find out.
He can even help less if it’s about money. He has funds, but they’re the Association’s, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they take control of his bank accounts as soon as they realize that the villains want something from them.
Basically, he doesn’t have any money, and the bit that he put aside over the years, is barely going to be enough to cover two months of rent. Let alone satisfy someone who goes as far as kidnapping a hero to get money.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Error finally settles on, and while Dream might be disappointed by this answer, he’s not necessarily surprised by it.
It’s one thing, telling him that they want something from him. It’s a whole other, telling him what they want. And it’s not like it’s a bad thing that they’re not willing to share this much information with him.
Perhaps this whole situation isn’t a death sentence.
He still wonders—if they’re not telling him what they want, but letting the Association know about it, is it something that they think the heroes won’t know?
“Alright,” Dream replies, not wanting to push his luck even more by trying to get specific information out of Error.
“You should eat,” Error says, nodding toward the plastic bag on the floor before he turns to leave the room.
“Wait!” Dream stops him, wanting to bite his tongue off as soon as the word has left his mouth.
Error turns to him again, and even though he wears a mask, and Dream can’t see his face, he has the feeling that Error isn’t overly impressed by him.
He has the feeling he has fucked up, and still. It probably would be worse if he now told Error that there hadn’t been a reason for this.
“Uhm…what day is it? How long…” he trails off, awkwardly shifting.
“It’s July 13th,” Error says, voice calm and icy, “half past ten.”
Twenty-one hours. It’s been twenty-one hours since they had gotten the call, since he and the others were sent out.
He hopes they’re okay. Even without an older hero there to cushion the fallout of this operation.
“You should eat,” Error repeats.
Then the door closes behind him. A key turns, footsteps get quieter and quieter, and Dream is alone again.
He doesn’t eat all of what he’s been given—bread and water and fruit. He doesn’t know when the next time will be that he gets food, so he rations it.
He can go days without food, but he’s learned quickly that it’s easier if he has a tiny bit of food every day instead of eating everything at once and then having nothing at all for the following days, only to repeat the same thing again and again.
The fruit will go bad too quickly for him to be able to store and hide it, but he keeps the bread in the little plastic bag and puts it under his pillow. Maybe it’s not the best place, but it’ll work for now, and that’s the important part.
He’ll have to figure things out as he goes—slowly and carefully. And if one thing doesn’t work out, he will have to try something else.
And maybe if he’s lucky, all of this isn’t even necessary. Only that he can’t really just pray and hope that things will turn out right, can he?
The real question though is how long he has until the villains get impatient. The Association won’t give them what they want, and if they’re unlucky, the Association will ignore them and not even reply to them at all.
He’s not sure if that would make him lucky or not—the villains could assume that the Association is going to get their information and that they will get an answer once they have everything the villains want and Dream will have a few calm days, or they might get sick of waiting within the first week and demand answers from him. Either way, Dream knows he won’t come unscathed out of this, no matter what it will be.
If they want revenge for their failed plan, they won’t go after the Association, and maybe that’s what he’s most afraid of. He knows them, but he doesn’t know them, and he doesn’t know how they will react to rejection like this.
And there’s the other problem—even if Phoenix and Error might not be like that, he doesn’t know if they work for or with someone else. He might hope, but he doesn’t expect them to be lenient. (If the heroes aren’t, why should the villains be?)
He turns the apple in his hands. It’s red and it’s crispy and it doesn’t even have any bruised spots, as if they gave him a freshly bought one instead of the week old, he expected it to be. Somehow, he doubts that the Association gives the prisoners of Pandora’s Vault enjoyable food.
He’s not sure if he should hope, if he should pray (even if he doesn’t believe in a god, even if he hasn’t believed in a god in a very long time) that things won’t turn out as bad as they could, that he’s coming alive out of this.
The thing is, maybe the big problem is the fact that there’s no one who would miss him, who would—could—become a reason for the Association to actually try and keep him alive.
The public is too used to seeing the roster of Superheroes change—it’s nothing unusual if a freshly debuted Superhero takes the place of an older, experienced one, when the top ranks switch and move. The longest a Top Three Superhero had worked was before Dream’s time, when the Association hadn’t been yet as corrupt, when the founders still were alive, but even then, none of them were able to keep themselves for longer in the Top Ten than seven years.
And now…now most Superheroes are lucky if they even last in the industry for seven years.
Heroes disappear, heroes die. That’s just how it is, that’s how things have always been; the public doesn’t care, and who else is there who would?
Dream’s not seen his parents since he was five, he doesn’t even have a picture of them anymore. And the rest of the heroes…they’re too young. Too young and too inexperienced, and they don’t know him, not well enough.
There’s no one who would care if Dream disappeared, if he died, so why should the Association care if he comes back alive?
(But he wonders, he wonders if they’ve started to suspect something. If they know that he knows.)
He’s bored—not that it’s surprising; he’s been locked up in this tiny room with nothing to do or any kind of stimulation for the past…two days.
But he also feels like he shouldn’t be complaining. Error comes twice a day to bring him food (which, honestly, is the surprising thing), and other than that, he’s on his own. No one’s bothering him, no one wants anything from him. He’s not sure he’s ever felt this calm.
He doesn’t even remember the last time he was on vacation, so it’s…nice. But it really doesn’t help his paranoia—chances are high that they’re only so nice to him because they’re trying to manipulate him. Or maybe they want him to relax and to let his walls down and then switch up on him.
The big problem is the fact that he can’t be entirely sure that Error actually told him the truth about the reason why they kidnapped him; he only has Error’s word to go off on, but that doesn’t mean that the goal Error talked about, is the actual goal. Perhaps they want something else, and it’s necessary for this that Dream opens up to them.
It’s also possible that Dream’s overthinking and reading too much into this entire situation, but he doesn’t know, and he can’t be sure and this…lack of knowledge bothers him more than it probably should. But—
But the knowledge he lacks right now might be the decider whether he gets out of here alive or not. It’s easier to act if he knows what the people around him want, actually want, and not just the farce they want him to believe.
(There’s a reason why he’s still in the top ranks and hasn’t been dropped yet by the Association. Well. Until now.)
If he knew what the villains wanted, maybe he’d be able to bargain with them. He knows more about certain things than most heroes do, but that offer would only really work if he can give them exactly what they want, and until he knows that he’s not sure he just wants to give away the ace up his sleeve.
Even if he is able to find out what the villains want, it’s still a gamble that they not only will agree to his offer but that they will also actually stick to it and hold up their end of the deal. He still could end up in a ditch. (To be fair…he has the feeling he will also end up there if he goes back to the Association.)
His cluelessness is annoying, and he hates it, and he really wishes that he was back in his tiny apartment, staring at the ceiling and waiting until he has to go back to work or there’s an emergency, and yet, things aren’t as bad as he expected them to be when he first woke up. It’s…bearable, definitely, even if doing and knowing nothing, is driving him crazy, even if he’s at the mercy of villains, even if things could become so much worse.
Will become worse? He’s not sure if it’s just a question of time until it will get worse, no matter what. Perhaps it will start sooner than he expects it to be, but it will happen and the latest it will be, is when they fully, truly realize that they won’t get their information or whatever else they want from the Association, that everything they planned, was absolutely futile and won’t bring them a step closer to their goal. (There’s no way they will just accept it and move on and let him free.)
It has been three days since Dream woke up here, and since Error’s first visit, the villain hasn’t spoken to Dream again. And Dream has absolutely no idea, why.
He’s tried to ask questions, tried to involve Error in a conversation with him, but Error has effectively been ignoring him, nothing more than a quick glance in Dream’s direction as he puts the food bag down, checks the room, and then disappears again.
Perhaps, he’s given Dream more information than he was supposed to, or maybe he was ordered to not speak to Dream since that might mean they could build some sort of relationship with each other, or perhaps it’s something entirely else, and Error is just trying to fuck with Dream. It’s possible, it wouldn’t be too surprising.
He still remembers the one time, his supervisor and former mentor stopped talking to him for an entire month after he completely fucked up a mission, when not even begging was able to change Guardian’s mind.
It’s not the same, obviously, but it still gets his thoughts to spiral. Because why would Error talk to him and then just not anymore if there’s not some sort of reason for it?
He’s overthinking this, no? (He’s definitely overthinking this.)
Maybe he shouldn’t continue to try—it could end with more problems for him than he already has, that still doesn’t stop him from asking, “Has the Association replied to you?” (Knowing that they haven’t, knowing that they won’t, but that’s what people would expect from someone who has been kidnapped, someone who is supposed to want to go back because they’re loyal to the Association and the Association is loyal to them.)
And to his surprise, Error doesn’t just turn around and walk out like he’s done the last two days. Instead, he straightens his back, arms loose and head tilted as Error’s mask stares blankly at Dream.
Dream’s fingers twitch; he quickly curls his other hand around his wrist, the neutralizers cool against his skin.
“They haven’t,” Error says, voice calm from what Dream can hear, but it’s always a gamble with voice changers and masks.
“Oh,” Dream replies, trying to sound as surprised as he somehow possibly can manage. “Are you sure? Because…they wouldn’t…” he trails off, voice meek and unsure.
If he can make them believe that the Association will answer, that it might just take a bit longer than they originally expected it to do, that it also surprises him that they haven’t contacted the villains yet, maybe they will leave him alone longer. Hopefully. It’s worth a try.
“They haven’t,” Error repeats firmly, but he doesn’t seem overly upset. His posture is too relaxed for him to be angry which is a good sign. And hopefully also means good things for Dream.
“I…I don’t know why they haven’t yet,” Dream says quietly, forces his voice to sound shaky like he can’t believe that the villains actually haven’t gotten an answer yet. “Normally, they’re faster.” Normally. As if kidnappings often happen. As if they would ever care enough to do something. But it’s not like Error has to know, and Dream, sure as hell, won’t be the one who tells him anything about the Association and the relationship to their heroes.
Error hums noncommittally. “They better reply quickly, then.”
It sounds like a threat, it feels like one, and Dream wonders if he just made things worse for himself.
The most logical thing to do would be planning how he should get out of here—maybe try and break through the energy barrier covering the windows or take the bed apart and use the bedposts as weapons to attack Error, overwhelm him and flee.
Maybe. He’s not sure it actually would be a good idea to try either.
He still doesn’t know where exactly he is; he doesn’t even know if he’s still in the same country, if there’s a city nearby, and even if he knew, he somehow doubts he would actually get this far.
He can’t get rid of the neutralizer, so he doesn’t have any kind of access to his powers, and his fighting skills alone won’t be enough to get out of here, especially if there are more people behind this than just Phoenix and Error. But even if it were just Phoenix and Error…
Phoenix’s fighting skills are on the same level as Dream’s, and on top of that, he can access his destructive powers that would be enough to kill Dream on their own.
And if he, somehow, was able to defeat Error and Phoenix, he still would need to get out of the building. His room is obviously locked, but he doesn’t know anything about the rest of the building. Maybe he would need a fingerprint or have to scan an iris to unlock other doors.
He could just try and hope for the best, but he’s not sure he wants to risk this…somewhat kind treatment he’s experienced so far. They’ve been nice to him, nicer than he’s expected them to be, and he has the feeling that if he should try to escape, things wouldn’t stay the same.
So, he’s reluctant to even try.
The other problem is the Association.
Obviously, they would take him back, but the actual question is for how long they would. He’s twenty-two, and he’s not getting younger—especially not by the Association’s standards. Most heroes are forced out of the industry by the time they turn twenty-five, one way or another, even if they don’t want to and are still more than capable of doing their job.
(If anything, the older heroes are the better ones, the ones capable of keeping the casualties to almost zero, but…they’re not as easily influenceable anymore, not as impressible, and that’s not what the Association wants.
There’s a reason why no one ever dares to criticize the Association, why people either keep their mouth shut or look away from any problems that there might be.)
He’s not sure if he doesn’t want to go back, he just knows that it feels like a very, very stupid mistake if he did.
If he gets out of this alive, there will never be another chance like that to get away from the Association.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? Is it even possible to get away from the Association?
The entire country knows his name, his face. They made sure of that when they plastered it all over the billboards and fed his governmental name to the press.
And he doesn’t even have the money to get it changed. It’s just a question of time until the Association will have taken over his bank account and cleared his apartment out, all while knowing that Dream is still alive.
If anyone should ever see him again, if the journalists and tabloids know where he is, the Association does too—it’s almost impossible to fly under the Association’s radar—, and he has the feeling that they won’t just let him leave and live his life.
So, even if he was able to escape, what is he supposed to do? Everyone knows who he is; he never graduated high school—he never officially went to elementary school. And he doesn’t even have access to a single dollar.
Successfully escaping would mean that he would have to return to the Association or that he would be forced to return, and that isn’t convincing enough to plan and risk trying to escape.
(That’s the other thing he knows: It won’t be worth it.)
Six days. It’s been six days, and he feels like he’s going insane.
He’s not used to this: Sleeping all day because he has nothing better to do, staring at the ceiling because there are no responsibilities and duties to attend to.
Even back when he was a trainee, his day had been filled to the brim and after he officially debuted as a hero, things just got worse.
And now, he’s not doing anything. All day long.
It’s weird, it’s different, and Dream is not sure that he likes it.
He has wanted a vacation ever since he debuted, but this is certainly not what he meant. He wanted to leave the city, lie at the beach in the sun and swim in the ocean, not get kidnapped and be forced to do nothing at all.
He turns the bread in his hands—it’s not stale yet, but he needs to eat it soon.
Will they let him go? Will they let him leave?
What happens once they realize that they won’t get the information they want?
He sighs. All these what-ifs, and no way to tell what the most plausible, possible outcome will be.
Maybe they will let him go, even if they don’t get the information, or maybe they won’t. Maybe it’s too much of a risk. Maybe they just want revenge for their baffled efforts.
(Maybe it’s time to be a bit more honest with them and slowly introduce them to the Association’s plans, their goals, and their refusals instead of dropping a bombshell once they catch up.
Maybe.)
Notes:
this fic was supposed to be a oneshot, but it is Not anymore because apparently, i’m simply not capable of shutting the fuck up.
on the same note: the entire fic is planned out, so i have a rough idea of how long the fic will be, but nothing is really set in stone since this somehow never works out like i want it to do.
update schedule, as of now, is once a week, but i can’t promise anything since uni starts for me soon again
Chapter 2: hesitation got me against the wall | George I
Notes:
title: yuqi — giant.
i didn’t realize that it’s friday already and almost forgot to post lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
George isn’t sure what he’s supposed to think about the hero in their base.
Ever since the hero’s debut, Dream has been unreadable to George, and it’s irritating to say the least. Normally, it’s so easy to see through the heroes, to understand them well enough to know their weaknesses and where it hurts the most—all of them are too young, pushed too far, too eager to change humanity and save the entire world, and then they fail. Every single one of them succumbs to the pressure of the Association and the public’s expectation. They disappear, a new hero takes their place, and then the same thing happens once more.
Without fail, the cycle continues, and every time, a hero debuts, George knows that they won’t survive the next five years, that they will disappear from the public’s eye, that they will retire, and that no one ever knows what happens to them afterwards.
They all know that there’s something wrong with the Association—they at least. He’s not so sure about the public who fawn over the newest hero and praise them to heaven and back and drop them after their first mistake.
There’s something wrong with the Association, and it goes beyond the corruption, the want for power, and the disappearing inmates of Pandora’s Vault.
Sam barely ever talks about his time as a trainee (and his parents used to keep him as far away from anything related to their job as somehow possible), but more isn’t needed, not really, to get an idea of how the Association operates, how they treat their trainees and heroes, and why so many of them quit early.
(And considering the few run-ins George has had with the Association, he can’t blame them.)
But none of this knowledge helps George with getting a good read at Dream, with understanding how the hero works. When he debuted, he also was so young—three years younger than George, one of the youngest heroes they have ever seen—, but the eagerness to help seemed always almost…frantic. As if there was more to it, as if he was trying to prove himself so, so desperately, as if it was not just about saving lives or changing humanity for the better. And George expected him to crack under the pressure within two years. And yet…
And yet, Dream is already twenty-two; it’s been six years since his debut, and he’s still the perfect, flawless hero who is loved by the Association, who’s been occupying the top ranks since he was sixteen, and who doesn’t seem to plan on slowing down anytime soon. But still. Still. There’s something off about him, and George can’t explain it, doesn’t even get the weird feeling himself every time he looks at Dream.
Perhaps it’s because he’s so perfect, too perfect, because he doesn’t make mistakes, because he is hero first and human second. Perhaps it’s because sometimes, he doesn’t even appear like he’s a person.
George scoffs.
The Association’s figurehead. The Association’s Golden Boy.
(So why have they still not replied? Why have they still not tried to get him back?)
When George unlocks the door, Dream is already waiting for him—sitting on his bed cross-legged, body turned towards him, as he plays with the thin blanket. It’s always the same, every single time, George comes, but, he guesses, it’s not like there’s a lot more that Dream could do even if he wanted to.
He puts the bag down in front of the bed, eyes never leaving Dream.
It’s been a week, and while Dream hasn’t tried anything yet, George still doesn’t trust the hero and that he won’t attack George—even if the neutralizer cuffs around his hands are still working, and there’s nothing in this room that Dream could use.
He’s a hero, he’s trained in fighting, and George isn’t stupid enough to turn his back on someone like that.
He can feel Dream’s eyes on him as he checks the rest of the room to make sure that everything is operational, and Dream hasn’t been working on a way to break out. Nothing. As always. He seems to be very sure about the Association getting him out of here.
“I assume the Association still hasn’t gotten back to you,” Dream says; he doesn’t sound particularly surprised or upset, and it makes George frown. It’s so different from the way he had asked about the Association and his release the days prior, and now…now it almost seems like he’s never expected anything else but this to happen.
George shakes his head. Not the time, not the place.
“No,” he says. “They haven’t.” He regards Dream with an icy gaze that the other doesn’t return. Dream hasn’t looked in George’s eyes once since he’s woken up. “You don’t know more about that?”
Dream shrugs, his fingers pressed against the pulse point on his wrist. “Nothing in particular,” he says, but there’s something about it that convinces him that Dream is lying.
Dream’s eyes flicker down to his hands, then back to George; he still doesn’t meet George’s eyes. “Well,” he continues quietly. “Maybe? Depends.”
George cocks his head. “Depends on what?” he presses. This might be the first thing coming out of the hero’s mouth that George won’t immediately dismiss—then again, it is coming from a hero, so even if it might seem useful, it doesn’t have to mean it’s the truth.
“Uhm,” Dream laughs awkwardly. “See, it’s…uh…”
“What is it?” His tone is impatient, harsh, and Dream’s fingers tighten around the thin blanket so much that his knuckles appear white.
“The Association might not…reply at all?” It sounds more like a question than anything, but Dream doesn’t add to it, doesn’t give more context, as if he expects George to know what he means with those words.
“What do you mean?”
Dream’s eyes flicker. “It’s…it’s not uncommon that the Association just— well, they oftentimes just ignore things like that?”
“Huh.”
“Yeah, it’s…uh, you probably…hm,” Dream trails off, flexes his fingers.
“So,” George says, “You’re saying all of this was useless because the Association will just let you die?”
George doesn’t believe one word. Maybe he should properly hear Dream out before deciding whether it’s a lie or the truth, but he’s dealt with enough heroes to know that their words and actions are never truthful. Not fully.
And this also means that Dream has already lied to him before.
Dream’s eyes widen. Did he not think that this is the obvious conclusion to draw? “No, wait! That’s not— I mean…”
“Yes?”
“The Association doesn’t really care, I guess, about stuff like that.” His words are quiet; his fingers press against his wrist again. A habit due to nervousness? A way to calm himself?
“About their heroes, you mean.”
“I…yes.”
George presses his lips together. “And that still means that this was useless, that you are useless.”
Dream sighs, like he’s accepted his fate, like he’s not even going to try anymore to disprove George, like he doesn’t even want to save his own skin. “Yes.”
So, he scoffs, “Okay.”
“Okay?” Dream tilts his head.
George doesn’t immediately reply, just fixates Dream. Sometimes he wishes he would be able to read thoughts, or at least know when someone is lying. It definitely would be useful now. It definitely would make things easier. “It certainly leaves the question what we’re going to do with you, huh?”
“I could help you,” Dream whispers.
He blinks, blinks again. For a moment, he wonders if he’s misheard, if Dream just spoke so quietly that he heard things that weren’t said, then he focuses on the matter at hand again, “You could do what?”
“Help you,” Dream says so sure of himself as if he hasn’t stammered through his explanation just a few minutes earlier.
George crosses his arms in front of his chest and continues to stare at Dream. This time, he shifts—every single part of Dream makes it obvious that he’s uncomfortable and anxious, that he probably wants nothing but getting out of here. And isn’t that what he’s most likely trying to do here? Getting out of this place and running back to his precious Association?
“And how do you think you could do that?”
Dream adjusts his mask. “I have…I know how to gain access to the information you want.”
“And I’m supposed to trust you with this because…?” he drawls.
Dream’s eyes are locked on his hands. “I don’t expect you to trust me with anything, but…this might be the only way you’ll get your information.”
“And”—George pauses—“what’s in it for you?” Because why else would he offer that? Why else would he help villains? Why else? Almost every higher-ranked hero is corrupted, and it wouldn’t surprise George if Dream is one of them. (Is there even a different way to get to the top?)
George doesn’t remember the last time the top heroes stood for help, for courage, for change.
Dream stares at him. He doesn’t offer an answer, doesn’t demand his freedom. He doesn’t even tell George what he wants in exchange for the information, in exchange for helping them, the villains, the people he should fight.
As if that would get George to believe that he’s serious, as if he’s trying to seem desperate, truthful. George isn’t going to fall for this.
George sighs. “We’ll think about it,” he says, but he means, “You can’t trick me,” and, “You won’t get out of here until we have what we want.”
And considering Dream’s frown, it’s obvious that this message has also reached Dream.
“You good?” Sapnap asks as soon as George steps foot in the room.
“Mmh,” he makes, taking his mask off, not really able to focus on the fact that Sapnap’s hair are standing in flames again.
He frowns.
Sapnap lifts an eyebrow. “What? Did the hero bite you?”
“What?” He shakes his head, trying to focus on Sapnap and not on the deal Dream offered to them. They’re not going to accept it anyway, so there’s really no point in thinking further about it.
“You’re all like…” Sapnap gestures. “Sparks and shit.”
“Your hair,” George deadpans instead of answering Sapnap. Even if they can dismiss it, he will tell Sapnap and then the rest if the group, just so they’re all on the same page. Especially should Sapnap have to interact with Dream in George’s place.
“My hair?”
George rolls his eyes. “Your hair.”
“Oh.” With how often it happens, you’d expect Sapnap to realize earlier that his body is standing in flames, but at least, fireproof clothes exist. George really doesn’t want to walk into Sapnap again after his clothes turned to ash. “Okay, but tell me. Something’s happened, right? Normally, you’re not like…this.”
“Like ‘this’? I’m always like this,” George says although he knows exactly what Sapnap means.
“You’re not usually that broody,” Sapnap clarifies.
George snorts.
“But something did happen?”
“He offered me— us a deal.”
Sapnap raises his eyebrows. “A deal?”
“Yup.”
“Just tell me.”
“You’re so whiny,” George laughs as if he’s not acting like this on purpose. It’s not like Sapnap has to know, although…he’s probably aware of it.
Sapnap shows him the middle finger. “Fuck you.”
“Okay, fine. Basically, he’s said that the Association doesn’t care and that we won’t get whatever we want, but he could provide us with that information.”
“And?”
“What ‘and’?” George scoffs. “You know I don’t trust whatever the fuck’s coming out of a hero’s mouth. No way, I’ll believe this one.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes. He never takes George’s opinion on matters like this seriously. “Maybe you just have trust issues.”
“Maybe you’re just too trusting,” George bites out.
“Rude,” Sapnap mutters as if it’s not the truth. Someone could wave their plan to betray Sapnap in front of his face, and he would still try to justify it. “That was it?”
“That was it,” George confirms.
“You sure?”
He groans, “Yeah, I’m sure. God, you’re annoying.”
“You love me.” Sapnap rests his chin on George’s shoulder; George shakes him off.
“I don’t.” He moves a step away from Sapnap.
Sapnap follows him. “Oh, c’mon, you know you love me.” He tries to put his chin on George’s shoulder again, but since he has to tiptoe to comfortably do so, he stumbles instead when George moves out of reach once more.
“No comment.”
“George,” Sapnap whines. George just laughs at him.
The others agree with George which makes Sapnap roll his eyes, but in the end, he also admits that it’s most likely some sort of ploy by the Association.
Even if George has no idea what that ploy could be—there’s no way that the Association knew about their plan to kidnap one of their heroes beforehand, and it’s also impossible for Dream to reach out and inform the Association in any way.
They made sure of that. Multiple times and Sam has so much experience with that kind of thing that there’s no way something could go wrong.
And George still checks Dream’s room every time he brings the hero food just to be absolutely certain.
But there’s nothing. The hero doesn’t even try to escape.
George isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about that.
They all expected Dream to try to break out, but maybe the secured windows, the steel-reinforced door, and the neutralizers are enough of a challenge that Dream sees no way out of his situation. Too much work, for the fact that he doesn’t even know where he is. Even if he escaped, he wouldn’t know where to go, and George has the feeling that Dream is very much aware of that.
And there’s also the fact that they’re holding him hostage because they want something from the Association. Maybe he knows that the Association will reply to get him back, so there’s no reason for him to get out beforehand.
And maybe he’s only told them that the Association won’t agree to their offer because he thinks they would just let him go if they don’t get what they want. This way the Association wouldn’t have to hold up their end of the deal, and Dream would still walk away free and unharmed.
Maybe.
George doesn’t know.
And anyway, it’s only been a bit more than a week since they kidnapped Dream, so it doesn’t really mean anything that the Association hasn’t gotten back to them…yet.
They will.
Probably. Hopefully.
George isn’t sure what they would do if the Association doesn’t, but he can’t really imagine they would just ignore all of this especially since it was so public.
Then again. The Association has done things before that George couldn’t imagine—expected them to do, really—, and there’s still the fact that they exploit little children, that Pandora’s Vault is in use, and that all the rumors exist about what they do in there.
Still. Dream is one of their best heroes, the youngest Superhero to ever reach the Top Ten. He’s their prodigy—there’s a reason why they decided to go for him and not one of the lower-ranked heroes.
George groans.
Dream obviously knew what it would mean for him when he told George that the Association doesn’t care, that they’re not going to agree, and that they’re not going to come for him.
And yet, he told him that.
But he also had a solution to this problem.
He offered to give them the information himself, and George doubts that this is something a hero would usually do if they thought that the Association will help them. There’s no point in doing that, not really.
Unless, of course, Dream wants to appease them with it, so they don’t make quick work of him, but even that seems illogical. Especially if they agree, and it turns out to be a bluff. It’s not like the Association can just give every hero a bit of information that they exchange for their freedom.
On the other hand, a hero who does know that the Association won’t take care of this, that the Association won’t get them out, that they’re on their own without any help from anyone…
God. George really isn’t sure what he’s supposed to make of it.
“Hey,” Dream says, and George already knows what’s coming next.
The hero is almost more desperate for the Association to get back to them than they are.
“There’s nothing,” George says before Dream can ask. “Neither news about you nor a reply.”
Dream sighs, falling back on the bed.
He told George a few days ago that the Association most likely would declare him dead any time soon, but it hasn’t happened so far. The part of the prediction that is true though, is that the Association hasn’t reacted to the kidnapping yet. And it just makes it so much harder to properly assess this situation—harder than it already is.
To some degree, Dream seems to be telling the truth. But since there haven’t been any hero kidnappings in the last few years, it’s hard to tell what exactly is true and if waiting this long is just a standard procedure for the Association since they deal with sensitive data that may affect the government as well.
Then again, absolutely no reply also seems weird. Especially since they reached out twice now—publicly. It doesn’t seem like the logical thing to do.
Perhaps if they start sending them body parts, they’re going to be quicker with their responses.
…not that they would do that. Probably.
(“We’re villains, not…not barbarians!” he can already hear Bad scolding him.
He grimaces.)
Still, it, most likely, would force the Association to do something.
“This is bullshit,” Dream mutters so quietly that George knows it’s not meant for him to hear.
“You don’t say,” he still replies, his tone so snarky that Bad would smack him for it.
Dream slowly sits up again, head tilted like he’s trying to think of what to say. “How long do you even plan on keeping me here if the Association doesn’t reply? Forever?”
It’s not something they’ve really talked about yet. Previously, they didn’t because they assumed the Association would give enough fucks about their heroes, and now…now, none of them is really sure how they’re supposed to approach all of this.
Another week, that’s what Bad said. They’re going to wait another week, and if things haven’t changed by then, they’ll have to come up with a different plan.
But it’s not like he will tell Dream that.
George shrugs. “Depends.”
Dream frowns, clearly unhappy with his answer, but Dream hasn’t looked anything but unhappy for the past two weeks. That probably comes along with getting kidnapped. Not that George would know. “Depends on what? They’re not going to do shit.”
“Okay,” he drawls, the tone of his voice obvious enough that he doesn’t believe a single thing coming out of Dream’s mouth.
Dream groans, resting his chin on his knees. “I wish you’d take me more seriously.”
George grins, but Dream can’t see it. “I will once you tell me why the Association won’t reply.”
Dream tried to explain it to him before, but it’s not convincing. Not convincing enough. The things he’s talked about, are certainly true although that doesn’t really have to mean anything. And at the same time, George wants to see if Dream is going to tell him about things that the public isn’t aware of once he gets frustrated enough.
Tell him a secret, a provable secret, and George is more down to believe him that he can actually help them get the information they want.
So far, Dream hasn’t, but George is patient, and there’s at least an entire week left.
“Dude,” Dream says, clearly annoyed, “do I look like the Council?”
“Well, your knowledge had to come from somewhere,” George says.
There are rumors, of course, there are rumors, and of course, they have heard of those rumors, but Sam doesn’t know more about them, and there’s no one else who could prove that they are more than just that. Rumors.
There are a lot of rumors about the Association in general—that they experiment with Black Magic, or that they perform experiments on Superpowered beings, or that they kill Superheroes who were disgraced, or that they have ties to Organized Crime.
Almost none of them are provable. Yet. And if Dream would be able to give them proof beyond a few Superheroes who died or disappeared, George wouldn’t be mad about it.
“I— see, it’s just something everyone knows, okay?”
“Sure.”
“I swear!” Dream insists.
He acts convincingly in a way that makes George almost believe him. It’s not really what he says, although he has brought up a few good points in the past; it’s more about how he seems to believe it himself.
Perhaps, those rumors are true. To some degree.
And yet—
“Okay, and you could still be lying to me.”
“I’m not!”
For some reason, this is more amusing to George than it should be. Probably. “Yeah, that’s what a liar would say.”
Dream groans in frustration, pushing his fists against his eyes as if he’s dealing with an annoying headache. George hopes he is as annoying as a headache. “You’re really not making this any easier.”
“I know,” George says, not able to keep the amused tone out of his voice.
Dream breathes out, slowly, like he’s trying to collect himself. “Listen, Error, I— okay. Fine. The Association doesn’t care about you as long as you give them results, but once you become a liability, you’re out. And right now, I am that liability.”
George sighs inaudibly. He’s heard that before. Multiple times actually, and every time, he hears it, it doesn’t sound more true—or false. It’s just…there.
And, well, George assumes that it’s true. Somewhat. It would explain why the older heroes are pushed out, why the younger ones take their place, why no one bats an eye if it’s such a well-known, accepted thing.
It’s still not proven; it’s still based on assumptions. And George is biased against the Association, so his judgment might be clouded as well—it’s possible that he’s more likely to accept anything that paints the Association in a bad light, but…
He wants proof. Actual proof.
“You already told me that,” he says blunter than intended. “Tell me something new.”
“There’s not— it’s the truth!” Dream almost sounds like he’s pouting. “That’s what I can tell you.”
“Alright,” George nods, “I believe you.”
“You do?” Dream doesn’t sound very convinced.
“No.”
Dream falls back on his bed. “Seriously, fuck you.”
George snorts.
It’s quiet for a moment, and George moves to leave.
“Isn’t it proof enough that they haven’t contacted you yet?” Dream finally tries again.
George shrugs one of his shoulders. “They haven’t declared you dead either. Maybe you’re telling the truth, maybe you’re not. Who knows.”
“Ugh,” Dream makes.
“Mmh,” George agrees.
Dream sighs; he’s quiet again, then, “What can I do to make you actually believe me?”
“Actual proof. Like…proof that you can fact-check.”
“Fine,” Dream huffs.
“Fine?” George raises an eyebrow.
Dream rolls his eyes.
“Tell me,” George pushes.
“I’m thinking.” Dream gestures with his hand as if he’s trying to swat a fly.
“Good luck,” George mutters like he would normally tell Sapnap.
He bites his cheek. This isn’t Sapnap, this is Dream, and they’re not friends. Not even acquaintances. They’ve literally kidnapped Dream; he really has to start choosing his words more carefully again.
He’s been slipping up a lot recently—more than what’s comfortable.
“What?” Dream looks up, frowning.
“Nothing,” George waves it away.
“Okay?”
“So?” George changes topics again to return to the original point.
Dream twists the blanket between his fingers. One of these days, he’s going to make a hole in it if he continues like this. “If I told you that a lot of heroes ‘died’ in the last decade without proof that they actually did, would you believe me?”
“Hm. Maybe...” he trails off.
Maybe? It’s true. They all know that. Heroes die, heroes disappear. That’s what’s always happened. The public doesn’t know, the journalists don’t, the other people of the Superpowered Community don’t either.
No one knows.
Except for the Association and the other heroes. Maybe. George isn’t so sure anymore if the other heroes know more than the civilians do.
“Maybe?” Dream asks.
“Maybe try harder.”
“Dude.” Dream doesn’t sound very annoyed. “Okay, see. It’s going to sound like a conspiracy theory, but I swear if you look it up—”
“Yeah, yeah, go on,” George interrupts because most things involving the Association sound like conspiracy theories. It’s nothing new. It’s the reason why no one really pays attention to the rumors, much less believes them.
“Nighthawk is one of the most recent heroes. He— he just disappeared one day and was never seen again. There was no villain attack or…or anything else that could explain it, and— there wasn’t even proof that he died, and they still declared him dead within a week. No body, no nothing. It’s…it’s a bit suspicious, no?”
“Hm,” George makes.
Nighthawk…
George hasn’t heard that name in a long time. Not since his parents talked about him with hushed voices back when George was too young to properly understand what they were talking about.
He isn’t sure what kind of relationship Dream might have had with the dead hero, but it’s…interesting that he chose Nighthawk as an example. As a recent example, anyway.
It’s been almost a decade since the hero died, but maybe it’s because he’s been high-profile compared to the other heroes who disappeared. Most people don’t really pay attention to any of the heroes that aren’t top-ranked or the most promising debuting heroes.
Back when the announcement first dropped, it had been a shock to most people since no one expected it to be Nighthawk—the most promising hero of his generation, only in his early twenties. But then everyone accepted it, like they always did, and moved on with their lives.
He’s never heard anyone talk about Nighthawk’s disappearance again and certainly not as proof that the Association is getting rid of their heroes once they start to become liabilities.
Until Dream.
Perhaps, he does have to look further into it.
(Still, it’s nothing but assumptions.)
“What ‘hm’?”
“Still not convinced.”
Dream sighs.
“I can’t…I can’t give you proof that the Association really meddled, that they’re— at fault for his death or whatever because…this is information only the Council and the Executives deal with and…the only way to get, like, proof is—” Dream cuts himself off as if he’s said too much. Maybe he has, maybe it’s part of what he wants to exchange for his freedom.
George just stares at him. Nighthawk has been a start; he wants Dream to give him more.
“Don’t you think it’s a bit weird that there are no Superheroes older than twenty-five?”
It’s an interesting topic change, and it almost has George disappointed. Although he has the feeling that Dream wouldn’t have told him more about Nighthawk anyway.
George raises an eyebrow. “And if I do?” he asks.
“See,” Dream says, his knuckles are white around the blanket. “Listen. I’m going to turn twenty-three soon. I have maybe two years left as a hero. I— I don’t want to go back.”
Back when he was younger, his mother used to take him on flights above the city. She used to put on her Superhero costume and bundle him up in her cape, and then she would open the window and jump out.
She didn’t do it often, and it became even less frequent as he got older.
He didn’t understand why his father used to dislike it. He remembers hating his father for it—for trying to make his mother stop, for trying to take one of the only things away that he could do with her.
They never went out in public in broad daylight, instead waiting for the sun to set, and even then his parents forced him to wear a facial mask. They didn’t let him go out by himself either, and the few times, he had contact with other children his age, he wasn’t allowed to tell them that his parents were Superheroes. In fact, he wasn’t allowed to tell them anything about himself. Not even his real name.
And when he developed his powers, his parents sat him down and explained to him that he was never, under absolutely no circumstances allowed, to ever use them.
But it didn’t bother him as long as he had his mom and his dad, as long as his mother went out with him at night, as long as he could watch shitty Superhero movies with his father, sitting on their old couch in their tiny apartment.
Then, his mother died.
And his father forbade him to go to her funeral.
He asked his father why he couldn’t go and received no answer, begged and even promised him that he would stay in the back, hidden, that no one would see him and that he would speak to no one; his father still didn’t budge.
(And when he tried to sneak out, when he tried to resist his parents’ rules for the first time in his life, his father told him that he wished George had never been born. It wouldn’t stay the only time.)
He watched the funeral on TV, and he still didn’t understand why he had to keep them a secret—why they kept him a secret.
It’s been sixteen years since then. Sixteen years since his mother died.
He knows where they came from, he knows that they kept him a secret from the Association, that they didn’t want him to ever end up as a hero. He understands why they acted the way they did, why his father hated his mom taking him with her, why he tried to take one of the only things George loved away from him.
He understands. He knows. He still doesn’t get it, not fully.
It just makes him wonder more how badly the Association has treated his parents—how badly they still treat their heroes—for his parents to hide him from them.
And now…
Now—
George breathes out.
“I don’t want to go back,” Dream’s voice echoes in his head.
(And now, George can’t act anymore as if it’s surprising that Dream wants to leave, that Dream doesn’t want to go back, that Dream would offer anything to trade his freedom with.
Maybe it’s a trap, but George knows better.)
Notes:
things will be a bit slow in the beginning, but hey, at least it didn’t take 20k words for the dteam to finally meet :thumbsup:
Chapter 3: watch the days pass | Dream II
Notes:
title: palaye royale — lonely.
found out my brother burned his apartment down, but thankfully uni started for me again, so i’m not there. hoping i can still stick to the schedule anyway.
Chapter Text
Dream is so bored, he starts to do push-ups. He hates push-ups.
Maybe he should try to figure out a way to get out of here—not because he really wants to do that, but because there’s nothing else he can do.
Should he ask Error for a book? It’s been four weeks, and he hasn’t even attempted to escape yet—and the more time passes, the more Error seems to warm up to him.
To say that Error likes him, would be an overstatement, but Dream doesn’t fear anymore that he’s going to get killed the moment a wrong word escapes him.
Dream isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel about it, but it’s certainly something.
And it’s also an advantage.
Even if Error is a villain, he’s still human, and he just spent the past four weeks bringing Dream his meals twice a day, oftentimes even talking to him.
(He has never been prepared for a situation like this, but there’s one thing he knows: Build a relationship with your kidnapper, and your chances rise you will see the sky and the sun again.)
At the same time, it’s not like he’s safe. Even if Error might hesitate to kill him, there are others who won’t. So while he hasn’t died yet, and while the possibility that he will, decreases with every passing day, he still has to be careful.
He flops down, the floor cold under his cheek.
He’s so bored. And he’s well aware that it’s a good thing. Probably.
He’s never felt bored since working for the Association which is basically his entire life—or at least the part of his life that he actually remembers.
And now he feels bored, and he knows that he should appreciate it because he doesn’t have to fear for his life at the moment, doesn’t even have to worry whether he will get food or not, and his kidnappers leave him alone most of the time.
He can’t even complain about getting kidnapped because somehow, this feels nicer than working as one of the Association’s Superheroes. Which (certainly) should not be the case.
It's not even that he’s had it bad as a hero—in fact, his life is probably better than most others, and yet…
Sure, his schedule has always been extremely strict and basically every aspect of his life is controlled by the Association, but it’s not a bad life.
So, really, being confined to a tiny room without access to his powers and not knowing if he will live or not shouldn’t feel better than being able to help people and…well, being free.
It's weird, this feeling, and he hates it.
And he hopes it’s over soon—whether that means that the villains have given up and released him. Or killed him.
He turns on his back, looking at the white ceiling instead.
He glances at the window.
And now, Error is late. Later than usual.
Error never comes at the same time, but it’s always in the early morning, and now it’s already nearing noon.
Did he do something?
He doesn’t think he did, and their last conversation was quite…not successful, not really, but a step in the right direction.
He frowns.
When he told Error that he doesn’t want to go back, the villain hadn’t reacted at first, had just stared at Dream as if he had grown a second head and then he’d left in a hurry that Dream could only explain with him accidentally insulting Error in some way.
Only that he didn’t do that.
And now it’s close to midday, and Error still hasn’t shown up. (Is it that? There’s no way, right?)
Perhaps, he’s occupied with…villainous things. Probably. Hopefully.
If it’s anything else, if Dream has actually somehow insulted Error, then they would be back to square one, and Dream really, really hopes that this is not the case.
He breathes out.
He worries too much, he knows that. (And his chest is cold, but the familiar feeling of anxiety doesn’t accompany it, so really. There’s no point in psyching himself out when he’s going to know sooner or later anyway.)
Still.
Error has never been this late.
He presses a finger against his wrist.
It doesn’t have to mean anything. Error’s life doesn’t revolve around Dream, and on top of that, the villain will have a private life that takes up a lot of his time.
And Error definitely is not late because they’re deciding what to do with him right now. Definitely not.
Patience. He needs to work on his patience before he jumps to conclusions.
But—
He sits up. Steps?
He squints.
Steps, for sure. Only that they sound off. Like it’s not Error who’s walking toward his room.
This is…not good.
Slowly, he gets up from the floor, not wanting to be found there by whoever that person might be.
He sits back down on his bed, smoothing his clothes out. His hands are trembling.
An addition to an equation he already knows is never a good thing. It wasn’t back when he got a new mentor, and he doubts it will be any good now.
With Error, even if the villain was pissed at him, he would know where he’s standing; now though? Now he knows absolutely nothing.
It’s going to be like the first few days of his stay here—he’ll have to be careful, he’ll have to choose each of his words with care to not anger them, and now, he doesn’t even know if things have changed because he’s somehow pissed Error off.
He’s back to square one, and this outcome might be even worse than originally assumed.
The steps stop, a key turns, the door opens, and Dream braces himself, clenching his fists; his fingernails dig painfully into his skin.
“Hey,” Phoenix says; he’s dressed in civilian clothes like Error, his mask covering half of his face. And he’s not standing in flames, nor does he look more murderous than normal.
Dream breathes out. “Hi,” he greets back.
“Error’s busy,” the villain continues conversationally like they’re two strangers talking about the weather, “so I’m filling in for him.” Maybe for Phoenix it really is like that—just another conversation with someone that won’t matter in the future.
“Ah,” Dream says, “that’s nice.”
Phoenix locks the door like he isn’t trying to keep him in, like he’s not worried at all that Dream will try to attack him and then escape. “How are you?”
“Good?” It sounds like a question; maybe it is a question. He’s doing fine, he feels okay, but he’s still being held hostage.
“Cool, cool,” Phoenix nods.
“What’s Error busy with?” Dream forces himself to ask. Collecting information is always good. It can hopefully help him in some way or another, and even if it doesn’t help, just having a conversation with someone is nice. Albeit he’s still fearing for his life. Although he’s worried that he might offend either of the villains any time soon.
Phoenix just laughs. “Off being a villain, but it’s the boring stuff, y’know?”
Dream doesn’t know even though he can guess. The boring stuff for the heroes is the paperwork, but he very much doubts that villains do a lot of paperwork. Maybe he is wrong though; planning after all is a lot of work and takes a lot of time and can’t be too messy if you want to have a comprehensible, actually successful plan.
And from what they know about the villains (which really isn’t a lot), Error has always seemed like the more calculating one, the planner of the duo.
“Here’s your food, by the way,” Phoenix says, putting the little plastic bag on the floor instead of coming closer.
“Thanks,” he says, but he doesn’t stand up to get the bag. The last time he tried to do that while Error was still in the room with him, he was almost attacked for it. Probably a protocol they have to follow to make sure that he doesn’t escape.
“Bad says you should eat more, and you should stop hoarding your food.”
Dream blinks. “What?”
Phoenix shrugs. “You know what they’re like.”
Dream just looks at him dumbfounded.
“Anyway,” Phoenix continues like nothing has happened, but Dream quickly interrupts him: “Wait, who’s Bad?”
“Ah,” Phoenix says as if he didn’t just expose a villain’s civilian name. “You might know him as Omen, but he prefers Bad, so we all just call him that.”
“Right…” Dream trails off. Omen is Bad, and Bad most likely would be a nickname if Phoenix doesn’t seem to have a problem with him knowing Bad’s name. It’s not like he can do a lot with just a given name, but it’s still a name and a hint and a way to find out someone’s real identity, so no one wants to risk it.
“Yeah,” Phoenix says, moving on just as quickly as before, “Error told me to tell you that the Association still hasn’t replied. No front, but they kind of suck.”
Dream suppresses a laugh. He wouldn’t say it like that, wouldn’t dare to, but… “Yeah, you’re not wrong.”
The villain snorts. “Why did you even become a hero?”
“That…wasn’t really my decision,” Dream mumbles. He wishes it was. That way he could at least blame someone, but his parents thought it was the best idea, the best thing to do. If your child has strong powers, and the Association asks you to give them to them, so your child can save the world, you’re not going to say no. He understands. He does. And he can’t blame his parents, not really. Even if he sometimes hates them for it.
“Oh, yeah. Right.” There’s silence, then, “So, the Association is your legal guardian?”
“Well, yeah. Used to be, I mean, I’m not a minor anymore.” Not that it matters, not with his contract.
“And you’re still a hero?” Phoenix questions, and he sounds so disbelieving that Dream wants to laugh.
It’s fair though, he wouldn’t be able to believe it either if he were Phoenix.
“I am, I guess.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to leave.” Those who try, realize it too late. Those who try, don’t even have multiple years left.
“Did you try?” Phoenix asks, and there’s nothing judgmental in his voice. He just sounds curious, like he genuinely wonders, like he genuinely doesn’t understand why they don’t just leave. Most people don’t; Dream isn’t even sure if all heroes understand. (He didn’t understand at first either.)
But he did try. Once. He hasn’t tried since; he doesn’t think he’s brave enough for that. (Maybe he will be able to try now—now that he’s basically free, now that he’s almost out of reach, now that all he has to do is survive this.)
Dream scoffs bitterly, but he doesn’t say more, doesn’t confirm nor deny. He isn’t in the mood anymore to talk about this, so he changes topics, “Did Error tell you about my offer?”
“He did, he did,” Phoenix confirms, and if he’s noticed that Dream never answered his question, he doesn’t point it out.
“What do you think about it? He doesn’t seem very convinced.” Error hadn’t seemed convinced at all, but it’s not like Dream can fault him for that.
Phoenix shrugs. “It’s a good deal, but he doesn’t trust you.”
It would be more surprising if Error trusted him. Or if he had immediately accepted his offer. Or if he accepts it ever.
Dream has never really expected a lot to come out of it, but it was important that he got it out there, that they know about it, that they know there’s a second way they possibly could gain the information they want.
Even though he’s made a mistake almost immediately; it certainly hasn’t helped that he’s told Error in the beginning that the Association would give them what they want, that they wouldn’t just ignore them.
He’s lied already once—how should the villains know that he’s not lying again?
“Yeah, that’s fair,” Dream agrees. “I wouldn’t trust myself either if I were you.”
Phoenix shifts. “Not to be rude or anything, but you kind of suck at this.” At least, he sounds amused. That’s better than most other possible outcomes.
He scoffs, “Because you’d definitely trust me more if I swore that I’m not lying.”
“That’s…not wrong,” Phoenix says, nodding in agreement.
There’s a pause, but it looks like Phoenix wants to say something.
“I mean,” he finally says slowly, “couldn’t you just tell us, and we decide what to think about it?”
He could; he doesn’t want to. It’s better this way.
So, he raises an eyebrow. “And then you’d just kill me? I’d…rather have leverage or a deal with you.”
The thing is, the reason why he told Error that he could provide information but not what information, is that he doesn’t want to lose his last bit of usefulness.
This way the villains always know that by keeping Dream alive, they could get the information they so desperately want and that—they have to realize soon—won’t get from the Association. But he won’t give it to them until after the realization hits because they’re still having hope, and if he gives up his last trump card now, there’s nothing he can use to bargain for his life later.
He gives the information up now, they realize that the Association won’t do anything, that they won’t get what they want, and then they’ll kill him.
The second most important thing after building a relationship with his kidnappers is having use.
“Dude, we could still kill you even with an agreement,” Phoenix points out.
“True,” Dream admits, but this way, he would’ve at least tried. It’s better than the alternative—still not great (great would end with him being alive and free, and he doubts that both will—can? —happen), but it’s better.
“So?”
Dream tilts his head before he shakes it. “What about a counteroffer? I tell you what I know, and you let me go.”
Obviously, they’re not going to take it. There’s no way they’re going to take it. He could tell them the biggest bullshit, and they would have to let him go. It’s not like he wouldn’t keep his word since he never told them what he would tell him, but…he has the feeling that it wouldn’t end well for him.
Because they most likely wouldn’t keep their end of the deal, and…
“Maybe,” Phoenix says nonchalantly.
Dream stops. “Maybe?”
“Can’t decide that on my own, but I will run it by the others.” Phoenix cocks his head to the side. “And, after all, there’s still the possibility that the Association is going to do something.”
Dream sighs. He hasn’t expected anything else, and yet…and yet, he’s hoped that they would slowly start to realize that there might be some truth to his words. Or maybe it’s actually good for him because this way he lives for a few weeks longer, but then again. He’s not sure how great this actually is considering that he is contained and would just wait for his execution only to be surprised by it happening.
“It’s been four weeks,” he says.
“It’s been four weeks,” Phoenix agrees.
“The Association won’t do shit.”
“We’ll see,” Phoenix says diplomatically.
Dream wants to shake him.
“How long do you want to wait?”
Phoenix shrugs like he has no care in the world, like there’s nothing that could bother him in any way, like he has all the time in the world. (Maybe he has. Dream certainly doesn’t.) “Like I said, it’s not my decision alone. Once you have convinced the others maybe.”
So, there are more people than just Phoenix and Error. Hm. He’s not entirely sure yet what to do with this information apart from the fact that he can fuck up even more and more often now.
“Mainly Error?”
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “Of course.”
Dream bites on his bottom lip, trying to figure out his choices. There are not a lot of them. “Is there a way to convince you?”
“Except for giving us what you have? No, not really.”
“Thought so,” Dream mutters, sagging against the wall behind him. For a moment, he just stares at the white ceiling, then he forces himself to refocus on Phoenix.
The villain still hasn’t moved from his spot a foot away from the plastic bag.
“Anyway,” Phoenix says, glancing out of the window. “I have to go, duty calls; y’know how it is. See you.”
“See you,” Dream echoes, then, “wait! Sorry, I— is it…uh, possible if I could get a book or something like that?”
Phoenix nods towards him as if they’re colleagues, maybe even friends, only the small smile is missing that usually accompanies such a gesture, before he unlocks the door again.
“Sure,” he says. “I see what I can find.”
To his surprise, he gets the book. Or maybe it’s not that surprising; after all, they have been quite accommodating so far.
The book is thin and light and certainly wouldn’t be useful if he wanted to attack Error with it. Or, well, Phoenix.
He’s not seen Error since the villain left him without another word, and Dream can’t tell if it’s because of that or if Error truly is busy with villainy. Phoenix acts like nothing is able to bother him, and he’s, in Dream’s opinion, far too cheerful considering that he’s supposed to be a kidnapper, making it impossible to read Phoenix and find out the (real?) reason why the villains switched.
And Phoenix’s good mood also makes it hard to really be annoyed at the fact that he’s locked up in a tiny room with nothing to do. Although that’s not entirely true considering that he could do something and try to escape. But even after weeks here, he’s still not sure what exactly he should do in case he succeeds (which he very much doubts).
Both Error and Phoenix appear to be in the same building as he is for most of their time, and it’s possible that there are even more villains with them if he believes what Phoenix said.
And getting out of this room without his powers, getting out of the building without being seen, and then somehow being able to get away from this property and finding his way back to the Capitol, still doesn’t seem possible.
(His old mentor would be very disappointed in him, but Guardian can also go fuck himself since he would never go against the Association’s wishes and try to get Dream out of here. And anyway, he’s not even his mentor anymore, so it really doesn’t matter what Guardian would think about the fact that Dream’s spent the past month captured by villains and doing nothing.)
He has a roof over his head, he gets food, can sleep, and he’s alive; is there really anything that’s more desirable than this? Probably, but Dream is not going to go out of his way to achieve that when there’s the possibility, he will be free without unnecessarily pissing even more people off.
He’s already been lucky enough that the villains capturing him were Error and Phoenix out of everyone.
In his time as a Superhero, he’s pissed off quite a few villains—and although a lot of them have been trialed and imprisoned, there are enough still running around that he wouldn’t want to meet without his armor and weapons and powers. Like the Syndicate.
(Even if there are worse villains, and villains that definitely hate him more, the Syndicate and him aren’t best…friends.)
Well, it’s not like Error or Phoenix are his best friends either, but A-ranked villains always come first, and both of them were simply never as much of a threat as others.
Buildings can be restored, but deaths are catastrophic, and if there’s one thing the Association has always cared about, it’s their reputation as saviors and helpers.
It’s been a week, and it’s still Phoenix who brings him his food, and while Dream doesn’t hate it, he’s still curious as to why things changed so suddenly, but Phoenix hasn’t said anything past Error being busy even after Dream asked him again.
So maybe it’s true. And even if it wasn’t, it’s not like it’s any of his business anyway; he can be lucky that Phoenix gave him an answer to begin with.
Sometimes, he’s not sure if he’s going too far, pushing too much, but the villains never reprimand him, so he continues.
Going slow and steady, getting to know them while also fishing for information although it’s not necessary. Not really. He doesn’t plan on using any of the knowledge he’s gaining here, but it’s never a bad idea to at least know what’s going on and not be completely out of the loop.
He doesn’t want to be surprised by bad news, doesn’t want to be thrown into cold water.
If there’s change, he wants to be prepared for it.
He stretches on his bed; the sun has barely risen, and yet he’s wide awake, has been for the past hours. Even after weeks, he hasn’t been able to get himself to sleep at the same times, but maybe that’s what he has to expect after years of never having a consistent sleep schedule.
He slept when he had the time, during breaks, between shifts—just whenever he found a place that he could occupy without being in anyone’s way.
But sleeping during the night hasn’t really been a thing since his debut. Probably even before that.
Night means patrols and crime-fighting including those that he has off. If heroes are needed, heroes are needed.
Still. It’s weird to go to bed when it’s dark outside and to wake up in the darkness as well.
He should get used to it though. In the case that he gets alive out of here.
He really isn’t sure if his chances to survive have risen—maybe they’re still the same, or maybe they’ve fallen instead.
It’s hard to properly assess the situation, but alone considering the fact that he’s still alive, that they haven’t killed him yet…
He sits up abruptly, frowns at the footsteps. They have never been this early before; then again, it’s not like they always come at the same time.
It’s Phoenix who closes the door behind him. Even with mask he looks tired—he’s still in his villain costume, and his hair is messier than usual. As if he just came back after spending the night blowing things up. Which wouldn’t be that surprising considering it is Phoenix.
“Good morning,” Dream says. “Or good night?”
Phoenix snorts, yawns. “I’m really fucking tired,” he says, giving Dream the plastic bag. He glances at the book lying next to Dream. “How’s the book?”
Dream tilts his head. “It’s…fine.” It’s not the best thing he’s ever read, but it’s the first book in years that he’s had the time to read something for fun. So alone because of that, it makes the book better than it probably is.
Although it is a bit funny that it’s about Superheroes of all things. He didn’t expect Error to read about them—or maybe this is exactly why they chose the book.
“You can say it sucks,” Phoenix says.
Dream laughs. “It’s not that bad.”
“Possibly. It sounded boring, but Error said it might be entertaining enough,” Phoenix says as he spins one time to check the room. It’s by far not as extensive as Error’s search, but maybe Phoenix has just decided that, after Dream hasn’t tried to do anything the past few weeks, nothing will have changed now.
“Do you read?” Dream asks.
“Almost never,” Phoenix replies. “Feels like I haven’t touched a book since high school, so like…at least a few years.”
He frowns. He actually doesn’t even know Phoenix’s age, but since the villain has been active for quite some time, he’s always expected him to be his age or older. “How old are you?”
Phoenix raises an eyebrow.
“What?” he asks. “I swear I’m not trying to find out your civilian identity.”
Phoenix looks amused, like what Dream said could be nothing but a bad joke. “I would be impressed if you were able to do that with just my age.”
Dream rolls his eyes.
It’s not impossible. It would take ages, and it would be more work than probably justified, but it would be possible.
There aren’t a lot of people running around with destructive powers who don’t work for the Association.
“I’m twenty-one.”
“Oh,” Dream says, surprise coloring his words. “So, you’re…one, two years younger than me? Haven’t you— but you’ve been active as a villain for quite some time already.”
If he remembers correctly, the first time Phoenix appeared in the public’s eye was around Dream’s debut.
“Yup,” Phoenix says, letting the ‘p’ pop.
“Huh.”
“Why are you so surprised by this?” Phoenix asks like it’s completely normal for fourteen-year-olds to run around and cause chaos and destruction.
Perhaps it is. It’s not like Dream would know.
“What do you mean?”
Phoenix crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Don’t Superheroes debut with, like, sixteen?”
“Yeah, they do,” Dream says slowly.
“See.”
“Y’know, that’s fair,” he agrees although it does seem a bit different to debut with the support of an entire organization or run around and set buildings on fire by yourself with absolutely no help from others. At least, he could go back and get medical help or backup.
“Why sixteen actually?”
Dream shrugs. It’s never been something he’s really asked himself—it’s always been like that. The ideal age for Superheroes to debut has always been seen as sixteen, and the only time it was different was during the establishment of the Association when most heroes worked on their own, and there hadn’t been a community of Superpowered Humans yet. “Don’t know. Probably decided that this way they gain the most profit.”
“Cool.”
“Cool?” Dream raises his eyebrows.
Phoenix almost seems embarrassed. “Bro, I don’t know.”
There’s silence.
Phoenix studies his gloves, and Dream tries to keep his eyes directed at the plastic bag. He twists the blanket in his hands, stretches the fabric so thin that he fears he’s ripped it. He doesn’t say anything else, the villain will leave any second anyway.
But when Phoenix doesn’t appear to be leaving soon, Dream asks, “Why did you become a villain?”
Phoenix slowly tilts his head to one side, then to the other. “Sounded like it would be fun.”
He’s not sure what he’s expected. It’s certainly fitting.
“And is it?” Dream probes. It’s not like he’s planning on becoming a villain or using this information against them, he’s just curious. Being on a set path his entire life hasn’t really made it possible for him to explore anything else. And he’s never had contact with villains beyond fights and arrests.
He doesn’t know their motivations, doesn’t know why they chose this path of life, and he’s not supposed to know about these things, to ask. He’s expected to follow orders and keep villains in check. Nothing else.
He used to be fine with that.
He’s not sure what exactly has changed. If things even have changed.
“I guess it is,” Phoenix says, then after a short pause, “Definitely more fun than being a hero.”
“Because that’s so difficult…” Dream mumbles.
Being a hero isn’t the worst job to ever exist—obviously—, but it’s also not as fun and great as so many people think it is.
Phoenix snickers quietly, “Imagine having to do paperwork.”
Dream groans. “Dude, the paperwork is seriously the worst part.”
“The real reason why I didn’t become a hero.”
“It takes so much time,” Dream agrees, “and it’s extremely frustrating because everything has to be so detailed, I’m telling you.”
The villain grimaces. “See, it’s a good thing I’m not a hero. Most of it wouldn’t survive anyway.”
Dream snorts. Up in flames. The supervisors wouldn’t be overly impressed by it.
“Yeah,” he drawls. “If I had just known about this earlier, we wouldn’t be here.”
If paperwork were the least of his problems, they wouldn’t be here either.
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Phoenix nods. “Bet everyone would’ve changed career paths if they had known earlier.”
“Oh, definitely. Although”—he leans forward like he’s telling a secret— “I actually know a hero who likes the paperwork.”
“No way. You’re lying. There’s— nah, they’re lying.” Phoenix sounds so indignant that it makes Dream laugh.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Dude,” Phoenix says, shaking his head. “They’re definitely lying. Who the fuck likes paperwork?”
“Trust no one who claims to like paperwork,” Dream mutters.
“True,” Phoenix agrees. He tilts his head. “Do you want a new book?”
“That,” he says, caught off-guard by the topic change and the sudden reminder that they’re the furthest away from being friends, “that would be nice, yeah.”
“Cool, cool.” Phoenix cracks his knuckles. “Taking it with me next time then. I’ll tell Error to choose a better one.”
“Thanks—wait, don’t tell Error to choose a better one. It was fine.”
It was fine. He’s enjoyed it enough. There’s no need to antagonize Error in any way. Even if this is most likely not going to be their last straw, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Especially because it’s about something as insignificant as a book—it’s already been nice of them to even give him one (although it is their fault that he’s even here and bored), so he’s not going to complain about it.
“Sure,” Phoenix says, eyebrows raised. “I totally believe that, yep. Totally. And you’re definitely not lying.”
“Why should I be lying about this?” Dream asks. Why is this so important to Phoenix?
“Because you’re probably a decent human who doesn’t want to hurt people.”
For a moment, Dream just stares at Phoenix, then, “What?” This might be the most random thing ever.
Phoenix shrugs. “I don’t know. You just seem to be someone like that.”
“What?” Dream repeats.
“Dude. I don’t know. And anyway, Error won’t care.”
Dream tilts his head. He would be more surprised if this was something that could be Error’s last straw. Although it would be funny. A little bit.
“Okay,” he agrees because he has the feeling that he won’t be able to change Phoenix’s mind, and also, if there’s someone, he’s able to set off, it would be Phoenix. And he’s not fire-proof. Or punch-proof. Or any kind of proof for that matter. He’s not even electricity-proof. Technically.
“Great that we agreed,” Phoenix’s words almost seem biting, but his voice is still light and amused.
“Thanks,” he says quietly.
With every day that’s passing, he’s less sure of what he’s supposed to make out of this. On one hand, it feels like they’re almost acquaintances; on the other hand, it doesn’t appear like they’re going to let him go anytime soon.
Phoenix nods, twirling the key between his fingers.
It would be so easy to just snatch them out of his hand. Dream’s nails dig sharply into his skin. He stays sitting on his bed.
There’s a glimmer in Phoenix’s eyes. “Until later,” he says.
“See you,” Dream replies.
Chapter 4: the sun will be guiding you | Sapnap I
Notes:
title: woodkid — run boy run.
i keep forgetting it’s friday, man. time who
also, for some reason, i’ve had issues importing the chapter, and while i think i got rid of all the problems, there still might be some weird formatting
Chapter Text
“I think we can trust him,” Sapnap says when he comes back. He puts the mask down he’s already taken off the moment he’s stepped out of Dream’s cell.
George looks up; he’s been typing on his laptop, and when Sapnap squints to see what he’s been busy with, the only thing he can read is “Nighthawk.”
He’s been restless since his last conversation with Dream, and Sapnap wonders what the hero said to him—George hasn’t told him anything, but it seems important if he’s digging up the former heroes’ stories again.
“And what makes you think that?”
Sapnap shrugs. “Just a feeling.”
It’s not just a feeling; it’s also the fact that it’s been weeks, and they haven’t even gotten a reply yet. There’s no better way to say, “Fuck you” and “I don’t care about you” than this.
It’s not proof, not really. But it doesn’t make him believe that the Association is going to do anything about the kidnapping either.
Unless they’re preparing to rescue Dream, but that’s something he also doesn’t really believe—if it was the case, they would’ve gotten in contact with them. Just to make sure that Dream is well and still alive.
George looks unimpressed. “A feeling? Last time I checked, you weren’t able to predict the future.”
“Oh, shut the hell up.”
“What? It’s the truth.”
“Yeah, still. I don’t know— we’ve talked about it before, and I just don’t think he’s lying, okay?”
They’ve had this conversation before—multiple times, and slowly, he feels like they should come to an agreement. It can’t go on like this, not when they actually want to go on with their plan, not when they want to reach their goal.
George rolls his eyes. “Okay. And now what? If we actually believe that he’s not lying, what exactly do you think we’re even supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, that’s the problem.” Sapnap bites his bottom lip. “Talk to the others first, obviously, but other than that…no fucking idea.”
He hasn’t really had a good idea yet about how they’re supposed to continue this. Maybe the easiest way would be to just keep Dream locked up and move on to Plan B.
It just doesn’t feel like the right one.
Especially because Dream is offering them his help—even if it might be a lie, even if they might not get the help or the information they want. But—
But to at least try is better than most alternatives.
George stares at his laptop screen. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even move for one, two minutes.
“What if we don’t do anything?” he finally asks.
It doesn’t sound like he’s completely serious about it, like he actually means it, but it’s always hard to tell with George.
He’s never been the easiest to read even after years of friendship. Even though Sapnap has known him for almost a decade.
“It’s been weeks, George,” he says quietly.
George looks up. “And?”
Sapnap curls his hands into fists. “We’re not getting it, for fuck’s sake.”
“It’s not like we can let him go,” George snaps.
“So, what? We’re going to lock him up for the rest of his life?” There are flames licking his arms. He tries to ignore them.
George stays quiet.
“At some point, we have to accept that nothing’s going to come out of this,” Sapnap says quietly.
“And as soon as we let him go, he’ll run back to the Association.”
Sapnap shrugs with one shoulder. “Maybe.”
They can’t know. It certainly doesn’t sound like Dream wants to go back. It doesn’t really mean anything, he’s barely spoken to Dream at all, and still, Sapnap doubts that Dream will return to the Association.
He’s not sure why he puts so much trust in Dream; he doesn’t even know him, doesn’t know how he thinks and acts, doesn’t know Dream’s goals and motivation, and yet…
Perhaps George is right. Perhaps he is too trusting.
“You say that like you know him,” George points out like he’s read Sapnap’s thoughts.
“Like,” George continues slowly, “why are you so sure about this?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I talked to him?” Sapnap bites out.
George sighs. He looks like he’s now fully done with this conversation, and it really doesn’t surprise Sapnap. It’s not like he’s wanted to have it to begin with. “God, you’re insufferable.”
“George.”
“Sapnap.”
He ponders his next words.
“See, like…even if we assume that Dream has never said anything about this, when should we start to become suspicious because the Association hasn’t gotten back to us? Genuinely.”
“We could just kill him,” George blurts out.
Sapnap blinks, blinks again as he takes in George’s words.
“Bad would kill us.”
All of them have killed before—of course, they have. They’re villains, and they have been in the business for years. Even the heroes have killed before. But there’s a difference between killing someone during a fight and killing someone while they’re at his mercy when they can’t defend themself.
Sapnap isn’t squeamish, but there are lines that even he draws.
And he’s not going to execute someone.
“I know,” George says, staring at his laptop again, “I was just joking.” The screen is shaking.
Sapnap feels like George was not just joking.
“Sure. If you say so,” he says. He doesn’t want to start a fight, not when George isn’t going to pursue this…thought. “You still haven’t offered a different solution.”
“Just…just let me think about this for a bit more time, okay?”
He wants to shake George. This is exactly the problem, and George knows. George is well aware of it. “How much longer do you want to think about it?”
When George looks up again, his eyes gleam. Sometimes, Sapnap is happy that George’s powers aren’t mainly destructive. “Fuck you.”
“Fuck you,” he gives back, barely any heat behind his words. Then he continues, “We still have to tell the others; they’re getting impatient.”
That’s what they agreed on after the Association hadn’t gotten back to them after weeks and multiple attempts of reaching out—that Sapnap and George would decide, would call the shots since they know the most, know the best, but even this has been weeks ago.
And there’s still no solution. (They all had hoped for the easiest way, that a miracle would happen. It didn’t.)
In the end, the problem isn’t how they continue with their plan; the problem is what they will do with Dream.
George breathes out heavily. “I know that, okay?”
“You know they trust our assessment of this situation,” Sapnap carries on, ignoring that he’s pissing George off even more.
“Yes, and your assessment, for some reason, is letting him go after everything!” George hisses.
“It’s not like yours is better, George! We won’t get the information from the Association, and if we want this to not be a complete failure, we have to accept Dream’s offer.”
The screen is shaking even more now, and for a moment, Sapnap fears that George is going to break the laptop.
Then it subdues.
(He’s almost jealous of George’s control.)
“And he’s still a hero,” George adds like an afterthought. Although both of them are aware that this is the main reason for George’s hesitance. All of them know. Maybe it was a mistake to have Sapnap and George be in charge of the hero and the decisions regarding him they have to make.
“Okay? Dude, bro, maybe this turns out to be a fluke, but at least we tried instead of further wasting our resources. And maybe he’s telling the truth!”
Maybe. Hopefully.
Sapnap isn’t sure what he’s supposed to think anymore.
He hopes it’s true. He has the feeling it’s true. He doesn’t know if it’s true.
It’s possible that George is right. It’s possible that they’re going to fuck this up even more. It is possible that Dream’s help sucks, that it doesn’t bring them anything, and it’s possible that Dream will run back to the Association the moment he can.
But…
If he did, it’s not their problem anymore. Especially if the information he’s offered does help them.
It would suck, obviously. Since then, the Association would know what they want, but that’s a risk they’ve accepted the moment their plan started to form.
If the Association had agreed to the deal, they would’ve known anyway.
They’re not losing anything if Dream’s words are true, if the information is helpful.
And if not…
Even then, Sapnap feels like they wouldn’t lose much. Not more than they’re already losing by procrastinating on making their decisions.
But George doesn’t want Dream to return to the Association without them getting something for it—Sapnap gets it, he really does. And maybe that’s exactly why they should agree to Dream’s deal, even if turns out to be absolute bullshit. At least, they had tried everything.
They have other plans. Even if this was the easiest, the quickest way, they’re not dependent on it.
It would’ve been poetic if the Association and its heroes took part in their own downfall, but they’re not necessary.
“Fine.”
Sapnap lifts his eyebrows. “Fine?” There’s no way he has heard right.
“Don’t push it, Sapnap.”
He leans against the table behind him, taking in as George fidgets on his chair. He would say something, but George seems to want to say more, so he stays quiet.
A minute passes. Then two.
Then, “I know,” George finally says quietly. He’s staring at his fingernails, twisting his fingers as he avoids Sapnap’s gaze.
Sapnap tilts his head. “Know what?” he asks although he has the feeling he knows what George means.
There’s a reason why he’s asked Sapnap to switch with him. There’s a reason why he’s been so off the past few weeks since Dream talked to him. There’s a reason why he’s looking up old heroes again and trying to find something he still hasn’t told Sapnap or any of the others about.
George bites his lip. “That he’s not lying.”
Sapnap wishes he could be angrier with George, but he’s always been like this—not willing to give in, not willing to accept change once he’s made up his mind, and always, always fighting, pushing, and pulling, and trying to hold onto the things he knows.
George didn’t want this to be true, so he refused to see it as a possibility. Only that he can’t ignore it forever, can’t act like a solution doesn’t exist.
He still comes around, every single time this happens. But it takes time; it takes time and nerves, and Sapnap gets it. He also hates it.
In the end, it’s simply who George is.
“Okay,” Sapnap says because he isn’t sure what else he should do.
“Okay,” George echoes.
“What is it like to be a hero?” Sapnap asks, sitting on the floor close to the door.
It seems stupid doing this—knowing who Dream is and considering that they’ve kidnapped him. But they’re also having a normal conversation right now, and he feels weird standing in front of Dream and posing threateningly.
Dream shrugs. “I mean…you’re helping people, so I guess— I— it’s…it’s nice.”
It makes Sapnap raise an eyebrow. “Just nice?”
“I’m not sure I know what exactly you want,” Dream admits.
Sapnap shrugs. “A bit of insight, I guess. Just wanna know about, y’know, how all of this works. Why you’re doing what you’re doing. That stuff.”
Dream tilts his head as he stares at a spot on the wall to Sapnap’s right. “I— hm. You already know about it. Like— like the general things, right? We start training after we’ve developed our powers since— since depending on your powers, the Association might want you to be working as like— a healer or— or for the Warden or something.”
He sits up straighter. “The Warden?” he asks, trying to sound as unsuspicious as somehow possible. It’s not exactly what they want, but it’s in the right direction. Maybe it’s possible that Dream will talk about Pandora’s Vault.
Dream laughs uncomfortably. “Yeah, like— I mean, you’re not getting specifically trained to become the Warden because it’s like— he’s a retired Superhero, although I’m not sure if there’s— if maybe this has changed, and kids are chosen for that job now. It’s— it’s possible.”
“So, like,” Sapnap says, “the Association picks your career path when you’re like— what? Five? Six?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” Dream agrees.
“And”—Sapnap squints—“you have to do that no matter what?”
“Sometimes, you can switch if— if it turns out that you’re unfit. Like the— the original decision is solely based on your powers, but the Association wants things to be as effective as possible, so like— if it’s only your powers, and they can’t work with the rest, they’ll reassign you.” Dream pauses, bites his lip as if he’s considering adding something. “It doesn’t really happen a lot though.”
“Ah,” Sapnap makes. “Interesting.”
Dream snorts. “Interesting. Sure.”
“So…kids with destructive powers are chosen as Superheroes?”
“Basically,” Dream nods. “You’d be a Superhero too.”
“We’ve already had this conversation, and thankfully, I’m not.” He shudders at that thought. Dealing with Bad is already annoying enough; he doesn’t want to imagine what he would have to endure as a hero.
Not that he knows too much about it, but he’s sure there are ten-thousand rules to follow, and he’s not really…a fan of them.
Ha. Is there any villain who likes rules?
(Well, there’s Sam—which is a bit ironic considering that Sam’s entire existence is rule-breaking. But he was supposed to become a hero, so Sapnap doesn’t count him.)
“Can you get thrown out?”
Dream tilts his head. “You mean, like, getting completely dropped by the Association?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean,” Dream starts, pauses. “It’s…it would be possible, I guess, if you’re, like, like a trainee still? Once you’re a hero, you just get reassigned.”
Sapnap nods slowly. “What if I broke all rules?”
Dream scoffs. “You wouldn’t do that for long, but sure. I guess that could lead to you being kicked out as a trainee. But like I said if you’re already a Superhero and decide to go on a rampage, they’re not just going to let you go.”
He raises an eyebrow. That’s something Dream has already said multiple times—to him and to George as well. Normally, he would’ve assumed that this is just about contracts, but—
But with the Association not replying and ignoring the entire situation instead, maybe, maybe there’s actually more to it.
“So,” he says slowly. “If you’re a hero, and they, for whatever reason, want to get rid of you, won’t just…fire you?”
“Of course not,” Dream says like Sapnap is an idiot for even suggesting it, “you would know too much.”
“Know too much?” Sapnap pries.
Dream leans back against the wall as he continues to watch Sapnap. “You know about the rumors. You should know why.”
Previously, they assumed that there are a few corrupt heroes with most, especially the younger heroes, not knowing what’s going on behind the scenes since the hierarchy of the Association suggests that the heroes have barely any say in most of the Association’s affairs, but this might change things.
George has always been convinced that most heroes know more than what they assumed they do, but Sam always seemed so sure that this isn’t the case. There’s a reason why they immediately went for the Association and the Executives—on top of the fact that someone would be more prone to lying if it’s about saving their own skin.
“So, they’re true?” Sapnap asks.
Dream presses his lips together at the question, as if he’s just realized that he told Sapnap too much. “I— I can’t tell you.”
Sapnap crosses his arms in front of his chest as he regards Dream with a calculating gaze. “Can’t or don’t want to?”
“Don’t want to,” Dream says to Sapnap’s surprise. He hadn’t expected the hero to openly admit it. “As long as we don’t have a deal, that is.”
He scoffs at those words. He should’ve expected it.
And really, he wants to say yes. He should say yes. It’s the only logical thing to do after weeks, months of keeping Dream locked up in here and not knowing what they’re supposed to do, how they should continue.
Instead, he gets up.
“We’ll think about it,” he says.
“How long,” Dream asks, pleads, “how long do you want to keep thinking about it?”
And Sapnap doesn’t have an answer; he wishes he had one. He wants this to be over too.
He wakes up to fire.
It’s not uncommon, not even the first time he’s burned down an apartment or a base, but George next to his bed in his uniform and wearing his mask doesn’t usually accompany him setting a place on fire.
He also doesn’t feel the warmth, isn’t even sure where the fire is. He just knows that there’s a fire somewhere, and that it’s close.
“Sapnap,” George hisses, Sapnap’s mask dangling from his fingers.
He sits up, groggily reaching for the mask. “What’s going on?”
“Get up,” George orders, moving away from Sapnap to reach for Sapnap’s uniform. “I’m telling you while you’re getting dressed.”
George throws the clothes at Sapnap before he can react, so they hit him right in the face.
“What the fuck, George,” Sapnap complains, but he still swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
He can smell the smoke, can feel the flames creeping closer. He’s pretty sure he didn’t do that—not when George is acting like they’re in danger…which they probably are.
He glances outside, but he can’t see anything. It’s still dark outside. Not even the moon is visible.
“What’s going on?” he asks again, looking up to George who’s staring out of the window as if he can see something Sapnap can’t.
It wouldn’t be too surprising considering that George is already wearing his night vision goggles and can most likely feel them too. Even the heroes have high-tech equipment now.
That’s the only thing Sapnap envies about George’s powers.
He closes his suit, cracks his neck.
“It’s the Association,” George finally says. “Do you have your weapons?”
He’s already walking out of the room before Sapnap has completely comprehended the words.
“The Association?” Sapnap yells, running after him as he puts his mask on and turns on his in-ear. What the fuck?
It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at all. It’s been weeks, months, why now? What is going on?
He catches up with George quickly, shakes his shoulders to get the tightness out of them. “The Association?” he repeats. “Why now?”
“How should I know?” George snaps before he stops, sighs. “Sorry. I don’t know. All I know is that there was suspicious movement on one of the cameras and then things blew up. I genuinely don’t know what’s going on.”
“So, how do you know it’s the Association?”
George sighs like Sapnap is stupid. “Who else should it be? Other villains? Don’t be an idiot.”
He deserves that—for months now, they haven’t been in any dispute with other villains, and this base is too far away from the Capitol for someone to randomly decide to attack it. The only people who know about this place are them anyway.
“But why now?” Sapnap asks again. “It’s been weeks.”
George shrugs. “Who even knows how the Association works at this point.”
“Fair,” Sapnap mumbles. “Did you already contact the others?”
“Yeah,” George says as he starts walking again. “They’re on their way.”
“Okay, okay. What’s the plan?”
“You get Dream, and then you get out of here. I’m going to distract them.”
“But—” Sapnap protests. Normally, he’s the one who’s the distraction—it comes with destructive powers. George works better in the background, and this way, they’ve never had any problems since they started to work together years ago, so why are they switching things up now?
“Shut up,” George interrupts him. “I’m not going to be able to hold them off for long enough if Dream’s with me.”
Sapnap shuts his mouth close. He’s not awake enough for this yet.
“Okay,” he agrees.
George glances at him, then speeds up again. “You know the meeting point. If everything works out, the others should be there by the time you get out.”
He nods slowly. “What are you going to do?”
George just grins.
Dream is awake when he pushes the door open. Wide-eyed, standing next to the window as he looks at Sapnap.
He’s most likely felt the heroes approaching too even with the neutralizer cuffs.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
Instead of an answer, Sapnap grabs Dream’s wrists and ties them together. Dream’s powers might be blocked, but Sapnap isn’t going to risk anything. Even without powers, Dream is a danger, and especially if they come into contact with other heroes.
“We need to go,” Sapnap orders, pulling on Dream’s arm to get him to move.
“Why?” Dream asks, stumbling at the force of Sapnap’s pull.
Sapnap scoffs. “You know why. You know who that is.”
And Sapnap knows he’s right when realization dawns on Dream’s face.
“But why now?” Dream asks, an echo of Sapnap’s earlier words. Like he’s not expected this himself, like he’s genuinely thought that the Association has written him off and abandoned him.
Sapnap is tired of this. He really is—he wanted to trust Dream; he did trust Dream, and now…
It almost makes him laugh. George really was right.
He feels betrayed by a person he shouldn’t have trusted to begin with.
“Stop acting dumb!”
Dream stops. His eyes are still wide, and he almost looks afraid. Sapnap isn’t sure if Dream is afraid of him or of the consequences of his lies.
“You have to believe me,” he begs, “I didn’t know about this. I thought— it doesn’t make sense. They wouldn’t—”
“Well, they did,” Sapnap hisses, pulling on Dream’s arm once more.
This time, Dream doesn’t resist, doesn’t try to stop again.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Dream whispers.
And Dream sounds so confused, so lost that Sapnap wants to trust him, that Sapnap wants to believe his words again. That maybe Dream didn’t lie, that maybe he actually thought that no one would come to his rescue, that maybe he didn’t realize what kind of position he has in the Association.
If there’s one thing that Sapnap has to give Dream, it’s that he’s a good actor. And it’s pissing him off.
“Shut up,” he tells him, not nearly enough bite behind his words.
To his surprise, Dream really does. He lets Sapnap pull him along with him, doesn’t utter another word or try to attack Sapnap.
An explosion is set off in the distance; he can feel Dream flinch.
It takes everything in him to not snarl at Dream. He can save his attempts to gain Sapnap’s pity—it’s not working.
They hurry down a staircase, Sapnap’s grip tight around Dream’s arm. All they have to do is reach their secret pathway.
“I really—” Dream starts once they reach the bottom floor.
“Save it,” Sapnap says before Dream can get another word out. “I don’t want to hear it.”
He’ll deal with it later—if he’s focusing too much on it, nothing good will come out of this. His grip tightens; he can smell smoke.
Dream hisses, but he doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, Sapnap lets go of Dream’s arm, guilt setting in when he sees that he’s burned through the sleeve. A faint red handprint is visible on otherwise pale skin.
He doesn’t try to flee.
“Sorry,” Sapnap says. “I didn’t—”
“It’s fine,” Dream says, voice tight.
Sapnap bites on his cheeks, another apology forming on his lips, but instead, he grabs Dream’s arm again.
“Come,” he says quietly. His emotions have always gotten the better of him; it’s nothing new that he’s smoking or burning things. It’s not even new that he’s accidentally injured other people, and no matter how much control he has over his powers, it still continues to happen.
“Hurry,” George says suddenly. “They’re far too close.”
“I thought you were holding them off,” Sapnap hisses, glancing at Dream who looks at the floor, carefully avoiding Sapnap’s eyes like he’s not listening to the conversation.
Sapnap scoffs.
“I was,” George says, “but for some reason, they didn’t even care. They immediately went for you.”
Sapnap frowns. “How?” They shouldn’t know about the passage—scratch that. They shouldn’t know about this base at all. And maybe it would be possible to explain their knowledge of the base’s location with Dream somehow being in contact with the Association, but even then, the heroes shouldn’t know about this path.
And they shouldn’t be able to find it so quickly.
“I— I have a suspicion. We’re going to talk about it later, alright? Get Dream out of here first.”
“Okay,” he says, speeding up. “Come on.”
“What’s the problem?” Dream asks quietly.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Sapnap says coolly, the lie obvious to both of them. Sapnap isn’t sure why exactly he’s even lied to the hero.
Dream laughs disbelieving. “Why are you lying to me?”
“Why are you lying to me?” Sapnap grits out, forcing Dream to stand still.
The hero lifts his hands. “Sorry. I— I know you don’t believe me, but I didn’t lie.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sapnap sneers at him. “And that’s why heroes are attacking us now?”
“I don’t know why. I swear,” Dream pleads.
Sapnap wants to laugh, wants to scream, wants to punch Dream in the face. He doesn’t do either. “Because I’m going to believe you,” he says as calmly as he’s able to muster.
“Please, Phoenix.” And there’s a sincerity to Dream’s words that it makes Sapnap stop.
He breathes out.
Breathes in.
He doesn’t believe Dream. He really doesn’t, but—
But maybe he really didn’t lie. Maybe he was telling the truth—or at least, what he thought to be the truth. Maybe.
He breathes out again.
“Sapnap,” George warns him.
He can worry about it later.
So, he starts walking again, pulling Dream with him. They’re almost out. It’s only a few more meters.
He pushes the door open.
The night is so cold it stings in his lungs, and the air is clean like it never is in the city. Next to him, he can hear Dream take a deep breath.
The moon is still hidden behind clouds, and without his mask, it would be impossible to find the way.
It takes a moment for him to realize that Dream can’t see anything. The hero is more stumbling through the night than that he’s actually walking.
There’s another explosion.
“C’mon,” he mutters.
They’re so close to the meeting point.
He hastens his movement, his grip tightening around Dream’s arm to make sure that the hero isn’t going to flee now that they’re out of the base.
“C’mon,” he repeats, fingernails digging into his own skin.
They skid to a halt.
“Fuck,” he whispers. “Fuck.”
A hero stands in front of them, half-hidden by the dark. But even so, Sapnap clearly recognizes him.
“What’s the problem?” George asks, he sounds out of breath and panicked.
Sapnap ignores George, shifts slightly so that he’s standing in front of Dream, his free hand reaching for the gun on his belt. During all of this, he doesn’t let go of Dream’s arm.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Guardian says, hands hidden behind his back, a pleasant smile on his lips.
And Sapnap distantly realizes that Dream is shaking.
Chapter 5: i feel alive (like i’m falling off the edge) | Dream III
Chapter Text
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
It’s the only thing Dream can think of as he looks at his old mentor.
None of this was supposed to happen.
He doesn’t know what changed; he doesn’t even understand why things should have changed, and it doesn’t make sense. Not really. Not now.
Why now?
It’s been weeks. Months. If this was truly about him, they wouldn’t have waited so long—or at least they would’ve gotten into contact with the villains. They wouldn’t have waited this long and not reacted at all, knowing that the villains could—would? —kill him.
And they’ve never done this before. They haven’t made exceptions, not for a single hero; there’s no reason why they would start making them for him.
So, really. It can’t be about him. It wouldn’t make sense.
But it’s obvious that this is what the villains believe—what Phoenix believes, and it’s not like Dream can blame him.
It’s suspicious, it’s weird, and it goes against everything Dream has told them.
He’s lied before—it wouldn’t be too much of a reach that he lied again.
Only that he hasn’t.
He’s not sure how he’s supposed to convince Error and Phoenix though. If he’s honest, he’s not even sure how he’s supposed to come out of here alive.
If the heroes don’t kill him, the villains might—will? (And maybe it would be better than going back.)
“Guardian,” he says tentatively, but his old mentor isn’t even looking at him. Instead, he’s focusing on Phoenix whose hand is still so tightly wrapped around Dream’s arm that he’s sure he’ll get bruises from it.
The only other thing Dream knows, the only thing he’s sure of is that Guardian isn’t here for him. Not for him alone at least.
There must be a different motivation than just getting him back. (If they even want him back to begin with.)
“What do you want?” Phoenix asks, voice cold and unwavering, and while Dream can’t hear him, he has the feeling that Error is talking to Phoenix at the moment.
Guardian laughs—it’s supposed to be a pleasant laugh; it’s the one he always uses for trainees and younger heroes, for the journalists and the civilians visiting the Association’s headquarters, but it only reminds Dream of all the times he came back from patrol, bruised and bleeding, and all Guardian had to offer was ridicule.
“Oh, don’t be so hasty,” he says, tilting his head. “We’re just having a nice chat.”
Dream grits his teeth; he can feel Phoenix shift more than he sees it.
“Sure,” Phoenix says—scoffs, really. “It’s a very nice chat. Definitely.”
He wants to shake Phoenix, he truly does. He doesn’t know what Phoenix’s plan is, but aggravating Guardian doesn’t seem like the best idea. Especially because they don’t know how many other heroes are around them.
“Well,” Guardian says; if he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it, “you have something that belongs to me.”
Dream flinches.
“Sorry,” Phoenix says. “You know the conditions.”
He feels the heat before he sees the fireball, and for a moment, he’s speechless that Phoenix would even try something like that.
Then he’s being tugged along by the villain; he stumbles more than that he walks, but it seems to be a common theme tonight. While his eyes have finally adjusted to the darkness, he still doesn’t know where to go, and Phoenix abruptly starting to run isn’t helping.
They don’t come far—barely a few meters before they have to stop again. Like before Phoenix shoves Dream behind him, Phoenix’s hand encircles his wrist now.
“We could’ve handled that peacefully,” Guardian says, floating in the air, and this time, his voice is cold and hard. “But this way also works.”
It’s the only warning they get—the only warning Dream really needs. He knows how the heroes act, knows the way they plan.
He shoves Phoenix out of the way.
The villain yelps and doesn’t let go of Dream as they nearly fall, but they don’t get hit.
As soon as Phoenix is back on his feet, he pushes Dream behind a tree as if that could help them against a hero who can shoot lasers.
“What the fuck was that?” Phoenix hisses as he looks around quickly.
There are more heroes hidden in the dark—he can feel them now, despite the neutralizer cuffs, so they’re close. Too close.
“Please let me help,” Dream says instead of answering—not that he would know what he should even tell Phoenix. He knows as much as the villain, maybe even less. And no matter what he would tell him, it wouldn’t satisfy him.
Phoenix looks at him like he’s grown a second head, but it’s not like Dream can blame him. For all Phoenix knows, it could be that the moment he takes the cuffs off, Dream’s gone. Perhaps that’s what he should be doing (that’s what everyone expects him to do).
“There are three more heroes here,” Dream points out. “What exactly do you think you can do against all of them?”
Phoenix doesn’t answer, glances behind Dream, and then he starts running again.
Just like before, they don’t get far, only that it’s not Guardian who blocks their path.
Dream doesn’t recognize them, so they have to be one of the newer heroes.
Phoenix curses loudly, but he never gets slower while sending a flame their way, doesn’t stop as he dodges the hero and ignores their try to stop them.
The only thing Dream can focus on is that they’ve lost sight of Guardian.
“Stop!” the hero yells, then Dream’s chest goes cold.
This time, he’s not fast enough.
He hears the gun before he’s realized what’s happened.
Phoenix muffles a scream; for a moment, he lets go of Dream’s arm. He still doesn’t slow down. “Shit,” he mutters. “Fuck.”
He dugs behind shrubbery once they’re further away, once he’s made sure that the hero isn’t directly behind them, quickly pulling Dream down, so they’re not visible.
“Are you okay?” Dream asks, sounding more frantic than he probably should.
“Fine,” Phoenix grits out.
He doesn’t sound fine. He doesn’t look fine.
There’s sweat on Phoenix’s forehead, and even the hand around Dream’s arm is trembling.
“Let me help,” Dream tries again, but Phoenix shakes his head.
“Nope. Absolutely not.”
“But—”
Phoenix lifts a hand; Dream shuts his mouth.
“I was shot,” Phoenix mumbles, then, “Arm.”
Dream bites his lips and glances up. He doesn’t see them, not that it means much. Most Superhero uniforms are black.
“Okay, see you.”
Phoenix straightens up, one hand pressed against his bicep. “If you try anything,” he warns Dream.
“I won’t,” Dream promises—he doesn’t know why.
He should, shouldn’t he? Should try to escape, should punch Phoenix while he’s focused on something else, should help the heroes out there to either capture or kill Phoenix.
He should return to the Association and his tiny apartment.
He should.
Phoenix levels him with his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else about it. “Okay,” is all he replies.
This time, they’re more careful.
They can’t see the heroes, but they can hear them walking through the forest. It’s both an advantage and a disadvantage that it’s so dark and that they’re surrounded by trees.
Dream flexes his finger, tries to ignore the feeling in his chest. He can’t. “Phoenix,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Something—” he stops.
“As amusing as this was,” Guardian says, “this will end now.”
He’s been playing with them—of course, he has. This was a test for Dream, and he’s failed it. Spectacularly and multiple times.
“You can try,” Phoenix says; his voice is still calm although the pain is obvious.
Guardian scoffs.
There’s the rustling of leaves, and then more heroes appear. But all of them seem so young—barely eighteen—and Dream only recognizes one of them. Where are all the Senior Superheroes? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.
“Please,” Dream begs under his breath. It’s quiet enough that only Phoenix hears. He hopes.
Phoenix grits his teeth, his free hand is standing in flames already, but it’s his injured one, and while Dream doesn’t know a lot about Phoenix or the way his powers work, he doubts that the villain will last long.
But before Phoenix can make a decision, he notices a subtle nod from Guardian.
He dodges the blow, barely. He feels out of practice, he’s out of breath, and he doesn’t have anything that he could use to defend himself with. He can’t even use his hands properly.
Phoenix has let go of Dream’s hands, focused too much on the other heroes to notice that Dream turns to his old mentor.
“Dream,” Guardian says. “It’s time to go home.”
He grits his teeth. “No,” he presses out, quieter than he wanted, softer than he had intended. He’s not sure if he wanted to say it all.
“You disappoint me,” Guardian sighs. “I thought I raised you better than this.”
Guardian didn’t raise him at all.
He’d been twelve when they met, and then Guardian had been barely around anyway. Dream grits his teeth. Guardian didn’t raise him. Nighthawk did.
He doesn’t get to reply as Guardian turns away from him and towards the other heroes.
“If possible,” he tells them, “keep him alive. I have to take care of something else.”
(Guardian doesn’t even care enough about him to bother with Dream himself.)
He doesn’t know what Guardian’s plan is or why he’s leaving, what his other plans and goals are, but he knows that it doesn’t matter. Not really.
And he knows that he doesn’t want to go back. Not now. (Not ever.)
But he feels like he won’t have much choice, like he won’t be able to decide. And maybe that’s better, maybe it makes things easier. Maybe he won’t regret as much.
Phoenix is injured, and Dream’s hands are bound, and he’s left without a weapon. He doesn’t even have armor.
And even if they’re new heroes, even with Guardian gone, there’s no way they’ll be able to get out of here.
Dream clenches his hands, moves away from Phoenix and the heroes. Slowly, carefully. Quietly.
No one is paying attention to him. The heroes are focusing on Phoenix, and Phoenix…
Phoenix’s busy—he’s not looked at Dream once since the heroes attacked him and despite the injury, he’s holding up. He’s lucky it wasn’t his dominant arm.
There’s a hero behind him he doesn’t seem to see. It would be so easy to just—
Dream runs—
—and collides with them.
He falls on top of them, quickly securing their wrists. He doesn’t want to hurt them—they’re so young, and they don’t know better, and if things were different, this might be him. (This used to be him.)
“Why are you doing this?” they ask as he stares down at them. Their chest is heaving, and they’re out of breath, and for a moment he freezes.
He grimaces. “You’ll understand one day.”
They all do.
The hero snarls, bucks their hips to get him off.
“I’m sorry,” he says, and he doesn’t know what exactly he’s apologizing for.
Maybe for abandoning them, maybe for not trying harder, maybe for ignoring all the warnings, and for damning even more children.
He knocks them out.
Once he’s made sure they’re actually unconscious, he gets up.
He breathes out, breathes in.
Breathes out again.
He wants to throw up. He doesn’t.
There’s no time for this now.
Phoenix is still holding up even if his movements are more sluggish than Dream has ever seen him fight before. If they had bandages at least…but Dream has nothing on him, and when Phoenix got him earlier, he had looked like he just woke up, so he doubts that Phoenix has anything on him.
Not that they have had the time to take care of any injuries anyway.
And it’s also possible that he’s gotten more injured during this fight while Dream was focused on something else.
Phoenix forces the heroes further away; he sways as the fire gets dimmer. Dream rushes to Phoenix’s side.
“You good?” Dream asks, steadying the villain.
Phoenix throws him a glance but doesn’t shake his hand off, then he looks at the hero lying behind him.
“Yeah,” he presses out, voice tight. “You?”
He hears the hero approach before he can see them.
He whirls around, throws his hands up.
Steel bites into his flesh.
Phoenix pulls him away before the hero can stab him again.
His palms are slashed open, there’s blood dripping down his wrists, but he doesn’t feel pain. Not yet. Red coats the cuffs.
He misses his gloves.
He misses his uniform in general.
With two steps, Phoenix is next to the unconscious hero, a gun in his hand.
He crouches down, hoists them up to press them against his chest, then he presses the barrel against their forehead.
Dream feels cold. His hands are shaking.
“You should go,” Phoenix says, eyes trained on the two Superheroes who have frozen in their tracks. “Or I’ll shoot.”
One of them takes a step forward. “But—”
“As long as you go and leave us alone, nothing will happen to them.”
The two heroes exchange glances.
“Okay,” one of them finally says. “Okay, we’ll go. But what happens to—?”
“Nothing,” Phoenix says, “don’t worry. We’ll leave them behind.”
Dream can’t move; he feels like he’s frozen, like something has glued his feet to the ground. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know what to say.
He doesn’t want to go back—Phoenix won’t let him go back, but…
But.
But a failed mission, failing to meet demands—
He can feel the blood pulsating through his hands, can hear the blood rushing through his ears—
“Okay,” the hero repeats.
And then they’re gone.
Dream slumps against the tree, closes his eyes to catch his breath again.
“C’mon,” Phoenix says. “We have to go.”
He carefully lays the hero on the ground again, gets up as he holds onto a tree.
“Error is waiting for us.”
Error looks angry—no, furious. He looks like he’s going to murder someone. Dream hopes it won’t be him.
He fears it’s going to be him.
It’s not like he can’t understand it. In both Phoenix’s and Error’s eyes, this attack is on him, and he can’t really prove the opposite.
Maybe it’ll help him that he didn’t go with the heroes, that he didn’t even help them.
He’s knocked one of them out—that has to mean something, right? (But Phoenix wasn’t happy with him earlier today, so he doesn’t feel very confident that the villain is going to speak up for him.)
He’s not sure why this is so important for him, why he wants them to trust him.
They’re not on the same side, they don’t have the same goals—they’re not even allied with each other. Phoenix and Error kidnapped him. He’s still a hostage.
(He should’ve gone with Guardian.)
“Error,” Phoenix says, he sounds tired, exhausted. And he’s swaying on his feet like he’s going to collapse any second. “Can we do it later?”
Dream bites his lip.
Error still looks like he’s going to explode soon, but to Dream’s surprise, he simply turns around. “Fine.” It doesn’t sound fine.
Phoenix sighs as he looks at Dream. “Let’s get going,” he says.
Dream’s huddled against the cold wall, arms tightly pressed around his knees.
His palms still throb, but at least, the wounds stopped bleeding.
He’s not sure where Phoenix and Error are—as soon as they arrived at the get where two other villains were already waiting for them, they shoved him into the corner and left.
He can faintly hear Error yell at Phoenix, but he’s not able to make out words. He still knows this is most likely about him; he doesn’t have to be a genius for that.
It didn’t take long for him to recognize the other two villains—Omen (Bad?) and Vindicator—who are usually not overly aggressive villains, but now that they’re staring him down like he’s killed a cat, he slowly starts fearing for his life.
It’s certainly not helping that Phoenix and Error might be convinced that he’s lied to them.
He closes his eyes, drops his forehead on his knees.
He’s known already that Omen is working with Phoenix and Error, and although he didn’t know about Vindicator, it’s not overly a surprise. They’ve seen him work with the other three before.
But the thing that surprises (confuses?) him is that there are so many villains working together with the possibility that there are even more.
It would make sense if there are more—especially considering their resources. He doesn’t want to know where the jet is from, but alone the fact that they have one…
And from what he’s seen—which, to be fair, isn’t a lot—this base is also pretty big. And it appears like it’s not even their main base. Otherwise, there would have surely been more villains fighting and helping to get them out.
And it makes him wonder again what exactly they want.
If it was about money, they wouldn’t target the Association, and he’s not sure what they could even achieve by getting certain information. Especially since they seem very interested in how the Association works.
There’s nothing really that makes sense—or that would warrant so many villains working together.
He hears someone crouch down next to him. “Are you okay?”
When he looks up, Omen is staring back at him. He can barely see the villain’s eyes with the mask and the hood covering most of his face.
“Yeah,” he says.
Why should the villains care whether he’s okay or not?
“You’re shaking,” Omen points out, “and there’s blood on your hands.”
For a moment, Dream just looks blankly at Omen before he eyes his hands.
“It looks worse than it is.” Hand injuries always bleed a lot. And he can still feel and move his fingers, so things are fine. Probably.
Most of the injuries he’s sustained over the years looked worse than they were—he just seems to bleed more and bruise more easily than others.
“Can I look?” Omen asks, his voice is soft, careful, like he’s talking to some skittish wild animal that he doesn’t want to startle.
Dream breathes out, extends his hands. (He almost expects fingers to press into the open wound.)
Omen doesn’t reach for him; instead, he just studies Dream’s hands. “It doesn’t look very deep,” he mutters, then louder, “Can I touch you?”
Dream shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” He doesn’t feel very sure. He doesn’t want Omen to touch him, he just wants to be left alone, but here it doesn’t matter what he wants. Maybe it never has.
Omen turns Dream’s hands, not touching him more than necessary. “Hm,” he makes. “I only have bandages on me, but it should suffice for now.” He lets go.
Dream’s eyes stay on his hands; they are still shaking—trembling and bloody and cold. He clenches them, opens them again.
Omen pulls bandages out of one of the many pockets he has. “Tell me if something hurts.”
They’re villains. They’re not supposed to be like this. They’re not supposed to be so…caring. They shouldn’t act like they care about him, like he means anything to them beyond being a hostage, a way to get what they want.
They’re not friends, not even acquaintances. They shouldn’t treat him like they are.
He hates it, and he loathes it, and he wishes they would stop.
It just makes everything so much more difficult. (Sometimes, he wished he had been kidnapped by villains who hate his guts, who try to kill him whenever they have the chance to, who wouldn’t bother treating his injuries and making sure he eats.)
Omen is careful, his hands gentle—they only touch him if it’s necessary.
Dream wants to shake him, wants to yell at him, wants to scream and cry and ask him why he even bothers, why he acts like he cares, why he does all of this when he doesn’t have to. When he shouldn’t.
Something breaks outside of the jet, it sounds like wood. Then there’s yelling.
Omen sighs, looks at Vindicator who’s already turned towards the noise. “Can you get them?”
Vindicator nods, leaving the jet with swift steps.
Omen shakes his head, turns back to Dream. “They’re always like this,” he mutters, annoyance seeping into his voice. “Can’t leave them alone for two seconds.”
He finishes tying up the bandages. “Is that okay? Not too tight?”
Dream wiggles his fingers, tightens his hands. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Omen says as he gets up.
And there’s this weird tightness in his chest again—he’s never been treated like this, like he matters, like he’s more than just a tool. Not since Nighthawk.
He bites on the inside of his cheeks, stares at his hands as Omen walks away from him.
He feels pathetic.
Both Phoenix and Error are seething (and possibly sulking); ever since Vindicator has collected them, they haven’t even looked at each other.
He really wants to know what exactly their argument was about. He can assume that it (somehow) has to do with him, but he’s not sure what would infuriate both of them so much that they start a yelling match. Or maybe that’s just how they are.
He’s never seen them interact with each other outside of fights before—and then he’s always been too focused on not dying, making sure that his fellow heroes don’t die or that all civilians get out of the situation alive to really notice their dynamic.
And well, it’s not like getting a glimpse into their relationship during a mission would even mean anything.
Dream presses himself even more against the wall.
Not that it matters whether this is normal or not; they’re pissed, at each other and maybe at him, too, and he really doesn’t want to end up between them. At least, they have ignored him so far—only Omen seems to be keeping an eye on him even while treating Phoenix’s injury, and Vindicator operates the jet—, so if he just keeps quiet for now, things should be fine. He hopes.
He’s not sure how long they’re flying. Not having a clock and only being able to rely on the sun to try and figure out what time it is, has completely destroyed his ability to estimate how much time has passed.
But finally, they arrive, and neither Phoenix nor Error have blown up the jet or started another fight although they’re still not looking at each other.
“C’mon,” Phoenix says, and to Dream’s surprise, he just sounds tired.
Dream stumbles as he gets up; exhaustion has seeped into his bones—he really wants to sleep now although he’s barely a few hours awake. How has he been able to get through patrol when he’s already this tired?
Phoenix grabs Dream’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
The first thing Dream notices, is the clean air, then that it’s slowly getting brighter outside, and finally, that they’re in the mountains. And it could mean both, that they’re even further away from the Capitol or that they’re nearing it, but even if they’re closer to the Capitol, the knowledge won’t really help him—it still might be thousands of miles, and he doesn’t even know in what direction the city is.
“Stop that,” Phoenix says.
Dream turns his head to the villain. “What?”
Phoenix shrugs. “You look like you’re scheming something.”
He blinks. “What?”
The villain sighs. “Just…just stop.”
Dream stays quiet and observes his surroundings instead.
The base doesn’t really look like…a base. Or like he would’ve imagined a villain’s lair to look like. Or maybe that’s exactly why this place is perfect; hiding in a building in the mountains that appears like any other vacation home might be the best idea for a secret hideout.
Phoenix leads him into the house, but he doesn’t bother to blindfold Dream.
Perhaps Phoenix believes him, believes that he hasn’t lied, that he didn’t know that the Association would attack. Maybe.
Dream doesn’t think so, doesn’t want to get his hopes up. Them not caring whether he sees their base or not could also just mean that they’re going to kill him.
He doesn’t see much though—Phoenix doesn’t bother to turn on the lights, and while the sun is slowly rising, it’s still so dark in the house that he has to trust Phoenix that he’s not going to let Dream run into furniture.
They’re staying on the same level against Dream’s expectations; he’s thought that they would go underground, but he’s not complaining. It makes it easier to escape. (There are no plans to escape, not yet, and he still hopes that he doesn’t have to, but if he should, if he has to, it will make it easier.)
Finally, Phoenix stops.
He opens the door, leads Dream into the room.
Then he closes the door again.
“You’re going to stay here for now,” Phoenix tells him. “Until— until we’ve decided.”
Dream suppresses a flinch. It’s not coming as a surprise that they have to reevaluate the situation, that they have to make decisions, that things can’t stay the same.
He knew. Obviously, he did. Maybe he’s hoped they wouldn’t, that they would continue like before, that nothing would change, that they would bring him food and leave him alone otherwise. (He knows better, but he also hoped for something else.)
He’s had it good for too long.
Phoenix’ mask is still directed at him; it feels like the villain is trying to look through Dream, trying to see into his soul, to read his thoughts and figure his motives and goals out.
“Just,” Phoenix starts, “just so you know, I— I believe you.”
For a moment, Dream thinks he hasn’t heard right. Or maybe he’s heard right, but it’s just supposed to be some sort of fucked-up joke to get Dream to let his walls down.
“What?”
“I really shouldn’t say anything,” Phoenix says, letting go of Dream’s arm. He rubs his forehead. “But…I believe you that— that you didn’t know about it.”
“Why?” Dream asks quietly.
Why should Phoenix believe him? What’s the reason beyond the fact that he’s not gone with Guardian, that he’s helped him? If he’s lied before, if he knew that they would come to rescue him, if he had anything to do with the attack, then it still could be possible that this is all part of the plan.
There should be no reason for Phoenix to believe a single word he says.
(And maybe he doesn’t want to believe that Phoenix is telling the truth, that Phoenix is actually believing him. Because if it turns out that what the villain is saying is part of their own plan…
He’s not sure what he should do then.)
Phoenix shrugs. “It’s just a gut feeling. It better not let me down.”
Dream swallows. He can’t allow himself to fuck this up.
“Get some more sleep,” Phoenix says, removing the chain binding the cuffs around Dream’s wrists together. “I’ll be back later.”
He’s exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.
He tosses and turns and no matter how he settles down, he can’t get himself to rest.
The sun is finally visible, rays illuminating the room.
It almost looks identical to the one he was previously locked up in—small and bare except for a bed and a table—, but it’s not purely white. It still makes him feel like he’s ended up in the infirmary.
He sits up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders as he leans back against the wall.
Phoenix believes him, so maybe his and Error’s argument was about that. Error might think that he’s somehow working together with the Association or, at least, that he’s been lying to them and that he knew that the Association would try to get him out.
It’s hard to figure out what the other villains’ stances on all of this are.
Omen treated him nicely, so it’s possible that the villain doesn’t fully believe him but also doesn’t think he’s lied about the Association not going to rescue him.
He can’t assess what Vindicator may think—the villain hasn’t exchanged a single word with him, so really, anything is possible. And that’s the same for any other villains that might be working with them.
He simply doesn’t know, can’t even try to predict possible reactions, and it’s irritating. Irritating and frustrating and scary.
Anything is possible, and just because one of the villains is on “his” side, it doesn’t have to mean anything, and it especially doesn’t mean that he’s getting out of here alive and in one piece.
His head falls against the wall.
This is the first week of being kidnapped all over again, and now there are even more unknown variables. Or, well, unknown variables he’s aware of. They existed back then, too, but he was kept in the dark about them, and he wishes it was still the same.
If he doesn’t know about them, he can’t worry about them.
He spreads his fingers. The pain is barely noticeable at the moment which should be a good sign. Hopefully.
He lets his hands fall into his lap.
But alone one villain being willing to listen to him is better than none of them. So, it’s not an immediate death sentence. Probably.
He sighs. It’s not helping—trying to figure out what the future might look like. He can’t see the future, isn’t able to tell it, so the only thing he’s achieving by going through all possible outcomes is making himself even more anxious than he already is. Anxious and panicked, and neither of them is helping him with getting out of the situation or surviving.
Everything is a mess.
And he wouldn’t be in this situation, wouldn’t have these problems if he just went back to the Association with Guardian—there he would at least know what’s expecting him. It simply wouldn’t be so nerve-wracking.
It’s stupid to think like that. He doesn’t want to go back, and his chances to get away from the Association and survive are higher if he’s not back there. Well. The only chance, really.
There’s no way he would be able to escape if he went back.
He pulls the blankets tighter around him. His fingers feel cold. His chest is icy.
He just wants this to be over.
Notes:
Phoenix - Sapnap
Error - George
Omen - Bad
Vindicator - Sam
Chapter 6: resentment poisons my mind | Sapnap II
Notes:
title: devi-ananda — ghost.
fucked up my eye yesterday, but i still can see, so i take that as a win
also, can’t believe i’m going to miss all of the lore streams because they had to do them the one weekend i have plans in the evenings SMH/lh
Chapter Text
“He wasn’t lying,” Sapnap says, and there’s a certainty to his words that he doesn’t even believe himself.
There’s no reason why this is so important to him, why he wants to convince George and then the rest of it. He doesn’t know Dream—he’s a hero, and it should be irrelevant to Sapnap what happens to him as long as they get what they need, as long as they succeed.
But something…
“He wasn’t,” George agrees; he’s leaning against the doorframe, already dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie. Sapnap hasn’t had the time yet to change out of his uniform.
He raises an eyebrow. “Why d’you say so?”
“Why do you?” George just gives back; he pushes himself away from the doorframe and settles down on Sapnap’s bed.
Sapnap rolls his eyes and turns away from George to rummage through his drawers. Maybe he should start buying multiples of everything, so he doesn’t have to split all his belongings between their bases.
He doesn’t even know where he put his favorite sweatpants. Hopefully, they’re not in the base where they kept Dream because he’s sure as hell not getting them back if that’s the case. Instead, he pulls a different one out and closes the drawer again.
“I’m—,” Sapnap starts, stops as he squints at the sweatpants. He’s pretty sure it’s the one he’s wanted to get rid of months ago. Whatever.
“Well,” he continues, “I guess it would be more logical to believe that he’s lied, but he’s just…he genuinely seemed surprised. And like, I know this isn’t evidence or whatever, but…but—”
He sighs and shoves the sweatpants back into the drawer. He’s not going to deal with pants that don’t fit him today.
“I’m pretty sure Guardian asked him to come back with him, and Dream refused,” he finally says.
“What?”
Sapnap turns towards George as he leans against his drawers. George sits stock-still on Sapnap’s bed.
Sapnap hums. “Guardian said something like, like, ‘It’s time to go home,’ and Dream refused. So even…if Dream lied or whatever, this wasn’t part of it.”
And even if he did lie, it still wouldn’t explain how he knew about the location and could tell the Association. On top of the fact that the heroes knew where their secret passage is. There’s more to it. There has to be more to it.
“Yeah,” George says quietly. “Yeah, I don’t think Dream knew about any of this.”
“Oh?” Sapnap makes, an eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
“Okay, like, I didn’t really notice at first because it’s really not that obvious,” George says, “and also because his powers are electricity-based, I didn’t really think of it. Because like, it makes sense that I’m going to feel the electricity in his entire body, right?”
“Yeah,” Sapnap says slowly. “So, you’re telling me…?”
A tracker?
It would make sense. Considering how much control the Association has over their heroes, a tracker doesn’t seem like a reach. Maybe it would be more surprising if the Association hadn’t done something like that. Or maybe that’s just the non-existing expectations Sapnap has for them.
“There’s one spot in his neck where more electricity is stored,” George agrees. “I couldn’t really tell what kind of…of purposes it has because Dream’s power, well, they don’t exactly shield it, but they make it a lot harder to be able to recognize anything, but it’s definitely a tracker.”
“I’m oh, so surprised,” Sapnap mutters.
George scoffs. “It’s not surprising, but I just didn’t think of it earlier.”
It’s expected. It’s not shocking. He’s not sure why they didn’t think of it—or maybe, they had just hoped that the Association wouldn’t stoop so low.
“And what are we supposed to do about it?”
Because they brought Dream here, and if there’s a tracker on (in?) him, then it means the heroes could find this base as well. And while it’s normal for them to switch bases ever so often, he really doesn’t want to leave this one. He’s grown fond of it, and he likes it here. It’s nicer than the city.
And it’s nice to be back. Even though he’s been away for longer periods before and also came back to visit the others a few times in the last weeks, he’s missed this, has missed the familiarity and the feeling of being home.
He doesn’t want to lose it. Not again.
“It should be fine for now,” George says. “I can influence it, but I don’t want to turn the chip entirely off as long as I don’t know what other purposes it has. Problem is that it only works if I’m close to him.”
“Right now, that’s not really a problem.”
“Yeah, right now. I’ll talk to Ant and Sam later, maybe they have a better idea.” George tilts his head. “Speaking of Ant, did you have him check it out?”
Sapnap slowly turns away from George, opening his drawer again. He pushes the sweatpants on top further in the back. “No,” he says finally and grabs a different pair.
He tilts his head. Hoodie or sweater?
“Sapnap!”
“What?”
“Are you stupid?”
“It’ll be fine.” He waves aside George’s concern and grabs the first hoodie he sees. It’s green. It’s almost as green as Dream.
“What color is this?” he asks George cheekily who first looks at the hoodie and then back at Sapnap.
“I fucking hate you.”
Sapnap just giggles and disappears into the bathroom next to his room.
“You still should let Ant look at it!” George yells after him.
Sapnap ignores him.
He is going to let Ant look at it, but not now. He’s tired, and he wants to sleep, and he knows it’s stupid, but he really doesn’t care.
Sam looked it over earlier and told him that it neither hit anything important nor does it seem too bad, and the bones aren’t damaged either. It’s his biceps, not his shoulder, so it can wait.
“You’re such an idiot,” George shouts after he doesn’t get an answer.
Sapnap rolls his eyes. That’s what he gets for ignoring George.
“Fuck you too!” he yells back and peels off his uniform carefully. He grimaces. Callahan is going to kill him if he sees the hole in the fabric…which isn’t entirely undeserved. It’s the fourth time in three months that he’s somehow damaged his suit, and the three times before this, they weren’t usable anymore.
He really can’t blame Callahan.
He glances at the mirror, frowns as he catches sight of the bandages. It doesn’t really hurt at the moment; there’s just a faint throbbing, but that’s because of the painkillers Bad forced him to take and not because the wound is already healing.
It would be nice if it was just the pain because then he could just shrug it off and let Ant look over it after he’s woken up again.
The blood seeping through the bandages is not really something he can just ignore.
Well. He could. But he doesn’t want to piss off even more people. Callahan is enough; he doesn’t need Ant (and most likely Bad) to be on his ass, too.
He sighs, carefully pulling the hoodie over his head to not aggravate his injury even more, then he quickly washes his hands and face.
He probably should shower, but he doesn’t want to take his bandages off before he’s seen Ant, so he’ll just do it later.
“Also, dude,” Sapnap says when he comes out of the bathroom, “there was no reason to yell at me.”
“You were acting stupid,” George snaps; by now he’s lying spread out on Sapnap’s bed as if he doesn’t have his own.
“I didn’t have time!” he defends himself—he really didn’t have time. Keeping an eye on Dream as well as the heroes while trying to navigate through a forest isn’t as easy as he’s expected it to be.
There’s a reason why he usually doesn’t do that, why George is the one to take care of these things, and since George just decided that this would be the best plan without consulting Sapnap first, he really shouldn’t have expected more or better.
George closes his eyes instead of answering Sapnap. He can see George taking a few measured breaths before opening his eyes again. “Next time, just tell me where the fuck you are, so no one gets hurt.”
Sapnap raises his hands in mock defense. “Okay, okay,” he agrees, not wanting to argue about the same thing again.
“Okay,” George echoes pleased. “And now you should go to Ant to get your injury checked out.”
Sapnap just shows George the middle finger.
When he gets to Ant’s bedroom, he’s not in there. He’s also not in his office.
So, Sapnap decides to sit on Ant’s desk like a normal person does.
‘bro, where are you,’ he texts him. ‘i’m in your office.’ But he doesn’t get an answer. It’s not overly surprising; Ant often takes a lot of time to reply. If he does at all.
With a sigh, he gets up from the desk and walks around the office. It hasn’t changed a lot since he was here the last time—which wasn’t that long ago if he’s honest—, but there’s a new picture on Ant’s shelf.
He gets closer and wrinkles his nose. Happy people in love. No one needs to see that. (He just hopes Ant isn’t with Velvet because then he can wait until he’s dead for Ant to see his texts and appear.)
He spins around and looks at the books Ant has in his office instead. Maybe he should start reading again—not these books, but maybe…Superhero books. Yeah, maybe not. He feels like they’re going to be as boring as textbooks.
They always seem to be the same. Or at least the last few Superhero movies he watched (that George forced him to watch, really) were like that. The hero wins, the villain is defeated, everyone is happy. It’s just so…boring.
He doesn’t get why George is so obsessed with them—especially considering how much he hates the Association and their Superheroes. But George has always been like that; maybe he’s even been worse in their younger years.
(Sometimes, it makes Sapnap wonder if George had wanted to become a hero growing up, if he still wishes it had happened. It wouldn’t be too surprising. He’s had heroes as parents after all. Maybe it’s more surprising that he didn’t become one.)
But since George hates them so much, it’s probably for the best that he didn’t become a hero. Although it would’ve been funny.
He returns back to the desk; this time he sits down on the chair.
He checks his phone. Ant hasn’t even read it yet.
Maybe he’s with Dream? He hasn’t had a chance to properly examine Dream’s injuries, and while they didn’t look too bad from what he’s seen, it’s very much possible that Bad found something that he wants Ant to check out. Or maybe he just wants Ant to heal Dream since hand injuries suck.
He puts his arms on the desk. Depending on how long it takes for Ant to read the messages and come back, he could just go back to his room and sleep—but he also knows that if he goes back, he’s not going to get his injury treated for the next…ten hours. Probably more.
And the dull throbbing slowly isn’t as dull anymore.
He sighs, rests his chin on his arm, closes his eyes and—
“Sapnap?”
—and startles.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters, yawns. “Good morning, Ant.”
“It’s…it’s”—Ant looks at his watch—“not even seven AM. What are you doing here?”
Sapnap shrugs, winces when he jostles his arm. “Fuck. Uh, can I not just visit a friend?”
Ant doesn’t look impressed. He steps into the office, gently shuts the door behind him. “What did you do now?”
“I didn’t do anything.” That’s kind of a lie, but it’s not like Ant has to know that.
“Yeah, I definitely believe that.” Ant stops in front of Sapnap. “Is it your arm?”
Sapnap straightens up. “I texted you; didn’t you see it?”
Ant rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. Now off with the hoodie.” But he takes his phone out and deletes the notifications.
“If you wanted me naked, you could’ve just said that,” Sapnap says and wiggles his eyebrow.
Ant slaps the back of his head. “Shut it.”
It takes longer than Sapnap wants for him to take off the hoodie, but the painkillers have stopped working and now he can actually feel it. Maybe he can ask Ant for stronger painkillers, so he can at least sleep for a few hours.
Ant carefully removes the bandages. “You were lucky,” he mumbles. “A centimeter to the left, and it would’ve been your bone.”
“I feel very lucky,” Sapnap deadpans.
“If it had been your bone, we would’ve had to remove a bullet,” Ant points out.
Sapnap grimaces. His favorite activity.
“You know the drill,” Ant continues, “even if I heal it, you’ll have to take it easy for the next few weeks.”
“I know,” Sapnap groans. They have this conversation every time he gets hurt. He gets it. He knows. Ant doesn’t have to tell him all the time. He can be responsible when he wants to be. If he wants to be.
“Just making sure. Not that you end up fighting other villains again.” There’s a bite to Ant’s voice that Sapnap easily ignores.
Warmth spreads from Ant’s hands into his flesh. It’s comfortable, gentle, nothing like his flames.
“That was one time!”
For a split second, the warmth stops.
“What are you on, Sapnap? This happens almost every single time.” Ant is not wrong. Still. It’s not every time.
“Okay, and?”
“Couldn’t it have been Bad?” Ant says quietly, but it’s still loud enough for Sapnap to hear. Then he adds louder, “One of these days, I’m going to stop treating you.”
Sapnap just grins at him. “Oh, come on. You love me too much for that.”
“Soon not anymore,” Ant threatens.
“Okay, okay. I’ll try,” Sapnap yields, totally not lying.
“You better.”
Ant steps away from Sapnap. “That’s it. Be careful, don’t take too many painkillers.”
“Thanks, Ant.” Sapnap slowly gets up, his knees crack. Rude. He’s not even that old yet. He pulls on his hoodie, then he freezes. “Were you with Dream?”
“Hm?” Ant looks up from his phone. “What?”
“I was just wondering if you treated Dream’s injuries.”
“Oh, yeah, I was.” Ant puts his phone on the desk. “Why are you asking?”
“Did you…” Sapnap hesitates, bites his lip. “Did you notice anything off about him?”
Ant frowns. He shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”
Weird that Ant didn’t notice the tracker, but it just might be because he didn’t focus on that. And like George said, there’s distracting energy running through Dream’s entire body. Maybe Ant would detect it once he actually tries to find it.
It certainly would help.
But he’s tired, and he doesn’t want to explain things to Ant now especially because he’ll have to explain it to the others later anyway.
It’s just unnecessary and time-consuming—time he could spend asleep.
“Nothing important,” Sapnap deflects. “Just a dumb theory.” He smooths his hoodie out. “Thanks, Ant.”
Ant looks dumbfounded, but he doesn’t press it. “No problem,” he says instead.
There’s a pause, then, “By the way,” Ant says, “I really think you should apologize to Dream for the burn.”
Sapnap grimaces. “I know,” he says quietly. He knows he should, and he doesn’t know anymore why he hasn’t immediately done it as soon as he realized it.
Ant clasps his hands. “Great. It’s best if you do it soon.”
“Okay,” he says, “I’ll do it next time I see him.”
Ant pats his shoulder.
“I really have to go now though,” he says with an apologetic smile. He quickly waves and is just as fast out of the room.
“You should sleep!” Ant yells after him.
“That was my plan,” he yells back. “See you in twelve hours!”
He feels like shit when he wakes up, even more so than he did when he went to bed. But he still forces himself out of bed.
He’s hungry and thirsty, so he goes to the kitchen, and to his surprise he doesn’t meet any of the others on his way there although it’s only early evening when normally, most of them are home. He shrugs it off. It’s possible that they had to do something.
“Hi, Sapnap,” Sam says without looking up. There’s a newspaper in front of him—something about a new mayor; it’s not overly interesting to Sapnap. (He’s pretty sure that he can’t even vote considering that he’s officially disappeared years ago.)
“Hi, Sam.” He yawns. “Should’ve just stayed in bed.”
Sam laughs quietly. “It’s almost seven.”
“Okay, and?”
“Fair, fair.”
Sapnap settles on the chair opposite Sam. “Where are the others?”
Sam taps his fingers against the newspaper. “George is still asleep. I haven’t seen Bad since the morning; Ant is out to do something and Punz…” He frowns. “Actually, I have no idea what Punz is up to. He’s been out of the house for the past few days.”
Typical. Punz is often out to do things. They all act like they don’t know what he’s doing—if it doesn’t interfere with any of their collective plans, then it doesn’t really matter. Even if some people don’t approve of certain life choices as if they’re not a villain themself.
“The usual then,” Sapnap concludes.
“The usual,” Sam agrees.
Sapnap lies his head down on the table. “I assume you don’t want to make me food.”
Sam flicks his finger on Sapnap’s forehead. “You’ve been an adult for…three years. I’m sure you survive making yourself a sandwich.”
He groans as he sits up. “This is stupid.”
Sam hums noncommittally. “How are you feeling?”
It takes a second to register the question. “Me?”
“Who else?” Sam sounds amused. “Unless you can see someone I can’t.”
“Eh,” Sapnap makes, “it’s fine. It could be worse. Ant took care of my arm, so it’s fine. Mostly.”
“Ah,” Sam says empathically. They’ve all been there—Ant’s healing powers are great, but since his main power isn’t exactly healing, it doesn’t take the pain, and it’s often not possible to thoroughly and completely heal wounds. Especially if they’re more complicated. “Try actually resting.”
Sapnap buries his face in his arms. “Not you, too.”
“Did Ant tell you off again?” Sam laughs.
“Oh, shut up.”
“He’s not wrong, y’know? You’d be faster out there again if you stopped pulling dumb stuff.”
Sapnap pulls a grimace. “Now you just start to sound like Bad.”
Sam snorts. “The worst thing ever, sounding like Bad. Next thing you know is that I start saying ‘muffin’ instead of curse words.”
“Sam,” he complains.
“Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” Sam caves. “If you’re too lazy to make yourself a sandwich or cook, I think there are some leftovers in the fridge.”
“Sam,” he says slowly, “I really don’t think I should cook.” It’s not like he’s a terrible cook (well, he’s pretty terrible, but he’s not as terrible as George which is already more than great), but he hates cooking, and the others have banned him multiple times from the kitchen before. Although that might’ve not been entirely related to his cooking skills.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs, “probably not. But like I said, there are leftovers. I trust you enough to handle the microwave.”
He doesn’t move to get it.
Sam looks up again when Sapnap doesn’t get up. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing,” he quickly says, then, “Has Bad already said when we’re going to…talk about everything?”
“Not yet,” Sam says, “but he did say that it won’t be today.”
Sapnap nods, slowly sliding off of the chair. “Has someone already fed Dream today?”
“Yeah, of course,” Sam says like he can’t even imagine Sapnap suggesting that they haven’t done it. Which…fair. “Who do you think we are?”
(“We’re villains,” Bad has once told him, “not monsters. There’s a difference, even though most people will refuse to believe it.”
He’d been quiet for a short moment. “They think we’re simply…pure evil, that we want people to suffer when most of us are just trying to survive out there.”)
“Was he already awake?”
Heroes don’t get a lot of sleep, do they? And Dream has always been awake when Sapnap brought him his food no matter how early or late it was. It should be pretty normal for Dream to go to bed late and wake up early, no?
“Sorry,” Sam apologizes, “Bad said he would do it. I don’t know more than that.”
“Ah, alright, thanks though.”
“Yeah, yeah. No problem.” There’s a pause, then, “You still should eat something.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes. “I’m already on it,” he says, annoyance coloring his voice although he’s not actually annoyed at Sam.
He knows how they are—they care. And he’s not the only one who gets treated like that; in fact, there’s always someone ready to nag someone else no matter who it is.
But sometimes, he thinks it’s worse with him. He’s not sure if he’s just imagining things or if it’s actually like that because even though he’s been an adult for years now, he often feels like they see fourteen-year-old him instead, back when he first found them. (And even if that wasn’t the case, even if he was imagining that part, all of them are more than aware of the fact that Sapnap is the youngest of them.)
“So, what’s your verdict?” Sam asks
Sapnap’s lounging on the couch, almost taking up the entire space for himself except for the end where George insisted to sit. Sapnap really wants to kick him, but Bad has been throwing him glances ever since George sat down, so he’s not doing it. Yet.
“If he’s lying, then he’s very fucking stupid,” George decides to say as he leans back. He still looks tired even though he just woke up after he went to bed more than sixteen hours ago. Typical.
“George!” Bad hisses.
“It’s true,” Sapnap says lazily, ignoring that Bad is criticizing George’s choice of words and not him insulting Dream.
“Well,” George continues, “it’s possible that he’s lying about having information, but we don’t think he’s lying about not knowing that the Association would get him out.”
“So,” Sam says, leaning forward as he rests his elbows on his knees, “he has nothing to do with the attack?”
“I really don’t think it’s possible,” George agrees. “We’ve checked multiple times, and…there’s also a different thing.” He fiddles with his hands.
“What’s it?” Ant encourages.
Sapnap is just going to let George deal with this.
“There’s a tracker on him.”
“What?” Bad sits up straighter, worry immediately visible on his face.
Ant blinks. “And you brought him here?” He doesn’t sound accusatory, just confused.
“I didn’t realize until we got here,” George explains, “but I can control the tracker. I just…don’t want to completely turn it off since it seems like it might have other important purposes. It’s a bit difficult to properly read it with Dream’s own powers.”
“So, that’s why you asked me, huh?” Ant says to Sapnap. “You could’ve just told me.”
“Yeah,” he drawls, “but it wasn’t really important enough, and I didn’t want to explain it twice.”
Ant rolls his eyes, swats at his head. “Brat,” he mutters.
“Hey!” Sapnap pouts, almost sitting up because of it.
“It’s—” Sam interrupts; Sapnap’s eyes flicker to him. Sam’s face is completely blank.
“It’s a chip,” he says quietly. “And I was only aware of its purpose to track a hero’s vitals.”
Bad frowns. “So, the heroes know about the chip but not the actual purpose?”
“I’m not sure,” Sam says. “It’s one of the things I found before I left, so I—I really don’t know how much they know.” He tilts his head. “Although maybe tracking the vitals is the main purpose and tracking the hero’s position is just an added…benefit. But…y’know. Doesn’t really change things, does it?”
Sapnap stares at the ceiling. Is it more fucked up to convince the heroes to get the chip under the wrong assumption? Is it any better to actually want to track a hero’s vitals to make sure they’re alright and tracking their location is just part of it?
Semantics? Probably. It doesn’t really matter anyway. Alone the fact that the heroes most likely don’t know about a specific function of the chip is fucked up enough. Because it won’t be the only thing that the Association has lied about—or well. Not told them.
“Okay, but the, the chip only tracks your vitals then? There’s nothing more to it?” Bad asks, frowning.
“As far as I’m aware,” Sam says. “Or that’s what I found, but considering that I already didn’t know about the tracker function, it’s very much possible that there’s more to the chip. I would have to get a closer look at it to be sure.”
“Oh, yeah,” George says, “that’s something else actually. I mean I could technically destroy it, but I’m not sure what kind of effect it would have, so I’ve been just controlling it for the moment. That also means though that I have to be in somewhat close proximity to him.”
“For now, that shouldn’t really be a problem,” Ant says. “Depending on what we decide on the other hand…” he trails off. “What do you think?”
“Think about what?” Sapnap pipes up.
“About possible ways to handle this. And I don’t mean the chip thing alone.”
Sapnap lets his head thud against the couch. It’s not like he didn’t expect this question to come up—because that’s quite literally why they’re having this conversation to begin with—but it’s another thing, he’ll just let George deal with.
Only that he can feel George stare at him, and it’s just a question of time until he gets pinched.
“It’s very likely that he has information,” George finally says. “I’m not entirely sure what kind of information, but he definitely has some about the old heroes and why they disappeared.”
“He’s also mentioned Pandora’s Vault and the Warden,” Sapnap adds. “And the rumors.”
“Which rumors?” Bad asks. “There are like, a dozen of them.”
Sapnap shrugs. “I don’t know; he didn’t want to say which makes me think that he knows more about it. It also seemed like he was talking about multiple ones.”
“So, you’re suggesting taking the offer?” Sam asks.
George nods. “I mean…we could wait even longer, but I really don’t think anything’s going to happen, and with the Association’s attack…I feel like this was a very clear answer.”
Sapnap snorts. Yeah. A clear answer for sure. They’re not going to get the information in a thousand years, and with Dream refusing to go back, the chances are even slimmer, if not absolutely non-existent.
It’s probably for the best. With an actual answer—or at least an assumption that’s most likely true—, it’s easier to actually continue and change their plans and to make decisions.
They had hope during the last few weeks that the Association would get back to them; they don’t have it anymore, and it would be just stupid to still hold onto that hope even if evidence suggests something else.
“Yeah, same,” Sapnap says. “Agreeing to the offer is the best thing we could do. Even if it’s like, wrong. Or if we don’t get the information we need. It’s better than”—he gestures—”sitting around and waiting and…doing nothing.”
Bad nods slowly. “That’s true. I guess that’s the best thing to do. Do we all agree?”
The others nod.
“Okay,” Bad says, “I’m going to inform Punz and Callahan about this later then.”
“Do we first take care of the chip or—?” Ant trails off.
George wrinkles his nose. “Technically, we could do both? I have the feeling that it’s not going to be all that easy, to be honest.”
“You’re not wrong,” Sam snorts. “Nothing is ever easy with the Association, and I feel like we should take it slow before immediately trying to remove the chip. It’d be better for everyone involved if we don’t rush things.” Sam frowns. “If Dream even wants the chip removed that is, of course.”
“That would be kind of important to know,” Ant agrees, “but we can definitely collect information beforehand while we’re dealing with the offer.”
“Alright,” Bad says. “Maybe we start with telling him about the chip and then continue with an examination of it to get as much information about it as possible, so that if Dream wants to get the chip removed, it can be a quick thing,” he suggests. “Afterwards, we can talk about the offer and possible deals.”
Sapnap’s staring at the ceiling again. “Do we just let him go?” he asks quietly. “Like…I’m not trying to suggest that we lie to him or that we don’t hold up the end of our deal, but…is it smart?”
“Probably not,” Ant shrugs. “But what else are we supposed to do? We’re not going to kill him and locking him up for the rest of his life is also…really not something we should be doing.”
It almost makes Sapnap snort. Those are almost the exact same words he told George, and yet he’s still not entirely convinced by them.
“We could offer him to join us,” George scoffs.
It’s obviously a joke, but…
But.
But it’s not really a stupid idea. It’s not a stupid, stupid idea. (Considering it’s coming from George, it’s already a stupid idea to begin with. George has only stupid ideas.)
It would mean that they can still keep an eye on him. They would know that he’s not gone back to the Association or trying to hinder their plans and—
(Sapnap doesn’t want to admit it, but he kind of likes Dream. He’s easy to talk to (after they got over their awkwardness in the beginning), and it probably would be even easier once he’s not their hostage anymore.)
But it also wouldn’t be a good idea. Not really.
It would create more problems, all of them had to agree to it, and Sapnap can already tell that Punz won’t, and Sapnap really doubts that Dream has absolutely no loyalties towards the Association anymore.
He might not want to go back, he might have outright refused to go back, but it’s still possible that he’s going to rat them out—it wouldn’t even have to be the Association. The police would already be enough, and it would completely fuck them over.
It’s a risk Sapnap is not willing to take. No matter how nice Dream seems to be.
Maybe they can offer him help to get on his feet instead; they could tell him that they’re open to helping him and giving them a way to contact them, but anything more than that? It’s stupidly risky, and Sapnap isn’t going to vouch for someone he barely knows.
“We’re not doing that,” Ant says, but there’s amusement in his voice, “Punz would literally kill us.”
“It’s not worth the risk,” Bad agrees, “but if he wants the deal, and if he accepts it, we can offer him help.”
“Local Superhero starts his new job as waiter,” Sapnap mutters.
It’s ridiculous to think about it, but it doesn’t seem like there’s a lot that Dream could do instead without a high school diploma. Or without having an officially recognized school education.
He glances at Sam. He must be glad to have left the Association when it was easier—not easy, but easier; from what Dream has told him, it doesn’t ever seem to be easy to leave the Association—but Sapnap knows that he had problems with jobs too. (There’s a reason why he became a vigilante first and then a villain afterward.)
Sam was lucky enough to have powers that made it possible to find jobs even without a proper school education, but Dream doesn’t have the same advantage. There’s a reason why for a lot of kids with destructive powers, heroism is the only career path.
No education and destructive powers? For most employers that sounds like the perfect recipe for disaster, and Sapnap can’t even blame them. If he was some sort of CEO, he wouldn’t want someone like that either.
This means that if a hero would leave the Association, they wouldn’t even be able to find jobs and…survive. Sapnap can’t really blame them either for not leaving when their only way out are minimum-wage jobs—if at all.
Being a Superhero seems more comfortable than that even if you have an expiration date stuck to your forehead.
“Okay, so then that’s it,” Bad says. “Do we have anything else that needs to be talked about?”
Sapnap shakes his head. “I don’t think George and I have more, right?”
“Right,” George agrees. “From our side that’s it. Did anything important happen while we weren’t here?”
For a moment, it’s quiet.
“I don’t think so,” Sam says. “Unless you count all the times, Velvet—”
“Sam!” A pillow hits Sam in the face.
Sapnap giggles at Bad’s sigh.
“I’m sure Punz and Callahan are back soon,” George throws in.
“The muffins better be.” Bad pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or I’m going to commit murder at some point.”
“Murder is always good,” Sapnap agrees.
Bad stares at him. “You’re going to be the first.”
Sapnap gasps. “I thought you loved me!”
“Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t picked you up from the streets,” Bad mumbles. “Should have just left you right then and there.”
Sapnap pouts. “Rude.”
“Look,” George says, “even Bad agrees. Petition to kick Sapnap out again. ‘Sewer Rat Part Two’ coming soon.”
This time, Sapnap doesn’t resist the urge to kick George.
Bad’s exasperated sigh is even louder.
Chapter 7: one more word, and you won’t survive | Dream IV
Notes:
title: blue foundation — eyes on fire.
i’m so behind with writing, geez. it feels like fridays aren’t properly spaced out smh
Chapter Text
When the door opens again, the sun is already out and so bright it’s blinding. He’s not sure how much time has passed since Phoenix left, since he’s settled down and failed to fall asleep, although it must be hours.
But the person entering the room isn’t someone he knows—or well, someone he personally knows. They’re neither Phoenix nor Error, but also not Vindicator or Omen.
How many villains are working together? And how did the Association miss that kind of team-up? Or maybe they knew and just didn’t care?
It wouldn’t be too absurd. There have been a lot of things in the past that the Association ignored until they simply couldn’t anymore—if it’s not helping them, if it’s not furthering their profit, they don’t care. Not enough anyway.
“Hi, I’m Crimson,” the villain says, his face is completely hidden by a mask, but like Error and Phoenix, he’s not wearing his uniform. They really don’t expect him to attack them, do they? He should do it once, just because he can. To catch them off-guard, show them that they shouldn’t let their guards down only because he’s unarmed and powerless. He’s not completely useless even like this.
“Hi,” Dream cautiously gives back, smoothing out the sleeves of his shirt. There’s still the hole in it from when Phoenix accidentally burned through the fabric.
He’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about this—the more villains there are, the less he feels like he has any kind of control over this situation. (Like he’s had any to begin with.)
But with every additional villain, it gets almost impossible to even influence their opinion of him. They spend less time with him, he can’t build the relationship with them that he needs for the best possible outcome, and it becomes less and less likely that they will even bother listening to him.
It just makes everything so much more complicated—and worse for him.
“Omen said you were injured,” Crimson says, slowly coming closer like he’s approaching a wild animal. Omen has treated him like he’s…fragile as well, and it’s weird. It feels weird, and he’s not sure what he’s supposed to think about it, how he’s supposed to feel.
He’s not a porcelain cup that’ll break if you drop it.
And anyway, he’s a hero; he’s supposed to be their enemy, not a person to take care of, to make sure they’re okay and doing fine. There’s no reason for them to treat him like this. He doesn’t get it—not even the Association would be this…this gentle with him. It just doesn’t make any sense.
It’s off, and it’s weird, and he hates it.
(That’s a lie. He doesn’t hate it, but it also makes things more difficult for him. He’s not supposed to get attached to any of them. It doesn’t matter if they’re nice to him and take care of his injuries. It doesn’t matter that they don’t seem like bad people. It doesn’t matter.
He’s supposed to get out of here and try to flee, and he should be the only one trying to form a positive relationship with the others to make sure he survives.)
“Yeah,” Dream says, holding his hands up to show Crimson the bandages. “Slashed my palms.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem at all,” Crimson says, and he sounds like he’s smiling under the mask. “It’s an easy fix. It might hurt though for some time since I’m not actually a healer, but I hope that’s okay.”
Dream shrugs. Cuts are usually nothing he really takes care of. They heal on their own, and they heal even faster if he has access to his powers. They don’t really matter—or they don’t matter enough to go find a healer for that.
“It’s fine.”
“Okay, great. I’m now going to touch you, alright?”
Dream nods.
Crimson carefully peels off the bandages. “Does it hurt?”
Dream shakes his head. “Not really. I barely feel them at all.”
The cuts don’t look nearly as bad with the blood washed off his hands. But now he can actually see the bruises around his wrists—he doesn’t want to know how his bicep has to look if the wrists already look like that.
“Was that Phoenix?” Crimson asks, pointing to the bruises.
“Yeah.”
Crimson snorts. “To be expected. He’s not always the most gentle person.”
Dream shrugs. “It’s fine. They don’t hurt.”
Crimson tilts his head. “Do your injuries actually not hurt or is that still the adrenaline speaking?”
He’s always had a high pain tolerance—higher than most of his colleagues. Dream suspects, it’s because of his powers; while his powers can’t damage him, they still can hurt him, and especially if he overexerts himself, there will be backlash.
He used to do that far too often when he was younger, before he knew what his limits were.
Sometimes, he wonders if he fried some of his nerves by doing that. His fine motor skills aren’t what they used to be, and he simply doesn’t have the same sensitivity that he used to have. And there’s no way that it’s because of his age.
“Both probably.”
“That makes sense,” Crimson mutters. He turns Dream’s hands and then turns them back. “Okay, warning, it can be a bit warm.”
Dream bites his lip. “When you’re not actually a healer, then what are your powers?”
As soon as the words have left his mouth, he wants to slap himself. He really shouldn’t be asking things like that—they might still think he’s working with the Association and just trying to get information out of them.
“Sorry, I didn’t— I’m just curious and—”
“My powers?” Crimson interrupts him. “It’s not like it’s a secret although the Association still seems to think that healing is the only one, huh?” He sounds amused.
The warmth that Crimson emits, is still comfortable. It’s not too hot, it doesn’t hurt. It just feels nice. It almost feels like a hug, like someone’s taking care of him, like someone cares about him.
“That’s the only thing I know,” Dream admits. “No idea if the Association knows more about you.”
“They’re not sharing this kind of information with you?” Crimson asks, and now he just sounds surprised like he can’t imagine that the Association would keep information from them.
“Only important information we need for missions,” he explains.
“That seems kind of important,” he remarks. He lets go of Dream’s hands which fall onto his lap. “I expected that they don’t share everything with you but withholding information about powers doesn’t seem very logical.”
Dream shrugs. “I mean I wasn’t usually sent after you, so maybe the other heroes know more.”
“Hm. Possible.” Crimson checks him over. “Are you hurt anywhere— did Phoenix burn you?”
“Accidentally.”
“Accidenta— oh, god. Typical. That should be an easy fix, too, though.” Crimson grabs Dream’s arm again to inspect the burn. “Is it okay if I roll the sleeve up?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, great.”
For a moment, Crimson just stares at the burn. “How exactly did that happen again?”
Dream bites the inside of his cheeks. If he had just shut up, they wouldn’t be here now. “That’s…kind of my fault.”
“Probably not,” Crimson says. “Phoenix has always had a short temperament.”
“He told me to shut up, and I didn’t, so…” Dream trails off.
Crimson shrugs. “His bad control isn’t your fault either, is it?”
“Yeah, but—"
“I really doubt you said something so bad that could somehow justify that you ‘deserve’ getting burned.”
“Aren’t you villains?” Dream asks carefully. Because they are, and villains shouldn’t act like this. (They should be unapologetic and cruel, they shouldn’t care—they shouldn’t care about him.)
“Doesn’t mean we’re bad people.”
Dream shuts his mouth. There’s no point in arguing with Crimson about this.
“Did he at least apologize?”
Dream hesitates, but it seems to be answer enough for Crimson.
He sighs. “I’ll talk to him later about it.”
“You really don’t have to,” Dream says quickly. “It’s done and over. It doesn’t matter.”
Crimson shakes his head. “It does,” he says, and he sounds so resolute that Dream shrinks into himself.
“Don’t worry,” the villain says. “It’ll be fine.”
Dream bits his lip. It would be finer if Crimson didn’t mention this to Phoenix—he’s not sure how Phoenix reacts to reprimand, and he also really doesn’t want to find it out. Phoenix is now on his side; but will he be after Crimson told him off?
At the same time, he doesn’t want to fuck things up with Crimson so quickly. That won’t help him either.
Why can things not be easy for once?
“Hey,” Crimson says, getting Dream to look at him. “Everything will be fine, okay? I promise that.”
A villain shouldn’t promise him anything, but especially, they shouldn’t make a promise like that.
Dream stays quiet.
“I’ll get you a new shirt,” Crimson decides.
“It’s—”
“Nope,” Crimson interrupts him. “It’s not fine. We can’t let you walk around like this. Just sit tight. I’m back in a second.”
(He gets the new shirt, and he’s still not sure how he should feel about any of this.)
“Good morning!” Omen sounds far too cheerful for a time when the sun is barely visible yet.
Slowly, Dream sits up. “Good morning,” he says quietly, rubs his eyes.
Omen is just wearing his mask but not his hoodie, so Dream can see his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “How are you feeling?” he asks gently, putting the plastic bag on the little table next to Dream’s bed.
“Fine.
“That’s good,” Omen nods. “Do you need anything else? Painkillers? Bandages? Something entirely else? Should someone look after your injuries again?”
Dream bites his lip, shakes his head. “No, thank you. I’m good.”
Omen tilts his head. “You sure? It’s really no problem if you need something.”
“It’s okay.”
He squirms under Omen’s eyes. He hates it so much when people stare at him like that which is ironic considering his job. He should be used to people constantly watching him, and yet he hates it, wants to fly under the radar whenever possible, and sometimes, he wishes he could just become one with the walls.
There’s a reason why he prefers wearing his mask even if he didn’t have to.
“Okay,” Omen agrees easily. “But if there’s anything you need, just come to me or any of the others and ask us for it.”
Omen frowns. “We can’t give you everything of course, but if it’s possible, then we try to make it happen.”
But why? Dream wants to scream. He wants to shake Omen until they offer him an explanation. Until they offer him an explanation that makes sense.
Why? Why would you go out of your way like this? Why would you do so much for a person you barely know, a person that should be your sworn enemy, a person you’ve spent years fighting?
Why?
He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t think he ever will.
It’s Omen who brings him the food for lunch, and it’s Crimson who takes him with him in the morning of the next day.
He hasn’t seen Phoenix or Error since he was brought here, and it makes him worried.
“Where are you bringing me?” he asks Crimson as he’s led through the building. The villain hasn’t bothered to chain his wrists together, and it would be so easy to just break free and escape.
“We have to talk about a few things,” Crimson offers.
Dream frowns. “What things?” And why is it important that he’s there? Unless they want to talk about the offer…huh.
“You’ll see,” is all Crimson says, and the words are really not helping Dream to stay level-headed.
It doesn’t sound like they’re going to talk about the offer—it sounds more like they’re going to talk about something that Dream won’t like, so Crimson doesn’t tell him now just to make sure that Dream won’t escape.
Maybe he should just risk it.
(And then what?)
“It’s nothing bad,” Crimson soothes. “But it’s better if we all sit down for it.”
“Ah…okay.” Dream isn’t convinced. He isn’t convinced at all, but oh, well. As long as he’s not led to his execution, he’s pretty sure he can handle most things.
“Don’t worry too much,” the villain says, but for some reason, it makes him worry even more. It’s probably not a good sign that your capturers want you calm and relaxed. To be fair, they all were mostly nice to him until now, but they’re still villains, and Dream refuses to trust them.
The moment, he’s letting his walls down, he’s sure something bad will happen, and he’s not here for that. He’s absolutely not here for that.
Finally, Crimson stops in front of a door, and when he pushes it open, Dream gets a brief glimpse into the room.
He stiffens.
It’s white and sterile and—
“Everything okay?” Crimson asks, half-turned towards Dream, but one of his feet is already in the room.
Dream breathes out, pushing one of his fingers against the pulse point on his wrist.
“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay…” Crimson says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
He enters the room; Dream follows even though everything in him wants to resist.
He can handle hospital rooms, but there’s something about doctor’s offices that terrifies him. He doesn’t know why, he doesn’t even know where it’s coming from—he’s never had bad experiences with doctors before. Some of them were harsh and rude and forceful, but nothing that would explain this.
He’s made worse experiences on patrol, and he’s never had a problem with going back.
“You can sit down if you want,” Crimson says, gesturing towards the chair. “I’m right back with you.”
Dream gingerly sits down, hands tightening and loosening in his lap.
It doesn’t take long for Crimson to take place on the chair next to Dream.
“Okay, so,” Crimson starts slowly, “we’ve discovered something. No idea if you knew about it, but there’s a chip at the back of your neck.”
Dream stares at Crimson.
It’s not…it’s not like it doesn’t make sense.
He just doesn’t understand how he missed it.
But even now that he knows about it, now that he’s trying to reach out for it, he can’t feel it, and it’s not like he doesn’t believe it because it makes sense.
The Association always knows where their heroes are, always seems to be perfectly aware of the things they’re doing. It explains why it’s never been possible for heroes to leave before, and it would also explain how they found the villains’ base, but…
How is he not able to feel it?
He should. It’s a chip. But he can’t.
“I—” Dream says, stops. “I didn’t know. I don’t know how I didn’t know. I should. I— I can’t— I can’t feel it.”
“It’s okay,” Crimson quickly says. “We only discovered it by accident. Error said he was barely able to feel it, so maybe your own powers block it out since they see it as part of your body.”
But it doesn’t make sense.
His passive powers were never the best, he could never control them like he should be able to, like most other people can, but they’re developed enough for him to know that he should feel it. (Why is he not able to?)
“Hey,” Crimson says gently, not touching Dream. “It’s fine. You’re fine. We can figure this out together, alright?”
Dream wants to scream.
How is it possible that things just keep getting worse?
“Okay,” he says quietly, digging his fingernails into his palm. “What exactly can the chip do?”
Crimson tilts his head as if he’s trying to figure out what he can tell Dream without him freaking out again. This is really not getting better. “Well,” Crimson drawls, “it keeps track of your vitals, and…on you.”
“I figured,” he mutters. “A goddamn fucking tracker. Makes sense, doesn’t it?”
“What do you mean?” Crimson says, a nonchalant tone to his voice, but it doesn’t make it less obvious that he’s interested in it, and normally, Dream would use it to tell Crimson about his offer again. He just can’t be bothered this time.
He’s not getting out. He’s not going to survive with a tracker in him that he can’t even locate. If he can’t feel it, he’s not going to be able to control it, and with that, he’s simply not going to be able to escape it.
“They always seemed to know where exactly we are,” he says monotonously.
All he wants is for things to be easy for once.
“And,” he continues, “there were other weird things like…we always thought that the few heroes who did try to escape, were found because…because, well, because the public knew their face, but…”
He gulps.
“That makes more sense.”
Crimson nods, he almost looks empathetically—or maybe Dream is just imagining things now. Crimson is wearing a mask.
“That makes sense,” Crimson agrees gently. “What do you want to do now?”
Dream just shrugs. What’s even the point now?
“We have multiple different possibilities,” Crimson offers. “Error is able to suppress the tracking function for now, but it’s only possible if you’re somewhat close to each other. We could try to get it out, but neither I nor any of the others are trained professionals, and it’ll be extremely risky since it might be too close to your spinal cord. And…and we could try to destroy it without removing the chip.”
“But?” It sounds like there is a but. There’s definitely a but. There’s no way there’s not a but.
“We don’t know if there are other functions the chip has,” Crimson explains. “You see, Error was able to discover it, but…even he can barely make it out. It’s just enough to influence the chip, but anything beyond that is…pretty much impossible. And in case he has overlooked something…it could— no, it will be very risky. And it could be, well, life-threatening.”
Dream stares at his hands, spreads his fingers.
Risky.
He scoffs internally.
Everything he does is risky. He’s risked his life every time he went out on the streets. There’s barely anything he’s doing that is not risky. He could always lose his life, and it has never stopped him before.
But this?
It terrifies him.
It shouldn’t.
Maybe it’s the knowledge that he has absolutely no control over this situation—even on patrols, he’s always had some sort of control, and if he died then, he would’ve died fighting.
Now though…
Now…
He exhales.
“You don’t have to immediately decide,” Crimson says, “this is nothing that you should decide in a rush. I just want to do a few tests if you’re alright with that. We just…well, we just want to make sure we’re not missing anything.”
“Okay,” Dream agrees meekly.
He wants the chip to be gone. He wants the chip to be destroyed. He wants to be out. He wants to be free.
He still can’t decide what to choose.
(It doesn’t matter whether the chip is gone and burned, whether he’s out and free if he’s dead.)
“Great.” Crimson clasps his hands. “It’s nothing bad, I promise.”
And yet, Dream stiffens, tenses. He doesn’t relax until it’s over, until Crimson tells him with a smile in his voice that they’re done, until he’s back in his room. Until he can be sure that he won’t be surprised by pain.
He’s been staring out of the window for the past hour when he hears the door open. Carefully, he stretches his hands, lets his neck crack. Then he turns around.
To his surprise, it’s Error who’s standing in the room.
It’s been two days since he’s seen Error or Phoenix, and he’s almost accepted that he’s not going to see either of them for even longer. It’s a pleasant surprise. Probably. Unless Error has a bone to pick with him, then it might not be as pleasant anymore.
“Hey,” Dream says, “long time no see.”
Error snorts. “Sure.” He lifts his arm to let the bag dangle. “I have food.”
“Ah,” Dream makes. “Thank you.”
Error nods. “Of course.”
Dream fiddles with his hands, unsure if he should say more. He has questions mainly about the chip, but he doesn’t know if Error would appreciate them.
“Just spit it out,” Error prompts, and once again, Dream wonders if maybe Error’s Superpowers aren’t actually technology-based.
It certainly feels like it a bit too often. Or maybe he’s just good at reading people.
“How…did you find the chip?” Dream finally asks.
“I didn’t at first,” Error says, “it’s basically invisible, but…something just felt off, so I looked closer.”
Something felt off? He can’t remember that something ever felt off—neither something on him nor something on all the other heroes.
“I can’t feel it,” Dream blurts out. “I don’t think I could feel the chip on any other hero either. Why can you feel it, but I can’t?”
Error tilts his head. “You can’t feel it? At all?”
Dream shrugs. “My passive powers have always been shit, but they have never been this shit. I should be able to feel something that has electricity in it.”
Error frowns. “This is weird,” he agrees. “Did you tell Crimson?”
“I did.” Dream chews on his lip. “Has he said something about it?”
Error shakes his head. “They haven’t had any new discoveries so far, but they’re still working on it, don’t worry.”
Dream nods slowly, then, “Is there a reason for it?”
“What do you mean?”
There has to be a reason why they’re so keen on getting rid of the chip, no? There has to be, anything else doesn’t make sense. No one would do something like that, especially if it takes so many resources and so much time, simply because they feel like it, because they decide it’s the right thing, because of the goodness of heart.
But what could be a reason?
Even if this has something to do with them agreeing to his offer—which they still haven’t said anything about—, it wouldn’t make sense. They get their information and then let him go. Why should they care what happens to him afterward? (If they let him go to begin with.)
“Why are you doing this?”
Error shrugs. “Why not?”
“But why?” He’s so close to begging now. It wouldn’t take much for him to actually start. Maybe it would work. Maybe he would get actual answers then.
“Not everything has to have dozens of reasons,” Error says gently. “Sometimes people just do things because they want to do them.”
But there’s a difference between doing something for yourself and helping others out, and there’s barely anyone who does so and expects nothing from the person they helped. Most even try to get some kind of favor. Nothing is ever free.
Dream stares at his fingers, fiddles with the hem of his sleeves.
“Okay,” he says, not wanting to escalate this further. There’s no point anyway. Error won’t tell him their actual intentions, and he doesn’t expect him to. It would’ve been nice, but…he’d be stupid for hoping for anything else.
Error’s still looking at him when he raises his head again, and he looks so sad.
“How you’re doing?” the villain changes topics easily. “Doing okay? How are your injuries?”
“They’re fine,” Dream says, thankful that Error doesn’t force the topic either. “A bit sore, but that’s to be expected.”
“True,” Error agrees. “But that sounds good.”
“Hm,” Dream makes. “How’s Phoenix?”
“He’s fine.” Error pulls a face. “And he’s eating all my food again.”
Dream lifts an eyebrow. “Again?”
“He always does that,” Error sighs. “I would’ve committed murder a long time ago if we didn’t need him.”
“Fair.”
Error snorts. “But yeah, he’s doing fine. He’s been constantly complaining about his wound itching. Typical…”
It’s quiet.
Dream focuses on his hands, picks on the bandages, and waits for Error to leave, but the villain doesn’t move.
He almost asks what Error is doing.
“So,” Error finally says, “we’ve thought about your offer. What do you want?”
And that’s the question, isn’t it? What does he want?
What does he want?
He’s never really had to answer this question—there was a path for him since he was a small child, and he was always supposed to follow it. He wasn’t supposed to change directions or abandon it.
(Sometimes, he wonders what his parents would want him to do. They wanted him to become a Superhero; they knew that his powers would be helpful and too destructive for anything else, but…
But he likes to imagine that they would want him to have a good life. To be happy and free. To be able to do whatever he wants.
He doubts they would’ve wanted him to die before he reaches his thirties. He doubts they would’ve wanted him to be miserable. He doubts they would’ve wanted the Association to destroy him.
(He hopes so, at least.))
“I want to leave,” he finally says, quiet. “The Association I mean. I want to leave it behind.”
“Yeah,” Error says, “I get that. It’s very understandable. Is that all?”
“What else should I even want?” Dream laughs quietly. “This is all I’ve ever dreamed about.”
Dream’s eyes flicker to Error, then back down to his lap.
“Since I— since—” he stops, takes a deep breath. “Since I don’t know what exactly you need, I don’t think I will be able to tell you about the information you want, but…”
He tightens his fists. What if this is not enough? What if they want more? What if this is just a trap?
He won’t find out until he’s tried, but…but now that he’s thinking about it, his information seems pathetic. It’s barely anything.
Well. It’s more than they’ve gotten in the past weeks, and still…it doesn’t feel like it’s enough or satisfying in any way.
If he fails to give them what they want, then what will happen? Will they still let him do? Will they refuse? Will they laugh him in the face and tell him it was never their intention to let him go? That it was always their plan to simply get rid of him?
“There’s a database,” he finally says. “It’s…it’s one beyond the public one. A few years ago, I happened to stumble upon it, and…there should be everything you need.”
Error frowns. “A database, huh?”
Dream nods. “I’m not sure how difficult it would be to actually access the database without technology-based powers, but…you shouldn’t have problems. Or, well, not as many problems as someone without help from their powers.”
Dream looks away from Error. “I’m not sure if the database will have what you need,” he says quietly. “I haven’t had the time to really— to thoroughly go through it, but…that’s where most information regarding the information should be stored.” He bites the inside of his cheek. “If you don’t find anything there, then the only way to access the information would be the Executives.”
Error scoffs. “We tried that.”
“Yeah,” Dream drawls. “I’m very much aware of that.”
Error looks almost sheepish at the reminder.
He shakes his head. “But what I meant is…that you have to directly go to the Executives.”
Error blinks. “You mean kidnapping them?”
Dream shrugs. “Yeah.” That would certainly be one way to do things. Maybe that time, they would be more successful than with him—but compared to him, the Executives are actually needed. And they know too much to just let them fall into the enemy’s hands and not do anything about it.
Once the Executives start to dish the dirt on the Association, it would be over for them. (Not that they ever would do so, there’s a reason why they’re Executives, and it’s not because they’re nice and worry about others. They couldn’t give less fucks about all the things the Association is doing and has done in the past; in fact, they’re responsible for most of those things.)
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Error mutters. “And there’s no other way?”
It depends. On what they want, on what the database can offer them. On whether the Association has started to remove information from there and moved them somewhere else. Or maybe on whether they have started to digitalize everything and there’s now even more than the last time Dream checked.
It’s also possible that the villains won’t be finding anything at all.
“I always could try to give you the information you need, but since I don’t know what you even want, it makes more sense to go directly for the source.”
He doesn’t think that the information he’s aware of would be even enough. There are specific topics he’s researched but not more than that. He’s never had the time for it—there’s a reason why the Association keeps them busy like this. Even if they start to question them, they won’t have the time to actually do anything about it.
It always makes him wonder how Nighthawk was able to do it. (Or maybe he is the reason why the Association started to be even stricter with the heroes’ schedules.)
He crinkles his nose. “There’s also Pandora’s Vault,” he continues. “You might find information there, too.”
He hasn’t been there often—the black walls make him feel like he can’t breathe, like they’re going to crush him if he doesn’t get out fast enough—but they store files there. He doesn’t know which ones; he doesn’t even know if they would be useful at all, if they just keep them there until they have time to destroy them. Or maybe, if they’re lucky, the files they can find are still the ones that used to be there. Files the Warden seemed to be very protective of.
“Pandora’s Vault?” Error frowns.
“Yeah,” Dream says. “I’m not sure what they contain or if they’re even still there, but they used to store files.”
Pandora’s Vault has always been more than a prison, but most people don’t know what. Most heroes don’t know that.
“Okay,” Error says. “Thank you.”
Dream isn’t sure why Error’s thanking him. He isn’t sure either if this is even enough for the villains to let him go.
But there’s nothing he can do now. All there is to do is trust the villains, to believe that they will hold up the end of their deal. He’s never been good at this.
Chapter 8: where do you suppose i go now? | Dream V
Chapter Text
“So,” Crimson says, and alone judging by the tone of his voice, Dream isn’t going to like whatever Crimson will tell him. “We can’t remove the chip.”
Yeah, he doesn’t like it.
“Why?” he asks, smoothing out his sleeve. “Any particular reason?”
Crimson tilts his head. “Well, I mentioned it before, but the chip is too close to your spinal cord for us to remove it safely. Neither Vindicator nor I am formally trained medics, and…and something like that is too risky for us to do even with our powers.”
“Yeah,” Dream says slowly, “that’s probably for the best.”
As much as he wants the chip to be removed, he also doesn’t want to end up injured, and he’s really not sure how worth the risk is to even try.
“I mean,” Crimson says, “with time, we could probably figure something out. It’d still be risky, obviously, but…it would be possible. It’s just— we haven’t had a lot of time to even think about any alternatives.”
Dream chews on his lip. With time? Does he even have that time?
“I— I don’t know,” he says quietly.
“That’s fine, don’t worry,” Crimson quickly says. “Until we get there, you don’t have to decide anything.”
He does want to get rid of the chip, does want it to be removed, but he also doesn’t want them to waste their time—especially if he might not even be with them by the time, they have figured out a way to get it out.
“Okay.”
Crimson pats his shoulder. “Don’t think too hard about it. It’s, like, a little side project for Vindicator and me, so we don’t unlearn everything.”
Dream lifts an eyebrow. “This does not sound very trustworthy,” he jokes.
Crimson swats at him. “Oh, shut up.” Then, “But seriously, if you really don’t want to, we don’t have to, but we also don’t mind. In fact, it’d be quite interesting for both of us, and…I guess it would be better for you. That way you’d not be dependent on Error.”
“I mean if it’s not like”—he gestures—“if it’s not a bother…”
“It’s not. We’ll just try to figure this out and”—Crimson hesitates—“technically, you wouldn’t even need to stay here for that. We have all the data we need.”
Dream shifts. Not stay here? Have they already talked about him since he gave Error the information he has? And they decided that they would actually let him go, decided to stick to their word?
Maybe he shouldn’t be this surprised. The villains haven’t lied to him before as far as he knows, and there’s no way they would even bother with getting rid of the chip if they had decided to just kill him once they get the information.
And yet…
Maybe he’s surprised because it’s happening so quickly. It’s been barely a day—he’s expected it to take at least another week until the villains have discussed and decided everything.
“Alright,” Dream says. “This sounds great. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Crimson says, and it sounds like he’s smiling.
“So,” Error says. “I guess you might already be aware of it since…y’know, that was our whole deal, but…uhm. We’re obviously not going back on our word, so we just wanted to ask if there’s anything else you might need.”
Both Error and Phoenix are in the room with him, and it’s the first time he’s seen Phoenix since he was dropped here. But none of them seem mad anymore—at each other, him or anyone else for that matter—which he takes as a good sign.
“Need?” Dream frowns.
“Yeah, like,” Phoenix says, gestures, “money. A place to stay. That kind of thing.”
“Uhm.” Well, it’s true that he would need money. And a place to stay. And also a ton of other things because he’s sure that the Association has either gotten rid of his things by now or is storing them at a place from where he’s not able to get them back. Maybe both. Probably both.
“Omen doesn’t really like it,” Phoenix continues, “because he says it’s not, like, safe. Especially because of the tracker, but…” he trails off.
Dream raises his eyebrows. He’s very much aware that it might be a stupid decision, but it’s also not like he has a lot of other choices. It’s either this or going back to the Association, and while he’s not sure about a lot of things in the near future, he’s sure about this. He’s not going back. Not willingly.
“It’s not like we can keep you here,” Phoenix ends as if they haven’t kidnapped and held him hostage for the past months.
“Uhm,” he makes again. “I guess…I do need money. I doubt I’m able to access any of my own money or well, I— I don’t think I even should.”
Even if he was able to, even if the Association hadn’t frozen his bank accounts by now, it’d be stupid to get his money. It would make it even easier to find him than it already is.
“Okay,” Error says. “I’ll tell Omen.”
Dream nods, twists his fingers. “Thanks.”
It’s not something he’s expected from them, and it’s probably also not something he should take—to be fair, he’s not expected anything from them, and yet here they are—, but it’s also an offer he’s not going to decline. He needs money, he has to eat somehow, and he’s not sure how easy it will be for him to find a job or a place to stay. If he even gets this far, that is.
Moral high ground isn’t really that exists for them—maybe for the young Superheroes who just barely started, who still don’t know anything, but for someone like him? It’s not like he’s willingly worked for the Association, but he also can’t say that he’s ever made a lot of effort to actually leave. (Except for one time, but back then he’d been a trainee and young and stupid, and the reason why he had wanted to leave wasn’t due to morals and ethics.)
But he can’t claim that the Association is any better than the villains. The only thing that really differentiates them is the fact that the Association stays within the laws, most of the time anyway, while the villains…don’t care as much about it. And even so, after the time he’s spent here, he’s not so sure anymore if he could say that the villains are worse than the heroes.
Maybe somewhere there’s a better organization of heroes—people who actually care. It’s not here.
“Also,” Error says. “I can show you a way to…disable the GPS function if you want. I doubt you’ll be able to completely turn it off or like, do more than that if you’re unable to locate the chip, but I think that alone would be helpful.”
“That’d be great,” Dream says.
Error nods. “I can tell you later more, but it’s like a protection shield using your powers to interfere with the chip’s functions? It should work…hopefully.”
He still doesn’t know why he was never able to detect it, but his best guess is that it was inserted so early in his childhood that this is the only state he’s ever known, and that because of this, his body sees the chip as a part of him and as a part of his powers.
It doesn’t make entirely sense to him, but powers are funky, and a lot of things don’t make sense about them. It’s a mutation, that’s a given, but anything else?
It’s genetic, and yet most people’s Superpowers are nothing like those of their parents.
“Is there anything else?” Error asks. “Or just money?”
Dream shrugs. “I can figure the rest out, I think.”
“You think?” Phoenix raises an eyebrow.
Dream shrugs again. “It’ll be fine.”
“Yeah,” Error mutters so quietly that Dream isn’t sure if he was even supposed to hear it. “And as soon as Omen gets wind of this, he’s going to kill us.”
“What?” he says, laughing lightly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Error says, “but if you don’t have a place to stay, we can take care of it.”
Phoenix scoffs. “What’s the point of being a villain if you don’t have enough connections to get an apartment.”
“It’s really not necessary,” he protests. He’s going to take the money, but that already makes him feel bad. This though?
“Chill,” Phoenix says, “it’s not like we’re going to…I don’t know, buy you an apartment. Just let us do it.”
Dream narrows his eyes. “Why are you doing all of this?”
Error and Phoenix glance at each other for a short moment, and it still feels like they’ve had an entire conversation that Dream hasn’t been able to understand.
This is just proof again that they’ve been working together for a long time and that they’ve known each other for even longer. It wouldn’t surprise Dream if they grew up together, or at least have been friends since they were kids.
“Just…see it as an apology for us kidnapping you and keeping you here for…weeks,” Error finally says.
“It’s…fine,” Dream says. It’s not really fine, but it’s also not…bad. If not for the kidnapping, he would’ve never left the Association.
(It’s not like he doesn’t miss aspects of his life as a hero—he misses his little apartment even if it was shitty, and he misses being able to watch the trainees and new heroes train, and he misses patrol. Maybe he misses patrolling the most.
It sucked, often. And most of the time, he’s hated it, wished he didn’t have to work in the dark, never able to lead a somewhat normal life, but…
Flying above the city is something he’s always loved and that he will always love. And it’s also something he won’t be able to do from now on.
The only people using the roofs are Superheroes, villains, and criminals, and if he doesn’t want to get any attention, then he’ll have to stay in the streets.)
“Yeah, yeah,” Phoenix says. “It’s no bother at all. I mean…if you really don’t want it, then we’re not going to do anything, but…uh, it doesn’t sound like you have anything, and I can promise you, living on the streets is not something you want to do.”
And that’s something Dream absolutely believes. He hasn’t planned to live on the streets. It’s really not how he wants his newly acquired freedom to go, but…if it had been necessary…
Now though he just wonders if Phoenix has experience with living on the streets—and it’s not like it would surprise him. Really.
A person with destructive powers can’t go undetected for so long unless they’re not part of the social classes the Association prefers.
It makes sense, truth to be told. As shitty as it is.
“Okay,” he agrees because it sounds like it’s important to Phoenix, and he’s also not going to say no to something that will make the whole situation…less stressful.
“Great,” Error says, “then we’ve addressed everything unless there’s something that you want to talk about?”
Dream hesitates, then shakes his head. There are things he’s curious and that he wants to know more about, but he’s also not going to ask—it really depends on how secretive they are about the whole…thing they have going on, and if they still expect him to run back to the Association the moment he can.
And anyway, he’s not going to jeopardize anything just because he can’t keep his mouth shut. Thank you very much.
“Cool,” Phoenix says.
Error nods towards Dream. “We’ll see you later, I guess.”
“I guess,” Dream echoes.
Error leaves, but Phoenix stays back, lingers at the door.
Dream tilts his head. “What’s the problem?”
“I— uh. I wanted to apologize for the”—he gestures—“for the burn.”
Dream looks down at his arm. He’s completely forgotten about it since he’s not able to feel it anymore. “It’s fine. Doesn’t even hurt anymore,” he says.
Phoenix doesn’t look happy. “It’s— still, I shouldn’t have done it, and sure, my emotions often overwhelm me and…and make it hard to control my powers, but that’s—it’s really no excuse, so…sorry for that.”
It’s not more serious than any other injury he’s sustained during training. He gets it; it was a stressful situation, and especially if your control over your powers isn’t the best to begin with, it’s going to be even worse during an emotional reaction. He’s not going to blame anyone for it.
And anyway, the moment Phoenix realized it had happened, he’d stopped it. It wasn’t that he’d wanted to hurt Dream.
“Dude, seriously,” Dream says, “this wouldn’t have been necessary, but…thanks. I guess.”
Phoenix inclines his head. “Okay,” he says quietly, “I have to go. Talk to you later?”
“Sure.” Dream shrugs, unsure what Phoenix would even want to talk to him about. “See you later.”
“Are you sure?” Phoenix asks, and he sounds so nervous as if Dream will die the moment he steps outside. It’s possible. He hopes it won’t happen.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
If he’s honest, he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure at all, but he’s also not sure about anything else. If he leaves, he could die. If he stays, he could—one option isn’t really better than the other one.
“But the Association—” Phoenix starts.
This is the only chance he has, and this might be the only chance for a very long time. And anyway, it’s not like he has more reasons to stay.
“Error showed me how to manipulate the tracker,” Dream says, sounding surer of himself than he actually is. He doesn’t know why it takes so much concentration for him to get control of the power shield, but that just means he has to be more careful than expected and that all the time too.
“Okay, but like, if anything happens, you know you can contact us, right?”
Dream frowns. For some reason, all the villains he’s been in contact with, have been getting more and more nervous, the closer him leaving has gotten, and he wonders if it has anything to do with the information they found or if it’s about him.
Maybe they’re worried that the moment he leaves, they lose a source of information that they desperately need. Or maybe they fear that they only realize that they needed other and more information from him once he’s gone. Or maybe it’s just that they really think he’ll go back.
Dream doesn’t know, and their behavior isn’t helping to understand this entire situation better.
None of them have outright tried to stop him from leaving, but especially Omen didn’t seem pleased, and now Phoenix…
Error is the only one who doesn’t seem to care.
He really doesn’t know what to make out of this.
“Sure,” he finally says, knowing that he won’t if something actually does happen. “I can do that.” He can take care of himself, and he hasn’t spent the past two decades dedicated to the Association to not be able to deal with problems himself.
“Good,” Phoenix says, shifting from one leg to the other. “This is stupid,” he mutters. “Like…I guess it sounds weird, but like, since we don’t know what the Association is up to, we just…don’t want to risk anything, y’know?”
He gets that. He also completely understands it. It still doesn’t explain their weird behavior completely, but it makes more sense. Somewhat.
“Yeah,” Dream says, “that’s fair. If I see anything weird happen, I’ll tell you.” Maybe. He has helped the villains but only in exchange for his freedom, and now he’s not sure how he should feel about helping them even beyond that. It depends on what they want to do with the information, and alone telling them about the database might’ve been a big mistake.
As long as they’re not trying to destroy the world with it…he hopes.
His chest is cold when he wakes up.
It’s cold, and he’s freezing, and his hands are shaking—
He tightens his fingers around the blanket, trying to get his hands to stop trembling, but it doesn’t work, and he doesn’t get why. He’s fine, and there’s no danger, and he’s going to be free soon and…
And—
He frowns.
And what?
He feels like something is going wrong, but it doesn’t make sense. There’s no reason for it. This is the right decision, isn’t it? This has to be.
After everything…
It’s not like there’s a different decision to make, it’s not like he has a lot of other choices. It’s this. Or it’s going back to the Association. (And now neither feels right. But if neither is right, if both of them are wrong, then what is the right one? What is the one he should choose?)
He stretches his fingers, lets go of the blanket.
He’s still cold, and his hands still tremble, and he chooses to ignore it.
It doesn’t matter. It’s a gut feeling; it doesn’t mean anything. It’s never meant anything. He’s going to be free, and he’ll be able to do anything he wants, and nothing is able to stop him.
Not the Association, not villains, not even the stupid chip in his neck that can’t be removed.
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, grimaces when his feet touch the cold floor.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he? Happy that he’s finally leaving; happy that they’re letting him go; happy that no one had to die for it, and happy that the villains not only let him free but also that he’s able to abandon the Association.
He should be happy.
He doesn’t know why he’s not.
It’s stupid. All of this is stupid. And he hates it.
Why can’t things be easy for once? And why did his gut feeling decide to annoy him now?
Even if it was more than just that, a gut feeling, what could it even be about? That he shouldn’t leave the villains? That he should leave the villains as soon as possible? That he should wait until he leaves? Maybe it’s about something entirely else.
He closes his eyes, breathes out. It doesn’t help to keep thinking about it, he knows. And yet he can never stop himself from doing so.
The feeling lingers, he can’t shake it off, and it stays and stays and stays until Dream is shaky and panicking and unable to think clearly.
He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes, forces himself to take deeper breaths even if it feels like he’s choking on his own spit, like it’s not possible to get enough oxygen to his lungs and his brain, like he’s drowning while surrounded by air.
This is the right decision. This has to be. It can’t be anything else.
When he tells them “Bye,” Phoenix sounds like he’s close to tears, Omen frowns disapprovingly, and Error’s eyes are narrowed so much that Dream worries he’ll make himself get a headache.
“You don’t have to,” Phoenix says, but his voice is shaking, and Dream doesn’t know why. Because he’s lying? Because he’s worried, he’ll sell them out to the government? Because he fears they’ll need him later again?
It’s possible. All of it is possible, and the weird feeling in his chest still hasn’t disappeared.
He swallows.
“Eh,” he makes, “it’ll be fine.”
“If you say so,” Error mutters, and for a second, he gets the feeling again that they know more than they’re letting on. That there’s something he’s missing that they’re aware of, like he’s on his way to perdition, and they’re just letting him go.
“What do you mean?” Dream asks, suppressing the shakiness of his own voice.
“Don’t listen to those muffinheads,” Omen says. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”
This doesn’t help him in the slightest to feel even a bit better.
“You know you can always contact us if there’s a problem,” Omen continues, and Dream sees how Phoenix nods. “Or even if there’s no problem.”
Error is as still as a statue, and it’s impossible for Dream to get a read on him. He’d thought he’d gotten better at it, that he was finally able to understand Error more than before, and now it feels like they’re back to the first few dates of his kidnapping.
No. It feels again like their only contact was high above the city on rooftops, fighting and yelling and cursing. Like all the past weeks never even happened, like Dream imagined them, like it’s nothing but an absurd fantasy in Dream’s head.
He doesn’t know what happened. (He wishes he did.)
“Okay,” Dream says as he did just a few days earlier. “I will.” And he’s lying again. He’s pretty sure.
“Promise that?” Omen says, and he sounds so serious that Dream wants to tell them to just spit out whatever they’re hiding.
“Yeah,” Dream says, “I promise.” His nails dig into his skin. He doesn’t know why he’s promised that. Why he’s promised anything when he knows he won’t keep it, when he knows that he would never contact them for help, when he knows that this is something that will never happen.
They were nice to him—nicer than most people before them—, but they’re still villains. And he still doesn’t know their goal.
“Stay safe,” Phoenix tells him.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Omen adds.
Error shifts and stays silent—and if Dream is honest, he doesn’t expect him to say anything.
“Take care,” he finally says, quiet and soft. Nothing like the usual bite Dream is used to.
Dream nods curtly, chews on his lips. “Thank you,” he settles on, not entirely sure himself what he’s thanking them for, then he turns around and steps outside.
The sun is bright, it’s warm, and he can hear birds in the distance.
There’s not a single cloud in the sky when he gets his freedom back.
(And his chest still is cold.)
He rubs his wrists—they feel wrong without the cuffs.
The new apartment is nice. It’s small but cozy, and more sunlight than he’s expected falls through the windows. He likes it, maybe he likes it even more than his old, run-down apartment.
The location is another advantage; it’s close enough to the city center that he can reach most things on foot, but it’s not the busiest part of the city even with the café below him. He doubts it will be much of a problem.
So far, he’s not met any of the other tenants, but that’s okay. He enjoys quietness even if it gets lonely quickly.
The last few days have been nice; he’s spent most of the time settling into the new apartment. It came ready-furnished, and there’s not much he really has to do. It’s not like he has a lot of things on him. A few clothes that Omen forced him to take with him, and he got other essentials on a trip to the mall a few blocks from here.
He doesn’t want to get too much; he doesn’t know how long he will stay here, and the more he has on him, the more difficult it will be to move again. He doesn’t need much either. Food and clothes and a safe place to sleep seem to be enough for the moment.
He stretches his legs.
It felt weird to walk through the city without any goals or plans, without following a vigilante and fighting a villain. He’s never really had the time to just…watch. The Capitol is prettier than he remembers.
He’s been enjoying himself, enjoying the new-found freedom, and something still feels so wrong.
He’s been trying to ignore it—nothing has happened so far. He’s not even seen any heroes in the city or on the rooftops, so that’s great. It’s great and reassuring, and the cold feeling in his chest still hasn’t disappeared.
No matter what he does, it just sits there, making it hard to breathe and even harder to focus.
And it’s why he’s not left the apartment today.
It’s a sunny day, still warmer than he really likes. It makes it difficult to hide behind hoodies and sweatshirts and explain why he’s wearing a mask. Maybe that’s the reason why he’s not tried to get into contact with other people yet.
He’s ditched the mask he usually wears as part of his hero costume for a medical mask; it’s still risky, but it’s less risky than walking around without a mask at all. The Association knows his face. The public knows his face, and he’s not going to risk it.
The tracker in his neck is problem enough, showing his face freely around the city just asks for trouble, and he’s not here because he wants to be found.
(To be honest, he’s not sure at all why he’s here.)
Even though he’s enjoyed the past few days, he’s also started to feel restless. The months with the villains were bad enough, but during that time, he couldn’t do anything, and now that he can, he’s still not doing more.
He’s going through the days without a plan or a goal, and it feels wrong. As a hero, he had a purpose at least.
And finding a job has been proven to be as difficult as he’s expected. He has a false name, no ID, and no education—maybe he should’ve asked the villains to fake those documents for him. It would make things easier now at least.
He flexes his fingers. It doesn’t help that he’s not sure where he wants to go with his life either—if it’s just about surviving, then it will be possible. Somehow. He’s sure he will succeed in that. But anything else?
What does he want? And what will endanger him the least?
He could start as a vigilante, trying to keep the people and the city safe even without the Association backing him up, but that would just put an unnecessary target on his back.
He doubts that the Association will just let him go after the attack; he’s also not sure what they might be planning or what they might want to do with him. There are a lot of possibilities, and he doesn’t like one of them, so lying low and keeping all attention away from him should be his best bet.
There’s no way he will be able to live his life normally and in peace forever, he’s not fooling anyone, least himself, but the longer he stays out of the public’s and the media’s eyes, the longer the peace will last. Although it’s more than possible that it will be over tomorrow.
Still. He doesn’t need to fuck up things more than they already are.
He’s not going to become a vigilante, but what else is there left he can do?
“Oh shit, fuck,” Dream says, trying to balance to not topple over, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” the woman he almost ran over, says. She’s shorter than him with pink hair and a soft smile. He doesn’t know her name, but he remembers her from the café below his apartment; he’s seen her multiple times there whenever he’s left the house. “Nothing happened.”
“I’m still sorry,” he says, grimacing. He quickly kneels down to help her collect the groceries she dropped. “Should’ve paid more attention to my surroundings.”
“Really, it’s fine.” She shakes her head. “Thankfully, I didn’t buy anything fragile.”
“Oh,” he makes, “that’s good.”
She halts her movements. “Aren’t you the new tenant?”
Dream nods. “Yep.”
“Ah, great. I’ve seen you before but wasn’t sure.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Niki, nice to meet you.”
Dream takes her hand, shakes it. “I’m Dr—,” he stops. He can’t use his name; everyone knows him as “Dream,” and he’s not going to take any chances. It would be stupid and risky, but there’s also not really a different name he can use. He’s been Dream since his trainee days, and his birth name feels wrong and unfamiliar on his tongue.
Most heroes use their birth names as well as their hero names, but it’s one of the only things he still has from his old mentor, and by now it doesn’t feel like a fake identity anymore. He’s just Dream. (And now it’s coming back to bite his ass.)
“Drew,” he finishes, taking the first name he remembers.
Niki raises her eyebrows but doesn’t comment on the slip-up.
“Drew,” she repeats. She puts the last cucumber that fell out of her bag back and stands up, smooths out her pants. “Thank you.”
Dream quickly gets up. “No problem,” he says. “I mean it’s kind of my fault.”
She laughs softly. “Seriously, don’t worry.”
“Can I help you carry something?” he offers.
“Uhm”—she looks at the bags—“it would be nice if you could carry those two, maybe?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.” She smiles at him. “It’s always a bit of a hassle to carry so many bags through the city. Normally, I have people who help me, but they were busy today.” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, are you new in the city?”
“Not really although you could say that probably,” Dream says, following Niki with the two bags in his hands. “Not new to the region, but new to living in the city, I mean.”
It’s not really a lie. During his trainee years, he’s lived in the Citadel which is a few kilometers away from the city center, and after he moved out of the dorm when he turned 18, he’s lived in an apartment that’s even further away. And most of that time, he was either training or on missions, so he’s never…experienced the city before.
“That’s nice.”
“You?” he asks; there’s a slight accent to her words, but he can’t properly place it. And there’s also the foreign name of the café. Lieblingskaffee. He has to ask her what it means. It sounds nice, and he assumes it has something to do with coffee. Maybe?
“I moved here a few years ago,” she says, still smiling as she unlocks the door. “Always wanted to open a café, so if not here, then where?”
“So, you’re the owner?”
Niki puts her bags on the counter. “You can just put them there, too,” she tells him. “And yes, I am.”
“It looks really comfy here,” he says, looking around. “I feel like I have to pay your café a visit soon.”
“You should,” Niki agrees. “We have amazing ice cream. And waffles.”
Dream laughs quietly. “Then I really need to come over sometime.”
“Thank you, by the way,” Niki says. “But I really need to kick you out now because I’ll open the café soon…unless you, I don’t know, want to help me out here.”
It’s obviously a joke, but it still makes Dream freeze. Maybe he should ask if she’s actually offering. He does need a job, and the location would be perfect.
And still, something is stopping him from asking her. (He’s only just met her, and if she wants to see an ID, he’s screwed. Although if he’s not even going to try, he won’t ever get a job.)
Niki frowns at the lack of a reaction that would’ve been appropriate in a situation like this. “Do you need a job?”
He tightens his fingers and forces them open again. His shoulders are tense, but he can’t get them to relax.
“Yeah,” he says slowly, “I haven’t really had time yet, but I— I don’t want to, like, intrude. Or overstep.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not overstepping,” Niki reassures him, head tilted. “Also, we always have a shortage of waiters if that would be something you want to do.” She shrugs. “I could also find something in the kitchen if that’s what you prefer.”
Dream bites his lip. “I’ve never worked as a waiter before, but I’m a fast learner if that helps anything.”
Niki nods slowly. “Okay.” And there’s a glimmer to her eyes that makes him squirm, but then it’s gone so quickly that he wonders if he’s imagined it, and it’s replaced with a warm smile. “Welcome to Lieblingskaffee, Drew.”
It’s still dark when he leaves his apartment, but he can’t handle the suffocating atmosphere any longer.
He’s felt even more restless during the night, tossing and turning and unable to fall asleep, and it was just impossible for him to stay in bed. But it’s still almost four hours until he has to leave for his first shift in Lieblingskaffee, so now there’s nothing he has to do.
So, leaving the warmth of his bed to replace it with cold, grounding air seemed like the best idea.
The streets are almost empty, just a few pedestrians are to be seen that most likely are all on their way to their jobs.
It’s weird to see the streets in the night from below when before he’s only ever seen them from above. It’s weird, but it’s also nice, and it surprises him how much he enjoys just walking around the city, through narrow streets with no plan or goal in mind.
The bakeries have already opened, and for a moment, he toys with the idea to buy something to eat and drink and sit down in one of them, but he doubts that he’ll be able to keep anything down. And he’s not hungry either.
He still looks through the window—he’s curious about what they have. It’s been ages since he’s last been in a bakery, and the pastries look so good he’s almost willing to ignore the nausea creeping up his throat for them. But they’re expensive, and he doesn’t have the money for them. He doesn’t need them either.
He sighs and straightens back up, glances at the newspaper stand in front of the shop.
A familiar picture in the daily newspaper attracts his attention. He steps closer.
His own face is staring back at him.
Notes:
look at this. dream making friends :tada:
Chapter 9: painting a smile | Dream VI
Notes:
title: britton — to my younger self.
wdym it’s already december. i refuse to accept that. i mean it also means dteam christmas, sooooo
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Back when he was younger, he used to love fall. He loved being able to wear hoodies and sweaters without drowning in sweat. Loved when he was able to bundle up in a blanket in front of the furnace that used to be in the common room. Loved when his old mentor extended a wing over him as they watched the rain, sitting high above the city on rooftops.
He used to love fall even though he was cold and freezing—or maybe he loved fall exactly because of that, because he was able to make himself feel comfortable and welcomed and protected.
He stopped loving fall as much when he turned twelve, when fall became gloomy and miserable and just a reminder of what he used to have. But even then, there was a familiarity to it that he could never shake off, which made it impossible for him to not appreciate the moment whenever he was able to wear the first hoodie and light the candles in his living room.
But now that it’s still dark when gets back to his little apartment, he’s sure he hates fall.
He’s shaking, and he’s cold, and he feels like he’s going to throw up.
His hands are freezing, and it almost hurts when he has to pry them open to unlock the door. (And his apartment isn’t even all that warmer because he’s not started to heat it, and he’s not sure if he even will this year because he doesn’t have the money and—)
He wants to curl up in his bed, pull his comforter over his head and act like none of this just happened. Maybe if he ignores everything for long enough, it will just go away.
Why did he have to leave the apartment today to go on a walk? Why couldn’t it have been any other day? Why did it have to be today? It really couldn’t have been a worse day.
It’s nothing unusual to see his face in the news or on newspapers or billboards because he is—was?—a hero after all, but…
But.
He stares at the blank, white wall opposite his bed.
But his face isn’t usually accompanied by the Association declaring him a public enemy.
He scoffs. The only good thing is that he still has the comfort of the medical masks he bought on his first evening. He’s not sure he could do it without them. (He’s not sure he can do it with them.)
He just doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now. Even if he isn’t wearing the distinctive mask he’s usually being spotted in, even if he’s not bare-faced, chances are high that someone will recognize him.
He’s been on the news for so many years—with and without mask—that it’s impossible to believe that not at least one person will realize it’s him.
At least, the villains are going to believe him now.
For a second, he entertains that idea. Going back to the villains now that they know for sure he wasn’t lying, would be his safest bet. He wouldn’t be in public, there wouldn’t be the constant risk that someone could recognize him, and maybe they could figure a way out to disable the chip permanently.
Only that he doesn’t want to do it. And maybe it’s stupid of him (it definitely is stupid of him), but he doesn’t want to.
He doesn’t want to, and it feels like a trap. He knows nothing about how the villains operate, and he doesn’t even know what their plan is—if they wanted the information for something…good, or if they’re planning to destroy the world and humanity with it.
And maybe he doesn’t want this life anymore.
Maybe he just wants to live a life far away from heroes and villains and vigilantes, a life in which he doesn’t have to worry that he could die or kill someone every single day, every time he goes out.
He’s not going to have a normal life until he has a false identity and false credentials, until the Association thinks he’s dead. He knows that, obviously.
(Or maybe, maybe it would be easier to just not do any of that, to turn himself in and hope that they show mercy. Maybe lying low, doing nothing, helping Niki out as long as she puts up with him is just prolonging something that will inevitably happen.)
It takes everything in him to force himself out of bed a few hours later.
It almost makes him want to cancel on Niki, tell her he can’t come in because he’s sick, but it’s his first day, and he doesn’t want to destroy everything before things have even started. And if he’s acting like this, if he’s not getting out of bed and taking things into his own hands, then he really could’ve just stayed with the villains or gone back to the Association.
He has to do that. Even if he doesn’t want to leave his bed. Even if it’s shivering so much that not even the warmest hoodie, he’s been able to find can make things better.
Still, he’s somehow forced himself out of the bed, got dressed, and now he’s standing in front of the café, an hour before the café opens and still earlier than Niki told him when he should be there.
Better too early than too late, but now he’s standing in the cold, his hands are already red, and he wishes he had never left his bed. Maybe it’s not too late to call Niki and tell her he can’t make it.
“Hey, Drew,” Niki calls out, and Dream slowly turns around to face her. It’s definitely too late now.
“Hey, Niki,” he says, forcing a smile on his face that she’s not able to see with the mask on anyway.
Niki’s nose and cheeks are red, and she looks cold, but she also seems so cheerful that it doesn’t seem like the cold really bothers her.
She unlocks the door and ushers him in. “It’s been getting cold quickly,” she comments, turning on the lights. “Sorry that I’m a bit late, the trams are always so crowded that I sometimes have to wait for the next one.”
She rubs her hands. “Do you want something to drink?”
He shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
“Are you sure?” She frowns. “I always get a coffee when I get here. The others do, too.”
“Uh,” he says, “I don’t really like coffee.”
She rolls her eyes, lightly punches his shoulder. “It’s not like we only have coffee, Drew.”
He cringes at the mention of his new name. He really should’ve thought more about what name to pick instead of getting surprised the moment someone asks for his name as if that hadn’t been something to be expected.
“Maybe later.”
“Okay.” She’s smiling again. “Come on, I show you around.”
It’s better than he’s expected—although he’s not really sure what he even expected to begin with.
Things are busy but not overwhelmingly so, and it makes it possible for Dream to catch his breath every so often during short breaks when there’s nothing to do for him.
It’s two hours since the café opened, when a pink-haired man enters the café. Niki immediately seems to be brightening even more—which Dream didn’t think was even possible with how much joy and happiness Niki is spreading—and waves him to them.
“Techno, that’s Drew, I already told you about him.” She shoots Dream a glance. “That’s Techno—”
“Technoblade,” the man mutters.
“That’s Technoblade,” Niki corrects herself without pausing for a second, “he’s a friend who helps out sometimes.”
He’s tall. As tall as, or maybe taller than, Dream. It’s hard to tell with the way Technoblade carries himself.
And there’s something so familiar about the way he moves…
Dream pushes the thought away and forces a smile on his face that makes the skin around his eyes crinkle. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”
Technoblade doesn’t return the smile. “Hello,” he says, and nothing more. He pushes past them and disappears into the kitchen.
Dream helplessly looks at Niki, but she just shrugs. “Don’t take it personally,” she tells him in a hushed voice. “It takes him a bit to warm up to people.”
“Alright,” he says, chewing on his lip. “If you say so.”
When he gets back that evening, he feels so drained that all he’s capable of doing is fall into his bed and stare at the white ceiling above him.
He’s exhausted beyond belief, and what he did wasn’t even as mentally or physically tiring as what he used to do. How did he ever make it through a whole patrol? Would he even still be able to do that? He feels betrayed by his own body.
It can’t even be the darkness affecting him this much because he used to work mainly in darkness. Maybe it’s the age. It’s definitely the age.
He stops, sits up.
The age.
He had turned twenty-three months ago.
And he hadn’t even remembered he did until now. He’d just completely forgotten his birthday. He’d forgotten that his birthday even existed.
He’s not sure if this is embarrassing or just sad.
Then again, he never really celebrated his birthday to begin with. The last time he did was when he turned eleven. Or was it twelve? He doesn’t really remember a lot of that year, and there had always been more important things, so a birthday celebration was just never important enough. Especially after Nighthawk went missing.
(His memories are foggy, but he’s sure he celebrated that birthday with his mentor. They had cake, he thinks—chocolate and banana cake, his favorite when he was a child although Nighthawk had hated it—and Nighthawk had extended his black wings over Dream as always, a hand on his shoulder.
It had been quiet, only the wind ruffling through Nighthawk’s feathers every now and then, and Dream misses him. He misses him so, so much.)
It’s why he’d just spent his birthdays working ever since he’d debuted as a hero. First, he hadn’t wanted to celebrate them, not without his old mentor, but then…his birthdays just became reminders of something he really didn’t want to be reminded of.
He was running out of time, steadily, and there had been nothing he could have done to stop it. There had been times when he hadn’t even expected to make it this far.
Until now, until the villains kidnapped him because they had gotten a wrong impression of the Association and their devotion to their heroes.
And now he’s twenty-three, he’s not working for the Association anymore, and they have declared him a public enemy.
Was it worth it?
He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t. Things would be easier if it had never happened, if he had just returned, but…it would’ve been easier. It wouldn’t have been better.
At least, there’s no expiration date written all over his body anymore. (Although a target painted on his forehead is really not that much better.)
He closes his eyes, falls back down on his bed, pulling the comforter to his chin.
He’s twenty-three.
It doesn’t seem any different from before. And he doesn’t even feel relief that he’s still alive.
It’s two days later when he walks into his apartment and almost instantly walks out again.
He can feel someone in there, and he doesn’t recognize them, doesn’t know who it is. It could be everyone. It could be heroes.
He breathes in. The Association wouldn’t have waited for him in his apartment; they would have detained him the moment they realized where he was and that would have been while he was working in Niki’s café.
And he’s made sure to always keep the power shield up around the chip in his neck.
He unlocks the door, prepared for a trap, but when he opens the door, it’s a familiar face staring back at him.
“Phoenix?”
Phoenix grins at him while he’s draped himself all over Dream’s couch. “Hey, Dream. It looks great here.”
The villain isn’t even wearing his usual mask, just a simple medical mask covering half of his face. Apparently, he has at least some sort of self-preservation skills.
Dream takes his coat off and hangs it up. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, you know,” Phoenix says lazily, “just visiting a friend.”
It makes him raise both eyebrows. Friends? Them? Phoenix should know that he doesn’t have to lie to Dream if he wants something. “And I’m supposed to believe that.”
Phoenix sits up straighter. “Hey, I’m really just there to visit you.” He sounds like he’s pouting.
“Okay,” he says, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe a single word coming out of Phoenix’s mouth.
“Yeah,” Phoenix continues as if he didn’t catch the disbelief in Dream’s voice, “like…checking up on you and shit.”
Dream pulls his shoes off. “I haven’t been in contact with the Association if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He can’t really think of anything that would make sense for Phoenix to be here. Unless they have problems and need his help with the database. Or maybe they think he has more information that could be useful to them—well, he kind of did tell them that.
Phoenix frowns. “That’s really not— I’m just here because I wanna know how you’re doing.”
“Alright,” Dream drawls. He wishes Phoenix would just get to it. He wants to fall in his bed and sleep for the next twelve hours as soon as possible, and he can’t really do that with the villain here. Perhaps he should just do that. It would definitely send the messages intended.
“So?” Phoenix is leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs and his head resting on his hands.
Dream blinks. “What?”
“How are you doing?” Phoenix rolls his eyes.
“I’m doing great. Couldn’t be better,” Dream lies. It’s not like he’s doing badly; he just could be doing better. Probably.
Phoenix is still looking at him like he’s waiting for an actual answer, like this isn’t just stupid small talk before Phoenix tells him why he’s actually here, what he actually wants from Dream.
He sighs. “I’m working in the café downstairs. You might know the owner, Niki?”
“Niki? Oh yeah, I know her.” Phoenix looks so surprised that Dream almost feels offended. He’s capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much. “That’s cool.”
“Yup,” he lets the ‘p’ pop as he turns to his small kitchen unit to get himself something to drink. “What about you?”
“We’re all doing great. Your information really helped us, by the way.”
“Yeah?” That’s good. Probably. At least, it means that he’s not going to be on their “enemy” list now. Hopefully, it means that. He’s certainly not going to rely on that—circumstances and opinions can change faster than you realize, and Dream doesn’t plan on being caught off-guard.
The newspaper article was bad enough. It’s not going to happen again. (Maybe it’s worse because he’d expected something like that for…months. And it still took him by surprise when he first saw it. It still surprises him.)
“Yeah,” Phoenix says, and his eyes crinkle like he’s smiling under the mask.
“I’m glad,” Dream says conversationally even if the anxiety in his stomach grows.
Whenever he thinks about it, he regrets giving the villains access to the entire Association’s database. They might’ve been nice to him, but he still doesn’t know them, and he doesn’t know their goal. He doesn’t know what they want to do with the information, but he’s very much aware of all the chaos they could instigate. All the hurt and pain—
He takes a sip from his cold water.
“You don’t really sound glad,” Phoenix notes, and there’s something in his voice that Dream can’t fully place, but it’s not curiosity, not only. It’s more than that, more than just caution as well.
“I mean…as long as you don’t use it to wipe out humanity, I don’t really care,” he says, and it’s not a lie, not really. Not fully. He still cares, even if they don’t use to harm innocent civilians. (Or heroes, for that matter. He might not want to go back to the Association, might hate them for all they did, but he still cares about the heroes working for them. For the junior heroes and all the trainees. He’s not so sure about the senior heroes anymore.)
“That’s not very hero-like of you,” Phoenix teases.
“It wasn’t very hero-like of me to even give you that information,” Dream bites out, but there’s no real heat behind his words. Not at Phoenix, anyway.
(He’s not sure yet if he’s angry at himself or if it’s just disappointment. Because heroes aren’t supposed to be selfish, and what he did was beyond that. This could endanger innocent people simply because he wanted to be free, because he didn’t go back to the Association with Guardian when he had the possibility.
And even if he’s not officially a hero anymore, he used to be. For a long time. And he still was when he gave the villains the information, when he made the deal, when he refused Guardian.)
“That’s fair,” Phoenix admits.
It’s quiet for a moment. Dream sips on his water, Phoenix is still spread out on Dream’s couch. He probably should have offered Phoenix something to drink.
“I saw the announcement,” Phoenix says, breaking the silence.
Dream frowns. “What announcement?”
“The Association’s. They declared you a public enemy.” Phoenix tilts his head to look at Dream. “Didn’t you know?”
“Oh, that.” He shrugs, trying to look and sound as casual as possible. He doesn’t care about it. He really, truly doesn’t care about it.
(Maybe if he lies often enough about it, he’ll start believing it himself.)
“Are you not surprised?” Phoenix asks, and it’s such a weird question that for a second, Dream can’t come up with an answer.
He’s not sure what he expected Phoenix to ask, but it wasn’t this. He didn’t expect to be asked if he was surprised—afraid, maybe. Anxious, definitely. But more a question about his plans, about his future. What he’s planning to do now.
Not whether he’s surprised or not.
“It is what it is,” he finally says. “It does— I mean, I told you before that something like this would happen. I guess I’m more surprised it took this long.”
Phoenix nods slowly. “True, you did mention it.” His head is still tilted, and his eyes never leave Dream. “But everything else is okay? You haven’t had any problems?”
Dream shifts, laughing quietly at the sudden topic change. He’s also expected to be asked more about this than just that. But okay, he’s fine with that. He doesn’t want to think further about the whole situation anyway. It’s just making his anxiety worse, and if his anxiety gets worse, he won’t be able to sleep properly tonight, and he still wants to sleep those twelve hours. Or longer. Hopefully longer.
“There haven’t been any kinds of problems,” he tells Phoenix. “Why are you asking?”
“Can I not be worried about a friend?”
And there it is again. Friend. As if Phoenix actually thinks they’re friends.
Maybe it’s to make Dream more comfortable, to get him to let his walls down and let them get closer to him even if he can’t think of any reason for them to do that.
He gave them the information, they let him go. What more is there that they could want? And why would they have waited until now when they held him hostage for months?
“And the truth?” Phoenix asks in a tone that makes it obvious that he really doesn’t believe Dream, and for some reason, it annoys him. It irritates him.
They’re not friends. Why can Phoenix not act like that? Why can he not stop acting like this?
“It’s not—” he stops, breathes out frustratedly. “I didn’t lie.”
“Sure.”
“I really didn’t,” Dream says, and there’s a pleading tone coloring his voice. He just wants Phoenix to drop it.
“I’m just curious, alright?” Phoenix defends himself. “And Bad has been annoying all of us.”
“Bad?” Why should Omen— he shakes his head. Why should any of them be worried about him? They don’t know him, and he doesn’t know them. They had him kidnapped and held him then hostage for a few weeks. There’s nothing more going on between them.
“Yeah, you have met him. You know how he is.”
He really doesn’t, but he’s not going to tell Phoenix that because it slowly seems like Phoenix actually thinks they’re something like acquaintances, maybe even friends. He’s not going to burst that bubble, especially because it might come in handy at a later time. Maybe.
It’s always a bad idea to cut contacts and connections anyway if there’s not a legitimate reason for doing so.
So, he just shrugs, says, “Kind of, I guess. Didn’t really spend a lot of time with him.”
“He’s just so…” Phoenix gestures with one hand. “I don’t know. He makes everyone nervous because he’s nervous about…something. Who even knows, so I decided that maybe knowing that you’re doing okay would ease his mind. Y’know.”
He doesn’t, he really doesn’t know. He’s not going to tell that Phoenix either.
He nods. “That makes sense.” It doesn’t. Not to him anyway. Maybe there’s something to it that he simply can’t understand.
Why should knowing that he’s doing fine ease Bad’s mind?
Whatever. Whatever. This is not his problem.
“Yeah, so,” Phoenix continues, returning to their previous topic. “There really haven’t been any problems? No heroes? No villains? Nothing like that?”
Dream snorts. “Why should villains even bother me? I haven’t done anything that would warrant this.”
He hasn’t shown his face around, hasn’t gotten involved in things he really shouldn’t be getting involved in, and in general, he’s just been lying low.
He’s been sleeping a lot, has been resting even more. And he worked, of course. But none of those things should be something that could anger villains or make them go after him.
Phoenix hesitates. “I mean— I guess there’s the chance that they, like, try to get to you, so they can bargain with the Association.”
Dream grits his teeth. It is something that could happen, but for that, they would have to find him first, and if the Association isn’t finding him, then he doubts anyone else would find him. There’s no warrant. Yet. It shouldn’t take long until there is one, although for now, that means that mercenaries and bounty hunters aren’t going to go after him.
“Because that worked so well for you,” he snarks.
“Well, when we kidnapped you, you were their employee, not their…their public enemy number one or whatever,” Phoenix points, and he’s not wrong. There’s definitely truth to it.
Maybe they should hold him hostage again and blackmail the Association by not giving him to the heroes and instead threaten them that they will make him join them if they don’t get whatever they want. Maybe that would out better than the previous attempt.
“I’m not their—” He frowns. “I’m not their public enemy number one. I’m just one of the dozens they have.” Right? He’s pretty sure he’s just a public enemy and not the public enemy, so he’s not even on top of their priority list. Truly, they couldn’t give less fucks about him, even now.
He’s not sad about it. It makes his life easier. And it also means he might be able to stay here and work in Niki’s café for longer than a few weeks.
“Doesn’t really matter,” Phoenix points out. “All the other people on the list are either already detained or on the run, so you’re, like, the only one who’s within reach.”
“Which they don’t know about,” Dream argues because as far as all those people that could try and take advantage of the situation, know he could be out of the country and on a different continent by now.
He’s not, obviously. But he could be. And they don’t know that.
It seems like the public in general doesn’t know what has happened in the past few months—all they know is that he disappeared, and that’s it. They could very well assume that he already fled all these months ago. It’s possible.
It also might be that he’s trying to convince himself of something that’s probably not the most logical conclusion.
These people aren’t idiots.
If he truly betrayed the Association and fled all those months ago, the announcement wouldn’t have been only made the past week.
He knows that; they know that. Everyone knows that.
“Okay, but how long is it going to take them to find that out? There are not a lot of powerful Superhumans walking around.”
“Don’t think too hard about it,” he dismisses it, and it surprises even himself how steady his voice is. He doesn’t feel even a bit of the confidence he’s trying to convince Phoenix he has.
“Don’t think too— are you even worried at all?” And Phoenix sounds so outraged that it almost makes Dream laugh.
“Of course.”
Of course, he is. How could he not be? How could he not be worried if this is about him?
And the worst part is that he doesn’t get why. He doesn’t get why everyone’s making such a big deal about all of this—why the villains aren’t just leaving him alone, why they’re not just letting him live his life, why they care. He doesn’t get the Association either, doesn’t get what they’re trying to do, or why they can’t just let him go.
There’s something about all this effort they’re putting into him that he’s never seen before, that he simply doesn’t understand.
“Then why are you acting like this?”
Dream shrugs and opts for the truth for the first time. “Because it makes me even more anxious than I already am.”
Phoenix frowns, and he looks so unhappy like this is something personal, like this is something concerning him or his close friends and not just some random hero who should be his enemy. “But ignoring that there are people running around that could find you either with their own powers or because they have the equipment for that, isn’t helping.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Dream agrees, flippant.
“So?”
Dream sighs, putting the glass down before he crosses his arms in front of his chest. “What do you even want me to do about it? Forever hide in this apartment and never go out again?”
“You could—” Phoenix breaks off.
“I could what?” Dream asks, head tilted.
“You could always come back,” he says softly. And it’s so quiet that Dream almost doesn’t hear it.
“What?”
He’s pretty sure he just misheard Phoenix. Actually, he’s very sure he did. Because why should Phoenix even offer something as ludicrous as this? It doesn’t make sense. There’s absolutely no reason for that.
Unless they want something from him that he can’t provide if he’s here? But even then…and what should that something be?
Phoenix leans back against the couch. “You heard what I said. You could always come back. The others wouldn’t mind.”
“And why should I?” he asks because he really wants to know what Phoenix is thinking. Or how he got the idea that Dream would want to come back. Or why he’s thinking that.
Phoenix rolls his eyes. “We just talked about it. You’re not safe here.”
Dream pulls a face. “I wouldn’t be safe with you either. You wouldn’t be safe,” he points out because it’s the truth, and even if they’re villains, they were nice to him during the time he’d been kidnapped. (Apart from the fact that they did kidnap him, but that’s not all that important.) So, he really doesn’t want to endanger them as long as they’re not actively harming anyone even if he might not agree with all their principles and methods.
“But it still would be safer than you being alone,” Phoenix argues. “All of us can fight.”
“And I can take care of myself,” Dream bites out because it feels like people keep forgetting that. Even if he’s not a hero anymore, he’s been trained like one. He’s been one for almost seven years, and he’s very fucking capable.
He’s not survived this long because he’s incompetent.
Phoenix breathes out, and he looks as frustrated as Dream feels.
“Thanks for your offer,” Dream says, trying to appease Phoenix, “but I don’t think— I don’t think I can take it.”
“But why? I don’t understand.”
Dream understands just as much.
“I don’t want to put you in danger,” Dream says again. Maybe if he focuses on them instead of him, Phoenix will get it and back off.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would,” Dream disagrees because he would. Because all of this is just drawing it out until he’s found and brought back to the Association. And while he hates it, while he doesn’t want it, it’s better if he doesn’t drag others into his own mess. “And you know that. We all know that.”
Phoenix runs his hand through his hair, tugs on it. He looks angry. Not angry at Dream, per se—he doesn’t look like he wants to kill Dream, so he takes it as a win—but he is angry, and it makes Dream anticipate the worst. Even if he’s not angry at Dream, he really doesn’t want to come in between Phoenix and whatever he decides would be the perfect way to let off steam.
“I’m sorry,” Dream says quietly.
“There’s nothing—” Now Phoenix just looks frustrated. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“But you’re angry,” he points out.
“I am,” Phoenix agrees. “But not— not because of you.”
“I know that.”
“Then why were you apologizing?”
Dream shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.”
Apologizing always seems to help, even if he doesn’t have to apologize, even if there’s nothing that he even has to apologize for. If it works, it works.
“Just…keep it in mind, okay?”
“Sure,” Dream lies.
It would be the easiest way. Of course, it would be. But he’s not sure he can do it. He’s not sure he can get his conscience to agree with that.
(Maybe because that base was so obviously their home, and he doesn’t want to destroy another one.)
“Thank you,” Phoenix says, “it’ll help Bad.”
Dream scoffs quietly. That definitely seemed like it was only about Bad. Definitely. “I totally believe that,” he says.
Phoenix’s eyebrows furrow. “What?”
“What?” he gives back.
“Shut up,” Phoenix grounds out, but he doesn’t actually sound annoyed.
“You shut up first.”
“Fuck you, Dream,” Phoenix says, and it almost seems like he’s pouting. Maybe he is.
Big, bad villain Phoenix is pouting…if someone had told him that even four months ago, Dream would have laughed at them.
“Get out,” Dream tells him, but he doesn’t mean it.
Notes:
every time i look at my notes, i’m just like ????? why are there twenty more chapters planned
well, at least it’s not forty chapters anymore like originally lol
Chapter 10: wanted to be as free as a bird, but now i’m outlawed and alone | Dream VII
Notes:
title: paperblossom — antiheld.
the translation is a bit off but oh well
i’m like 99% sure that my migraines are trying to kill me, so should i suddenly disappear, just know it was murder
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It takes some time, but he settles in—slow and steady.
There’s no rush, and anyway. He wonders if there’s even a need to make the apartment feel like home. He won’t be able to stay here forever. It won’t be long until he has to move on and leave this apartment and Niki’s café behind because someone found him.
And the conversation with Phoenix didn’t help him to feel safe and reassured. (If anything, it just made his anxiety so much worse.)
But he tries not to focus on it too much—so long as it’s possible, so long as he’s not endangering others, he can stay, and when it happens, when he has to move away because it’s not safe for anyone around him anymore, he can start worrying about it.
Right now, he’s quite happy with his apartment which slowly feels more and more like it could be home, and his job at Niki’s café. It’s not the most filling thing he’s ever done, and it’s not some sort of life goal he’s had, and it’s certainly not what he wants to do for the rest of his life, but he does enjoy it (even if some customers really test his patience).
It’s nice, it’s grounding, and it’s something that forces him to get up in the morning. Without some sort of routine, he doesn’t think he would be able to get through life.
He puts his shoes on and grabs his keys before he leaves the apartment. It’s been getting colder and colder the past few weeks, and he dreads stepping out of the door—he doesn’t hate the cold (and he loves that he’s finally able to wear hoodies), but he’s already always freezing, and winter hasn’t even really begun yet.
The moment, he sees snow, it will be over for him.
He pulls the hood of his jacket up even though it’s just down the stairs and then a few more steps to get to the café. His ears are still freezing.
He steps through the door to the café; the lights are already on, and if Dream remembers correctly, Niki told him that she planned on pre-baking today.
“Hey,” he calls out, pulling his jacket off as he heads towards the staff room.
“Hey, Drew!” Niki yells back.
But before he’s able to push the door open, someone else has already opened it.
A man stands in the doorway; he’s older than Dream, maybe in his thirties if he had to guess. And there’s something oddly familiar about him.
He frowns.
He can’t place him, so maybe he’s just imagining it. It’s possible that he’s met another guy who looked similar to him, or maybe he’s once seen him while he still worked as a hero or even in the past few weeks without properly noticing him.
It doesn’t have to mean anything.
“Hi,” Dream says, forcing a smile on his face, “I’m Drew, Niki’s new hire.” He’s not all that new anymore, after all, it’s been a few weeks already, but he’s never talked to the man before, so it’s just easier that way.
The man looks at him; he doesn’t even blink as he ignores Dream’s extended hand.
“Nice to meet you,” Dream continues, still smiling. It feels awkward. He feels awkward, and the man makes him feel like he doesn’t belong here, like he shouldn’t be standing in Niki’s café, as if Dream somehow managed to personally offend him in the last three minutes.
He puts his hand down, frowns.
For some reason, the man looks like he’s seen a ghost—his eyes are wide, and his face is pale, and his hands are shaking.
“Are you okay?”
The man shakes his head, mutters a quick “sorry” and hurries away, out of the café and out of Dream’s sight. All Dream can do is blink, dumbfounded.
What was that? Did he do something? Did he somehow manage to offend the other?
Niki peeks out of the kitchen. “Everything okay?” she asks. There’s a bit of flour in her hair and even more on her forehead.
“You have—” He gestures at his own hair and forehead.
Niki blinks. “Oh,” she says, “could you remove it please? My hands are still dirty.”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.” She smiles at him.
Dream presses his lips together as he wonders whether he should ask Niki about the man or not. He’s obviously not been here for the first time, so he should know Niki.
Niki raises an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Who was that?” He nods towards the door that closed just a few minutes ago behind the stranger.
Niki frowns before she realizes who Dream is talking about. “Oh, that was Phil; he’s a friend. Did he say something?”
Dream shakes his head. Phil didn’t say anything at all. “I feel like I’ve offended him in some way,” he admits. “He didn’t seem to like me.”
“Huh.” Niki looks confused. “Normally, he’s not like this. I’ll talk to him.”
“Oh, no, no,” he quickly says. “You don’t have to. It’s— it’s fine. It was just confusing.” It certainly wouldn’t help his popularity with Phil to confront him with that (especially if this is actually, somehow, Dream’s fault. Although he’s very sure that this is not on him; maybe Phil just had a bad day.)
“Okay,” Niki says like she doesn’t believe him—she probably doesn’t. For a baker and café owner, Niki is far too perceptive and observant, and it’s unsettling. The only other people he knows that are like this are either Superheroes or villains. “So, if you’re already here, could you help me with the Berliners?”
“Of course,” he says, grabbing the closest apron he can find. “What do you need help with?”
“Could you knead the dough? My wrists are acting up.”
And with that, he forces the encounter out of his thoughts. It doesn’t matter. They probably won’t ever meet again anyway.
He turns, pulling the blanket up, so that it almost covers him entirely.
Sometimes, he wonders how different things would be if he did take Phoenix’s offer, if he did go back.
He doesn’t want to, he thinks. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to.
Maybe he does want to go back—otherwise, Phoenix’s words wouldn’t still swirl around in Dream’s head, wouldn’t keep him awake at night, wouldn’t have been something Dream even entertained for a second, right?
But what would change? How would it benefit any of them? Or would it just make everything worse?
It probably would make everything worse. He doesn’t even need his gut feeling to know that.
And there’s still the question why Phoenix offered something like that to begin with. There has to be a reason, and he really doubts it’s because of their kind-heartedness. (Although…they did make this possible. They did let him go. They did keep their promises.)
He buries his face in the blanket.
He should just start ignoring all of this, should act like none of these things ever happened, like he wasn’t a hero, like he hadn’t been kidnapped, like the Association hasn’t put a bounty on his head, and like the villains aren’t trying to get him back.
If he ignores these things and with that the problems coming with them, maybe there simply won’t be more popping up while the old ones will disappear into thin air, no longer bothering him.
That will definitely work.
(His chest is cold, and his fingers are trembling, and the oh, so familiar anxiety is closing his throat up.
Everything is fine.
He just has to act long enough like that for it to become true.)
He closes his eyes. He’ll just sleep for now, and once he wakes up, there are no longer any problems he has to deal with.
A few days later, there’s already someone waiting for him in the café.
“Hey, Drew,” Phil says; his nose and cheeks are red because of the cold, and his hair looks like a bird’s nest. “I’m sorry about last time.” And he sounds like he actually means it—why else would he even apologize to Dream if he didn’t mean it?
Dream looks up. “It’s fine.” He’s not an overly petty person, and it’s not like Phil harmed him in some way.
“It’s not really. It was really impolite of me, and I dislike that this was your first time meeting me.” Phil sighs. “I guess I owe you an explanation.”
An explanation? Dream is curious about what could lead to that kind of reaction, but no one owes him anything and especially not an explanation because of something like that.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “It’s fine. I get it, really. Sometimes, you just— you just have a bad day.”
“Doesn’t really excuse anything, does it now?”
Dream shrugs with one shoulder. “It doesn’t matter to me, to be honest. It’s in the past, so…whatever.”
If Phil wants to move on, he’s going to move on. There’s no need to linger further on this especially if Phil is sorry and has apologized for it. He doesn’t really see a point in it.
Phil pinches his nose. “That’s fair. How about a fresh start?” He stretches a hand out. “Nice to meet you, Drew,” he says, a small smile on his face. “I’m Phil although Niki probably told you already.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” Dream says, shaking Phil’s hand, then he furrows his eyebrows as he remembers the conversation he’s had with Niki. “Did Niki talk to you about it?”
“No, did she say she would?”
Dream shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Phil lifts an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push it.
“Do you also work here?” Dream finally asks. “I’m sorry if I’m— if I’m, like, overstepping, I’m just curious.”
Phil laughs. “You’re not. You can ask me whatever you want, and no, I don’t. Sometimes, I help out on weekends when I have the time like Techno does as well.” He pauses as if he’s remembering something. “Did you already meet Techno?”
“Yeah, I did. I’m not sure if he liked me though,” he says in a tone that suggests it’s a joke although it’s not actually one. He really isn’t sure whether Technoblade likes him or not. He’s met him a few more times since Niki introduced them to each other, but he still feels like Technoblade barely puts up with his presence and only acts civil for Niki.
Phil hums. “It’s nothing personal,” he says, mirroring Niki’s words.
“I’m not, like, offended or anything,” Dream says, offering a smile. He really isn’t. He gets it; sometimes, he dislikes people for simply existing even though he has no reason at all for that.
“To be honest,” Dream admits after a few moments of silence, “I thought that I somehow managed to offend you within two seconds of meeting you.”
Phil grimaces. “I’m really sorry for that. You just…reminded me of someone, and I wasn’t really prepared for that.”
“Ah,” Dream makes. “Yeah, I get that.”
It’s almost funny, now that he thinks about it. Phil reminded Dream of someone, and Dream reminded Phil of someone. As if they’ve met before already—but Dream is still pretty sure he’s never seen Phil in his life before they met in Niki’s café.
He’s not entirely sure though. His memories have never been the greatest. It is possible that they did meet before, and Dream just can’t remember. (Although he feels like Phil would say something if that was actually the case.)
“Anyway,” Phil continues. “You’ve been working here for a few weeks already, I’ve heard. Do you like it?”
Dream laughs quietly. “Niki is great. The job isn’t…my dream job or anything, but yeah, I’ve been enjoying it so far.”
“That’s great to hear,” Phil says, and it sounds like he means it.
“I really love the café,” Dream says, and it’s true. It’s cozy, and it’s warm, and it feels homey. Niki did a great job with the interior design, and there’s simply something about it that makes him not want to leave. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, he’s not entirely sure.
Phil nods in agreement before glances at his phone and curses under his breath. “I sadly have to go now though. It was nice meeting you properly. And thank you for not holding the last one over my head.”
“Eh,” Dream says, “it’s nothing.”
Phil smiles, and it looks so sad that Dream wants to hug him.
“See you soon,” he says instead.
Phil tips his head forwards. “Until then.”
It’s already dark when he’s on his way home. Niki had asked him if he could get her a few ingredients she forgot to buy that she needs for a new recipe she wants to try, and of course, Dream had agreed to get them for her.
He doesn’t have anything better to do anyway.
It’s probably also good for him—while working at the café forces him to get out of his bed and leave the apartment, he doesn’t really do a lot more than that, working and sleeping, so he never actually leaves the apartment complex.
(Just the thought of leaving the building and with that increasing the risk of being found, makes his stomach twist.)
Being out when it’s dark, doesn’t completely smother the anxiety festering in his throat, but it helps even though his fingers still tremble, and he’s more erratic than he’d like to admit.
He gets Niki’s things quickly—just a few spices, oranges, and red wine. He really has to ask her what she wants to do with them, all he knows is that it’s her grandmother’s traditional recipe.
Nothing has changed the past few days; the Association’s announcement has been out for weeks now, and still, no one has found him, but for some reason, it feels like his anxiety has just gotten worse. And it certainly doesn’t help that his chest has been cold for weeks now as if he’s constantly in danger, as if he has to expect an attack—whether it’s the heroes or the villains—any second, as if the moment he doesn’t pay attention, he’s signed his death sentence.
But since nothing has happened so far, he really should take it as a sign to ignore the weird feeling that’s settled into his chest. It’s just making everything worse and him even more paranoid than he already is.
It’s a gut feeling, he has to remind himself. It’s not his powers, and it’s certainly not some sort of precognition. He can’t tell the future, and gut feelings can be wrong. (They have been wrong before, and it’s wrong now as well.)
“That’s 16.85,” the cashier says.
He drops his wallet. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Sorry,” he adds, grimacing.
His fingers feel like they’re frozen in place, like the cold has rendered them useless. It takes far too long to get the banknote out and hand it over to the cashier. If he had a credit card, things would be easier for sure, but that’s just another thing that’s impossible for him to get.
“Have a nice evening,” the cashier tells him.
“You too,” he mutters, leaving the supermarket as quickly as he can. He hates grocery shopping so, so much.
When it’s possible, he sticks to brighter streets, to those where more people are. It’s not like the Association would particularly care whether there are witnesses, but they do care about collateral damage which makes him feel somewhat safer in more crowded places.
He’s just not sure if he can say the same about the villains.
Phoenix had been pretty open about him possibly ending up on some villain’s hit list, and while it’s hard to say how much truth there actually is to Phoenix’s words, he also doesn’t want to completely disregard it.
And especially not if he doesn’t have a choice but to go through side roads.
He quickens his steps, hand tightening around the bag. He pulls the collar of his jacket up, so even less of his face is visible.
“Excuse me,” someone drawls, effectively stopping Dream as he slowly turns to the side from where the greeting just came.
If he’s lucky, it’s just some guy who needs his help and nothing more. How high are the chances even that he’s meeting someone in this random street who has explicitly waited for him?
“Good evenin’,” Protesilaus says, crouching on a wall as he stares Dream down.
His face is completely covered by a mask, a hood pulled into his face, so that even his hair is completely hidden. A sword is strapped to his back as he crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“Protesilaus,” Dream says, laughing awkwardly.
“Dream,” Protesilaus gives back, and for a moment, the whole world stops.
It’s not a coincidence that the villain is here, that he’s waited for Dream to come out of the supermarket and walk through an almost empty alley—and it makes him wonder how long this has already been planned. How long he’d been watched, how long he’s not noticed that someone was following him.
This is not a coincidence, and Protesilaus is here specifically for him.
Things really couldn’t be worse.
How unlucky does he have to be?
“I think you have the wrong person,” he tries to deflect, well aware that there’s no way it will work.
“So, you’re tryin’ to tell me you’re not Dream,” Protesilaus says, and the amusement is obvious in his voice.
“Uhm, no. I’m not— I’m not Dream,” he says, then, “Dream like the hero?” Maybe if he acts stupider than he is, Protesilaus will be annoyed quickly and leave him alone. (Or it leads to Protesilaus attacking him because Dream has irritated him too much—that’s also a possibility and the more likely one. Probably.)
All he wants is to bring the groceries to Niki and then fall into his bed.
If he survives this, he promises himself to sleep for at least twelve hours. Hopefully longer. He doesn’t want to deal with any of this.
“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” Protesilaus says, standing up.
“I’m not— I don’t think you’re stupid, you just— you just have the wrong person because I’m not, well, I’m not Dream.” That’s definitely convincing. Everyone would buy that. Absolutely no one would think that he’s lying, that he’s not telling the truth.
The villain scoffs. “And I’m Santa Claus.”
“I wouldn’t— how would I know that? You could— I mean, it’s not— you could be.”
Protesilaus sighs—it’s long-suffering, and it’s obvious that he’s had enough of Dream—before he jumps down the wall. Dream can barely hear his feet hitting the pavement. “We both know the truth, Dream. And I’m curious about what you did.”
Dream takes a step back. “What I did?”
Of course, that’s what people would think. It makes sense.
He had to do something, and it had to be something really fucking bad, for him to disappear from the public’s eye and for the Association to denounce him publicly. There’s nothing else that could’ve happened. It had to be like that.
How is he even supposed to convince anyone (and especially the Syndicate) that this wasn’t the case?
“What did you do for the Association to turn on you?” Protesilaus repeats.
“I didn’t— I didn’t do anything,” he protests, knowing that he’s just admitted to being Dream. There’s no hiding now anymore.
“Well,” Protesilaus says, voice low and dangerous, “you had to do somethin’, and I want to know what it is.”
Dream takes another step back, electricity building up in his one hand while he clutches the bag with his other one.
“Would you believe me if I told you that I really didn’t do anything?” he asks finally, trying to change his tactic. Protesilaus obviously won’t believe that he hasn’t done anything, that the Association just declared him their enemy for no reason. Not after all the years, he’s spent as part of the highest-ranked Superheroes. “I didn’t…come back when they wanted me to, and now I’ve been, y’know, on the run.”
“On the run,” Protesilaus says like he doesn’t believe Dream. “The Association denounced you because you left it?”
Dream shrugs. It sounds stupid, like a reach when someone else says it, when people hear it who don’t know anything about the Association. But it’s the truth. Kind of. Maybe him choosing the villains over the Association made things worse than they already were. No, it definitely made things worse.
“If you say it like that, it sounds like a lie,” Dream says as if it’s going to help him be any more trustworthy.
“How about the truth then?”
“It’s the truth,” Dream argues weakly.
“The full truth,” Protesilaus corrects himself.
“I— I won’t be your problem. The Syndicate doesn’t have to worry about me ever again. Please just leave me alone,” he pleads even though he knows that there’s no way that the villain would actually comply with his wishes.
“Sorry,” Protesilaus says, “but I can’t do that.”
Dream curses, taking one step back, eyes always on the villain. No one knows what Protesilaus’ powers are except for Protesilaus himself and presumably the Syndicate, but there are rumors, they’re enhancers—maybe strength, maybe swiftness, maybe it’s something entirely else.
Before this, it was never overly important for Dream to know. Most of the time, he was able to keep up with Protesilaus’ fighting skills, and even so, he wasn’t expected to fight Protesilaus alone. There were always partners he could rely on, and even more backup waiting for him to need them.
He now wishes he had put more focus on finding out.
“Just tell me the truth,” Protesilaus says, and maybe it’s supposed to seem reassuring, that the villain will leave him alone once he’s said the truth, but the sword in his hands doesn’t make Dream feel better.
“There’s nothing more.”
He also regrets that he doesn’t have any weapons on him.
“I’ve left the Association and the hero life. You don’t— I’m not going to be a problem for you ever again.”
“Heroes don’t leave,” Protesilaus says like it’s a fact, like he’s personally met every hero to ever exist.
And he’s not entirely wrong.
It doesn’t help that it’s been seven years since his debut, that he’s not left the top ranks since he’d entered them, that it always seemed like he was the Association’s apple of the eye.
Someone like him doesn’t leave the Association simply because he doesn’t want to be a hero anymore. The Association and his work are supposed to be his whole life. If he was tired of being a hero, he’d train other heroes instead—that’s how it always seemed to work.
Someone like him wouldn’t leave without a reason, wouldn’t have a bounty on his head, and it makes sense that the villains would want to know why.
And the truth is too easy, doesn’t make enough sense for someone who’s never worked for or with the Association, seems simply like a lie for people who don’t know how the Association works.
“Well,” Dream says; there’s an opening to his left. He won’t be able to return to the café for now—although it’s possible that the Syndicate already knows about that too. If they were able to track him down, he really doesn’t have to expect that they don’t know where he lives or works. “I did.”
“If I were you,” Protesilaus says lowly, coming even closer, “I wouldn’t try to run.”
Dream breathes out. “What do you want me to tell you?”
“The truth.”
His nails dig into his skin. “I told the truth. I left the Association, and they didn’t like that.” He bites his lip as he tries to figure out whether mentioning his kidnapping would help him or not. “And I might have given Phoenix and Error information.”
“What information?”
“I—” He swallows. “I gave them access to the Association’s database.”
Protesilaus laughs, and it sounds so disbelieving that Dream winces. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, then.
“Why would you do somethin’ like that?” He sounds far too amused. “No wonder the Association wants your head.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Dream mutters more to himself than Protesilaus, but the villain still hears it.
“Not a choice? You?”
And of course, that, sounds like a lie, too. Heroes wanted to be heroes. Heroes chose this life. Heroes made this decision themselves. Or so it should be like.
Dream shrugs. “That’s why I’m on the run,” he quickly changes topics.
“The number one hero workin’ with the villains…as expected, eh?”
Expected? There’s a lot to be expected; he doesn’t think him working with the villains is one of those things.
“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.
“Do any of you actually believe in what you do or is it just for fame and money?”
“That’s not true,” Dream bites out.
Protesilaus tilts his head. “Not true? That’s why you threw your values out of the window and helped the villains? Without even knowin’ what they could do with that information?”
He grits his teeth. “You don’t know me.” But he’s not wrong. Maybe that’s the worst part. He’s not wrong.
Even though Protesilaus just guessed, even though he knows nothing about the circumstances or Dream’s motives, he’s right.
He doesn’t know what the villains plan to do with the information. (And the only reason why he gave them access is because he’s selfish, so fucking selfish.)
He knows. He should have never mentioned the offer, and he shouldn’t have taken the deal. For a hero, keeping people safe should be more important than anything else, and he didn’t do that. He put his own life over others, and now he’s running away instead of facing the consequences of his actions.
Protesilaus just laughs. “Sure, keep lyin’ to yourself.” He tips against his forehead. “Have a nice evenin’, hero.”
And he puts so much bitter, angry emphasis on the last word, that Dream wonders once again what the heroes did for Protesilaus to hate them so much.
Notes:
a berliner (or technically berliner pfannkuchen) is a german donut without a hole in the middle. they’re filled with jam (e.g. strawberry or raspberry), but it usually depends on where you are and on the season, what fillings (and toppings) they have
Chapter 11: he runs because he knows he cannot hide | Dream VIII
Notes:
title: alec benjamin — outrunning karma.
Chapter Text
Somehow, he gets home.
He’s not even sure how he managed to do so; his memories are fuzzy, and he feels like someone is controlling him.
But he gets to Niki’s café safely—there are no more villains waiting for him or heroes attacking him or someone robbing him.
He pushes the door open; his arms feel weak, and he doesn’t understand why he feels like this. It’s not his first encounter with villains by far, and really. There’s no reason why he should feel so…out of control. Like this whole situation is slipping out of his fingers and leaving him behind, defenseless and unable to breathe.
“Hey, Drew!” Niki calls out, smiling, but then she looks longer at him—so long that he starts to squirm under her eyes—and there’s a tightness on her face that doesn’t make sense. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Dream gets out. “Everything’s great.”
Now Niki is frowning. “Are you sure? You’re really pale. You look like you’re going to pass out.”
Dream forces a smile on his face. He also feels like he’s going to pass out. And like he’s going to throw up. And like the best way to deal with this whole situation is to climb the tallest building in the city and—
He breathes out. This is not helping anyone. “I think I’m sick,” he admits.
“Oh, no,” she says. “Why didn’t you say anything? I wouldn’t have asked you to go to the supermarket.”
“It’s fine,” he presses out, and it’s very much not fine.
All of this feels like one big conspiracy. How did Protesilaus know that he would be getting groceries today? Was he waiting every day just to make sure he wouldn’t miss Dream? But then the easier way would’ve been to just visit Dream in his apartment.
Niki hums, pressing a hand against Dream’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm. Are you sure it’s nothing else?” And there’s a sharpness in her words, in her eyes that seems completely misplaced.
There’s no reason for Dream to lie to Niki—or at least that’s how she should think. He’s just some random young man who moved to the city a few weeks ago and who needed a job, nothing more, nothing less. And that guy doesn’t have anything to hide, doesn’t need to lie to Niki, doesn’t have to act like someone he isn’t.
“Yeah. I feel, uh, I feel a migraine coming up,” he quickly says. “They always make me, like, feel sick.”
Niki nods. “That makes sense,” she mutters. “If you don’t feel better soon, just let me know, okay?”
“Thank you,” he says, and he’s so exhausted that he can’t even get himself to fake another smile.
“Always,” she says. “If something or someone is bothering you, you can tell me.”
And there’s a weird emphasis on “someone,” but Dream decides to not question it further. It probably doesn’t mean anything anyway.
“Alright,” he says instead, “I think I really should go to bed now.” He forces an awkward laugh out.
“Sleep well.”
“You, too.”
The moment, the door shuts close, he stops breathing.
He can’t stay here. He knew that, knew that he wouldn’t be able to stay for long at one place, knew that he would have to move at some point, but he’d expected it to be because of the heroes, not because of the villains.
Was this whole thing something planned for a long time? Did Phoenix know when he last visited Dream? Were all the villains aware of it and it wasn’t just a warning, so that he’d be more cautious, but because they knew it would happen?
He knew this would happen, and he still didn’t make a Plan B because he had hoped it would take longer.
A fool. He’s a goddamn fool.
And now that the villains know, maybe have known for months now, it can’t take long until the heroes will be aware of it as well.
Information like this travels fast, especially in the Superpowered Community. There’s no way this information will stay undetected, will be ignored by the Association or the Association’s allies, and especially not now that there’s a fucking bounty on his head.
He can’t stay here, and he’s not sure what the best course of action is. If there even is one. If it makes sense to continue all of this when things are going to stay the same until he’s either dead or captured.
The Association wants him back, and for all he knows, the villains also might have something planned.
Why him? Why him out of all the heroes? Why couldn’t they have kidnapped someone else?
The next day, he wakes up with a plan and anxiety gnawing on his flesh.
The first step is to tell Niki that he has to resign, and then he has to pack all his belongings and find a new place to stay. Thankfully, he’s not tied to a lease since the whole thing wasn’t really legal to begin with which means one problem less.
The actual problem is still money, but he has some now, so until then and if he doesn’t find another job, he might have time to figure something out.
(And there are still the villains. Even if he doesn’t want to, even if it feels like he’s just using them—the apartment has already been more help than he’s expected—, but they would be a possibility.)
He’s not scheduled to work today which he is now thankful for, but he’s still standing in front of the café at seven AM, rubbing his hands to keep them warm as he waits for Niki to arrive. He probably could’ve done it later too, but he wants to get this done before there are customers or even any of Niki’s other employees here.
Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long for Niki to get there.
“What are you doing here?” Niki asks, the skin crinkling around her eyes as she smiles. “You’re not scheduled for today, no?”
“Hey,” he says, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie instead of answering her question.
“Hey,” Niki says slowly. “What’s wrong?”
He laughs awkwardly. “Nothing, nothing.” He forgot to come up with a reason why he has to resign after needing a job so desperately just a few weeks ago. And he can’t tell her the truth—or he could; he just doesn’t think it’ll end well for him.
He’s really not keen on getting the heroes called on him.
Niki raises an eyebrow as she regards him. Her gaze is so intense that he shifts uncomfortably; once again he feels like someone is trying to read his mind and while he knew that Error wasn’t able to, it’s very much possible that Niki could. “You look like you robbed a bank.”
“Robbed— I— no, I wouldn’t—” he stumbles over his words as he tries to find the right thing to say.
Niki laughs. “I know. Don’t worry.”
Then she sighs before she unlocks the door. “Let’s go inside first.”
“Alright,” Dream mumbles as he follows her, but he doesn’t take his own coat off when she does.
It makes Niki tilt her head. “Seriously, you look like you have to tell me something that I’m not going to like.”
“Yeah…”
He doesn’t even know why it’s so difficult for him to just say what’s wrong, to tell her that he can’t continue working for her. The longer he stays here, trying to find the right thing to say, the less likely it will actually happen. He already sees himself caving and staying before he can even get a word out about the reason why he’s here.
“Spit it out. What’s wrong?” she says lightly, but there’s an edge to her voice.
“I have to resign,” he finally chokes out so fast that he doubts Niki has been able to understand him.
Niki’s face goes slack for a moment before she blinks. “Sorry, what?”
“I have to resign,” he repeats, looking everywhere but not at Niki.
“Why? I thought you liked it here. Is there, like— is there a problem?” And she sounds so upset that Dream wants to take everything he’s just said back and tell her it was just a big joke.
“Oh, no, no,” he says quickly. “It’s nothing— it doesn’t have anything to do with you.”
It, for sure, would be easier if it had to do something with her. Or his other co-workers. Or the clients. But even they were fine for the most part.
“Then why?”
Dream bites his lip. “There have been…problems.”
“Problems?”
“I can’t really say anything, but they’re like…personal problems.”
Maybe he should’ve told her that his mother died and that he has to go back to his family to support them now. It would’ve been the easiest and quickest solution, and the only one that wouldn’t lead to more questions.
“Oh,” Niki says, and for a moment, there’s something on her face that Dream can’t fully read. “I’m sorry if I’m being pushy, but does it have to do with the Association?”
“What?”
Considering the number of times, he’s mishearing things, he really should consider going to an otologist. Only that there’s this distant feeling that he’s not just misheard something, and that Niki knows exactly what she’s talking about.
“Their announcement?” Niki says casually like she didn’t just tell him that his tries to blend in were even worse than he’d thought. It’s a wonder that the heroes haven’t even found him yet.
“What do you mean?” he asks, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. He definitely doesn’t know what Niki’s talking about; there’s still hope that she’ll believe him. Although the chances are very slim—or basically non-existent.
“That they’re searching for you,” she says so patiently that it almost makes him feel like she’s talking to a small child.
“I’m not—” he starts and then stops. “I’m not a hero,” he finally settles on. It’s the truth. He’s not a hero anymore.
(Was he ever a hero to begin with? His job was being a hero, but it doesn’t feel anymore like any of them were truly heroes.
Maybe it had started like this once, maybe this had been the goal back when the Association had been first established, but it’s not the truth anymore. Is it?)
“So, you’re not Dream?” She smiles, but it’s sharp and nothing like the smiles he’s used to.
He breathes out and then breathes in slowly.
He doesn’t know how she’s able to say all of this so off-handedly as if it doesn’t mean anything—only that it probably really doesn’t mean a lot to her.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he eventually asks.
It sounds like she’s known this for quite some time, and like she’s heard that the Association is trying to find him. There’s no reason for her to protect him and keep his identity a secret.
If he were her, if he were a civilian, he would’ve called the Association the moment, he’d realized that there’s a hero running around in his café. And especially once it came out that he’s on the run and wanted.
While the Association never released an exact reason, they did reveal that he defected, and they warned the civil population that he’s dangerous.
Niki shrugs. “You obviously didn’t want me to know.”
“Have you known about this the entire time?”
“Maybe,” she says like she thinks he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth. It’s probably not wrong. Especially if she did know about it since the very beginning.
He presses his lips together as he tries to figure out if he should ask or if it would make things worse, but in the end, he’s too curious to not ask. “Why didn’t you tell the heroes?”
Niki snorts. “I don’t like them.”
“Then why—” He bites the inside of his cheeks. If she knew, if she doesn’t like heroes, then it doesn’t make sense that she was alright with offering one of them a job. Even if it’s a rogue one.
“You didn’t destroy my café three times. And the Association never paid compensation even though they had promised to.”
“That…makes sense, I guess.”
The Association always boasts that they will pay for everything that their heroes destroy, and it makes him wonder if this has happened to other people as well.
He sighs. There’s no way this was an isolated incident.
“See.” Niki smiles pleasantly, then, “So, does it have to do with that?”
“Kind of? Not really though. I don’t— I can’t really explain.” He doesn’t want to explain that the Syndicate found him—and while Protesilaus didn’t outright threaten him, Dream isn’t enough of a fool to get in the way of the villains. He’s more than lucky that Protesilaus only wanted to talk to him and didn’t immediately try to eliminate him.
In general, he’s been quite lucky with his encounters with villains—that’s the good thing that he’s never arrested a member of the Syndicate or from Phoenix and Error’s group.
Or maybe it wasn’t really luck, and all the villains are trying to figure out what the hell is going on before getting rid of him.
If the Association’s attention is on him, they have more wiggle room for their own plans.
“That’s fine. You can still work here, you know.”
It’s a nice offer, and it’s an offer he can’t take.
“Yeah, but—”
“No buts,” she interrupts him. “As long as it’s possible, and you want, of course, you can work here.”
“The heroes—”
“I don’t see any in front of the café right now,” she says flippantly like she’s challenging him to disagree with her.
And he can’t really, not if he blames the heroes for wanting to resign.
“Are you sure?”
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.” This just reminds him of their first encounter.
He wonders if Technoblade and Phil know, too.
“But you’d still be in danger, especially with some of the villains around,” he points out, trying to steer the conversation to the real problem.
While the heroes might not have found him yet, the villains sure as hell did.
But Niki still looks unbothered. “Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem for us here.”
He frowns. How can she be so sure? And with him around on top of that? “What do you mean?”
She tilts her head, a small smile on her face. “How do you think you got this apartment?”
And…
He doesn’t know the landlord. The villains told him to not worry, that they would take care of the lease, that it wouldn’t a problem or a bother, and it happened all within two weeks.
And Phoenix said that he knows Niki.
Phoenix knows Niki which would also mean that Niki knows Phoenix. Maybe there’s a possibility that Niki only knows Phoenix’s civilian identity, but still…
That would also explain why Niki doesn’t seem to care or is overly surprised. Or why she’s not ratted him out.
It might be true that she doesn’t like the heroes, but if she knows villains, if they come over every so often, if they’re her clients or even friends, she obviously wouldn’t want heroes to be around her or her café.
“Phoenix said he knows you.” He feels dazed.
“That’s right.” Niki laughs lightly. “Like I said. If you want, you can continue to work here. Or maybe until you’ve found something new?”
He still feels uncomfortable taking the offer, still feels like he’s putting her in danger unnecessarily, but…if the villains won’t harm her, he can stick around for a few more weeks.
(And—he really doesn’t want to think about it—if she knows the villains, if the villains know her and don’t have a problem asking her for favors and sticking around her… It’s possible that she befriended them and that there’s nothing more to it, he just doesn’t have the feeling that this is it.)
“If you’re sure that it’ll be okay…”
“I’m sure, but…do you need more time to think?”
“For now,” he agrees meekly.
But even so, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay in the apartment. Niki might be safe, but he doesn’t feel safe enough there. And it might be a good idea to stay away as often as possible from this place if he wants to continue working in Niki’s café for longer.
So, he asks her, “Can you give Phoenix or Error this the next time you see them?” as he hands her a thin letter.
He doesn’t know when he’s going to see them next, and should he see them when he works in the café, then he can explain to them the situation himself, but he doesn’t want them to worry if they break into his apartment like Phoenix did last time, and neither he nor his belongings are still there.
Originally, he’d wanted to put it on the table and hope they would find it, but since they know Niki, since Niki knows them and their villain identity, this might be the better idea. And if necessary, Niki can tell them more.
Niki takes the letter carefully, turns it once in her hands before she puts it in her bag. “Yeah. What is it if you don’t mind me asking?”
Dream shrugs. “I don’t really care, but, well, I just can’t stay in the apartment right now.”
Niki nods slowly. “The same thing?”
Dream hums as an answer. “It’s related, I guess. I…have a few things to do, and I can’t— I don’t think I can stay here for that.”
And thankfully, Niki doesn’t try to convince him to stay in the apartment as well. He probably would buckle and agree faster than he can think about the consequences.
“Do you already have a place?” she asks instead.
“Yeah,” he lies, and he’s not sure if she knows that he’s lying, but she doesn’t say anything. She just nods.
“Okay. I’ll tell them.”
He forces a smile on his face. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
It’s already late and dark when his shift ends, and he’s able to finally get on his way back to the hostel.
That’s one of the things, he really misses about living right above Niki’s café—now it takes him at least thirty minutes until he’s able to just fall into his bed and sleep once he’s finished, but it’s whatever. Anything else feels too dangerous even if nothing has happened. Yet.
He could take the tram, probably—it would be faster, for sure—, but that’d be more expensive, there are too many people around him, and he doesn’t like not knowing how to quickly escape in case something does happen.
And anyway, clearing his head by walking through the city and breathing in the somewhat clear night air is maybe the best way to avoid being send into frantic panic every day.
He stops in front of a grocery store. He hasn’t had time to buy groceries yet, and while he’s able to eat at Niki’s café, he doesn’t want to exploit her generosity. (Grocery shopping. He grimaces. Hopefully, there’s no villain waiting on his way back this time.)
At least, it doesn’t take long to get his things—it’s helpful that he can’t store a lot, and that he doesn’t have a fridge or a way to refrigerate food, even if that means his meals won’t be overly nutritious or varied.
“Excuse me, but you seem familiar,” an older lady tells him. “Do we know each other?”
He laughs awkwardly, waving her comment aside. “That’s probably just because of the mask.” Note to himself: He should just go straight back to his hostel next time.
“No, no,” she says. “It’s not that.” She shakes her head. “My mind might play tricks on me. I’m sorry for this.”
“It’s okay,” he says. “I mean, I’m not, like, doing anything here except waiting to pay.”
He smiles at her.
And next to them, the building explodes.
His ears are ringing. People are screaming.
“Are you okay?” he asks the lady, frantically checking her over for injuries from when she fell as he helps her get up.
“No, I’m fine,” she says, patting his arm.
He scans the other people around him, but all of them seem to be okay. A few are already notifying authorities about the explosion—that’s the only good thing about multiple villain attacks each month. Most people aren’t overly shocked by them anymore.
He glances up—there’s one on the rooftop on the opposite side. There are probably more on this side of the street, and maybe even some under the people rushing away from the fire outside.
It might be safer to stay in here; the attack wasn’t directed at this place and with all the people outside, it’s easy to get hurt.
“Stay here,” he tells the older lady. “I’m right back.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, and Dream doesn’t have an answer for that.
The sensible, logical thing to do would either stay here with the older lady or get the fuck away. It’s stupid for him to get involved in something that doesn’t involve him, but there’s something in him that forces him out of the store.
He breathes out, pulls the hood of his jacket down into his face and walks into the building.
This is stupid, he tells himself; he should just turn around and walk out before someone sees him. The heroes can take care of this, they’re already notified, and they should be here anytime soon.
He doesn’t see anyone (because no one is fucking stupid enough to walk into a building that just got attacked by villains), but he still doesn’t turn around.
This might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done.
He takes the stairs to the second floor, and to the third.
And then he hears crying.
He turns around the corner.
“Hey,” he says, pulling his hood down and removing his mask as he slowly approaches the boy. He’s shaking and crying and probably not even in school yet.
“Dream?” the boy hiccups, and his eyes are wide and watery, and maybe it was stupid to go up here, but he doesn’t want to know what might have had happened to the boy if the villains found him first.
He smiles, kneels down in front of the boy, so that he can look him in the eyes. “That’s right. I’m Dream. Where are your parents?”
“Dad—” The boy starts to cry harder.
Dream shushes him gently. “How about we go find your dad, hm?”
“Please.”
“Do you want me to carry you, or do you want to walk?” he asks, putting the mask on again. If he meets anyone he knows, he really doesn’t want them to recognize him. Or in the worst-case scenario news reporters getting even more footage of him.
The boy just lifts his arms.
“Alright,” Dream says, settling the boy onto his hip. “What’s your name?”
“Leo,” the boy mumbles.
Dream hums. “That’s a nice name.”
He quickly makes his way down the staircase, carefully listening for any sudden noises and reaching out with his powers, so that he can react faster if someone’s coming close to them.
But there’s so much electricity in the whole building, especially after the explosion, that it’s almost impossible to tell whether it’s a threat or not.
“Don’t move. Let the boy go.”
Dream freezes, the boy in his arms.
“Who are you?” the hero—Frost—asks, and she’s one of the older Superheroes, one he spent most of his trainee days with. Maybe he could tell her the truth, tell her that he never betrayed the Association. There’s a possibility that she would believe him, but…
He’s not going to risk this. He’s not going to risk anything because of a hunch.
He slowly puts Leo down on the floor, gently pushes him towards Frost. “Go,” he tells him. “She’s going to help you find your dad.”
The boy stares at him with wide eyes, but Dream just nods encouragingly. “Go on.”
When he looks back up, Frost is staring at him. “Dream?” she asks. “What are you—”
He doesn’t hear the rest.
The window breaks under his fingers, and then he falls.
He lets himself guide by all the other people rushing away from the explosion. His knee hurts—because, surprise, but jumping out of the window isn’t the best idea he’s ever had. Especially without special equipment.
But he’s still able to walk, and he’s alive, so really. What else can he want? (He’s going to ignore that his knee really doesn’t feel good and that working tomorrow might be getting a lot harder.)
He’s survived worse injuries.
And now, he just wants to get back to the hostel and sleep. He can do his grocery shopping on a different day. Or simply not at all anymore.
Maybe that’s the better decision.
Someone’s following him.
He can’t see anyone, but he can feel them. He can feel their eyes on him.
He doesn’t know since when they’ve been following him, but it’s been some time. Maybe even since he jumped out of the window, only that it’s been impossible to even find them.
He doubts that they’re a hero, otherwise they would’ve either attacked him by now or would have called for backup which shouldn’t take this long to arrive. Taking the streets is so much slower than using the roofs; there’s no way it would take so long to get to him.
It’s possible that it’s a villain, but even that is doubtful. Only…who else would it be?
And he doesn’t want to lead them back to the hostel where he stays.
He stops, turns around. There’s no one. Until he hears someone meow.
A small tabby cat appears around the corner. She stares at him, wide-eyed and far too intelligent.
He sighs, curses quietly.
“That was you the whole time?” he asks her like she can answer him.
There’s no collar around her neck, and she’s too thin to belong to someone which also makes him doubt that she’s a shapeshifter.
“Go,” he tells her but instead of listening to him, she rubs her face against his legs.
“C’mon,” he says, “you probably have better things to do than follow me.”
She quietly meows, paws at his leg.
“What do you want?” he sighs, but he bends down to let her sniff at his hand before he pats her. “Was that all you wanted?”
She looks up at him.
“You can’t stay with me,” he says; it feels so stupid to have this discussion with a cat.
He straightens back up. Maybe if he ignores her, she’s going to get bored and leave him alone.
She doesn’t.
He tries to shoo her away, but she still doesn’t leave. She just stares at him with wide eyes.
“Fine,” he grumbles and starts walking again.
If the cat wants to follow him, he’s not going to stop her. (It feels like he wouldn’t even be able to stop her if he wanted to.) He just hopes she’s not a shapeshifter.
He doesn’t know any heroes—or trainees, for that matter—who are able to shapeshift into animals. There are also no villains he’s aware of, so maybe even if the cat is actually a shapeshifter, if he’s lucky, she’s not a threat.
Lucky.
He snorts.
With his luck, the cat is actually a new Superhero he’s just never heard about because she’s the Association’s newest Superweapon.
He breathes out.
If she’s the reason that the heroes discover him, he’s going to be mad.
This evening, he turns on the old TV in his room—one leg propped up, an ice package he’s gotten from the hostel owner on his knee. To his surprise, the TV still works; considering how it looks, it really should not work at all, and it makes him realize that, maybe, it’s finally time to get a phone, so he can keep up with the news.
He clicks through the different channels; there’s nothing interesting, nothing exciting until he gets to a channel where the latest villain attack is the topic. He stops.
The building is burning, still smoking, but it seems to be from a few hours ago.
Then they show a young boy in the arms of his father. Dream bites his lip.
“Dream saved me from the villains!” Leo exclaims. “He was there!”
It cuts back to the news reporter. “Is former Superhero Dream working with the villains?” she asks her colleague.
“It’s possible,” he says. “Experts speculate that this might be a manipulation tactic to get the general public on his side. It is the first time, we have seen him in months, and it only happened after the Hero Association commented on his departure.”
He swallows bile. What the fuck.
Everything is fine. He’s totally calm. There’s absolutely no problem, at all. He’s just going to ignore all of this.
(Maybe he should stop listening to his gut feelings.)
The next day, when he steps out of the hostel to get to Niki’s café, a small tabby cat is waiting for him at the entrance.
“What?” he mumbles.
She meows and looks at him with her big eyes accusatory.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but he bends down to pat her, cursing silently when his knee starts throbbing again.
On the entire way to Niki’s café, she follows him, always a few meters behind. He doesn’t even see her most of the time, but he’s always far too aware of her presence.
He stops in front of the café, turning around to the cat sitting a few meters away from him.
“Go away,” he says. She doesn’t.
“Leave.” She just meows.
“Okay,” he groans. He’s not going to be able to get rid of her, is he? “I should at least give you a name, huh?”
She licks her white paws.
He tilts his head, squints. “What do you think about Patches?”
Chapter 12: a place that becomes meaningless | George II
Notes:
title: kang daniel — antidote.
my brother’s ex-girlfriend gave birth, and cps is a literal joke, but oh, well :’) nothing’s been set on fire, so progress, i would say.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
To absolutely no one’s surprise, Dream does not return with Sapnap. George isn’t even sure what exactly Sapnap’s goal was, but he’s not going to say anything.
Bad has been annoying all of them, and he’s hopeful that it will quell Bad’s (and Sapnap’s, it’s not like he’s any better—in fact, he’s probably worse and blames everything on Bad) worry for at least a day.
It’s a good thing that Punz has returned from whatever secret mission he was on—George is pretty sure it starts with the letter “a” and ends with “ssassination,” but none of them say it out loud because there are people in their friend group who like to pretend, they are law-abiding citizens—, so there’s one more person they can annoy.
Only that Punz doesn’t seem to be all that happy that the hero was at their main base, so Sapnap and Bad are most likely going to annoy him again.
(“You should understand it the best,” Sapnap whines.
He’s not worried. Shut up.)
At least, George can lock himself in his room with the excuse that he’s actually doing something productive compared to certain other people. (He definitely doesn’t mean Sapnap with that.)
It’s not like he doesn’t understand why they’re acting like this—especially after the Association denounced Dream, especially after what he’s read about past heroes and their suspicious disappearances.
And especially not after the latest news.
George doesn’t understand what exactly led to Dream deciding that he needed to save a child who would immediately rat him out to the journalists after trying to lie low for weeks, but maybe this is what George lacks to become a hero.
(He doesn’t think he’s selfish, per se, he’s just more…self-centered than a hero probably should be. And he certainly wouldn’t stay at a crime scene for longer than necessary if he knows that people have it out for him, that they’re searching for him, simply because there’s the chance that he could save someone.)
He doesn’t know the exact circumstances of this situation; he just thinks that Dream is an idiot and luckier than he probably should be for getting away and not being captured by the Association. (Only if he were lucky, he wouldn’t even be in that situation, George guesses.)
And now, Sapnap wants to go visit Dream again, but George isn’t so sure about it.
It’s obvious that Dream wants to keep his distance from them, that he doesn’t want to go back to them, that he maybe doesn’t even want to work with them together if there was a reason to do so.
George still doesn’t know what Sapnap’s goal is—maybe he wants to annoy Dream so much until he says into their face that he doesn’t want to ever see them again—, and he has the feeling that Sapnap doesn’t really know it either.
He sighs. Maybe he should indulge Sapnap for a bit, go with him to visit Dream and hope they’re not going to annoy him too much, so that he’s not going to cut all contact with them in case they need his help again.
Because there’s also the whole problem that while Dream was helpful—more than helpful, really; it would’ve taken them ages to even gather all the information they now got with just one click—, it’s still not really what they need. Not what they’ve been searching for this entire time.
The database has been able to confirm certain rumors, certain theories they’ve had (and especially getting the information about the former Superheroes and their disappearances has been extremely important to them), but there’s nothing about the rumors that would be so vital for exposing the Association.
It makes George fear that they’re chasing ghosts, that there’s actually nothing to those rumors, that the Association’s darkest secrets are the deals they make with politicians and the money they send to law enforcement.
That Pandora’s Vault truly is simply a supermax to hold the most powerful and dangerous criminals.
He knows it’s not true, not after everything they’ve seen, but sometimes, he wonders. And he fears.
If they still haven’t found any evidence, how likely is it that they really conduct experiments on Superpowered humans?
But that just leads back to the fact that there’s no way they’re going to store information in a database when there are so many people with technology- and electricity-based powers running around.
Only this means that they have to find out where this information could be—breaking into the headquarters is almost impossible, and there’s a reason why they decided against it—but if they’re actually in there, maybe they don’t have another choice.
George bites his lower lip.
It also could be in the prison itself. As far as they know, the experiments are done in Pandora’s Vault, so it would make the most sense that the files and documents would be stored there.
And breaking into Pandora’s Vault is going to be even more difficult and impossible than breaking into the Citadel.
Maybe Dream knows more about it.
It’s possible.
None of them truly know how well the Association is able to keep what’s going on in Pandora’s Vault a secret, but since there are rumors that people outside of the Association are aware of, it wouldn’t be too far-fetched that the people working for the Association also know about them.
Or are part of it, for all they know.
Not all of the heroes are corrupt and aware of the things the Association is involved in, but enough of them are—and especially the top-ranked heroes.
So, it really wouldn’t be surprising if Dream knew something—he already knew about the database, and there seemed to be things he didn’t want to tell them; so, what more does he know?
How involved was he himself?
It certainly would explain why the Association is acting like this.
A few days after Dream has appeared on the news, they decide to go visit Dream. (Sapnap decides to go visit Dream and forces George to go with him. He still thinks they should keep their distance and not…force themselves into Dream’s life since they’re—kind of—the reason why Dream ended up in this situation to begin with, but Sapnap is annoying, and if George has to listen to him whine one more time, he’s not able to promise anything.)
So, he agreed.
And now, they’re standing in front of the apartment, waiting for Dream to open the door.
It’s been ten minutes since they rang the bell for the first time and not even a minute since the last time. And Sapnap gets more and more anxious, the longer they don’t receive an answer.
“Hm,” Sapnap makes, frowning, “this is weird.”
George sighs. “He’s probably out.”
Even with his face plastered all over billboards and newspapers, Dream most likely still doesn’t want to spend his entire time holed up in this tiny apartment. So maybe he’s out, enjoying the evening, the cold weather. Or maybe he’s working.
“I have a weird feeling about all this,” Sapnap announces, tipping a finger against his chin like he’s trying to figure out what his weird feeling is about.
“You’re still not able to tell the future,” George points out.
Sapnap turns to him, arms crossed in front of his chest. “And?”
“Just reminding you that this is a gut feeling and nothing else.”
George is never going to admit this, but Sapnap’s gut feelings are often correct. Not always, but far too often considering that his powers have absolutely nothing to do with precognition and clairvoyance.
Maybe he should try it out, too, but he knows that he’s far too much of a head person for this work.
“My gut feeling is always right.”
“Last time, your gut feeling was because you were hungry.”
“To be fair,” Sapnap says, “it was right. Something was wrong.”
A hungry Sapnap can be a very uncomfortable and angry Sapnap, and that’s not something they want him to be when he’s around important documents and equipment that aren’t fireproof.
George groans. “I fucking hate you.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“No, I’m, like, one hundred percent serious. I hate you.”
And now, Sapnap’s pouting. Of course.
“Fuck you,” George grumbles.
It doesn’t stop Sapnap from pouting—if anything, he’s pouting even more now.
“Do something or I’m going, idiot,” George demands.
It takes an entire minute for Sapnap to stop pouting, but then he turns to the door again, crouches down and inspects the keyhole.
“Last time, I broke into the apartment,” he says casually.
George almost chokes on his own spit. “You did what?”
Sapnap straightens up, shrugs with one shoulder. “He wasn’t here either, so…”
“You’re so stupid,” George says, and maybe he means that. Who in their right mind would break into someone else’s home? And why would Sapnap think that Dream would be willing to go back with him if he pulls something like this?
Sapnap frowns. “This is just rude now.”
“It’s the truth,” George hisses. “Why the fuck would you break into his goddamn apartment?”
“It was cold outside…” Sapnap says sheepishly, running one of his hands over his other arm.
“You’re insufferable,” George mutters as he rolls his eyes. “No wonder, he didn’t come back with you.”
“Dude,” Sapnap says as if he’s never thought of this. Maybe he didn’t—considering that he’s not even bothered to mention it before, it wouldn’t be surprising.
It makes George tilt his head. “What? It’s the truth. I wouldn’t want to befriend someone who first kidnaps me and then breaks into my apartment.”
That’s another thing both of them seem to forget at times, if George is honest. They did kidnap Dream; it’s not all that surprising, really, that he doesn’t want to have anything to do with them.
“So, what now?”
George shrugs. “Didn’t you say Dream works in Niki’s café? Maybe he’s there.”
“Hm,” Sapnap makes and nothing more.
“Don’t tell me you would’ve broken into his apartment again and then waited for him there.”
“Well…” Sapnap trails off.
George breathes out. “This is serial killer kind of behavior, Sapnap.”
“It’s not like this was my plan,” Sapnap defends himself as if this makes it any better. Like Dream would’ve known that there’s not a homicidal killer waiting for him.
“Who fucking raised you?” he groans.
Sapnap just grins.
“Shut up.”
“Guess this is your fault that I turned out like this.”
Yeah, he ran right into this one.
George rubs his forehead. “Is it too late to kick you out?”
“Yep,” Sapnap says, letting the ‘p’ pop. “Bad would probably be against it.”
“I blame Bad,” George mutters. “If he had just never picked you up…my life would’ve been so much better.” No annoying younger brothers, no annoying people who set everything on fire if things aren’t working out, and no annoying teammates who constantly eat all his food.
“Now you’re just saying things,” Sapnap says, flippant.
He can be lucky that it was Bad who found him because if it had been George…
Sapnap would still live on the streets.
“I’m going to punch you in the face next time we spar.”
Sapnap scoffs. “As if you could ever touch me.”
Who let Sapnap become this cocky? Maybe it’s Punz’s fault, now that he thinks about it. It’s definitely Punz’s fault. And to think that Sapnap used to be such a sweet child…
“Maybe I can convince Bad,” George mumbles.
“You know I’m right!”
“If you don’t shut up, I’ll show you how right you are,” George grumbles, but he’s not overly keen on actually fighting Sapnap in this staircase, so he just turns away.
They’re here for a reason, and fighting Sapnap can wait until they’re back home. Hopefully.
“Where are you going?” Sapnap calls after him, and he sounds so surprised like he’s actually expected a fight.
George has more self-control than that, thank you very much.
“Trying to find Dream,” George answers without turning back. “You know, the reason why we’re here? Or did your peanut brain already forget?”
Maybe he doesn’t actually have more self-control.
“I didn’t—” Sapnap doesn’t continue his sentence as he catches up with George.
George sighs. “Next time, just…don’t break into people’s apartments if they don’t give you explicit permission to do so, alright?”
“You’re so boring, George,” Sapnap complains. “We’re villains, remember?”
George snorts.
The ultimate villainous act: breaking into people’s apartments.
“First of all,” George says, stopping on the second-to-last stair, “that doesn’t mean you suddenly lose your manners, and secondly, I have common sense which you just completely lack.”
“You’re always so mean to me.”
“Because you’re fucking stupid.” George pushes the door open to the café. “And now shut up.”
The café, not very surprisingly, is still very busy; he can see Techno’s pink hair, but Dream is nowhere in sight.
Maybe he’s in the kitchen?
But before he can ask Sapnap if he asked Dream what exactly his job is—which he probably didn’t do, anyway—, Niki appears out of thin air. Ever since George has known her, this might be the creepiest thing about her: somehow, she’s always able to just suddenly appear at the right moment.
As far as George knows though, she can neither read thoughts nor teleport.
He’s not entirely sure about that one though.
“Hey, Niki,” Sapnap calls out, waving.
“Hey,” Niki says slowly as she comes closer. “What are you guys doing here?”
“Oh, you know,” George says, smiling, “we had to do something nearby, so we thought we would come to see you.”
Niki doesn’t look very convinced. “If you’re here for Dream, he’s not here.”
“Yeah,” George says, letting his smile drop. “We already realized that.”
He’s not in his apartment, and he’s not here, so maybe he just went out, has a bit of fun. He probably needs that after years of being a hero.
Every time, George thinks about the heroes and their daily life, everything about it sounds worse.
When he was younger, he didn’t understand why his parents didn’t want him to become a Superhero, but those times are long gone. (And he’s quite thankful for it.)
Niki chews on her lip. “We shouldn’t talk about this here.”
“Okay,” George agrees easily, exchanging glances with Sapnap.
He looks uncomfortable, anxious, and he’s been fidgeting with the hem of his jacket ever since they entered the café.
Sapnap likes being here just as much as George does.
She leads them away from the dining area to a room in the back of the café. Techno looks up when they pass him.
“So,” she says, sitting down on one of the chairs, gesturing for them to do the same. “He still works here, but he’s not…staying in his apartment anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Sapnap asks, frowning. “He just left?”
“He told me to give you this,” Niki says, pulling a piece of paper out of her pocket. George frowns; it looks like a letter. “And then he told me he wouldn’t be able to stay in the apartment anymore.”
The door opens, Techno quickly closes it behind him.
“Hi,” Sapnap says.
Techno nods, but otherwise, he stays quiet.
For a moment, Niki looks at him before she hands the letter to George.
He takes it carefully, turning it in his hands. There’s nothing written on the envelope, no names, no addresses, nothing, but he has the feeling that he’s not going to like what’s written inside.
And there’s also the feeling that Dream didn’t leave on his own accord.
He opens the envelope.
To Phoenix and Error,
I’m sorry that you have to learn about it this way, but something happened, and it’s not safe here for me anymore. It has nothing to do with the Association but with another group of villains. The incident is completely unrelated to you or your plans, so there’s nothing for you to worry about.
I’m going to ask Niki if she can relay this note to you, so if there’s a need to contact me, you can ask her.
Thank you for your help,
Dream
George raises his gaze from the piece of paper. “I thought you said he would be safe here.”
Niki scoffs. “Yeah, he was.”
“What did you do?” He knows this might be dangerous—they’re allied, but they’re not friends, and he should be more careful with what he says.
Only that he knows that the Syndicate was involved, and he doesn’t want their lies, doesn’t want whatever they came up with. He wants the truth.
It’s quiet for one, two moments, then, “You weren’t supposed to scare him,” Niki hisses.
“How could I have known that he would react like this?” Techno defends himself.
And it sounds like this is not the first time they have had this conversation.
George raises an eyebrow. “What happened?”
“Well,” Niki said, “we wanted to find out if he’s a threat to the Syndicate and what exactly his motives are since you didn’t tell me that the new tenant would be a former Superhero.”
“Sorry,” Sapnap mutters quietly.
George breathes out.
“It wasn’t supposed to scare him, especially because we wanted to be able to keep an eye on him,” Niki continues. “But that didn’t work out that way.”
Techno raises his hands. “I didn’t expect him to immediately run. It wasn’t even that bad.”
Niki rolls her eyes. “Apparently, it was bad enough.”
“So,” George says, eyebrows raised. “You scared him away?”
“Pretty much,” Niki sighs. “I was able to convince him that he could continue to work here, but I had to reveal that I’m in contact with villains.”
George hums quietly. “He still works here but doesn’t live in the apartment anymore?”
It’s not even necessarily because he felt overly threatened by Techno, but alone the knowledge that the Syndicate knows where he lives must have been bad enough.
George can’t blame him.
The Syndicate isn’t really known to be nice to heroes—whether this is true or not, they have a reputation, and it makes sense that Dream wouldn’t want to risk anything.
“Exactly,” Niki confirms.
“Did he say why?”
Niki shakes her head. “Just that he can’t stay, but it seems to be related.”
George mulls over her words for a few moments. “And you know where he lives?”
It would be surprising if she did, especially if she’s revealed to Dream that she knows villains—both Sapnap’s and his group and the Syndicate.
“No, he didn’t say anything, and I doubt he actually had a place when he said he did.”
Then that would mean that Dream left as soon as possible after he met Techno.
Next to him, Sapnap exudes more heat than is normal. George grimaces and hopes that Sapnap stays quiet until they’re out of the café.
“So, you don’t know where he is, and you don’t even know if he had a place to begin with?” George asks, and it sounds more hostile than he wants it to.
He squeezes Sapnap’s arm and grimaces when heat immediately seeps through his gloves.
"I know you’re worried, George,” Niki says, “but he’s a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
“Right,” he says, “sorry, didn’t mean to make it sound like this.” Then he sighs. “This isn’t optimal.”
“You have plans with him?” Techno interrupts.
“Let’s say we have questions for him,” George says carefully. He doesn’t want the Syndicate to know more about their plans and motives than absolutely necessary, and he already feels like they know too much.
They don’t usually work together, and they don’t mix, and there’s a reason for that.
“Questions?” Techno raises an eyebrow.
George gestures. “The project we’re working on.”
“The reason why you kidnapped him,” Techno clarifies.
“That,” he acknowledges.
“Like I said,” Niki says, “he’s still working here, so if you want to talk to him, I can give you the time of his next shift.”
“That would be great,” George says. “Thank you, Niki.”
Niki smiles, but it’s sharp and a reminder that she’s not just a café owner. It’s easy to forget, and it happens to too many people—until they feel the bite of her sword and the touch of dark magic. “Of course.”
“How long has it been?” Sapnap asks suddenly, and his voice is more collected than George would’ve expected.
Niki glances at Techno. “A week maybe?”
“A week?” Sapnap is frowning.
“Did he say anything about the news?” George asks.
Niki shakes her head. “Nothing. But he doesn’t talk about any of this in general.”
As expected.
“Okay.” George sighs. “Thanks for your help.”
“And he didn’t say anything?” Sapnap mutters for the third time, kicking a small pebble.
“Dude,” George sighs, “can I remind you that last time you broke into his apartment? If he thinks he’s not safe because some random villain threatened him or whatever, he’s not going to tell another one about his new place.”
Sapnap doesn’t acknowledge his words at all, hands stuffed into his pockets. “How was he able to find something this fast?”
“Maybe a hotel?” George considers. “If he’s still working for Niki, he might have enough money saved up for a cheap one.”
“Maybe,” Sapnap says, and he sounds unhappy.
George sighs again. “Are you really surprised that he didn’t come to us?”
“He promised.”
It makes George want to shake Sapnap. Of course, he would promise something like this if Sapnap pushed him too much, if it meant that Sapnap would back off and leave him alone.
He can’t even blame Dream.
George doesn’t want to disappoint Sapnap, doesn’t really want to tell him the truth, but…
Sometimes, Sapnap forgets that he’s a villain, and people will do a lot of things if it means they can ensure their safety and survival.
He breathes out. “He probably just promised because he felt cornered.”
Sapnap frowns. “You think?”
“Most likely.”
“Hm,” Sapnap makes, kicking the ground. “You think he’s going to talk to us?”
George shrugs. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to bring Sapnap’s hopes up, but he also doesn’t think that Dream is not going to talk to them. Solely based on the fact that Dream, most likely, isn’t going to be keen on making any enemies, not after he’s ended up on the news for helping a small child and becoming some sort of evil mastermind who’s trying to manipulate the public.
“Let’s see,” George finally decides to settle on.
Sapnap grumbles something under his breath, but George is not close enough to be able to understand him.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” George tries to soothe him. “Like Niki said, he can take care of himself.”
“I know,” Sapnap says, the corners of his mouth turned downwards. “I’m just…”
George pats Sapnap’s shoulder. “It’s going to be fine.”
It’s a few days later when they finally manage to go to the café. Research has been keeping him busier than he’d like, and he feels ready to sleep through an entire day like he used to do.
Sapnap is basically vibrating next to him, and he has to keep a hand on Sapnap’s arm to ground him. Niki probably wouldn’t like it if her interior was burned down because Sapnap was too excited to contain his fire.
Niki already seated them herself a few minutes prior, so that they would definitely end up in Dream’s section, so now they just have to wait for him to appear.
George almost feels bad for showing up unannounced at Dream’s work.
“Calm down,” George mutters.
“I’m calm,” Sapnap protests.
“You’re this close to being on fire.”
Sapnap grumbles quietly, but George can feel his body warmth going down.
Maybe they should send Sapnap to one of those courses for small children that have just developed their powers. He snorts. Sapnap would absolutely hate them for that. But this is what happens when you’re not taught to control your powers when you’re young.
He should bring it up with Punz. He’s sure that Punz would side with him simply because he thinks it would be funny.
“Hi,” Dream says, fidgeting. “What are you guys doing here?”
George puts a smile on that makes his eyes crinkle since both he and Sapnap are wearing facial masks. Neither of them is overly keen on anyone outside their group knowing their faces even if it’s Dream, and even if Dream is most likely not going to rat them out. It’s better to be safe than to be sorry, after all.
It’s not like Dream is going to say anything about it since he’s wearing a mask himself.
“Just wanted to say hi,” he says.
“Can we talk after my shift?” Dream says nervously. “Unless it’s something important, I mean.” And he seems so anxious that George worries he’s sooner or later going to work himself into a panic attack.
“Relax,” George says, laughing softly. “It’s nothing bad.”
Dream’s frowning. “Okay.”
“Seriously,” George says because Dream doesn’t look any less anxious, “don’t worry about it.” He has the feeling that his tries at reassurance are just making everything worse.
Next to him, Sapnap is bouncing his leg up and down.
“Alright,” Dream mumbles. “Uhm, do you want to drink something? We have mulled wine at the moment if that’s something you like.”
George nods, still smiling. “Sure.”
“The normal one?” Dream asks, staring at the notepad; he’s not once even lifted his head to look at them. “We also have, like, a blueberry one and one with, uhm, baked apple.”
“Blueberry, please.”
“For me, too,” Sapnap says, and there’s an edge to his voice that seems so foreign for him.
“Okay.” And George can see Dream’s hands trembling so badly when he notes down the order that he wonders if Dream is even able to read what he wrote.
“I’m right back,” Dream mumbles before he quickly turns around and walks away.
“Last time, I saw him he wasn’t this tense,” Sapnap says.
“Hm?” George prompts him to go on.
Sapnap shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I mean,” George says, “like, to be fair, his past few weeks haven’t been very relaxing, probably.”
He doesn’t even want to know just how stressful they were for him. While George and Sapnap have to be careful whenever they leave their bases since they are villains and with that wanted, they at least have friends and allies who will help them no matter what.
Dream doesn’t have that. And on top of that, his entire life has been turned upside down—by them—without a single warning.
“True,” Sapnap admits.
“So,” George continues, “it’s not really surprising, I would say.”
Sapnap sighs. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” George says, satisfaction seeping into his voice.
Sapnap’s head whips around to him. “No, you’re not. What the fuck are you talking about?”
George lifts an eyebrow, grins. “When have I ever been wrong?”
“Uhm…” Sapnap trails off, eyes squinting as he seems to try to remember the last time George was wrong about something and when his face slowly turns into a frown, George can’t himself but laugh.
“See, idiot.”
Although George can think of a time when he was wrong. Maybe he should apologize to Dream for basically being the reason that they kept him for a few weeks longer than originally planned.
Two mugs are placed in front of them.
“Do you want to eat something, too?” Dream interrupts. His hands are still shaking, and he’s frowning, and there’s a heaviness to his breathing that George can’t remember ever being there.
George hums. “What can you recommend?”
The frown deepens. “The— the Bienenstich? It’s, like, cake with caramelized almonds and filled with vanilla custard. It’s, yeah, it’s good.”
“You don’t sound very sure,” George jokes, trying to lighten the mood and definitely failing miserably.
“George,” Sapnap hisses.
“Sorry,” George says, grimacing. Sapnap’s right. It’s not the time for this.
“It’s fine,” Dream mumbles, shifting from one foot to the other. “You might also like, uhm, Donauwelle?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s basically like a marble cake, I think. It has sour cherries, and the topping is buttercream and chocolate glaze.” Dream’s voice is shaking.
“Sounds good,” George says.
“I’ll take the other one,” Sapnap pipes up.
“Okay,” Dream says before shuffling away.
“Hm,” George makes.
“Yeah,” Sapnap says, stretching the word.
“I see what you mean.”
“Yeah,” Sapnap says, frustrated.
“Let’s just…” George sighs. “Let’s just stay here and then decide how we go on.”
He feels bad for having to ask Dream about Pandora’s Vault now, but maybe it’s helping Dream to feel calmer if he knows that they’re not here because of him, because he did something, and that their focus is still only on the Association and not on him.
At the same time, George doesn’t want to make Dream feel like they’re only keeping in contact, that they’re only here to use Dream because that’s just…not true.
George sighs again. This only can go wrong.
“Should we stay here?” George asks when Dream returns, this time without an apron.
Dream shrugs, fiddling with his fingers. “Sure.”
Sapnap moves closer to George, so that Dream has a place to sit down. After a few seconds, he does, carefully, like he’s expecting an attack any time soon.
“How are you?” George starts, keeping his voice light and the question easy. He doesn’t want to scare Dream away.
“Uh, fine?” It sounds more like a question than an actual answer, but he’s not going to push it.
“That’s good,” he just says.
Dream puts his hands on the table, stretching them out, so they lie flat on the surface. “How are you?”
“We’re good,” George says.
There’s silence.
“We heard about the Syndicate,” he finally says when the silence continues for too long.
“I didn’t—” Dream stops. “Yeah,” he mumbles, yawns. “Sorry, but I’m really tired.”
George nods sympathetically. “Understandable.” Perhaps they really should cut this visit short, come to a later time instead again.
“Where are you staying?” Sapnap blurts out.
George kicks him under the table.
“Ow,” Sapnap complains, rubbing his leg where George hit him.
Dream looks confused, but he still answers Sapnap’s question, “Just here and there, y’know.”
“Is the Association giving you problems?” George asks because while the Syndicate might’ve been the reason why Dream left, the Association is the actual problem. Niki and Techno both promised that the Syndicate would stay away from Dream unless there’s a reason why they need to get into contact.
Dream shakes his head. “It’s been fine so far, except—” He grimaces. “One of the heroes saw me.”
“Why did you go in?” George asks before he realizes what it might sound like. “Like, this isn’t supposed to be judging or whatever, I’m just…curious.”
Dream shrugs. “Was a feeling.”
“Look!” Sapnap exclaims. “Dream also listens to his gut feelings. Maybe you’re the weird one, Ge—”
George kicks him again before he can fully say George’s name.
Sapnap coughs.
Dream’s eyes flicker between them. “What?”
Sapnap nods toward George and leans closer to Dream like he’s going to tell him a secret. “He says you’re not supposed to listen to your feelings.”
“That’s because yours are stupid,” George argues because gut feelings can be helpful only that Sapnap’s aren’t, never have been, and absolutely never will. (That’s a lie, but still.)
“They’re not!”
“They are.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”
“Okay?” Dream looks like he’s going to cry any second now. It makes George want to hug him, but he would definitely overstep if he did that.
“Don’t mind him,” Sapnap says, pointing at George. “He fucking sucks.”
George lightly shoves Sapnap. “Shut up.”
“Do you—” Dream clears his throat. “Is there a reason why you’re here? Like, do you have questions or something?”
George glances at Sapnap before looking back at Dream. “What do you know about Pandora’s Vault?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Sapnap shake his head, and…yeah, he grimaces; he could probably have done that better—with a nicer transition and without throwing Dream in at the deep end.
“Pandora’s Vault?” Dream’s eyes flicker to Sapnap. “What— what do you mean?”
“We’re curious about the prison, that’s all,” George says offhandedly, shrugging one shoulder.
Dream crumples a clean napkin. “Uhm. I don’t really— I mean, it’s a high-security prison for, for Superpowered criminals. There’s nothing— I don’t think there’s more to it? Or do you mean, like, something else or…”
“Just anything, really.” It doesn’t matter how many details they get—anything works, and the more topics Dream knows about, the more they can try to research themselves later on.
They have Sam, so they obviously already know more than most other people, but they don’t know how the prison works or anything about the final version.
“There’s, there’s the Warden, obviously, and they have like…I don’t— I mean— I was only once there, I think.”
“You think?” George frowns.
Dream sounds so unsure about it that it makes George wonder if maybe Dream has been more often in Pandora’s Vault, but that he simply doesn’t exactly remember any of the visits and with that can’t be entirely sure that they actually happened.
“Yeah…” Dream says slowly, eyebrows furrowed as he smooths the napkin out.
“Okay, that’s alright,” Sapnap says gently, and George doesn’t remember the last time Sapnap sounded like this.
“Is that all you know?” George asks because Sapnap is obviously not going to do it.
“What exactly do you, uhm, do you need?” Dream asks without looking up, eyes still fixated on the napkin.
“We heard that they store documents there.”
Dream nods. “That’s true, I think. They did when I was last there, but, like, I was a trainee still? So, it’s been, it’s been a few years since then. I— I don’t know if they changed things.”
“That’s fine,” George says, willing a smile on his face. “But they, at least, used to have documents there?”
“Yeah.”
George tilts his head. “Do you know what they were about?”
Dream’s frowning again. “Mostly about the, the inmates? But also, I think, about…about powers.” His voice is so quiet at the end that George almost doesn’t understand him.
“Powers?”
Dream just nods.
“What exactly about powers?” George inquires.
Dream rips off a small piece of the napkin and rolls it to a small ball between his fingers. “Everything, I think. Like, the different types, uhm, genetics, stuff like that. Probably everything they knew about them. Because that was, like, important to, to imprison inmates, so they wouldn’t be able to, y’know, escape.”
George nudges Sapnap under the table; Sapnap shakes his head.
And maybe he’s right, maybe George shouldn’t ask for more, should just stop here, shouldn’t push Dream more than he already has, but…he has to ask.
“What about experiments?”
For the first time, Dream looks up, wide-eyed, and he almost seems terrified. “Experiments?”
“Experiments,” George says, “in Pandora’s Vault.”
Dream’s hands have started to shake again. “I don’t know anything about them,” he says quietly, “I’m sorry.”
It almost sounds like…
George narrows his eyes. “But you know that they exist?”
Dream presses his hands against the surface. “I just— there were rumors. I don’t, I don’t know how true they are.”
Sapnap’s fingernails press into George’s thigh. He sighs.
“Okay, thank you,” he says although he would’ve had more questions. They can wait for now.
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you more,” Dream says, eyes on his hands again.
Sapnap shakes his head, and for a moment, it looks like he wants to settle his hand on Dream’s shoulder before he lets it fall into his lap again. “It’s fine; that was already more than helpful. Thank you.”
Dream laughs awkwardly. “No, uhm, no problem.”
“Thank you,” George also says, “we also should probably go now.”
“Should we bring you home?” Sapnap offers. “It might be on the way.”
“No,” Dream says quickly, shaking his head more forcefully than needed. “But thanks.”
“Alright,” Sapnap says, and he sounds disappointed.
George presses his lips together. He gets it, just…how long is Sapnap’s hope going to last that at some point, Dream will agree? Hopefully, he’s going to realize it sooner than later before he’s convinced himself that it definitely and absolutely will happen.
But he’s not going to say anything for now.
“Take care,” Sapnap says softly.
“You, too,” Dream mumbles, staring at his hands.
“It was nice to see you again,” George says, and then he drags Sapnap out of the café.
When he looks back, Dream is still sitting at the table; he hasn’t moved an inch. His head is bowed, and he looks so pitiful that he wants to make Sapnap smother Dream with hugs until he feels better.
He turns around.
“Let’s go,” he says.
Notes:
i definitely wasn’t craving sweets when i wrote this chapter
happy chanukah and early merry christmas!! :)
Chapter 13: these lonely summer days | Dream IX
Notes:
title: owsey — these lonely summer days.
got another set of ear piercings, so that’s exciting. (less exciting is that the dude asked me whether i’m already old enough to be there on my own, but oh, well)
i hope everyone who celebrated had great holidays :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Sometimes, he feels paralyzed, like even getting out of bed is not possible, like it’s too hard, too much.
But then he thinks about Patches who waits every morning for him in front of the hostel, and he forces himself to get up.
The hostel doesn’t allow cats indoors, and as much as it seems like Patches has adopted him, he doesn’t want to lock her up in a tiny room. She’s still a stray cat, after all.
Still, sometimes he wonders if he should search for a different hostel, maybe one that allows pets if he’s already changing to a different place to stay; he’s spent far too much time at the same place anyway.
It was supposed to be a few days, and now it’s been weeks.
But...
Maybe he’s scared that when he leaves, Patches will leave as well. That Patches won’t find him, that she won’t come with him, that she will stay here, waiting every morning for him and wondering why he’s not coming back to her, why he left her.
And maybe he fears that he’s going to be alone again.
He’s not sure he could handle that.
And really, he’s not even alone.
He has Niki—and he guesses Error and Phoenix, too—and even Technoblade has warmed up to him recently. (It’s still so unexpected every time, the man greets him with a barely-there smile.)
It’s just not the same.
How did he get attached to a cat out of everyone this quickly?
He sighs before he kneels down to quickly scratch Patches behind the ears. He’s already late for his shift, and while Niki is usually pretty lenient, she’s been more stressed lately, and Dream doesn’t want to add to that stress.
And he can’t imagine that the villain attack close to her café yesterday helped.
“I have to go now,” he tells her.
He doesn’t know what Patches does when he’s working or sleeping, but no matter what, she’s always there when he steps out of the café. He does know, though, that she’s not constantly staying in front of the café. Whenever he’s on a break, she’s not around, and he doesn’t actually see her until his shifts end.
Just a cat doing whatever cats are normally doing.
She nudges his hand before she strolls away from him and disappears around the corner of the building.
He gets up, grimacing when his knees crack—he hates the sound, and the reminder of his age isn’t helping either although the reason for his dislike doesn’t exist anymore.
He pushes the door open.
“Hey, mate,” someone calls out, and to his surprise, he doesn’t see Niki behind the counter.
“Hi, Phil,” he says, smiling. “Where’s Niki?” He’s not seen Phil in quite some time, but every time, they see each other, Phil is so nice to him that it makes Dream wonder if Phil still feels guilty for how he reacted the first time they met.
“She’s sick, so she asked me to help out since Tech is unavailable.”
Dream nods. “Makes sense.”
“So,” Phil says as he adjusts the muffins in the display, “how are you doing?”
“Fine, y’know. Nothing really happening, so…can’t complain.” Dream shrugs. Except for Error’s and Phoenix’s visit, and he’s grateful for that. He doesn’t think he would’ve been able to handle anything else. (He wasn’t even able to handle them if he’s honest.)
But it would’ve been even worse if, for some reason, the Syndicate (or the Association) decided on another visit.
Phil smiles. “That’s nice to hear.”
“You?”
He sighs. “Could be better; the weather’s not great for my bones.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“It’s fine,” Phil says, shrugging. “It’s an old injury, and I’m not the youngest anymore.”
Dream frowns. He doesn’t even know how old Niki is, now that he thinks about it. “How old are you? I thought you were, like, in your early thirties.”
Phil snorts. “I’m just exaggerating, but, yeah, I’m thirty-six.”
“No, that’s pretty old,” Dream jokes.
Thirty-six…that’s how old Nighthawk would’ve been this year.
He shakes his head. He’s been thinking about his old mentor a lot more again recently, and it just reminds him of everything that could have been. Nighthawk would’ve been the same age as Phil; he would’ve been able to watch Dream debut and become a Superhero; he would’ve still been here.
Phil squints. “Just wait until you’re this old.”
“When I’m your age, then you’ll be…ancient.”
“Watch it,” Phil threatens, and the skin around his eyes crinkles as he laughs.
Dream wheezes as he lifts his hands in surrender. “Alright, no more reminding you of how old you are.”
Phil shakes his head. “You little shit,” he mutters. “Anyway,” he continues, “how do you feel about cookies? We still have leftovers from yesterday.”
“Cookies?” He’s never going to say no to cookies.
He’s aware of the rumors; of course, he is. It’s almost impossible to not know of them. He just doesn’t know how true they are or if there’s any truth to them at all.
He knows that the Association has been trying to find out more about powers since its establishment, but…would they really go that far?
Or maybe he’s too optimistic, maybe he still has too much faith in the Association.
The prisoners of Pandora’s Vault aren’t innocent, and most of them are never going to be free again. Who cares about them? Who cares about what happens to those people?
The public is thankful that these people are in prison, that they can’t terrify the world anymore, that they will stay there until their deaths.
And if those deaths happened earlier than they should, if they happened under suspicious circumstances…who would care? Who would instigate something like that?
“Pandora’s Vault,” he murmurs, stroking Patches’ head.
His hands are freezing, and he feels like his nose is going to fall off, but Patches is a warm weight on his lap, and the comfort of her purring is enough for him to stay outside for a bit longer.
Maybe it’s really time to finally find a different place to stay. With every day, it’s getting colder, and he wants her to have the possibility to have a warm place to sleep even if she doesn’t constantly stay there.
“What do you think?” he asks her. “All of them seem to think that Pandora’s Vault has all the answers to their questions, and I—”
And he doesn’t know. He isn’t sure. It’s possible, maybe it’s true. Maybe Pandora’s Vault truly holds all the secrets the Association has and that the villains seem to be so keen on getting. It wouldn’t be surprising, he guesses.
A high-security prison that no one except for its staff enters. Prisoners that are there for life.
And the excuse for all the detailed files about powers and the research done are only to make sure that the inmates are safely detained.
He was there, once, like most other heroes as well. They handle the arrests but not the detainment, so the moment the cuffs click, someone else is responsible for the prisoners.
Dream never asked, never wondered. Maybe he was thankful for it.
The one time, he was there, was enough for the rest of his life.
It’s dark, and it’s cold, and it’s uncomfortable in the worst way possible. There’s simply something so…hostile about the building that he’s more than thankful if he never has to see it again.
The prison is such an unwelcoming place that possible experiments almost seem like a bad joke, like a stupid stereotype. If they don’t take place there, where else would they be?
Alone because of the way it looks—the black stone and obsidian with barely any windows and in the middle of an ocean, miles away from the next shore—, experiments have to take place there, simply because it would fit so well.
“Do you really think…?” he trails off.
Does he think it’s true?
Patches meows, head butting against his hand as she tries to get him to pat her again.
He sighs.
“Yeah,” he says, “it would make sense, no?”
How would he even be able to find out the truth? Should he even do anything?
Maybe that’s what he owes everyone after years and years of being a hero.
But where should he even start? Obviously, there’s the Association itself; he could either break into the Citadel or Pandora’s Vault and search there for answers, and it would most likely be the information that’s the most helpful and factual, but…
It’s also not going to be an easy thing to do. If it’s possible at all.
The Citadel would be easier than Pandora’s Vault simply because he knows that place like the back of his hand. He’s spent basically his entire life there, but the Citadel is also not going to be where the answers are.
Which means that he would have to get into Pandora’s Vault.
Unless…
He frowns.
The experiments are rumors, and Dream doesn’t know the truth, can’t know it, really, but it seems like someone else does.
Maybe someone who used to be involved themselves? Someone whose conscience and guilt made them finally stop? Someone who “disappeared” and since then has tried to get the truth out there?
Dream breathes out.
Maybe the question to ask isn’t whether those rumors are true or not. Maybe he should ask instead where they began…and who started them.
Trying to get reliable information is so much more difficult than he expected—although it makes sense of course.
He doesn’t belong here, and everyone knows that. He knows that.
They don’t want him here, they want him to be gone, and the more difficult to approach they are, the easier it’s going to be to get rid of him.
It’s a bit funny, really, because the moment he gets the information he needs, he’s gone. He doesn’t plan on bothering them more than he’s already doing, but…it’s not like he can blame them.
They don’t know him; they only know that he’s a former hero, and he doesn’t know how much the Syndicate actually revealed about Protesilaus’ and his encounter.
As far as he’s aware, they could think that all of this is staged, that the Association is trying to get information by having him act like a former Superhero.
In their eyes, the only thing he’s doing is endangering them and their families.
Maybe he should be thankful that he’s not been attacked yet. It’s surprising that it hasn’t happened so far.
Just one well-aimed shot, and none of them would have to feel threatened by him again. Or perhaps, this isn’t happening because if they killed him, and he actually was still working for the Association, then they would have an even bigger problem. And none of them survived because they were stupid and acted rashly.
On one hand, it’s a bad thing that people think that he might still work for the Association, on the other hand, it might be the reason why he’s still alive—it’s a blessing and a curse, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to feel about it.
If it continues like this, he’s never going to find out anything, and the Citadel (or Pandora’s Vault) is the only thing left that he could try and that would actually help him with his goal.
And he still does not want to have to target either of them. It can only end badly, and he’s not ready for that yet.
Or ever, for that matter.
Missions doomed to end badly from the get-go are missions he’s not going to touch with his pinky. And there’s no way breaking into the Citadel isn’t one of them.
Breaking into the Association’s headquarters with dozens of Superheroes? The perfect mission if he had a death wish. He doesn’t. Probably.
Although alone thinking about doing this, alone the fact that he’s not instantly throwing the idea out of the window…
He kicks a pebble in front of him.
He’s never claimed to be entirely sane. (Or smart.)
He sighs.
And then his chest goes cold a second before he hears the fluttering of mechanical wings. Electricity crackles in his hands.
It takes another moment before he can see the person they belong to.
He still doesn’t have a weapon on him, and he once again regrets it. He doesn’t want to carry a weapon, simply because he doesn’t want to seem more like a threat than he already does—especially now that he wants to get information—, but maybe he really needs to get one at some point.
“So, you’re Dream,” Zephyrus says, as he settles down in front of Dream. His wings fold together, and not for the first time, Dream wonders if the villain used to have actual wings.
Zephyrus’ powers are unknown, so maybe he’s just a non-powered engineer. Although Dream doubts it. All the other members of the Syndicate have powers, so why should only one of them not have them?
Being a villain is dangerous enough as Superpowered humans; Dream can’t imagine what it must be like to not have any Superpowers and live this life.
Maybe he uses his powers for his wings? It’s possible that he’s a Superpowered engineer.
“Uhm, hi?” Dream says, taking a step back. Didn’t Niki say—? He hopes he’s not in trouble or that Niki’s promise that the Syndicate will leave him alone isn’t obsolete because he started to ask questions. Because then he would have a goddamn problem.
But if he actually were in trouble, the Syndicate wouldn’t approach him like this, right? If he’s lucky enough, the Syndicate just wants to know what he’s up to and nothing else.
“I’m not here to hurt you, mate,” Zephyrus says like he’s read Dream’s thoughts. Hopefully, this isn’t the case because while he doesn’t have anything to hide, it can get very uncomfortable to have someone poke around in your brain.
It’s not the nicest thing to happen to you.
“That sounds…very reassuring.” Dream laughs awkwardly. It’s not like he doesn’t believe Zephyrus, but it’s also not like the villain couldn’t lie to make Dream believe he’s safer than he actually is.
“I’m sorry for how Protesilaus handled it.”
Dream blinks. “What?”
Zephyrus tilts his head, and his black mask reflects the light of the streetlamp. “We wanted to find out if you’re a threat, not run you off.”
“It’s fine. I’m not, like— to be honest, I wasn’t supposed to stay there for any longer because…y’know, the heroes…” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this. It’s more information than he should give anyone especially when it’s a villain.
“The heroes,” Zephyrus sighs.
Dream frowns. Does Zephyrus know more about them? Or is it just a general dislike for them that villains seem to harbor? Considering the way Protesilaus reacted to them, neither would be overly surprising, and it would make sense that the members of the same group have the same dislike for certain people.
“I’ve heard you want to go after the Association,” Zephyrus continues.
Dream shifts from one foot to the other. “Ha, no…I would never. This sounds like a suicide mission.” Only stupid people would do something like that. And only especially stupid people would do it alone. He’s neither of them, of course. He wouldn’t be that stupid.
“Hm,” Zephyrus makes, and it’s obvious that he doesn’t believe anything Dream just said.
“It’s not…entirely true,” Dream backpedals, “like…there are just a few things I want to find out more about, you know?”
“What things?” Zephyrus asks while he crosses his arms in front of his chest, and for a brief moment, Dream feels like he’s going to be lectured by his mentor.
He shakes the feeling off.
“Why d’you wanna know?” he asks.
“Because,” Zephyrus starts, seemingly surprised by the question, “well, mate, maybe I can help you with it.”
“Help…me?” Why would a villain help him? Why would someone from the Syndicate offer him help when they don’t even know his goals and motives? They know he’s not a threat to them (yet), but that’s all they know. Technically, he could still work for the Association.
This just seems stupid. And he wonders if the entire Syndicate agreed to this.
“So, what is it?” Zephyrus asks without explaining what he exactly means with his offer.
He should’ve never done this. In fact, he should be in his tiny hostel room, watching the news while Patches lies on his lap, purring.
Why does this keep happening to him?
The problems of being a former Superhero, he guesses. He can’t do anything without people watching his every move and waiting for him to fuck up. Maybe the Association’s solution would’ve been the easier one.
“How do you— why would you want to help me?” Dream asks instead of answering Zephyrus’ question.
Zephyrus shrugs. “Protesilaus hates the heroes, and Nemesis keeps her distance from them when possible, but my connection to them goes deeper than that.”
So, it’s not just a general dislike? It’s more? But what exactly is that “more”? Did he use to work for the Association? Or with the heroes?
Was he a hero?
Dream frowns. No, this can’t be. There’s no way. Because who even should Zephyrus be? Dream can’t think of any hero that went missing and that fits the description of Zephyrus.
It must be something else, then.
“You mean…?” Dream trails off. He doesn’t finish the question; it seems rude, like something too personal. This is the first time, he’s had a proper conversation with Zephyrus and immediately asking him about his background, seems like the recipe for a disaster.
The villain offered him help, but that offer might no longer stand if Dream rushes things and hits a sore spot.
“What is it?”
Dream sighs. “You know about Pandora’s Vault?”
“Of course,” Zephyrus says in a tone that suggests he thinks that Dream is an idiot. “Who doesn’t?”
“Right, uhm…so basically, Error and Phoenix are trying to find out more about the, the rumors surrounding it, so like…” Dream gestures like this could explain anything. Now that he thinks more about it, it feels dumb.
“And why do you want to find out more?” Zephyrus presses.
Dream shrugs. “I…want to help them.” It’s not entirely a lie. It’s not entirely the truth either.
“Is that also why you didn’t go back to the Association?” Zephyrus asks, but for some reason, it feels like it’s not really directed at him, like the villain doesn’t expect him to answer it.
He doesn’t say anything.
“So?” Zephyrus prompts.
“Okay,” Dream says, trying to collect his thoughts. “I…we all know that I’m a former hero, and, well, I arrested a lot of villains.”
Zephyrus snorts.
“I don’t know, it’s, like…if I’m the reason that whatever’s going on in Pandora’s Vault happened to them, then I…owe it to them to at least find out the truth, no?”
He wishes he had less selfish reasons.
Zephyrus’ wings flutter. “Did you know about it beforehand?”
“No, not really. I mean, there were the rumors, of course, but we hadn’t known about them until…recently.”
The first time, he remembers hearing that rumor was a year ago. And back then, it had been merely a conspiracy theory like all the others surrounding the Association as well. There had been nothing that could’ve proven it to be somewhat truthful, and because of that Dream had focused on other issues at hand.
“Hm, interesting,” Zephyrus mutters, head tilted as he doesn’t look at Dream anymore.
Dream furrows his brows. “What do you mean?”
Zephyrus shakes his head. “Nothing.”
“Okay…”
“And,” Zephyrus says, “once you get the information, what do you plan on doing with it? You want to find out the truth, and then what?”
Dream squints at the villain. “What do you think I should do with it?”
If he’s honest, he’s not yet thought that far. The goal was to find out the information and then…he hasn’t planned anything after that. It just feels so far away, like he’s never going to find out the information anyway—breaking into the Citadel and Pandora’s Vault and getting out again, just seems so impossible—, so there’s also no need to actually plan what to do with it once he gets it.
What would he want to do with it?
“No,” Zephyrus says firmly, “I want to hear first what you want to do with it. I know what Error and Phoenix have planned, but you?”
And once again, Dream feels like he’s briefing his last mission with his mentor. Fucking hell. He’s not felt like this since he was sixteen.
“I thought you’re aware that I’m no threat to you,” Dream says because he still doesn’t have an answer.
“We know that,” Zephyrus agrees, “but it’s not the same, is it?”
Dream fiddles with his fingers. “What if what I want to do is expose the Association?”
Does he want to do it? He doesn’t know. It seems like the most logical thing to do, like the thing that the Syndicate would agree with, like something they would want him to do.
He just doesn’t know if he also wants to do it.
But it doesn’t matter what he wants. If it’s true, if the rumors are correct, then it’s the thing he has to do, then his wants and needs won’t matter because really, in this situation, the wants and needs of a single person are the most unimportant thing to consider for a decision.
There’s a small smile on Zephyrus’ face. “Why don’t you work with the Error and Phoenix together?”
Dream shrugs. “I could, probably, but…to be honest, I didn’t know until very recently what they even wanted to achieve, so…”
“You didn’t stay?” Zephyrus finishes.
“Yeah.”
It’d be the smarter decision. Especially because it seems like Pandora’s Vault holds the Association’s secrets, and with their help, all of this would become so much easier.
But…he doesn’t want to intrude, doesn’t want to annoy them. He doesn’t know what their plans are, if they have other targets, or if they already have more information, then he doesn’t want to meddle with whatever they have planned.
Maybe contacting them and simply asking them would still be the best idea.
He probably should do that; he just doesn’t know yet.
“You could still go back. I have the feeling like they wouldn’t have a problem with that.”
“Maybe,” Dream says. “I don’t know.”
“Just remember that, mate.” Zephyrus laughs quietly. “It sounds like I’m trying to convince you to go back, hm?”
“Sure does,” Dream scoffs. Is Dream going back to Error and Phoenix important to Zephyrus? And why should it be? So that another villain group has their eyes on Dream to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid or run back to the Association to tell them that the villains are working on exposing them?
He can’t think of another explanation.
“Let’s go back to the matter at hand,” Zephyrus suggests. “You want to expose the Association? Do you…well, do you want to destroy it?”
And there’s something in his voice that Dream can’t quite recognize. Does Zephyrus want him to destroy the Association? It’s not like it wouldn’t make sense—if there’s no Association, the villains would have more room and possibilities for their plans.
(Does he want to destroy the Association?)
If there’s no Association, if there are no more heroes, but if the villains still exist and still are active…
Dream doesn’t want to think about the consequences of that.
“I don’t…I’m not sure yet,” Dream admits quietly. “I should want that, right?”
“Possibly,” Zephyrus says flippantly. “But who am I to tell you what you should want and what you shouldn’t?”
“It’s not…that I want to save the Association or whatever, it just…feels weird, I guess. Alone, y’know, like, thinking about it.” Dream fiddles with his fingers.
Zephyrus hums. “It’s always been part of your life, I get it.”
“Yeah,” Dream agrees although it’s not just that.
Without the Association, without the heroes, there won’t be balance, and maybe more heroes mean more villains, but if the villains are already here and there are no more heroes, then the villains have free reign without anyone able to stop them.
“You’re not there yet,” Zephyrus says finally, “you still have time.”
Dream chews on his lip. “I guess.”
“Don’t worry too much; it’ll work out,” Zephyrus reassures him.
Dream frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dream says quietly, but really, everything is wrong.
Why does Zephyrus keep behaving like this? Like their mentor and mentee? Like he’s offering Dream advice? Like he’s trying to steer Dream while also letting him have free control over his decisions?
Guardian didn’t mentor him like this, but Nighthawk did.
It just doesn’t make sense.
There’s no way.
(Nighthawk is dead.)
Dream’s nails press into his palms.
“Pandora’s Vault isn’t an easy target, but it’s the smartest one,” Zephyrus continues like there’s nothing unusual about this entire situation.
“So, they have the documents there?” Dream says, trying to suppress the shakiness of his voice.
Zephyrus snorts. “Even if not, you would be able to witness it firsthand.”
Dream just scoffs. “True.” He hopes it doesn’t get that far. If he’s really going to do this, he just wants to get in, find the files and leave.
“You just shouldn’t do it alone,” Zephyrus reminds him as if Dream wasn’t able to think of that himself.
He used to be a hero; he knows how well-guarded the prison is.
Dream rolls his eyes. “I’m not that stupid.” (He is that stupid.)
“If you say so,” Zephyrus says, and for some reason, Dream can picture the raised eyebrows on the villain’s face clearly.
He pushes the image aside. This is not the right time to think about it. (There’s never the right time to think about it, so maybe the best idea is to just completely forget about all of this. If he doesn’t remember it, there’s also nothing to think about it, which, clearly, is the best choice.)
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Zephyrus shrugs, a teasing tone to his voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Zephyrus shouldn’t seem as familiar as he does. Dream shakes his head, and changes the topic again, “So…Pandora’s Vault, hm?”
“Pandora’s Vault,” Zephyrus agrees, “but you already knew that.”
“I didn’t know, I just…had a hunch.” It was a bit more than just a hunch, but it’s not like he actually knew. It’s not like he actually knows now.
He has Zephyrus’ confirmation, but what does that even mean? The villain didn’t tell Dream how he knows about it himself or why he’s helping Dream and steering him in the right direction, and for all he knows, Zephyrus could be lying. He shouldn’t trust everything someone tells him.
Dream bites his lip.
And there’s another thing.
“Are you sure we don’t know each other?” he finally asks.
Zephyrus shifts. “We’ve known each other for…roughly ten years.”
He knows that, but during all these years, he didn’t become as familiar with Zephyrus as it feels now. They kept their distance, Dream hated going after the Syndicate, and the only encounters they had, were high above the city, on top of buildings as they fought.
There was nothing that could lead to this feeling.
“No, I mean…I don’t mean that. Have we met each other before that? Or do we, like, know each other from something else?”
“Not as far as I know. What made you ask?” Zephyrus says so calmly that Dream almost misses the edge in his voice.
There is more to it, but if Zephyrus doesn’t want to tell him, then there’s nothing he can do. He’s not sure whether it’s for the better or the worse.
“I don’t know,” Dream says, sighs, “just a weird feeling. And you seem so— I guess you seem familiar.”
“Are you sure your Superpower isn’t clairvoyance?”
“What? Why should it be?” Everyone knows that his powers are electricity-based, and he doesn’t have a second set of powers. He doesn’t even have the proper control over the ones he already has; he doesn’t know how much worse it would be if he had additional powers.
Is that even possible? He doesn’t think so—if it was, it would be known, right?
Zephyrus shrugs. “A lot of your observations and conclusions seem to be based on your feelings.” Then he shakes his head. “But no, we don’t know each other from something else.”
“Okay,” Dream says slowly.
They’ve met each other, but where? And more importantly, when?
Before Dream became a Superhero? After? Maybe it was only recently?
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
“I have to go now,” Zephyrus says conversationally like he’s not just flipped Dream’s entire world upside down. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“What do you mean?” Dream says bleakly, and he feels so, so cold.
“Just…be careful,” Zephyrus clarifies. “Not everyone has good things in mind.”
“Tell me about it,” Dream snorts. He’s definitely not on the run from heroes at the moment because the Association wants…whatever they want from him. That’s just another thing he doesn’t really know—or understand.
“If you need help, you know where to get it, Dream.”
His stomach twists.
The way Zephyrus says his name—
He shakes his head.
“Okay, I will,” he says, forcing a smile on his lip.
“Stay safe,” Zephyrus says quietly, tipping the brim of his hat with two fingers. His wings buzz as they unfold. They’re black and shiny and metallic, and they somehow seem so unnatural on him—not because they’re mechanical wings but because a different pair of wings should be in their place.
He wills himself to breathe out slowly.
“I’ll try,” Dream mutters, and then he’s alone in the alleyway again.
Maybe he should just leave this stupid city and its stupid villains behind and go on a vacation with Patches in a faraway country where no one can surprise him by making an announced visit. It would make everything easier for sure.
Notes:
see you next year lmao
Chapter 14: i’m almost me again | Dream X
Notes:
title: hozier — almost (sweet music).
Chapter Text
“Hey, Niki,” Dream says, trying to sound as unsuspicious as somehow possible, “do you think it’s possible that the Syndicate can get the building plans of Pandora’s Vault?”
Niki narrows her eyes. “Why are you asking?”
“Oh, you see,” he says, gesturing with his hands, “Error and Phoenix have something planned, and I’m trying to help them.”
He hopes that Niki won’t see either of them until after he’s finalized the plan because otherwise…he’s going to have a problem. He has the feeling that neither of those groups is going to be very impressed by his plan for various reasons, but that isn’t something that’s going to stop him. It would just be…more difficult to actually do it when there’s someone who meddles with his plans.
Because if Niki told Error or Phoenix about that plan, and they told her that they don’t know anything about it, then he would have to find a different way to get the blueprints. And he fears that this isn’t going to be very easy.
The Syndicate is his best bet, especially after his conversation with Zephyrus; maybe he’s going to ask for help from Error and Phoenix’s group, but for now, he’s planning things on his own, and he doubts he would be able to do that if he contacted them.
“Just that?” Niki asks, and she sounds like she doesn’t believe him, like she thinks that he has ulterior motives, like she knows that it’s not just to help them.
She isn’t wrong. He isn’t going to tell her that.
“Yup,” he says, “just that.”
Niki is quiet for a moment, her fingers idly tapping against the wooden table. “And Vindicator couldn’t have provided them?”
He frowns. What does Vindicator have to do with it? He knows that Vindicator’s powers would be helpful to build things, but that doesn’t explain why he should possess anything concerning the prison.
He could ask, but he has the feeling that if he did, she would believe him even less.
“Oh, you know,” he says casually, slowly to have enough time to come up with an excuse, “he isn’t sure whether they’re up-to-date or not, and because of that it would be the best to get another set from a different source, so we can compare them.”
“Okay,” Niki says, and she still sounds like she wants to call him out for lying. “I see what I can do.”
“Thank you,” he says, smiling. “You’re the best.”
“I can’t promise anything,” she continues, “and you have to promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid with it.”
“I won’t,” he promises. He would never do anything stupid, and this is something necessary to do, so it simply can’t be stupid. Obviously.
She squints but nods. “Okay, fine.”
There are multiple different plans he’s thought about, but one is stupider than the next one, so he discards all of them instantly.
It’s not overly surprising considering that the goal might not be his smartest idea as well.
All of the plans so far seem more than impossible that he’s started to wonder whether getting himself captured would be feasible since it would be the easiest way to get in. But there were multiple problems that stopped him from considering it any longer. Because once he’s in, it’s going to be impossible to get out again, and also, he doesn’t even know if he would end up in Pandora’s Vault to begin with.
He doesn’t know what the Association’s plans with him are once he’s captured and detained, but none of them necessarily have to include Pandora’s Vault.
So, really, the plan is even more stupid than anything else he’s come up with so far, and if things don’t work out properly, he might not even get what he’s wanted. On top of not being able to get out again. (And also, he’s just really not keen on getting experimented on.)
He slowly taps on the table with his fingers.
It’s going to be difficult to completely stay undetected, and his powers might not be very helpful here since dismantling the cameras or the security system would make it too obvious that something fishy is going on. But what other possibilities does he have?
There’s the Syndicate, of course, but he’s not going to ask them for more help than this. Maybe asking for this was already stupid enough, just…
Just what?
Because after letting all the possible plans run through his head, it’s gotten quite obvious that he can’t do this alone. Breaking into Pandora’s Vault is going to be difficult enough, but doing it alone? That’s just asking to be killed.
And the Syndicate could be potentially helpful, but he doesn’t know anything about their goals and their plans, and he doesn’t want to try the possibly limited patience they have for him more than he’s already doing.
So, this will be the only thing he’s going to ask from them. Which also means…
Asking for the blueprints might’ve still been useful—especially since he’s asked the Syndicate who is also in contact with the other villains.
If he does ask for Error’s and Phoenix’s help, he doesn’t want to go to them empty-handed and without proof. Because technically, he doesn’t even know for sure whether they want to further investigate the prison and its rumors. It makes sense, of course, that this is what they’re planning, but he doesn’t actually know.
And maybe if he already has a plan and the things needed for it, they’re going to believe him that he’s serious about it.
It makes him wonder how much they actually believe him—they obviously have to know by now that he was serious about the Association, and that he didn’t lie to them to get out, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they also think he’s innocent.
Maybe they assume that he does know more about Pandora’s Vault and the experiments. Maybe they even think that he’s guilty as well, that he’s been part of this, that he’s condoned it or even actively participated.
It wouldn’t be surprising. He also couldn’t really blame them if this is what they’re thinking.
In their eyes, it makes sense, of course. He’s been one of the top-ranked Superheroes for years—and if the Association is corrupted, then who’s to say that the heroes aren’t just as bad?
He squints. Actually…how many of the heroes are involved? It almost seems impossible that none of them are, but Dream also can’t think of anyone who’s likely to have something to do with all of this.
Maybe one of the older ones? There’s no way any of the Junior Superheroes are—they’re barely able to survive a mission on their own, and too many of them can’t even see the blood the first few times they’re sent out; he can’t imagine that they would be involved in something like this. Not even mentioning that no one in the Association would trust them enough with such a secret.
And one of the older heroes…well, there aren’t a lot of them anymore—really, there’s only one left of the older generation. And he’s not even a hero anymore. He’s a trainer now, sometimes dabbling in taking over responsibilities for the executives; in fact, he’s more involved with management and the Council than anyone would ever admit. But there’s no way. It can’t be. Just because he has a higher position now than he used to have as a Superhero doesn’t have to mean anything, doesn’t have to mean he’s involved in the things happening in Pandora’s Vault.
Dream shakes his head. It’s not possible.
It’s simply not possible.
Guardian wouldn’t do something like that.
Right?
Ever since Dream entered Niki’s café, Technoblade’s been sitting in a small booth close to the window. He hadn’t even looked up when Dream opened the door or when he switched his old mug with a new one.
In fact, he’s been staring off into the distance for the last thirty minutes, and Dream doesn’t think that he’s noticed a single thing since his eyes started to look glassy.
He’s never seen Technoblade like this, but Niki just shrugged when she pushed the steaming cup into Dream’s hands and told him to give it to Techno.
“It happens,” she had said, “don’t worry about it.”
But it’s been thirty minutes, and Dream is worried. This isn’t normal, is it? At least, this doesn’t seem like something that should be normal. And especially if it’s something that apparently happens every so often…
Only that Niki said it’s nothing to worry about, and he trusts Niki. And anyway, he doesn’t want to get himself involved in things that don’t concern him.
(Then why is he planning to break into Pandora’s Vault? (But that’s something that does concern him, no?)
Even if he’s not a hero anymore, being a hero used to be his life; and if the rumors are true, if there are actually experiments conducted in there, then he’s also responsible for it. And for what happens next.)
He breathes out and cleans the next table.
“Are you sure?” he finally asks Niki when he gets back to the kitchen. “I don’t think he’s even blinked once.”
She smiles, pats his shoulder. “It’s fine, I promise.”
“If you say so,” he says slowly, trailing off at the end. “On another note, I was, uhm, wondering if I can take time off.”
Maybe it’s a bit hasty since he neither has the blueprints, nor has he contacted the villains about it, but…at least, he knows if he’s already asking now whether he can actually take time off or not.
Because it would suck if he planned everything and the villains agreed, and then he had to realize that he wouldn’t be able to follow through with it because he has to work. (Or maybe that would be the sign to finally quit and find a new job because that’s also something he might or might not have to start thinking about soon.)
“Sure,” Niki says, shrugging. “When would it be?”
“Ah,” he makes, “I don’t know yet, but in a few weeks probably?”
She narrows her eyes. “Does it have anything to do with the blueprints?”
He laughs awkwardly. “What makes you think that?” Sometimes, he wishes Niki was less observant, or maybe it doesn’t take all that many brain cells to figure out what his plan is after he’s already asked for her help.
It’s both. It’s definitely both.
Niki’s far too observant for her own good, and sometimes it makes him wonder. But he’s not going to go there because that’s just going to complicate everything. Because if Niki was, then what would that make Technoblade? Or Phil?
Ignorance is bliss, and he’s going to fully utilize it. And anyway, he doesn’t even have proof of anything because really how surprising is it that there’s a café popular among villains in a city with dozens of them? It’s a calmer part of the city, one where not as much crime is happening, and with that has fewer heroes running around, also the Superpowered Community likes to keep to themselves, and Niki’s food is also simply great. He, too, would have this café as his favorite place if he had to choose.
And with a lot of villains surrounding you, you also have to be observant and stay on your toes all the time if you don’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so Niki actually being a villain probably isn’t even that likely.
“Well,” Niki says, “why else would you want to take time off if not for a stupid idea like this?”
“You wound me,” he says, dramatically clutching his chest. “Maybe I just want to go on vacation?”
Niki huffs. “Keep lying to yourself.”
“Okay,” he relents, “you’re right.”
“Surprising,” she says drily. “But it’s not like I can stop you, can I?”
“Not really,” he says more cheerful than he feels. If anyone could stop him, it would be Niki, but he doesn’t expect her to. It’s obvious that she doesn’t like whatever he’s going to do; he also knows her well enough by now that she’s going to let him do whatever he wants.
“Alright,” Niki says, sighs. “Just let me know as soon as possible when you’re unavailable.”
He smiles. “Will do.”
When he leaves the kitchen again, the first thing he notices is that Technoblade has moved—only barely, it’s just the way he’s been sitting that changed, but at least, he did move. And he’s blinking.
“Hey,” Dream says, “everything okay?”
Technoblade lifts his eyes—they’re bloodshot, and he looks more tired than he did just an hour ago. Dream frowns.
“Yeah,” Technoblade finally says, voice weaker than Dream is used to. “Don’t…don’t do it,” he adds.
Dream blinks. “Do what?”
“Don’t break into Pandora’s Vault,” he says, and nothing more. Technoblade quickly gathers his belongings and leaves Dream standing at the table, dumbfounded and thoroughly confused.
How does Technoblade know? And why is it important to him that Dream doesn’t do it?
“So,” Niki says, two days later.
“So,” Dream echoes, closing the door behind him and unsure why Niki asked him to follow her into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” she says, smiling. “But I got what you’ve asked for.” She opens her hand, and there’s a small USB flash drive lying on her palm.
“I didn’t expect it to be this fast,” he admits. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” She presses her lips together for a second before she drops the flash drive into Dream’s hand. “Be careful, don’t do anything stupid. And especially don’t do anything alone.”
He frowns. “Did Technoblade say something to you?”
“Techno?” She glances behind him, but when he turns, there’s no one. “He didn’t— he didn’t say anything. Should he have told me something?” Only that there’s something in her voice that doesn’t make him believe her.
She knows what he’s talking about, but why would she not admit that she knows? Unless telling him that she knows, telling him what Technoblade knows would open a new can of worms, something they’re not ready yet for him to know.
But what could that be?
Technoblade obviously knows something, and Niki knows what Technoblade knows. And somehow, this has to do with him because otherwise, Technoblade wouldn’t have told him to not stick to his plan. So why can’t he know?
He frowns. “Alright.”
He’s not going to push it. Maybe he should, maybe he should ask until he gets an answer. Maybe. But maybe that also means he’s just going to end up with even more enemies than he already has, and he doesn’t need that. Particularly because he possibly needs the Syndicate’s help at some point again. He doesn’t want to ruin his chances with them, and he especially doesn’t want to anger anyone.
So trying to get an answer out of Niki would make her, most likely, stop telling him anything, including the things she can tell him.
“Don’t worry,” Niki says, “Techno just sometimes has…visions.”
“He’s Superpowered?” Dream isn’t sure whether he should be surprised or not.
Actually, he’s not surprised because that would explain even more things. If a Superpowered person helps run a café, other Superpowered people are obviously going to go there, so, of course, villains, who most of the time also have Superpowers, would choose a café where other people in their community are.
That is the explanation, and there’s definitely, absolutely nothing more to it.
“Yup,” Niki says.
Only Technoblade having visions means that he’s going to have even more problems. Because if he tells Dream to not break into Pandora’s Vault, to stay away…then what does that mean for him? What has Technoblade seen? How does it end for him?
If Technoblade tells him not to go, then it can only mean that there’s not a good ending awaiting him.
He swallows.
At the same time, if Niki doesn’t tell him to stop, to not go, and even gives him the blueprints while knowing about the vision…
Maybe it’s not going to be as bad. Maybe Technoblade misread the situation. Maybe the vision was too sudden and overwhelming to properly process and think it through.
It doesn’t have to mean anything, right?
“But…if he has visions, shouldn’t I be more concerned?” he finally asks.
Niki shrugs with one shoulder. “Visions don’t mean they actually come true,” and her words are calm, her voice is collected, but there’s a tenseness to her that he’s not used to.
He narrows his eyes.
It’s true though. The future is a finicky thing, and not everything you see has to become real.
There used to be a Superhero who could see the future—Dream was still a child when she was active, but he does remember that her visions were never something that you could fully rely on. They could come true, but they just as well could not. Sometimes, she even saw multiple endings of the same event.
The only times, her powers were fully reliable, were during fights.
“True,” Dream mutters.
He chews on his lips. “What did he see?”
“I’m sorry,” Niki says, “but he didn’t fully tell me what he saw either. He just…well, he just told me that you should be careful, and that you shouldn’t do anything alone.”
Dream hums.
Niki frowns. “Did he say something to you?”
“Yeah, I mean…I went to him after the vision I assume, and he just told me that I— that I shouldn’t do it? Like…he told me to not break into Pandora’s Vault.”
Niki laughs quietly. “To be fair, this is something I also can tell you without powers.”
Dream snorts. “Yeah, that’s true.”
Niki’s smile drops. “You have the flash drive,” she says, voice serious, “you have the blueprints. Now you’re the only one who can decide what you’ll do with it. Like Techno said, you shouldn’t do it alone, but…you make your own decisions.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest. “So, if you still decide to go in on your own…”
Dream scoffs. “Yeah, no, after seeing the way Technoblade looked, I’m for sure not going to go there on my own.”
Maybe he shouldn’t go in there at all. Maybe it’s not too late yet to take Patches and leave the city—he’s not going to be able to leave the country without an ID or a passport, but he could at least leave this godforsaken city behind him and start new in a different one and hope that things will be better there.
He really should just do that. It would be the easiest for him (and only for him).
He sighs. “Thank you, Niki,” he says. “I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s nothing.
“It’s definitely something. Couldn’t have asked everyone to help me with this.”
“We all know that I’m simply amazing,” she jokes.
“I mean—” he starts.
“Oh, shut up. You should go back to work if you have nothing better to do.”
He lifts his arms in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m going.”
Once he has the blueprints, it’s easier to figure a plan out. And it makes it even more obvious that there’s no way he would be able to do it on his own. But that’s okay, it’s not like it changes any of the plans he’s already had. It’s not like he wanted to do things on his own.
Not that he has to have a great plan before he goes to the villain to propose it to them. He just wants to have something, and depending on their willingness and the other villains involved, maybe they even have better propositions than whatever Dream came up with.
That’s why he’s always liked to have at least a second person to plan missions with. It makes it easier to find things he would’ve overlooked, and a second pair of eyes and brain might have an idea that Dream would’ve never thought of.
The blueprints also make it more obvious that this undertaking is as stupid—or even more stupid—as it sounds, as everyone expected, as everyone already knew.
It’s stupid, and it’s going to be dangerous, and Dream probably hasn’t had a worse idea ever before.
He sighs, closes the laptop that he’s borrowed from Niki because he doesn’t have his own. He technically wouldn’t have needed one, but his powers regarding technology aren’t honed enough for him to risk damaging the information in some way. And since Niki offered him a laptop anyway…
Almost everything’s done now; the only thing left is him getting in contact with the villain. He really hopes they agree to this. And he also hopes that he didn’t misread their intentions because then he would have a big fucking problem, and he doesn’t even want to think about it or about what he would do then.
It’s not going to happen. He didn’t misread anything. Why else would they ask about Pandora’s Vault if they didn’t want to break into it? (To be fair, there could be a lot of reasons and none of them have to include breaking into it, but…maybe if they get offered the opportunity to do so, even if they hadn’t planned to do it, they will accept it.)
Maybe. Hopefully.
It would be kind of embarrassing, now that he’s thinking about it.
He can already see it happening.
“Do you need help with this plan you have?”
And then Error and Phoenix will just stand there, completely dumbfounded by his idea. “That’s not…that’s not even close to what we want to do. How did you even get the idea?”
Yeah, he hopes that won’t happen. Otherwise, he would actually have to leave the country.
He sighs again.
He just hopes that Technoblade’s vision doesn’t mean anything, that it’s simply one path of the future and nothing more. That it’s not going to happen whatever Technoblade has seen simply because he’s not going to do it alone. Because the most important thing seemed to be that he shouldn’t be alone, and if he asks the villain, if they agree, he won’t. And then, logically, the vision shouldn’t come true.
He rubs his face.
It’s going to work out in some way. It has to.
“Hey, mate,” Phil says, dropping a bag on the table in front of him.
Dream’s shift ended half an hour ago, but he’s still in the café because he has to get a few more things done before he’ll go back to the hostel.
He looks up, then back to the bag. “What’s that?”
“I heard that you have something planned and that you have to get in contact with certain people; might appreciate that.”
Dream pulls a burner phone out, pauses. “Why?” Why does Phil now? It’s probably a stupid question. Techno and Phil are friends, so Techno might have told Phil about the vision, and Phil decided, for whatever reason, that Dream should need a burner phone with, apparently, the villains’ contacts.
Phil shrugs with one shoulder. “It means nothing, just a small favor.”
“A favor?” Dream frowns, pushing the burner phone back into the bag and closing it.
“Don’t think too hard about it,” Phil snorts.
Dream blinks. “Thank you.”
“Well,” Phil says, “I assume Niki and Tech already told you to not do it alone, so I’m not going to tell you it again, but…be careful. Pandora’s Vault isn’t what it seems to be, and…and there are people involved that you wouldn’t even think of.”
People involved that he wouldn’t think of? Is he talking about Guardian? It can’t be…right?
Dream chews on the insides of his cheeks. “How do you— how do you know about it?”
Phil just smiles. “It’s important to always keep track of people, Dream.”
“Right,” Dream mutters, “that makes sense.” But why should a civilian keep track of things like that? Unless Phil isn’t actually a civilian and—
Dream shakes his head. He doesn’t have the time or brain power for something like that. He can think about all of this and what everything adds up to at a later time. Otherwise, it’s going to be even more difficult to properly focus on the task at hand—and he can’t allow that, can’t allow distractions, not now. Not when the plan is breaking into Pandora’s Vault.
“So,” Phil says, “I don’t want to distract you any longer, and I have to go now anyway.”
“Bye, Phil,” Dream says, “and thank you.”
Phil presses his lips together. “Just…be careful, Dream. Don’t do anything stupid.”
Dream smiles. “I would never. I promise.”
If Phil didn’t want him to do anything stupid, then he shouldn’t have given him a burner phone to contact the villains—although…it’s not like Dream wouldn’t have had a way to contact them anyway.
But he can still blame Phil if he does end up doing something stupid—something more stupid than Pandora’s Vault, anyway—since he made it possible by giving him the phone. It’s a foolproof plan.
Phil shakes his head. “You better, you little shit.”
“I’ll be right back,” he says, crouching down.
Patches meows before she butts Dream’s shin with her head.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I promise. You won’t even notice that I’ve been gone.”
She blinks at him.
“I swear,” he sighs, “a week tops, and I’ll be back.”
He’s not sure a week will be enough; this isn’t something that should be done hastily, but since he already has parts of the plan finished, maybe it’ll be faster than expected. He can hope.
She flops down on her side, rubbing her head against the pavement.
“If I could take you with me, I would.” He’s not going to, well, basically kidnap her, and then leave her with strangers she’s never met in her life. He doesn’t even know if the villains are going to help him, and then it would’ve been unnecessary anyway, and on top of that, he doesn’t know either whether the villains like cats or not. Maybe one of them is allergic, for all he knows.
He sighs again, slowly getting up as his knees crack. The cold really isn’t making anything better, and he hates it.
“Give me a week,” he says, hoping that she’s not going to forget him even if he’s gone for longer. “And then I’ll be back with you.”
Dream raises his hand to knock, but before he can do so, the door opens.
“Hi,” Dream says, hand still raised, “I need your help.”
Phoenix stares back at him—he’s wearing black sweatpants and a hoodie that looks two sizes too big, but at least he’s got a mask on his face. It would’ve been awkward if not.
“How did you—” Phoenix shakes his head. “Come in.”
Chapter 15: where good men go to die | Dream XII
Notes:
title: nathan wagner — suffocate.
Chapter Text
“Well,” Phoenix says, closing the door behind Dream. “I don’t know who I expected, but it wasn’t you.”
Dream twists the hem of his sleeves. “Ha,” he says weakly. He also didn’t expect to actually do it, but here he is. “You’re getting visitors often?”
The base is so far away from the city that commuting seems like a pain and not something he’d be willing to do often. On top of that, so many people seem to live here that Dream can barely think of a villain involved with this group that doesn’t live in the base. And it sounded like he’s not even met all of them.
Phoenix shrugs. “Depends. I mean…we know more people outside of the ones living here, and sometimes, they come to visit us.”
Dream nods slowly as he examines the lobby. When he was first here, he couldn’t really focus on the house since he had other things to worry about, but even then, everything seemed so big, and already this room is big enough that he wonders who they robbed to be able to afford it.
He also wonders whose idea it was to make most of the interior wood when there’s a literal fire manipulator living here.
“This is really hard to find, by the way.” This obviously makes sense, but it’s also simply annoying.
“Yeah…” Phoenix says, frowning, “how did you even get here? You shouldn’t know.”
Maybe…maybe it wasn’t the best idea to just appear here without asking or at least warning the villains beforehand. He’s probably lucky that they didn’t shoot the moment they realized that someone was entering their property.
“Someone helped me,” he says. If he says that Phil helped him, then it’s possible that they’re going to be angry at Phil, and he doesn’t want that. But if he doesn’t say anything at all, he’s just going to look suspicious, and he wants this even less. If he wants their help, he needs to appear trustworthy, and he’s not going to do that should he refuse to tell them who it was that told him about their whereabouts.
“Someone?” Phoenix asks, and yeah, he’s definitely going to have to tell Phoenix who it was.
He sighs. “You know Phil?”
Phoenix’s frown deepens. “Phil helped you?”
It’s not surprising that he knows Phil; Phoenix probably knows all of the staff. He’s aware that Niki has some sort of connection to the Syndicate, so it shouldn’t be all that surprising either that Phil (and Technoblade) have, too. Right?
Or maybe he’s just spilling their secrets, and Phoenix actually wasn’t aware. That…wouldn’t be good. Probably. Perhaps he can ask Phoenix to not make a big deal out of it and just leave it, but if Phoenix truly didn’t know and now wants to talk to them, he can understand that; he also wouldn’t want some random person to know where exactly he lives without knowing how it’s possible that they know it.
“Yup,” he says, trying to make his voice sound as even as possible. He’s not sure he’s succeeding.
“Okay,” Phoenix says, and nothing more.
He hesitates, biting his lip as he considers whether he should ask or not. But it might be better to just get it out of the way before it’s causing resentment and then explodes at some point. It’s just not worth it. “Should he have not done this?”
Phoenix quickly shakes his head. “No, no, it’s fine…I just didn’t expect that I guess.”
“Ah,” Dream says, staring at his shoes; they’re dirty and look shabbier than anything else he used to wear, “okay.” First, it was because it could’ve been too dangerous, and then it was too embarrassing. Guardian never liked it when he dressed sloppily.
“So, why are you here?” Phoenix asks as he indicates that Dream should follow him further into the house.
In the hallway, there’s even more wood, and Dream really, really hopes that everything is somehow fireproof.
“Would you believe me that I just wanted to visit you?” he asks, knowing that Phoenix won’t believe him, but the longer he thinks about what he’s about to do, the stupider he feels.
There’s no way they’re actually going to agree to this.
Phoenix tilts his head. “Maybe if it hadn’t been Phil who gave you the address.”
“Fair enough.” It’s quiet for a moment as Dream tries to collect his thoughts. He should’ve come up with something before he even arrived here, but the entire drive, he had to make himself continue driving and not stop and turn around and do everything on his own instead. He breathes out. “Remember the conversation we had about Pandora’s Vault?”
“Yeah,” Phoenix says, “why?”
He breathes in. “Well. I need to get in.”
Phoenix stops so abruptly that Dream almost walks into him. “You— what?”
“I need to get into Pandora’s Vault. I have the blueprints.”
Phoenix blinks multiple times like he absolutely can’t believe what he just heard. Dream would react the same if some random dude who used to be a hero just a few months ago said this.
“Why the fuck would you want to do something like that?” he asks, disbelief coloring his words.
“Because the stuff you want is in there.” If he’s able to make it about them and their goal, it might be more likely that they will actually agree to it. It’s also possible that they’re going to laugh into his face and tell him, “Absolutely not.”
Phoenix squints. “And why do you want to break in?” That…did not work, then.
Dream shrugs, forcing his breathing to stay calm. He can already feel his pulse in his temples. “Why not?”
Phoenix crosses his arms in front of his chest, huffs. “What ‘why not’? What are you talking about?”
It would be easier if he had a proper answer. He doesn’t.
“Listen…I just need to, okay?” Because that’s going to suffice. He’s not even sure himself why he’s trying to drag this out so much.
He’s going to have to explain it sooner or later anyway, and the longer he refuses to give a proper answer, the more suspicious he will seem. He’s just fucking this up for himself.
“Why can’t you tell me?” Phoenix asks, and he doesn’t sound mad—more curious? “If you want our help, then the least you could do is tell me why the fuck you want to do something like that.”
His hand twitches. “You know I used to be a hero,” Dream says quietly.
“So,” Phoenix says slowly, dragging out the ‘o’ as he realizes what Dream is trying to say without actually saying it, “it’s guilt?”
Dream presses his lips together. “Probably.” Definitely.
For a moment is quiet, and it doesn’t seem like a bad silence, like an “I think you’re full of shit” silence, like “I’m trying to find a way to kick you out without hurting your feelings” silence.
“Okay, uhm…” Phoenix finally says, “I can’t promise you anything.”
That…went better than he expected. A lot better, actually.
“Didn’t expect that,” he says because he didn’t. He didn’t even expect that he would be let in.
Phoenix nods. “I’m going to talk to the others, but in the end, it’s the decision of all of us whether we do it or not.”
Dream smiles, lips pressed together. “Figured.” He breathes out, shoulders relaxing. “Thanks, Phoenix.”
There’s a pause, then, “Sapnap.”
“What?”
Phoenix looks like he’s regretting saying whatever he just said. Dream has no clue what a ‘Sapnap’ could be; he doesn’t think he’s ever heard that word before. He’s quite sure that this word doesn’t even exist. “That’s…that’s my name. Sapnap. Thought if we might work together to break into Pandora’s Vault, then you should at least know my name.”
Oh.
It takes one, two, maybe ten seconds for him to realize what Phoenix just said.
What?
Why would he tell Dream his real name? How did they get here? Phoenix doesn’t even know yet whether they’re going to work together or not. It’s still possible that Dream’s just an undercover spy.
“Aren’t you— aren’t you scared I’m going to betray you and sell you out?” Dream asks quietly.
Phoenix stares at him. “You know where I live.”
Dream blinks. “That’s…fair.” He could’ve—still can—sold them out to the Association, and then it really wouldn’t matter whether he knows Phoenix’s—Sapnap’s?—name or not.
Also Sapnap? Who decided on that name? The name sounds like some small child chose it, only for it to stuck and them not being able to get rid of it again even after growing out of it.
“What kind of name is Sapnap?” he says, keeping his tone as light as possible to make it clear that he’s just joking and not trying to insult him.
Sapnap’s eyes flicker to him. “It’s…not what my parents named me.” It sounds like it’s a sore subject, time for a topic change, then.
“Ah,” Dream makes, failing to come up with a new topic that they could talk about.
“It’s not like you have any room to talk,” Sapnap jokes.
Dream snorts. “My parents didn’t name me that either.” He’s not gone by his real name in a long time, and sometimes, he fears he’s going to forget it, that he’ll forget who he used to be, but…
But that name doesn’t belong to him, not really, not anymore.
“You chose it?”
Dream shakes his head. “It’s what my old mentor called me, and then it just…stuck.” He doesn’t mention how he was supposed to have a different Superhero name, that “Dream” used to be nothing but a silly nickname from a stupid man with too big dreams and too big hopes.
Guardian had looked like he was going to slap him that day when Dream had told him that he wouldn’t take any other Superhero name—regret had flickered over his face like that had been the moment, he realized that taking in Dream had been a mistake. Maybe it had been the first time, he thought like that.
“Your old mentor? Guardian?”
Dream scoffs quietly. “Nah. I used to have one before that until I was, like, twelve? I think?”
“You think?”
Time is weird, and his memory is fucked. It’s just hard to explain. A lot of his trainee days are missing, and he can’t even say how much it actually is because there’s no one he could ask, there’s no one who would know.
“I don’t remember a lot from that time,” he settles on. It’s diplomatic, and it’s normal that the older you get, the less remember from your childhood.
Phoenix doesn’t seem to think that. “This sounds…worrying.”
Dream shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t think too hard about it. My memory’s just always been shit.” He thinks. It’s not like he remembers.
Phoenix doesn’t seem to believe him. “If you say so…”
It’s silent, and only now does Dream realize that they’re still standing in the middle of the hallway. Awkward.
Phoenix’s fingers tap against his thighs. “Who was your mentor before that?”
Dream looks back up. “You know Nighthawk?”
Sapnap was younger than him when Nighthawk disappeared; it’s more than possible that he doesn’t know or remember the hero especially since he just completely stopped existing, and no one ever mentioned him again.
It also wouldn’t be surprising if Sapnap does know since their whole goal revolves around the Association, so it just makes sense they would research former heroes specifically those with weird deaths and disappearances.
“The one who suddenly disappeared?” Sapnap asks.
“Yep,” Dream confirms, throat restricting. “He was my mentor until he was declared dead, and then Guardian took me in instead.” He’s not sure he likes how often he thinks—and talks—about his former mentor. It’s important, probably, to do that, to keep him alive like this, but he’s not sure he’s over it yet. (It’s been ten years. He should. He knows. He isn’t.)
Sapnap’s eyes flicker away from him. “Do you know what happened to him?”
“Nope.” He grimaces. “But maybe Pandora knows.”
It’s not that impossible, right? Nighthawk disappeared under suspicious circumstances, so if there’s anything documented about it, it should be in Pandora’s Vault. Maybe the Association isn’t stupid enough to actually do that, though if they were involved.
Sapnap is quiet like he’s trying to consider it as a possibility. “You think?”
He doesn’t know what to think. “It’s worth a try, at least.”
“True,” Sapnap agrees. “So, you think there was something weird going on?”
“I mean…didn’t everyone think that back then?” He’s not really sure about that. Maybe people didn’t. Maybe it was just the other heroes. He hasn’t really been in contact with the other trainees and even less so with civilians. “Or at least, it was pretty common knowledge within the Association that something, uhm, well, fishy was going on.” He is sure that people would’ve thrown accusations around if there hadn’t been the fear of consequences.
He flexes his hands. “It was, like, the first time, I think, that the majority of the heroes acknowledged that not everything was sunshine and roses.”
Phoenix nods slowly as he seems to mull over Dream’s words. “Why did no one ever do anything?”
Dream snorts. “Most of them aren’t active anymore; haven’t been for a long time.”
He doesn’t know what happened to most of them—he doesn’t even know most of their names. Back then, it just hadn’t been important, and when he came back, it had already been too late.
“Because of that?”
“I don’t know, to be honest. By the time, I debuted, a lot of them were already gone, and it, hm, it always felt like the rest didn’t remember.” No one ever spoke about it again after the first initial weeks—sometimes, he’s really not sure whether it was just a weird fever dream or not. “Y’know, maybe, they actually didn’t know. Trainees and heroes are usually kept away from each other unless it’s, like…like— a hero-mentee situation, so. Yeah, it’s possible that the others actually didn’t know.”
He forces himself to take a deep breath. “And to be honest, it made me unsure whether I— I actually correctly remembered all of this. Maybe I had just…made everything up, y’know?”
When he was younger, he used to make a lot of things up, things that seemed real to him but weren’t real at all—at least that’s what Guardian always told him.
He doesn’t remember most of it now, but he does remember that he had always vivid dreams.
Sapnap smiles thinly. “Guess, we’re going to find out more soon.”
“Guess so,” Dream agrees. And if not, then it was worth the try.
Sapnap starts walking again—one meter, two—before he stops again, sharply turning to Dream. He freezes.
“Hold on,” Sapnap says. “Did you say earlier that you have the blueprints?”
He did say that. And he does have them, so he says, “I did.”
Sapnap narrows his eyes at him- “How do you have the blueprints?”
There’s no point in not telling the truth. He could try again, and then Sapnap would ask so long until Dream tells him. He can just cut it short instead and hope that there won’t be any consequences. “Niki.”
“That…makes sense, I guess.” Sapnap scratches his head. That was definitely a less surprising reveal than Phil helping him, so maybe it is more well-known that Niki is somehow involved, and no one really knows about Phil?
“Okay,” Sapnap says. “Are you hungry? The others aren’t home yet.”
Dream smiles. “Sure,” he says even if he isn’t.
Dream’s lounging in the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hands that’s still so hot that he can’t drink it yet—while Sapnap jugged it like it was nothing (the advantages of being able to control fire, he guesses)—when Sapnap perks up.
“Error’s home,” he says when he notices Dream’s confused expression.
Dream nods slowly. “Alright,” he says quietly, feeling the familiar anxiety creeping through his veins again. He’s not keen on having to explain it another time—and if he’s unlucky even more often than only twice.
The door opens. Error drops the bag he’s been holding.
Dream’s eyes stay on the counter in front of him. He doesn’t want to look at Error when he’s not wearing a mask and without consent from him. Even if he knows Sapnap’s real name, the same boundaries don’t have to apply to Error as well, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Error wants to keep his name and face out of this.
“What?” he says. “Sa— What’s going on?”
“Oh, hi,” Phoenix greets Error cheerfully.
“Hi, Error,” Dream says quietly.
“Hi, Dream,” Error says before he looks at Sapnap again. “Not to be rude, but…what are you doing here? Also, you can look up, I’m wearing a mask.”
Dream scratches his head. “Visiting friends?”
Error raises an eyebrow. “And the real reason?” No one’s surprised that Error absolutely did not believe him—he wouldn’t believe himself either, and he’s not even that bad of a liar. (Perhaps that’s not entirely true.)
“Dreamie here”—the nickname makes Dream gag—“wants to break into Pandora’s Vault.”
“You— what?” It’s a bit funny that they reacted in the almost exact same way—same words, wide eyes, the same disbelief as they try to understand why he would want to do something as stupid as this.
“Uhm…” He glances at Sapnap for help—if Sapnap explains it, if Sapnap agrees, then it might be easier to convince the others.
Sapnap just shakes his head, taking a step back. “You can explain it to Error yourself.”
“Traitor,” Dream mutters.
Sapnap snorts.
And Error looks between them like he’s not entirely sure what he’s supposed to make out of this.
Dream twists his fingers while trying to find an explanation that’s better and quicker than the one he gave Phoenix.
“So, I need to…break into Pandora’s Vault because they have, like, y’know, files and stuff.” He definitely nailed that.
“Yeah,” Error says blankly, “we already established that last time we spoke, didn’t we?”
Dream opens his hand to stop himself from pressing his nails into his palm. “Yeah, yeah, but…I basically got it confirmed now.”
That makes Error straighten up. “By whom?”
“By…uhm…” No one is going to believe him that he’s got this much help from the Syndicate without owning them a favor or actually working with them. How is he even supposed to explain this? He can’t even explain it himself. He doesn’t have an answer, and he’s not been able to come up with anything that makes enough sense.
Because…if the Syndicate wanted to get rid of Pandora’s Vault themselves, they definitely could. Why would they help him do something, they could do themselves? That they could be sure of would actually happen?
Nothing makes sense.
“Just spit it out.”
Here goes nothing. “Uhm…well, Zephyrus.”
“What?” Sapnap says.
“What?” Error looks at Sapnap. “I thought you already knew!”
“I didn’t know about that part!” Sapnap exclaims, the surprise visible on his face even with the mask on.
Error turns back to Dream, frowning. “Zephyrus? Why?”
“He found out about me trying to get information about Pandora’s Vault and, well…” Dream gestures. “He sought me out.” He knows it doesn’t explain anything—he would if he could.
“Why would he do that?” Error asks. “What the fuck?”
This just confirms that while the villains are friendly with each other, they don’t necessarily work together. Or…they might only react like this because it’s Dream who the Syndicate helped. Without expecting anything from him.
He just hopes he’s not collecting debt. He probably should have thought about this before.
“I don’t know.” Dream bites his lip. “I was— am as surprised as you.”
“This is so weird,” Sapnap says. “He’s never done anything like this.”
So, it does extend to the villains, and it’s not just because it’s him who got the help. But that just makes everything even more confusing. Because otherwise, he could’ve pretended that Zephyrus simply assumed that he was working with Error and Phoenix and helped him because it would mean helping them.
Only that this just destroyed the theory.
Error frowns. “Do you know each other from before or something?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” Unless Zephyrus lied to him, but why should Zephyrus lie to him? If they actually know each other from before, there wouldn’t really be any reason for him to do that and still help him. So, he doubts they met before. It’s still a possibility, of course, just not a very likely one.
“He didn’t say anything else either?” Error asks.
“Nope.”
Sapnap inhales sharply, “Geo— Error—” He cuts himself off, visibly shrinking into himself.
Error rolls his eyes. “It’s fine.” He turns to Dream. “I’m George.”
“Hi,” Dream says softly. He also did not expect this to happen, but he’s not complaining. It’s nice to be able to know an actual name and not just a mask.
“Sorry,” Sapnap says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his mind. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Whatever,” Error sighs.
Sapnap’s face lights up again. “George, Dream said that Phil gave him the address.”
George’s eyebrows almost touch his hair. “Phil? No wonder, then.”
Dream blinks multiple times. “What?” What does Phil have to do with Zephyrus? And what does it explain? He’s definitely missing a lot of context here, and it’s obvious that no one’s keen on actually explaining it to him.
He can’t really blame them since an explanation could uncover a lot of private things that Dream definitely shouldn’t know.
“Nothing,” George just says. “Don’t worry about it. So…Phil gave you this address…and Zephyrus told you that the documents are in Pandora’s Vault.”
“Yeah,” Dream confirms.
“Makes sense,” George mutters.
“Makes sense?” Dream echoes quietly. He doesn’t expect to get an explanation; he still hopes.
George clasps his hands and ignores Dream’s last words. “Guess we have our next goal.”
That was easy. And he’s psyched himself out so much that he almost turned around at least five times.
Still, there’s one more thing he needs to mention. Just because Pandora’s Vault was a target of theirs, and because Dream wants to do it as soon as possible, doesn’t mean they have to uproot all their own plans and shove them in the backseat.
He wants to get it over with as soon as possible, but he also doesn’t have a problem with waiting a few more weeks. It’s possible that it’ll take them this long anyway—a plan to break into Pandora’s Vault shouldn’t be sloppy, and something like that can take weeks to develop.
“I don’t want to…mess up your plans. If you have something else planned, it’s fine if you can’t help me.”
“Don’t be silly,” George says. “Pandora’s Vault was always the target. It’s just…sooner and progressing faster than we expected.”
“Okay,” Dream says softly, taking a sip from the tea he’s forgotten about. And of course, it’s almost cold now. “But you have to ask the others first as well, right?”
“Yup,” George confirms, “but since we all agree with the goal here, it shouldn’t be a problem. Don’t worry.”
He’s still going to worry.
Sapnap scoffs. “If necessary, we can just do it alone.”
Dream blinks. That sounds like a bad idea. Without the proper support, it’s going to be hard even for three people.
“We’re not going to do that, Sapnap, shut up,” Error hisses.
“Shut up yourself.”
George groans. “Fuck off; you’re so annoying.”
Sapnap grins at George. “You say this as if you don’t love me.”
“Who said I love you?” George bites out.
Dream stares at the cup in his hand and the dark liquid in it, trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible.
“Anyway, Dream,” George says, and Dream’s eyes snap to the villain, “is there anything else you need?”
Dream shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says before he remembers the stick in his pocket. “Wait. D’you need the blueprints?”
“Blueprints?” Error asks, and Dream can feel Error’s burning gaze on him.
“Oh,” Sapnap says, slapping his forehead. “Right. We didn’t tell you about that. Dream asked the Syndicate for the blueprints.”
“I asked Niki who asked the Syndicate,” Dream corrects.
“Isn’t that…the same thing?” Sapnap.
“No? I don’t think so at least.” Why should it be the same thing? Niki’s not part of the Syndicate, so it’s for sure not the same thing. Niki is definitely not part of the Syndicate. Absolutely not.
Sapnap shrugs one shoulder like he doesn’t care about semantics like this—because he probably doesn’t. “Either way, he has the blueprints now.”
“Yep,” Dream nods. “Do you need them?”
“That’d be perfect,” Error says, “then we can compare those with Vindicator’s.”
Niki said the same, and it’s not any less confusing now. Why should Vindicator have blueprints of Pandora’s Vault? And why does Niki know about it? It’s possible that they’re already this far and got blueprints themselves, but it doesn’t explain how (or why) Niki knows. It’s…confusing. “Vindicator? Why does Vindicator have blueprints?”
George pauses at the question. “You have to ask Vindicator that yourself. It’s not…our place to talk about it.”
“It’s fine, I was just curious. Niki said something similar.” He’s not going to ask Vindicator about it. Considering that Error said it like this, it feels too private, something that you’re not going to talk about after meeting each other two times.
“Niki?” Sapnap asks as he and George exchange glances. “Huh. Interesting.”
“Hm,” George agrees. “Just wondering why she would say something like that.”
Dream grimaces. “Uh…I may have said that I was working with you guys.”
Sapnap snorts. “I mean technically it’s not a lie anymore. But yeah, that explains it.”
That explains why she would mention Vindicator; it doesn’t explain anything else, but those questions are most likely not overly interesting to them. They’re interesting to Dream—they already have them.
“Before we talk about anything else, we should probably ask the others first,” George says. “And so, you”—he looks at Dream—“don’t have to explain everything twice. Or even more often.”
“Right,” Sapnap says in a tone that suggests he’s not thought about it previously.
Error stretches before he moves to the fridge. “Did you both eat already?” He opens it, but he doesn’t take anything out; he just stares at it for a moment before he closes it again.
Sapnap nods. “We had sandwiches for lunch.”
“Because Sapnap burned the pasta,” Dream says. He didn’t even know it was possible.
“Hey!” Sapnap exclaims. “We said we would keep it a secret.”
“I already thought that Sapnap had set something on fire again,” George comments, leaning against the fridge. “Something smells burned.”
“Again?” Dream asks. Now, he hopes even more that the house is fireproof because he really doesn’t want to wake up in a burning building.
George rolls his eyes. “It happens, like, twice a week.”
Twice a week? Then there’s no way the house isn’t fireproof. That’s something at least.
“You’re so mean, George, what the fuck.”
“Am I wrong?”
Sapnap doesn’t say anything.
“Exactly,” George says smugly, and for a moment, Sapnap looks like he’s ready to commit murder. Then Error turns towards Dream. “Do you want to eat something that’s not burned then?”
“You say that as if you’re any better,” Sapnap complains.
“Dream?” Error asks.
Dream startles. “Sorry. Uhm, it’s fine.”
“Okay. If you want anything to eat, just help yourself, I guess. The stuff that’s off-limit is labeled; don’t eat that, and you should be fine.” George turns away from Dream before he even has a chance to reply. “Also, Sapnap, I am better.”
Sapnap doesn’t seem convinced of that. “You literally poured hot oil down the drain the other day.”
“At least, I can make pasta,” George taunts.
“That wasn’t disagreement,” Sapnap points out.
“You’re still worse. Who burns pasta? Should Bad ban you from the kitchen again?”
“What the fuck,” Sapnap complains.
“Idiotnap,” George mutters.
Sapnap pouts. “Why do you always insult me?”
“Because you’re a fucking idiot,” George says like it’s obvious. “Anything else you need, Dream?”
Dream shakes his head with more force than necessary. “I don’t— I don’t think so?”
“If there’s anything else, you can just come to me or Sapnap.”
“Alright, thanks.” Why is Sapnap so friendly? Why is Error so friendly? He feels weird, out of place, like he doesn’t belong, and somehow, this is making it even worse. He can’t keep up with them, with this, and he really wants to go back to sleep. Or cuddle with Patches. Especially cuddling with Patches.
He misses her more than he should, and it’s been barely twelve hours since he’s last seen her. If this is going to take longer than two weeks, there’s no way he’s not going to go see her before they’re done.
Error smiles. “Of course; I just really have to shower now.”
“Yeah, you stink,” Sapnap mutters.
“I’m going to fry all of your chargers,” Error threatens.
Sapnap groans. “Please not this again.”
“Again?” Dream asks. What’s with them and property damage? Is that normal? Or just a villain thing?
“Yeah,” Sapnap says, “George always threatens to do that.”
“I haven’t done it yet,” George explains.
“Yet?” Dream raises an eyebrow.
“Yet,” George confirms, grinning.
“Stop it,” Sapnap whines.
“Dream can also do that, so careful,” George says casually.
What?
“He would never,” Sapnap says, looking at Dream, “would you?”
He did not expect to get involved in this, and he has no idea what he’s supposed to say. “I’m— what? I wou— wouldn’t.”
George tsks. “Leave Dream alone.”
“You literally brought him into the conversation first,” Sapnap argues.
George stares at him, not even breaking eye contact for a single second to blink. “Lies.”
A door closes. He almost didn’t notice with George and Sapnap talking. And now he could swear that he can hear footsteps.
“Dream,” Sapnap says, “you can confirm that he mentioned you first, right?”
“Yeah?” he says, blinking.
“I can’t believe you would betray me like that,” Error deadpans.
“I— what?” Dream says eloquently.
“Both of you leave Dream alone,” a new voice says.
Dream jumps, looks up. Bad is standing in the kitchen, the black hood still pulled over his head and his face, and wearing a mask that Dream can only see his eyes. He definitely didn’t mishear then.
“Bad!” Sapnap complains.
“Hi, Bad,” Dream says.
“Hi, Dream.” Bad smiles at him, dark eyes warm and welcoming. It automatically makes Dream smile back.
“Why does Dream get greeted, but I don’t?”
“Sapnap on his disowned arc,” George snickers.
“Fuck you, George.”
“Language, Sapnap,” Bad sighs as if Sapnap doesn’t curse like he’s in a swearing tournament.
“Whatever,” Sapnap huffs.
“What are you doing here?” Bad asks Dream friendly.
He cringes. He’s definitely going to have to tell them about the whole situation a few more times. If he’s lucky his explanations will get better with each time.
“I might, uhm, need your help.” Or maybe not.
“Can we wait until the rest is here, so Dream doesn’t have to explain it again?” George suggests.
“Sure,” Bad says, he doesn’t sound like it bothers him. He doesn’t seem like a lot ever bothers him. “Anyone hungry?”
At this point, Dream is going to have eight different meals today. As long as he doesn’t have to buy the groceries himself, he’s fine with that. He hates grocery shopping. It’s the worst.
Sapnap laughs quietly.
“What?” Bad asks.
“Nothing,” Sapnap says, avoiding Bad’s eyes.
Bad shrugs, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. “Why are all of you standing in the kitchen anyway? We actually have a living room, you’re aware of that, aren’t you?”
Sapnap wanted to show him the whole house earlier and instead, they just ended up in the kitchen to eat and then didn’t do one more step after that. He does want to see the living room though; he’s curious whether that part’s interior is also mainly wood like everything else he’s seen so far—which, to be fair, hasn’t been all that much.
“Uhm,” Sapnap says, twisting his fingers.
“Sapnap?”
“I don’t know,” Sapnap says. He raises his hands in surrender. “I forgot, okay?”
“Why are all of you like this?” Bad groans.
“It’s literally your fault,” George says. “Like…literally.”
Dream frowns. How old is Bad? Did he raise George and Sapnap? Partially maybe? When did they meet? He barely knows anything about them—which makes sense of course. Maybe he can ask Bad about this later.
Bad sighs like he’s in pain. “Muffinheads, all of you. Now out of my kitchen, and Sapnap?”
Sapnap turns to him, an eyebrow raised. “What?”
“You know that I never unbanned you from the kitchen, right? Please just…never cook again.”
Chapter 16: i walked into the snake pit (thinking i could face it) | Dream XI
Notes:
title: chxrlotte — hellfire.
i wanted to start preparing chapters this week since my finals are soon, but then i somehow fucked up my index finger and my wrist tendinitis flared up, and now i can’t type properly.
on top of that, my laptop stopped working, and i couldn’t use my dad’s since his is a work laptop. but i remembered that i still had my old laptop only that its keyboard doesn’t work anymore. so, i had to use my tablet’s keyboard, and then, chrome decided to not want to be updated because of which i had to use fucking microsoft edge. i swear something hates me and this fic
and all that because my phone always fucks up the formatting,,
anyway. there are probably some mistakes in there. pls ignore
Chapter Text
He feels surprisingly well-rested when he wakes up the next day. It’s been some time since he slept peacefully, since he didn’t wake up every few hours, but the mattress is soft and the blanket has the perfect weight, so maybe it’s not all that surprising he didn’t wake up once.
Not even thirty minutes after he’s woken up, Sapnap knocks on his door.
Dream stretches lazily and lets his back crack. “Yeah?”
“Can I come in?” Sapnap’s answer comes muffled through the door.
“Sure.”
The door swings open.
“I wasn’t sure if you’re already awake,” Sapnap says. “The others are finally home, so I thought I’d check. Do you wanna do it now?”
Dream shrugs. “Whatever you think is the best idea.”
Sapnap smiles. “Okay. See you in ten in the living room?”
“Hey, Bad,” Dream says when he enters the kitchen.
Bad smiles. “Good morning. Slept well?”
“Better than ever,” he says, trying to ignore the coffee smell as much as he can.
“That’s great to hear. Do you want to eat something?”
Dream shakes his head. “No, but thanks.”
“Okay, then you can just go to the living room. I’ll be there in a sec.”
Dream smiles and quickly leaves before the smell of coffee can become too overbearing.
It’s not like Dream’s expecting a lot—he already knows the villains working together even if he doesn’t know their civilian names or their faces. But, really, how shocking can any of the revelations be?
It makes sense for the villains to keep a low profile outside of their costumes. If they attracted attention even outside of their work, there would be at least one person to make the connection between villain and civilian, and Dream can’t imagine that they would risk something like that.
So, he doesn’t expect to recognize any of them.
Until he enters the living room and finds a person he’s not seen since he was a trainee.
“Sam?” he asks, not able to say much more. He’s thought…well, he’s thought Sam was dead. All of them expected it after Sam went out one night and never came back.
There hadn’t been a body, but there had been a villain attack and a report and with that Dream never had a reason to doubt the claim that Sam was dead.
Maybe he should have.
He stares at Sam—Sam with his gentle eyes and soft smiles. Sam who had always wanted to be an architect, who never wanted to become a hero. Sam who should be dead.
No. He definitely should have doubted the official report.
“You know each other?” Sapnap asks, an eyebrow raised. He’s sitting next to Sam, one arm slung over his shoulders.
“Well,” Sam says, scratching his neck, “this is awkward.”
“I thought you were dead!” Dream exclaims, surprise coloring his words.
There’s no accusation, no anger. If Sam faked his death and left…it’s not like Dream can fault him for that.
If he had the chance back then, back when he was merely a trainee—
He’s still not sure he would’ve taken it.
“Yeah,” Sam says, laughing awkwardly, “sorry for that. I had to find a way to leave.”
“You know each other?” Sapnap repeats, eyebrows knitting together. He looks as dumbfounded as the rest.
Dream frowns. Were they not aware that Sam used to be a trainee? And if that’s the case, then he hopes that Sam doesn’t get any problems now that they know.
“From when we were trainees,” Sam explains.
“Oh,” Sapnap makes, nodding, “okay, that explains it.”
Is Sam Vindicator? Is that why everyone said that he would have the blueprints? It makes sense. Maybe. Dream still doesn’t know why Sam decided to leave, if something had happened that made him do it.
It’s possible that it has to do with Pandora’s Vault because when Sam left, the prison had been under construction.
Before this, before the Association had acquired Pandora’s Vault, it had been a simple prison—no high security, no special reinforcement to hold Superpowered beings—, but the location had been perfect for a high-security prison.
Was Sam involved? Did he know more about the use? The Association’s intent? Did he leave because of that?
It would explain, at least, why he has the blueprints.
“Dream,” George says suddenly, “You didn’t know Vindicator was Sam?”
He blinks. Should he have known? Had it been so obvious?
He’s never really interacted with Vindicator—the only time after he’d been kidnapped. Before that? He barely remembers any situation that’s been more than a short fight. Vindicator never even spoke when he’d been close. For a long time, Dream thought that the villain was mute because of that.
That also makes sense now.
“I mean, no?” Dream says. “There were a few years between Sam disappearing and Vindicator’s debut. And to be honest, I never— I never knew what exactly Sam’s powers were. I just knew that they— that they were science-related.”
“Wasn’t the first trainee who ‘died’ anyway,” Sam adds, and it’s true.
These deaths aren’t highly publicized, but they do happen. A lot of trainees go on missions before they debut, and sometimes, missions go wrong.
It’s not common, but it’s also not something unusual. It’s not something you doubt happened. It’s not something you question.
Now, though, he wonders how many of these “deaths” weren’t actual deaths.
How many Superheroes helped their mentees to escape? How many trainees were able to leave on their own?
And where are they now? Were they able to live a normal life even after everything? He’s not sure he can imagine that.
“I really didn’t know you were still alive,” Dream finally says because he didn’t. Did the others know? Was he the only one who didn’t?
Did they ever even talk about that? He can’t remember.
Sam laughs. “That was the point.”
Dream snorts. “Fair.”
“Did you train together?” Sapnap asks.
“Kind of?” Dream says, and it’s more a question than an answer. He’s pretty sure they didn’t have a lot to do with each other, but it’s also been a decade. “I don’t think we did a lot together.”
“We didn’t,” Sam confirms. “Just, you know, the occasional small talk. Since Dream already had a mentor back then, we didn’t really see each other very often.”
“Yup,” Dream says like he definitely, absolutely remembers that. “Can I ask why you left?”
George scoffs.
“You see,” Sam says slowly, “it has to do with Pandora’s Vault.”
“Pandora’s Vault?” So, Sam was involved. It makes sense, of course. Especially considering Sam’s powers. Did all of the villains—including the Syndicate—know about that?
Niki knew. And if Niki knew, then the Syndicate should’ve known as well. He can’t imagine that they didn’t know.
But how is it possible that the Association has never found this out? There’s no way they knew and didn’t do anything else.
If they knew, if they found out about this, there’s absolutely no way that they wouldn’t have done everything to get the blueprints back and eliminate Sam. Or, at least, they would’ve completely overhauled the original plan.
The break wasn’t long enough for that to happen, though.
So…they truly believe that Sam is dead?
Sam sighs. “I was one of the people working on it, and after seeing the conditions of the prison, I just— I just couldn’t continue working on it, and you know how they are. Only that I didn’t realize that I hadn’t taken all of the building plans with me.”
Dream hums noncommittally. “That…explains a lot actually.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
“I just remembered Nighthawk talking about it.”
It’s something he’s never really thought about, but Nighthawk did mention that there were delays, bigger delays than expected. In the end, it hadn’t really mattered anyway. They apparently found someone else to take Sam’s place, and they finished the building.
Sam’s eyes widen. “Oh, yeah. What about Nighthawk? Do you know what happened to him?”
Dream shrugs helplessly. “Well, I’m sure it wasn’t an accident nor a villain attack that killed him.”
For a long time, he wasn’t. Guardian had been so sure, and they used to be close. So, if Guardian believed it, if Guardian thought there was no doubt, then why should have Dream questioned his former mentor’s disappearance?
He’s not that twelve-year-old that just lost his only parental figure anymore though. He’s not the sixteen-year-old freshly debuted hero who didn’t know what to do and what he wanted, who needed guidance and a strong role model either.
“We’re hoping to find out more,” Sapnap supplies. “Maybe there are answers in Pandora’s Vault.”
Sam is quiet for a moment. “That’s very much possible. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Zephyrus confirmed it, but I don’t know where he got that from, so…no clue how trustworthy it actually is.” It still could be a lie. He doesn’t know Zephyrus, and Zephyrus doesn’t know him, so it’s possible that he lied. Whatever the reason for that might be.
They can’t know until they broke into Pandora’s Vault and went through the files.
“If it comes from Zephyrus, it’s probably true,” Sam mutters.
“Oh?” He shouldn’t be surprised. It makes sense that the other villains know more about it than he does. As far as he remembers there haven’t been any attacks between those two groups—which in itself doesn’t have to mean much, but it makes this whole situation less…shocking.
“From what I know anyway,” Sam says. “Oh, by the way, Dream, how’s the chip doing? Ant and I are still working on a way to remove it safely.”
Ant? Is Crimson’s name Ant? He’s not here today, so he’s probably not going to be involved in the mission, or at least not in the planning.
“Doesn’t bother me if that’s what you mean.”
Sam nods. “And you don’t have any problems?”
“None.” He doesn’t think so at least. He’s not yet found anything.
“That’s good. Hopefully, we’ve come up with something once we’re done with this. It’s probably better anyway if we remove it after you broke into Pandora’s Vault.”
“Probably.” Dream squints. “Hold on. Why do I have a chip, but you don’t?” Sam was a former trainee…and the chip was implanted when he was young.
Sam should have one, no? But if he had, if they’ve known, why were they surprised by it? And he can’t imagine that they didn’t check after they discovered Dream’s.
Sam’s face twists. “That’s another thing we have to find out. It doesn’t really make sense since the chip seems to be so old that it had to be implanted when you were quite young. It had to be before your debut by a few years. But I don’t have one, so it’s not…common practice.”
“Huh,” Dream makes.
Not common practice…
Sam doesn’t have one.
Why does he?
Bad, who’s been quiet until now, clasps his hands. “Pandora’s Vault.”
“Do you really think that there will be documents about that chip?” George asks, and he sounds as sure as Dream feels.
If Sam doesn’t have one, but he does, maybe the Association isn’t even involved? Maybe it was someone else? But who would do something like that? And why? And how? He’s been with the Association since he was five. There’s not a lot of time when someone could have done something like this.
And anyway. The Association obviously knew about that if they were able to use it to track him.
So, the Association really had something to do with it.
Only that it still doesn’t make sense that only Dream had one and Sam didn’t.
“If not there, where else?” Bad says.
“True,” George mutters.
Sometimes, Dream wonders if they expect too much. If they have too much hope. Can it be possible that all of their questions are in Pandora’s Vault? Will they even succeed with getting in? And just because they get in, doesn’t mean they’ll find anything.
It’s likely that they will fail, that they won’t succeed. That they won’t get anything from this trip.
It’s more than possible.
But if those files exist, if everything is true, if the rumors are correct, then they have to be in there.
Of course, the best-case scenario would be that they don’t find anything, that nothing is actually happening in Pandora’s Vault, that the rumors are just stupid conspiracy theories.
Dream hopes that this is the case.
He’s sure he knows better.
“So…we have the blueprints. We just need a plan now,” Sapnap says.
“That’d be pretty useful, yes,” George scoffs. “Any ideas?”
“I have one, but…” Sapnap trails off, staring into the distance.
“He’s going to hate it,” George finishes the sentence.
Sapnap snorts. “Oh, yeah, he’s definitely going to hate it.”
“No,” the man says, arms crossed. He’s tall and pale and blond, and he’s wearing a white hoodie that contrasts with the dark clothes of the others.
“Come on, dude, please?” Sapnap asks, eyes wide and pouting.
“Fuck you, Sapnap,” Punz grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind his words. “Why do you even need me? Can’t one of you just manipulate the cameras or whatever?”
“We thought about that,” George says, chin propped on his hand, “but Sam said they use a special technology that detects any powers used on them.”
“And you don’t think they have sensors to discover if someone uses powers within that prison?”
“Doubtful,” Sam says. “The cells hold Superpowered criminals, and if the rumors are true, some of the Superheroes are involved, and most of them have passive powers that would also be detected and constantly trigger false alarms.”
“So, you don’t know?” Punz summarizes, and with each passing word, Dream has the feeling that Punz is less likely to agree.
Dream doesn’t know the plan yet—he’s not even sure there’s already a plan to begin with. If he’s lucky, they just need Punz as reinforcement.
If he’s unlucky, they’ll need him to get in.
“We don’t know,” George admits freely.
Punz sighs. “Why do you always have to do shit like that?”
George rolls his eyes. “You knew that when you decided to join us.”
“I didn’t know I would have to be part of that.”
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dream says quietly. “We can probably find a different way in.”
Punz scoffs. “Letting you go with Sapnap? No way. No offense, dude, but I don’t trust you.”
“None taken,” Dream mutters. He’d be more surprised if the person he met not even thirty minutes ago, already trusted him.
“So, you’re in?” Sapnap asks.
Punz just knocks his head against the doorframe behind him. “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”
“Thanks,” Dream says, fidgeting with his hands.
Punz thumps his fist against his forehead. “Don’t…don’t mention it.”
“Cool,” Sapnap says. “Do you want to be involved in the planning?”
“Oh, hell, no,” Punz says quickly. “Figure something out and then tell me.”
George shrugs. “As you wish.”
“Great,” Punz says. “I’m going to bed now.”
“Thank you, Punz,” Sam pipes up, but by then, he’s already vanished through the closed door.
Dream stares. “What the fuck.” That would certainly explain why they need Punz to get in.
“He always does that,” Sapnap sighs.
“Is that how we get in?” Dream still asks. You can never be too sure about things like that especially because he has no idea what Punz’s powers actually are, and it’s still possible that the villains have a different idea.
“Yep,” Sapnap confirms. “He can dematerialize us.”
And maybe, maybe this will be easier than expected. Maybe.
He hopes he hasn’t jinxed it.
He likes the villains’ base. It’s surprisingly comfortable and homey even though it’s messy and loud at times—or maybe it’s exactly because of that.
Sapnap doesn’t leave him alone, and George is always willing to help if there’s a need for it, and Bad asks him every few hours if he wants Bad to cook something for him although Dream is more than capable of cooking for himself.
He’s somehow survived the past few years as a Superhero as well after all.
But it’s nice.
He just misses Patches.
He’s tried to explain to her why he’s had to leave, but she’s still a cat, and he hopes she doesn’t think that he won’t come back to her, that he’s left her for good, that he’s abandoned her like everyone before him.
It’s just a few more days until he can see her again.
He looks out of the window. Just a few more days. He can do that.
“Don’t talk, stay close to me, and don’t be stupid, okay?” Punz says, this time completely dressed in black. He’s pulled a hood over his blond strands, and a mask covers his entire face.
Dream nods, pulling on his gloves. They’re a bit too tight, but they will do their job, and that’s the only thing that matters.
Sapnap rolls his eyes. “You said that five times already. We get it.”
“Because you’re known for following rules, Sap,” Punz teases.
“Shut up.”
“Good luck,” George says in their ears.
“Won’t need it,” Sapnap says, grinning.
“Focus,” George hisses. “This is important.”
“I know, I know.” Sapnap slings an arm over Dream’s shoulders. “You ready?”
Dream shrugs. “As ready as I can be.”
He’s not ready. He’s not ready at all. He’s looking at Pandora’s Vault, and he’s already getting nauseous, the cold feeling in his chest getting worse with every breath he takes.
He’s not sure how he’s supposed to get through this.
But he has to. He has to, and he will, and there’s nothing that could stop them.
It will work.
Dream breathes out.
It’s just him and Sapnap and Punz now—with George supervising. The rest stage an attack on the other side of the city to get as many of the heroes as far away from the prison as possible; even so, it will be hard enough.
He can’t fuck this up.
“Okay,” he says, more to himself than the others. “We got this.”
He quickly checks the weapons the villains gave him—it’s weird to bear arms again. At first, he’s felt naked without them, and now…
“Don’t worry too much,” Sapnap says. “We’re going to make this without a problem. Just watch.”
Dream forces a smile on his face. “We’ll see.”
He has a really bad feeling about today, and the cold in his chest is just making everything so much worse.
They get in without a problem. There are no sirens, and there are no guards who discover them.
Punz dematerializes them—it’s cold and dark, and Dream feels like he’s going to throw up—and when Dream can see something again, they’re surrounded by black obsidian, the only light coming from lamps high above on the ceiling.
But the hallways are small especially if you’re three people, and Dream knows he won’t be able to stay here for much longer.
Get in, get the files, get out.
It’s easy. It should be quick. It shouldn’t be a problem.
He still can’t see the others; all of them are invisible even though they’re not dematerialized anymore, and Dream doesn’t know how Punz’s powers work, but whatever Punz is doing is working and as long as that’s the case, Dream’s not going to ask.
They find what they need quickly—the layout is exactly the same as the blueprints they’ve gotten from the Syndicate, and Dream wonders once again where they got it from.
He quickly shakes his head to get the thoughts out of his head. Now is not the time for that.
The storage room is massive, and it’s filled to the brim with documents.
“What the fuck,” Sapnap says. “How are we supposed to go through all of this?”
“Hopefully, they organized it in some way,” Punz mutters, making a step into the room. “If not…”
“If not, then we’re going to have a problem,” Sapnap agrees. “Hey, George, we’re in. And it’s…a lot more than we expected.”
“You should have time,” George says.
“Yeah…we’ll need that.” Sapnap sighs. “Okay, let’s don’t waste more time.”
Punz nods sharply. “I’ll report every fifteen minutes,” he says and disappears.
The first few files Dream pulls out are about the creation of the Association and how it developed. Dream puts them back.
He finds some about retired heroes, but none of them had suspicious deaths or disappearances; most of them continued to work for the Association after they retired—some as trainers, some in Pandora’s Vault, some even became members of the Council.
Nothing that interests him further. He leaves them behind.
“Have you found anything yet?” he asks, hoping that the other had more luck so far, but Sapnap shakes his head.
“Alright,” Dream mutters. It’s expected. He just hopes that they will find something soon, something that shows them they’re not at the wrong place, that this isn’t just a waste of time.
He pulls out the next file, dusting the paper off before he opens it.
His own face stares back at him.
He slams the binder shut.
“Something wrong?” Sapnap asks.
“Nothing,” Dream says tonelessly.
“If you say so.” Sapnap shrugs and turns around.
He keeps the file; he doesn’t know why. He shouldn’t. The file is probably like every other as well: information about his parents, his powers, his abilities. There won’t be anything more.
He still keeps it.
The next dozen files are nothing interesting, and Sapnap doesn’t seem to have more luck either.
Sapnap groans. “We’re never going to find anything if it continues like that.”
“They could’ve at least labeled them,” Dream says.
“Yeah!” Sapnap agrees. “How do they find anything ever?”
Dream snorts. “Maybe they don’t.”
“Ugh,” Sapnap makes. “Probably.”
Dream opens the next file. “Inventory?” He puts the file back quickly.
It’s not getting better, and with every file that has unnecessary information, he fears that they really hoped for too much. That they’re not even at the right place. That they expected things that don’t even exist.
Did Zephyrus really lie to him?
Sapnap gasps.
Dream turns around. “Did you find something?”
“Not entirely sure, but it seems promising.” Sapnap shrugs. “I’m just going to take it with me.”
He nods.
Nothing.
Nothing.
And once again nothing.
He hits his forehead against the shelf.
Why couldn’t it have been easy?
“Where’s Punz, by the way?” Sapnap suddenly asks. “Hasn’t it already been fifteen minutes?”
Dream blinks. It has been fifteen minutes already. Twelve minutes ago. Where’s Punz? Did something happen to him?
He can already feel the panic bubbling in his throat—he forces it down, but the cold feeling stays.
“George?” Sapnap asks. “Do you know where Punz is?”
“He’s moving,” George says, “on the other side of the prison.”
“Maybe forgot the time?” Dream suggests.
“Just focus on your task,” George continues. “I’m going to contact him.”
“If he’s on the other side, it might take him longer to get back.”
“Possible,” Sapnap mutters, and he sounds as convinced as Dream feels.
“Let’s just continue for now,” Dream says and pulls out the next file.
He doesn’t recognize the person in the picture. He does recognize the uniform they’re wearing.
“Getting closer,” he mutters, keeping the file as well.
The next files are disappointing again. Barely anything is organized, and Dream isn’t sure how they’re supposed to go through all of this when they have no clue how they’re supposed to get through all these files when they’re all like this.
“Punz is on his way back,” George says. “He’s almost run into guards.”
“Okay,” Sapnap says, “thanks.”
Dream opens the next file.
“Dream!” Sapnap calls out, and he sounds excited. “I found something about Nighthawk.”
It takes everything in him to suppress the urge to immediately run to Sapnap and go through the file. They don’t have the time now to read the documents. It’ll have to wait until they’re out of the prison and back at the villains’ base.
“Good,” he says. “That’s good— no, it’s great.”
Answers. They need answers, and they’re not finding them fast enough, but maybe that file will be able to give him what he wants.
His own file is useless. Just more inventory. He puts it back.
Inventory. Checks. Former heroes who have been gone for decades already. Even more inventory. Guardian.
He almost closes the file before his brain catches up.
Guardian.
He’s not sure if the file about Guardian will be useful, but he can take it with him. He looks at the two files in his hands. It’s not like they have a lot. And even if it turns to be worthless, it was worth a try.
Reports. More checks. Powers?
It’s thick and heavy, and Dream is curious. He puts it to the other files he’s going to take with him.
The next file is about the police. He takes that one as well.
He even finds a weather report. No wonder that the storage room is this overfilled if they keep weather reports.
Dream’s in-ear crackles.
“You have to get out,” George says. “There’s a group of heroes coming back to the prison.”
Already? Why? What are they doing here? Why should they—
Why should they come back?
There’s no reason for that.
“Okay,” Sapnap says. “We just have to collect all the files and—”
“You have to go now,” George interrupts him. “They’re going to arrive at the prison in ten minutes.”
“Okay, okay,” Dream says quickly, taking all the files he has so far. They just have to wait for Punz now, and then they can get out without a problem.
Where is Punz?
“Do you have everything?” he asks Sapnap who nods.
“Everything I found which…is not a lot.”
They both look at the stack of files they have.
“This was kind of unnecessary,” Sapnap comments.
“Yeah,” Dream drawls. “Kind of.”
“At least we have something?”
Dream is about to say something when Punz appears, almost falling to his knees when he rematerializes again. There’s blood all over his uniform.
“Shit,” Sapnap says, immediately running to Punz to support him, “shit, shit, shit.”
“What’s wrong?” George asks. “What happened?”
“Punz’s injured,” Dream says. “Is it just the stomach?”
“Yeah,” Punz breathes out. “I couldn’t— see.”
“Don’t talk,” Dream says, pressing a hand against the bleeding wound. “Just focus on breathing.”
Of course, this had to go wrong. What did they expect? Of course, something like that would happen. They should have thought about that, should’ve taken bandages and meds with them, should’ve—
Why can things not go right for once?
“You have to go,” George urges, “they’re getting closer.”
“I don’t think Punz can—,” Sapnap starts.
“I can try.” Punz coughs. “I don’t— I don’t think I can get all of us out.”
Dream bites his lips as he pulls out the only bandages he took with him.
He quickly wraps them around Punz’s stomach—it’s not pretty, but it only has to be enough for them to get out. Then Crimson can take care of Punz. They just need to get out.
Only that Punz won’t be able to take both of them with him. If they’re unlucky, he won’t be able to even get two of them out.
Shit.
“Take the files and Punz and leave,” he finally says.
“What about you?” Sapnap says.
“If Punz is able to, he can come back to get me. If not…” Dream swallows. “I’ll find a way.”
Sapnap’s hand tightens around Punz’s arm. “Promise.”
“What?”
“Promise me,” Sapnap presses out. “Promise you’ll find a way.”
“I—” Dream breathes in shakily. “I promise.” He’s not sure he can keep it. He’s pretty sure he can’t keep it. He doesn’t say it.
“You better keep it,” Sapnap grits out.
“Ready?” Punz asks Sapnap, and his lips are so pale they’re almost white.
Dream’s hold tightens around the gun.
“Yeah,” Sapnap says, and Dream can feel his eyes on him.
“I’ll be right back for you,” Punz says to Dream.
Dream smiles. He’s not so sure about that, but he nods. “Until then.”
And then they’re gone.
He just needs to buy them enough time to get out.
He breathes out. Breathes in.
Then he accumulates electricity with his left hand.
The door opens, Dream lifts his gun.
White smoke fills the room.
It happens so quickly that he doesn’t even have time to cover his nose and mouth. Within seconds the whole room is filled with smoke; he can’t even see the gun he’s holding anymore.
He falls to one knee, hand on his throat. The gun clatters on the floor.
He coughs. He should have expected that. He should’ve expected that they’re not going to fight, that they would do everything to overwhelm him without exhausting their own powers. He should’ve—
Distantly, he realizes he’s choking as his other leg gives out as well.
“Don’t—” he coughs. “Don’t come back,” he gets out, hoping that George can hear him.
“Dream? What’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Leave,” he whispers.
He’s already broken the first promise he’s made to them.
The door opens, and while the guards are wearing masks, he would always be able to recognize the man leading them. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t.
“What?” he says, voice faint even to him as he struggles to keep his eyes open.
The man crouches down in front of him and sighs before he shakes his head. “You never fail to come back here, hm? Did you really think you could break into my prison without me finding out?”
He turns to the guards behind him. “Find the others.”
“No,” Dream chokes out, trying to reach out, trying to stop them. They can’t. He can’t let it happen. He—
“Don’t worry,” the man says, smiling. “They’ll care well for them.”
“You can’t, please,” Dream tries to say, but his tongue feels heavy like it doesn’t belong to him, like he’s lost control, like he’s a stranger in his own body.
“Oh, Dream.” The Warden pats his head. “We’re going to have so much fun together.”
It’s the last thing he hears before the world turns black.
Chapter 17: dead people don’t talk | Dream XIII
Notes:
title: paperblossom — antiheld.
a few days ago, i dreamed that i went to bed and when i woke up again, four of my fics (including this one) were deleted; then i woke up properly and had to make sure that didn’t actually happen lmao
literal nightmare fuel
Chapter Text
When Dream wakes up, everything hurts. His head throbs, swallowing hurts like he’s going to be sick soon, and his back feels like someone repeatedly stabbed it. He’s pretty sure that didn’t happen.
It’s still dark, and the mattress is harder than he remembers; it’s uncomfortable, and there’s something digging into his back.
He frowns, shifts as he tries to find his blanket again, but he instantly regrets the movement when the throbbing pain in his head turns into something sharper.
And he’s so cold.
He slowly sits up, hoping to not aggravate the headache even more while supporting his body weight with his hand. He carefully touches the wall, trying to find the windowsill, and—
He’s not in villains’ base. And there’s a cold weight around his wrists.
He’s not in their base unless he fell asleep in a different room, but he doesn’t remember doing that, and the villains would’ve woken him up anyway since getting a good night’s sleep is important, and if he didn’t fall asleep there, then where is—
He stops.
They’re not planning to break into Pandora’s Vault anymore.
They already did.
And Sapnap and Punz got out.
He doesn’t remember a lot more.
He thinks he saw Warden. Maybe? Did he imagine that? Was he actually there?
He pulls himself up, dropping his forehead on his knees.
Sapnap and Punz got out. He knows that. Or they should have had enough time to do so. Unless Punz wasn’t able to actually get them out, but he doesn’t want to think about that, doesn’t want to imagine what might’ve happened to them, what will happen to them, should they have been caught.
He doesn’t want to imagine them in dark cells just like him, sitting on their beds as they wait for anything to happen.
He’s not— he can’t think about it further.
They got out. That’s what happened. They got out, and George was waiting for them to help, and Ant took care of Punz’s injuries.
Nothing else happened.
He breathes out.
He obviously has to be in Pandora’s Vault. While he’s never seen the cells themselves, and while he can’t really see it now either, there’s no way he’s anywhere else.
He’s worked together with villains. He broke into a high-security prison, and he has Superpowers. If he’s not in Pandora’s Vault, then the Association has to be incredibly dumb.
Maybe it should be surprising that he’s still alive—or maybe not.
Actually…it shouldn’t be. They caught him, the public regards him as a traitor. And if it’s true, if the experiments do happen, then there’s absolutely no reason at all why they should get rid of him.
He bites his lip. Depending on what they plan to do with him, death would’ve been the nicer outcome.
He shouldn’t think like that. He knows. If he’s losing hope, then he’s fucked, so incredibly fucked.
And he’s sure that the villains will get him out…right? They will get him out. They don’t appear like people who would let him rot in here—especially since it’s so important to them to expose the Association’s crimes.
They’re going to come for him, and they will get him out. He just has to hold onto that.
Time is hard to tell in the cell, but if he had to, he would guess it’s two hours later when the lights flicker on, and they’re so bright, that his headache comes back in full force.
He pulls on his hair, but that doesn’t really help to relieve the pain, and he’s probably not going to get painkillers for it either.
He hates everything about this.
At least, he can see something now.
There’s no window as expected, and the walls are made out of such a dark material that even with the lights on, the entire room just seems small and narrower than it actually is. In general, there’s something so uncomfortable about the cell that he pulls his knees tighter to his chest and loops his arms around his legs.
He glances at the camera in the corner across from the bed he’s still sitting on. Also as expected. And the door already looks so secure that Dream doesn’t even want to try and break it open.
Not that he could.
He grimaces when he looks at the cuffs around his wrists. And the prison uniform is so plain that he wouldn’t be able to use it for anything either.
He’s once again reminded of a situation not that long ago only that he was locked up in a room that had a window, and they were nice enough to give him a goddamn blanket.
They’re probably worried that he either finds a way to kill himself with it or that he’s able to somehow uses it to fight the guards, get out of the cell and then break out of the prison. (He can’t say that this is something in his repertoire.)
Maybe he can ask the next person he sees for one. Or maybe he shouldn’t. He’s not entirely sure yet how he’s supposed to behave anyway.
He’s never met the Warden, much less talked to him, so he can’t even say what kind of person he is, and with that, the chances rise that he accidentally annoys someone he really shouldn’t anger.
He sighs. It’s useless to think about all the possible scenarios that could happen. It very much could be that he won’t ever meet the Warden anyway, that the guards will be the only people he sees until the villains (hopefully) rescue him.
He eyes the small hatch in the door. It’s also possible that he simply won’t see anyone ever.
Does Pandora’s Vault even have some sort of courtyard? Not that it really matters if no one is allowed to use it, and he has the feeling that the prisoners of Pandora’s Vault are not allowed out of their cells except for…certain things he doesn’t want to think about.
He sighs again. How long will it take to break someone out? By now, they will have upped the security; he can’t imagine that they didn’t do that. On top of that, Punz is injured and with that, he might not be able to do anything but rest for the next few days or even weeks. And if they don’t want to stop with breaking him out but also getting the rest of the files (and possibly rescuing other prisoners?), the planning might take even longer.
He should’ve expected this. He should’ve expected that an outcome like this is possible—and maybe even likely. He should have. He feels stupid for not properly thinking about it, for not making another plan in case something like that would happen.
He’s so fucking stupid.
He doesn’t feel prepared for anything when the door opens, and he’s even less sure what he’s supposed to expect.
The Warden? Guardian? Someone entirely else? Are they going to start with the experiments immediately? Will they give him more time to get used to the cell?
Are the rumors not even true, and there are no experiments? (Although that’s the part he’s the surest about. Even if they didn’t find anything explicitly about the experiments. By now, he simply can’t imagine they’re not happening, and he absolutely doesn’t like what that might mean for him in the future.)
But when the door fully opens, there’s no person in a lab coat standing in front of him. There’s not even one of the guards.
It’s just Guardian with his stupid uniform but without his stupid mask. And there’s a stupid smile on his face like he enjoys seeing Dream in this cell.
Maybe he does.
Dream’s not sure anymore what to think about his old mentor.
Especially now.
Especially now that Dream knows that Guardian has access to the prison and can go in and out as he likes, that he can even visit prisoners. (Unless Guardian has been sent by the Council to tell Dream that he’s allowed to go, that he’s no longer a prisoner, that he’s a free man, and that there’s no one stopping him from walking out of the prison, but…
But he heavily doubts that.)
“Good morning, Dream,” Guardian says, carefully closing the door behind him. Dream can hear it lock. Expected.
“Good morning?” he says, squinting. He’s relatively sure that the lights went on a few hours ago.
Not that it has to mean anything. Really, it could be that it’s evening, that he was only out for a few hours, and that not even a full day has passed since they broke in.
He wouldn’t be surprised if they tried to fuck up his perception of time even more—like he’s had any to begin with.
“You look surprised,” Guardian notes.
He smooths out his face. He hates not having his mask.
“I…am?” he finally says. Maybe if he acts like he’s had no idea that Guardian is involved in…all of this, he will let something slip that Dream can use. “What are you doing here?”
Guardian tilts his head. “And here I thought you would’ve already figured it out.”
What should he have figured out? Why Guardian is here? Guardian’s involvement? Something entirely else? There are so many possibilities, and Dream’s head still hurts too much to properly think about anything. Theorizing with a headache is as productive as trying to work with a fever.
“I know— what do you mean?”
Guardian scoffs, but he doesn’t do anything else.
What can he say without telling Guardian everything they know? It probably doesn’t really matter what exactly he tells him anyway…unless they use that knowledge to either get rid of the according files or bring them somewhere else, so that the villains can’t get them.
That wouldn’t be good. That wouldn’t be good at all.
Because while the files about the powers might be helpful, they’re not enough. They’re not enough at all. They’re not even close to being enough.
“Do you— do you mean that you’re involved in this? That the Association is behind some of the heroes’ deaths or is it— is it something else you’re talking about?”
That should work, he hopes.
With Nighthawk’s file, they might already have enough proof of that, and anyway. It’s not what the villains are really behind, so even if the Association would get rid of any evidence that those things happened, it wouldn’t influence the villains’ goals.
Hopefully.
He still doesn’t know all of their goals.
But better that than telling Guardian that they’re after the experiments, he guesses.
“You know, Dream,” Guardian says instead of answering, “I’m really disappointed in you.”
Dream blinks. Disappointed? Why should Guardian be disappointed in him?
“Dis— disappointed? You? In me?” he asks, disbelief heavy in his voice. “If anything, I should be disappointed in you.”
Because of Guardian is involved, if he knew, if he knew and didn’t do anything, if he actually approved, then he has no right to be disappointed in Dream and all of the choices he’s made so far.
It’s not him who betrayed the heroes’ values.
“Don’t forget your place, Dream,” Guardian says lowly, a warning in his voice like he knows that Dream is right. “This is for the best for everyone.”
For whom? Who is everyone? The people they experiment on? The people they get involved with contracts they can’t get out of?
He wants to scream, wants to shake Guardian, wants to ask why, and if it’s really worth it.
“The best— what are you talking about? You’re experimenting on innocent people!”
“Innocent I wouldn’t say,” Guardian says flippantly as if that’s the most important thing to focus on.
The people imprisoned here had gotten life sentences as penalties, not…not that. And there are people who aren’t even legally here.
Unless Dream (and all the other heroes who “disappeared”) somehow missed his court hearing.
“What about me?” he asks quietly.
Guardian laughs. “Do you really have to ask that? You deserted, you allied with villains, and you’re working with them.”
“That’s not—”
“True?” he’s interrupted.
“It’s not true! I didn’t help them with the bank robbery.” He frowns. Did the Association ever think that this was actually true? It’s likely they knew better. But they, for sure, made the public think that Dream would stoop as low as blowing up a fucking bank, rescuing a child, and manipulating them into thinking that he’s still the good guy although he was behind the robbery.
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Dream,” Guardian says with the voice he always used when Dream got something wrong as a trainee.
“Then what?” he says because he really doesn’t feel like guessing until he gets the right answer.
Guardian crosses his arms in front of his chest. “How did you get in here?”
“That?” Dream scoffs. “The villains are not worse than you.”
There’s no way that Guardian thinks something like that justifies locking Dream in here and possibly...more than that, then...
Dream doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to say.
“And they’re still villains who broke into a prison.”
He wants to laugh. He wants to laugh so badly. And they’re villains because they were dubbed as that by the Association. There’s not even a legal criterion for who counts as one, so for all Dream knows everyone who uses their powers publicly and not for the Association could be called one.
“And you think just because you’re a hero everything you do, is okay?” he asks. There’s a reason why they’re still not allowed to just…kill or even harm people when it’s not necessary.
There aren’t really any consequences when things like that happen, but legally, legally, they have to have good reasons and no other choice.
“Well,” Guardian says conversationally, “it’s not us who broke the law.”
Dream blinks, mouth open. Since when were human experiments not against the law?
“Broke— do you hear yourself?”
“Careful,” Guardian warns, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth.
He shouldn’t anger Guardian, he knows that. He’s well aware of that, and normally, he’s more careful, normally, so many slip-ups wouldn’t happen. Normally—
Well, normally, he’s also not locked up in a cell and being told that human experiments are fine and somehow better than breaking into a prison to expose the Association for their crimes.
He breathes out slowly to calm himself down. “Sir—”
Guardian lifts an eyebrow. “Suddenly, you remember your manners, hm?”
“I—” he breathes in shakily, “I can’t believe you say that breaking into Pandora’s Vault is worse than experimenting on inno—” he breaks off. Right. Not innocent. None of the people here are innocent or even person enough to think that experimenting on them is bad, “people.”
How did he end up here? How did the Association end up here? How did an organization that was supposed to help people end like this?
“Oh, Dream,” Guardian says like Dream is wrong, like Dream doesn’t understand, like Dream has no idea what he’s talking about. “One day you’re going to understand why we’re doing this.”
“Understand? I don’t want to understand.” If understanding means that he’ll turn out like Guardian, that experimenting suddenly becomes acceptable…then he doesn’t want to.
Guardian sighs. “You’re just like him.”
Dream narrows his eyes. “Him?”
“Did you know that Nighthawk said the exact same thing back then?” Guardian asks.
Dream presses his lips together. “And he’s right.”
And if Dream knows one thing, it’s that Nighthawk wasn’t killed during a villain attack.
It makes sense. Everything makes so much sense now. He almost wishes he didn’t.
Nighthawk knew, and Nighthawk disagreed, so he died. And Guardian knew about that, maybe he was involved. Maybe he was even the reason for that. And maybe…maybe he did it himself.
“Sadly, he never saw the plan come to fruition,” Guardian comments.
What even has changed since then? What has changed for the better? Dream can’t think of one thing, not a single one.
“Because the Association killed him,” he says with a steadier voice than he thought he would be able to muster.
Guardian snorts. “Who planted that stupid idea in your head? You know it was a villain attack that killed him. We didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“You’re lying, and you know it,” he grits out. If Guardian is telling the truth, then Dream is going to eat a goddamn broom.
Guardian sighs. “It’s disappointing.”
“What?”
“That you turned out like this. And to think that you were so promising once.” Guardian shakes his head, regret coloring his voice.
Dream twists the hem of his sleeve with his fingers. “What do you mean?”
“That you work with the villains, that you believe every lie they spread about the Association. And that you apparently stopped being able to think for yourself. Do you need more?”
Dream stares at Guardian in disbelief. He hasn’t started to think for himself until he met the villains, until he left the Association and their influence on him behind.
He doesn’t think he’s ever thought for himself when he was still a hero—too busy with training and missions, and people telling him what to do and what he shouldn’t.
“I think I only started to do that now.”
Guardian hums. “Did you? Or are you only repeating what other people told you?”
He’s not—
He’s not…right?
He’s—
He breathes out.
Guardian is lying, and Guardian apparently has been lying to himself this entire goddamn time Dream has known him. And Guardian isn’t going to stop now with that.
He can’t believe anything coming out of Guardian’s mouth. No matter what it is.
“What do you want?” he finally asks.
“I wanted to see my favorite mentee. Is that too much to ask for?”
Sure. That’s definitely what’s going on. Dream absolutely believes that.
He really wants to punch Guardian. Maybe he should do that. Even with the cuffs, even without his powers, he’s more than capable of doing so.
“I’m your only mentee.” There’s a short pause. “And I wasn’t even supposed to be.”
He was Nighthawk’s mentee, and he should have been until Dream debuted as a hero. And then someone made that impossible.
Guardian nods. “And everyone agrees on what a mistake that was.”
“Who’s everyone?” Dream asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “Everyone agreed that Nighthawk was one of the best mentors there are.” He’s always heard from everyone how lucky he was to have Nighthawk as his mentor—one of the best and most promising heroes there have ever been.
He’s never heard anyone say that Nighthawk wasn’t a great mentor or that he would’ve needed a different one.
Although…he’s in generally never heard anyone talk about Nighthawk after his death.
“The Council doesn’t agree,” Guardian tells him. “In fact, they have the opinion that he wasted all your potential.”
“He didn’t waste my potential,” Dream grits out.
He didn’t. Nighthawk did not. He did everything in his power to train Dream, to make sure that he would be prepared for the life as a hero.
Nighthawk didn’t fail, and he didn’t waste his potential.
He didn’t.
It’s not Nighthawk’s fault that Dream’s powers never fully developed, that they never became what they should have been.
It hadn’t been on Nighthawk. It had been on Dream.
They all know that. They all know that Dream’s powers could have been even more powerful if Dream had properly trained them, if he had actually taken care of them. And he hadn’t.
How is that Nighthawk’s fault?
“How would you know that?” Guardian asks, and now both of his eyebrows are raised.
“How would you know that?” Dream gives back because how would he? He knew of Dream’s shortcomings when he started to train him. He knew that there had always been something wrong with Dream, that there had been something that just couldn’t be fixed.
He knew.
And he knew it was Dream. (He’s often enough told Dream that.)
“For one, there’s the fact that your control over your powers is severely lacking. And there are also your fine motor skills. And both of them are things commonly found in people who either suppressed or never learned how to properly control their powers as children,” Guardian says. “Face it, Dream. If you had a competent mentor from the beginning, your powers would’ve developed normally.”
Only that it isn’t true. He learned how to control them. He never suppressed them. Considering everything, his control should be normal. His powers should be normal. And when he was younger, before Nighthawk’s death, before he was months without a mentor, things had been normal. He had been able to properly control his powers, and he had the proper fine motor skills for his age group.
Things had been normal.
And then they hadn’t been.
And there was not a single person who could explain why that happened, why things changed. Not the doctors, not other Superheroes, not the other trainers.
No one.
It doesn’t make sense that Nighthawk should’ve been the reason for that. It doesn’t. It just…doesn’t.
Dream grits his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Guardian shakes his head. “Not much to do about that now though. Because not only did Nighthawk stunt your powers’ growth, you’re also a criminal now.” He sighs. “A pity. And such a waste.”
“I think I hate you,” Dream says blankly, and he doesn’t even care anymore that he might anger Guardian, that things might get worse.
Guardian steps closer. To Dream’s surprise, there’s no anger visible on Guardian’s face—it doesn’t make him feel safer. “Because you can’t handle the truth?” Guardian crouches down, so that he can look Dream in the eyes. “It’s okay,” he continues, “you’re going to come to that conclusion on your own sooner or later.”
“I won’t,” Dream hisses. “And you know the truth. You know that my powers developing faulty wasn’t Nighthawk’s failure.”
“Oh, Dream.” Guardian pets Dream’s hair before Dream abruptly moves his head away.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me.”
Guardian snorts, but he doesn’t try again. He slowly gets up, but he doesn’t move away. “You know. You could get out again.”
For a moment, he’s so surprised by those words that the only thing he can get out is a, “What?”
“If you do exactly as I say,” Guardian continues without acknowledging Dream, “and you don’t resist…the Council and the Warden are open for my suggestions.”
That sounds suspicious. Even without knowing what exactly he’s supposed to do, it sounds far too suspicious.
There’s no way they will let him out if they actually think he’s a criminal and possibly also a villain since he works with them together.
Whatever that offer is, it’s not one he’s going to take. No way.
“And what exactly am I supposed to do?” he still asks.
“First you have to agree,” Guardian counters.
Of course. It’s not surprising. It’s not surprising at all. In fact, it’s expected, and that also means whatever he would agree to, it’s bad. It’s extremely bad. And probably something that goes against everything he believes in.
Guardian most likely didn’t expect Dream to agree, but…
“I’m not going to do shit,” he says.
Guardian shrugs like he doesn’t really care. “Too bad. That’s on you then.”
So, he really didn’t expect Dream to agree. He just wanted to let Dream know that there’s a way out if things get too bad.
He breathes out.
Whatever they have planned for him—
He’s not going to think about it. He’s not. If he does— yeah, he’s just not going to think about it.
Maybe Guardian wants to scare him, so that Dream agrees quicker. Maybe.
He breathes in.
“What is on me?” he asks finally.
Guardian smiles at him. It’s sickly sweet, and it makes Dream want to throw up. “You’ll see soon enough.”
“This is a trick, isn’t it?” Dream says because he knows, and Guardian should know that he knows. That whatever he’s trying to do here isn’t going to work, and that he can stop.
It won’t work. Dream promises himself that. It won’t.
“I don’t know what your brain is coming up with, but it’s just an offer for my favorite mentee.”
“You’re full of shit,” Dream says, but it’s quiet enough that Guardian doesn’t hear it. He’s not that stupid.
“But since you didn’t want it.” Guardian shrugs again. “The offer still stands should you ever change your mind.”
There it is.
“First you have to tell me what exactly I would be agreeing to,” Dream says, knowing that Guardian won’t be doing that. He can still try.
“That’s not how it works, Dream.” Guardian takes a step back, eyes trained on Dream like he’s trying to read Dream’s thoughts. “Think about it. I’m going to come back tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. He’s not looking forward to that. He squints. That way, he might at least get some feeling for how long he’s spent in this cell although he probably shouldn’t rely on it. He shouldn’t rely on anything Guardian says, ever, it appears.
“Behave well, and you might be treated well,” Guardian says, and there’s a smug grin on his face. It makes Dream want to punch him even more.
He grits his teeth instead.
It’s not a good idea. He knows that. He knows. He shouldn’t be doing it, as tempting and satisfying as it might appear.
Guardian unlocks the door before he stops and turns around again. “Oh, also. Dream,
the Association really didn’t have anything to do with Nighthawk’s death.”
Dream wants to roll his eyes. Of course, Guardian would keep telling him that. It’s not like he would—or could?—tell Dream the truth.
“Why do you keep saying that when we all know the truth?” Dream asks, head tilted.
“Because it is the truth,” Guardian says, and there’s something in his voice, something Dream can’t quite place, something… “It wasn’t the Association.”
“Yeah,” Dream says, rolling his eyes, “it wasn’t a villain attack either.” Because it wasn’t a villain attack as much as Guardian might insist on it. So, if it wasn’t a villain attack and it wasn’t the Association either, what else could it have been? A suicide? That’s why no body was found?
Sure. He definitely believes that.
“Next, you’re going to tell me that Nighthawk didn’t die, and that you locked him up in here as well,” Dream scoffs. “When’s the reunion?”
And maybe he shouldn’t joke about something like that because it could be true, but he’s sick of this. He’s sick this all.
Guardian sighs, and he sounds like a disappointed parent—like he has any right for that. If anything, Dream should be disappointed that his former mentor not only knows about Pandora’s Vault and the things happening in it, but that he is also involved himself.
“You’re not getting it,” Guardian says, shaking his head. “See you tomorrow, Dream.”
“What?” Dream says. “What am I not getting?” Because nothing Guardian just said made any sense, but the only answer he gets is a key turning in the lock.
Chapter 18: i have to go, no turning back | George III
Chapter Text
He watches as the small red dot disappears from the screen and reappears a second later in the storage room.
He breathes out. Punz is back with them. But that doesn’t mean they’re safe yet, obviously.
He taps against the table, holding his breath as he waits for all three dots to disappear. But it doesn’t happen.
One minute goes by, and they still haven’t moved.
Then it’s two minutes.
George glances at his second screen, at the heroes coming closer and closer. They’re going to be within five minutes at the prison, and if they’re here because they found out that someone broke into the prison, then the others have even less than five minutes because they will have notified the guards by now.
So, if they want to get out safely, they have to do that now. What’s taking them so long? They should be out by now, and they know that. They’re smarter than staying in there until it’s too late.
“What’s wrong?” George asks. “What happened?”
“Punz’s injured,” Dream says. “Is it just the stomach?”
Shit. When did that happen? When George contacted Punz, he didn’t tell George anything about an injury, just that he’d be on his way back, that he’d almost run into guards, not that he did.
How bad is the injury? Will they be unable to leave the prison?
“You have to go,” George urges, “they’re getting closer.”
He doesn’t get an answer from the others, doesn’t hear what they decide, if they have made a decision yet. They don’t tell him how bad Punz’s injury is, if it makes it impossible for all of them to get out, or if it’s just shallow, nothing to really worry about.
He bites his lip, tries to breathe in deeply to calm his nerves, but when nothing happens, when the others don’t materialize next to him, anxiety starts to claw at his throat.
He can hear his blood pulsating in his ears.
And then two dots disappear.
And reappear.
And Punz collapses.
“Fu— Punz!” he calls out, immediately rushing to his side. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know,” Sapnap says frantically, dropping the pile of files on George’s desk before he seemingly contacts Ant. “He came back like that, but he could only take one other person with him, but he said he would go back for Dream.”
George studies Punz’s pale face, his closed eyes, the sweat on his forehead, the faint breathing, the blood-soaked bandages around his middle.
He doesn’t think that Punz will be able to do anything anytime soon.
“Can you bring Punz to the other room?” he asks Sapnap to keep him busy.
“Ant will be here soon,” Sapnap says.
“Okay, good,” George says as he watches Sapnap struggling to pick up Punz. Under other circumstances, George would continue watching, but he gets up to quickly help Sapnap carry Punz to the second room of the apartment, and lay him down on the bed.
Once Ant has come and once Punz is stable, they will be able to bring him to their base, but right now, and especially because George doesn’t even know what they’re dealing with, it’s too dangerous to move Punz more than they need to.
Then his headphone crackles, and he rushes back to his setup.
“Don’t—” Dream coughs. “Don’t come back.”
“Dream?” he says, hand flying to his headset. “What’s happening? Are you okay?”
He obviously isn’t, but George isn’t sure what else he’s supposed to do as he stares at the red dot on his screen. It doesn’t move; it hasn’t moved at all for too long, and if he tells them to not come back, to leave him—
How were they so fast? How did they get back so quickly?
He doesn’t get an answer; in fact, he doesn’t hear anything else from Dream. And then the red dot disappears from his screen.
He glances at Sapnap who’s pale and who’s looking at George with wide eyes, shaking.
“What happened?” he says, voice quiet, unsure.
“I lost— the connection broke,” George says, staring at the screen. The dot doesn’t reappear; it’s just…gone. And Dream doesn’t answer him either.
He can’t even feel Dream anymore which means that someone either took the earpiece away from Dream or just destroyed it.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
This wasn’t supposed to end like that; this wasn’t supposed to happen.
“Fuck,” he says again.
What are they supposed to do now?
“What do you mean?” Sapnap finally asks, and when George turns to Sapnap, he’s surprised to see that Sapnap hasn’t started to glow yet.
Sapnap doesn’t believe him yet, doesn’t want to believe him.
“You can’t—” Sapnap starts. “Punz said he’ll go back in.”
“Punz fainted,” George bites out, and he knows he’s unfair. “And I don’t know where the fuck Dream is.”
And if they don’t know where he is, even if Punz didn’t just faint due to blood loss, it would be too dangerous to send anyone back inside, including someone who can dematerialize themself.
There are too many heroes in the prison, too many people trying to find Sapnap and Punz, and if they go back now, they’d be expected by them. The heroes, the Warden would expect them to go back to rescue Dream, and that would end even worse.
And as much as George wants to rescue Dream, wants to get him out of there, he also can’t endanger any of the others even more.
He buries his face in his hands. Fuck.
“He also said that we shouldn’t come back,” he adds blankly, turning to Sapnap again. “So, I swear to fucking god, if you go back to do something stupid, I’m going to kill you myself.”
They can get Dream back—but they can’t if they do something stupid, if they rush decisions, if they go back without a plan, knowingly walking into a goddamn trap.
And he needs Sapnap to understand.
He knows Sapnap, maybe he knows Sapnap even more than he knows himself, and he knows that the moment, Sapnap gets the chance, he’ll go back in to get Dream out.
And George can’t do that. He can’t lose another person today.
“We’re going to get him back,” George continues before Sapnap can protest. “But we can’t rush things.”
“But—”
“No,” George cuts him off. “If you go back, that’s your death sentence.”
“And Dream?” Sapnap bites out. “He could die just as well.”
“They won’t,” George says, sounding surer of himself than he feels. “They won’t, not after making everything public.”
And maybe he’s lying—he knows it’s wishful thinking. They could still kill him, could write it off as them trying to pursue Dream and Dream ending up killed during the manhunt. Or they could tell the public that Dream tried to break into Pandora’s Vault to free prisoners and that during the escape, he was killed. Or they could—
George breathes out.
He can just hope they’re not going to kill him, but he has to make Sapnap believe that the chances of that happening are low, that something like that won’t happen because otherwise…
Otherwise, Sapnap is going to get himself killed.
“They won’t kill him,” George repeats, voice steady. “And we will get him back. I promise.”
He shouldn’t lie to Sapnap, and he shouldn’t make promises. And he especially shouldn’t make promises like that, not when he knows that he might not be able to keep them.
George can’t sleep.
George doesn’t even remember the last time he wasn’t able to sleep.
But he just can’t stop thinking. He can’t stop thinking about Dream—can’t stop wondering if they locked him up in one of the cells, if he’s injured, if he’s asleep.
If he’s still alive.
George refuses to believe that Dream is dead—not after everything the Association has done to get him back; it can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. All of their efforts would’ve been worthless and a waste of time and money if they now killed him.
So, it can’t be.
He’s still alive.
He has to be.
There’s no other possibility.
George stares at the ceiling above him.
Dream is alive, and he refuses to believe anything else.
And yet, he still can’t fall asleep. So, after two hours of lying in his bed and failing to fall asleep, he gives up.
He grabs the first hoodie he can find and leaves his bedroom.
If he can’t sleep, he can do something productive, at least. And while Sapnap told them that they haven’t even been able to get through a fourth of the files the Association has stored in Pandora’s Vault, they did bring a few of them back with them.
And since George doesn’t have anything better to do, since George can’t even fucking sleep, he can already look at them.
Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll find something useful, something that explains things, something that not only proves that the Association does do experiments but also why they wanted Dream back so badly.
On his way to the office where they decided to put the files, he quickly visits Punz.
Ever since he fainted, he hasn’t woken up, but Ant told them that it’s normal, that even after healing Punz’s injury, it’s to be expected that it might take another day for Punz to wake up.
He opens the door quietly and finds Punz sleeping in the bed. He’s still paler than he normally is, but his breathing is steady and deep, and everything seems normal, so George closes the door just as quietly and leaves.
No one is in the office when he gets there which he’s thankful about.
Talking about what happened, about possible plans and how to continue now, what they should do, what the best way forward is, would be useful, probably, but he also just can’t do that now.
Maybe tomorrow, maybe after he’s slept. Maybe after he knows more than he does now.
He doesn’t expect a lot from the files that Sapnap and Punz brought back with them; he doesn’t expect them to have the answers to all their questions; he doesn’t even really expect to be able to prove with them that experiments are happening, that the rumors are true.
But maybe he does expect them to have answers. A few, at least.
He just doesn’t want to be disappointed if it turns out that all of that was useless, that they could have done nothing just as well, that breaking into Pandora’s Vault wasn’t just stupid, but that it also hasn’t given them anything, that it was just a waste of their time.
That Punz got injured— that Dream has been captured for nothing.
George breathes out and takes the first file from the pile.
It’s about the police which might be useful to prove corruption, that the Association has been paying them for ages to look away, but it’s not what he’s searching for right now, so he puts it to the side.
He’ll ask Bad to read it, maybe.
The next one is about Guardian, and alone seeing his face makes George so angry that he has to close the file. There’s probably nothing important in it anyway since they suspect that he’s involved in this entire situation.
They’ve seen Guardian enter the prison too many times to think anything else. There’s no way he’s not involved in this when he spends so much time there.
George doesn’t know what his connection to all of this is, or how he ended up doing that, but he also just doesn’t care. Guardian is involved, and that’s all he knows. He couldn’t care less about Guardian’s reasons.
Not that they’re going to be part of his files anyway. Guardian’s file is so thin that the only information about him is the most basic facts that he can find out by googling the hero.
So, he puts Guardian’s file to the side and hopes that Sapnap won’t accidentally pick it up. While the file in itself might be useless, he also doesn’t want it to get destroyed in case it is helpful, and there’s no doubt that it might end up burning if Sapnap lies his hands on it.
It probably also was Dream who chose to take the file with them and not Sapnap.
The next file has a picture of a person George has never seen before, but when he sees the orange prison uniform, it makes sense why they decided to keep the file.
He squints at the date and stops.
That was before Pandora’s Vault. Two years before Pandora’s Vault was modified.
How long has all of this been going on? Unless they were a normal prisoner. But why would the Association keep documents about random inmates?
He quickly scans the pages, but nothing stands out to him. Their name doesn’t tell him anything, and there’s nothing about powers either. Just a normal prisoner; there’s absolutely nothing about them that would explain why their file is in the Association’s possession.
George almost abandons the file when he notices a small note at the end of the page.
Transfer to Pandora’s Vault, XX/XX/20XX
But when he flips to the next page, most of it is blacked out.
He groans and closes the file with more force than necessary.
Of course, that has to happen. When are things ever easy?
Although he’s disappointed, he can’t say that he’s overly surprised.
If there are things in the file that the Association wants to keep a secret, but they store the documents in a room that technically any guard could access…
The only question is now where they have that classified information. If not even Pandora’s Vault is safe enough for them to keep that kind of information, where else could it be?
He closes his eyes, tries to imagine the blueprint. The big storage room, the cells, the rec room, the med bay, the office—
He stops. The Warden’s office.
It would make sense, wouldn’t it? It would make sense to store sensitive information there that no one but the people involved should have access to.
And since Sapnap told him just how messy the storage room is, it wouldn’t be surprising if they just put anything they have in there without properly organizing everything since the important and needed information isn’t even there.
If they get Dream out, maybe they can make a stop at the Warden’s office as well and try their luck.
He sighs as he puts the file away.
But before he can take the next file, the door opens.
“George?” Sapnap asks in a tone like it’s surprising that George is here to read the files.
Or maybe it is surprising since George normally never has problems sleeping and normally also isn’t really known for doing productive things when he should be doing them.
“Hi, Sapnap,” he says, “some of the files are completely useless.”
“Useless?” Sapnap frowns as he enters the room and closes the door behind him with a soft click. “How many have you read?”
“Those,” George says and lifts the files he’s already gone through. “Most of them, anyway,” he adds after a few seconds. He didn’t read Guardian’s, and he’s not going to give them to Sapnap to read them either.
Bad would probably be the best choice, since he also doesn’t want to make Sam do it. He’s not entirely sure if Sam and Guardian have some sort of history together, but it’s better to be safe than to be sorry, and he doesn’t want to force Sam to do anything.
If Sam wants to read the file, then it’s something else, of course.
“Huh,” Sapnap says and comes closer before he drops on the other chair in the office. “How useless have they been so far?”
“This one’s about the police,” he says, “haven’t really read it yet, but it might be helpful to prove corruption. That one’s about Guardian, and”—he looks Sapnap straight in the eyes—“we’ll get Bad to read it. To be honest, it’s so thin that there’s probably nothing useful in it anyway.”
“I could read it,” Sapnap offers, but George just snorts.
“And then you accidentally end up burning it, so. No.”
“I wouldn’t,” Sapnap protests.
“I wanted to punch him the moment I saw the picture of him,” George says drily. “Sorry, but Bad will be the best option.”
Sapnap rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t protest more. “Fine,” he grumbles.
“And that one,” George says, holding the third file, “is about a former prisoner.”
Sapnap sits up straighter. “What did it say?”
George snorts. “Nothing?”
Sapnap visibly deflates. “Nothing? How?”
George opens the file and flips to the page with the note. “It says here that they were transferred to Pandora’s Vault, but”—he flips to the next page—“something happened that they don’t want people to know about.”
“Hold on,” Sapnap says and turns the page back to the previous one. “That was only two months after Pandora’s Vault was finished, and it seems like they were in prison for a long time before that.”
“Two years,” George confirms. “I thought that maybe things started earlier, but nothing before Pandora’s Vault is blacked out, and I couldn’t find anything that might imply that things happened, so…” He shrugs. “I mean they probably have had these plans for much longer than they let on, so they most likely already chose people before Pandora’s Vault was ever finished.”
Sapnap hums. “But if they blacked out that information, where is the rest?”
George laughs softly. “You said that the storage room is messy, right?”
Sapnap nods. “I was asking Drea— Dream how they were able to find anything because it’s not only really unorganized, but they also keep files about, like, the weather and everything.”
“Maybe the reason why they don’t have to organize the storage room is because they just put everything there, but the really important information is actually somewhere else,” he says.
Sapnap frowns. “But if it’s not there, where else should it be? It doesn’t make sense to have two different places to store that.”
George shrugs. “I mean,” he says slowly, “maybe they’re paranoid and expected that people would try to expose them? So, they have that storage room as, like, a distraction or something? Because people will focus on that and when they notice that they’re not getting the actual information, it’s already too late.”
It’s possible. Maybe. He doesn’t have any other explanations for this. It’s not like it doesn’t make sense, it just seems like a lot of extra work, but if it’s important for the Association that none of the things they do, get exposed, that the public won’t learn about them, then they probably would do everything in their power to make it as hard as somehow possible to get the needed information.
“Anyway,” he says. “I was thinking that maybe those files with all the information are in the Warden’s office.”
“The Warden—” Sapnap looks at him with wide eyes. “That’d make sense.”
“Exactly.” George looks at the file in his hand before he looks back up at Sapnap. “So, if we break into Pandora’s Vault to break Dream out, we could stop there.”
“Break Drea—” Sapnap stops. “Do you think he’s still alive?” he asks, voice small like he’s afraid of the possible answer.
“Yeah,” George says firmly. “He’s still alive, and we get him out of there as soon as possible.”
Sapnap nods, but he doesn’t seem particularly convinced. “Do you think—” he breathes out. “Do you think we could maybe ask the Syndicate for help?”
“The Syndicate?” George furrows his eyebrows.
It’s a possibility—especially after Zephyrus—both as a civilian and while in costume—already helped Dream, not even talking about Niki. The only problem might be Techno.
But it’d be worth a shot to ask.
George doesn’t know what kind of connection Zephyrus and Dream have (or if there’s one at all, but the Syndicate isn’t known to help without asking for favors back, and they’re especially not known for getting involved in things that don’t involve them, so there must be something that George—and maybe Dream himself as well—doesn’t know about).
And while it might be possible to sneak into the prison to break Dream out, George has also the fear that it might not be possible, not after they’ve already broken in like that.
The Association will be even more careful and vigilant now than before, and if the Association assumes that they will break Dream out, then it’s going to be basically impossible to get in and out without being discovered.
And now with Punz injured…
George doesn’t know how long it will take for Punz to fully recover and until Ant clears him to be able to do anything risky, but George does know that Sapnap will be too impatient to wait this long.
So, maybe, a public attack might be the only way.
And they don’t have the resources to do that alone.
“Hm,” George finally makes. “Might be a good idea.”
“Yeah,” Sapnap says, nodding, “Phil has already helped Dream, and I think Niki likes him.”
“And the Syndicate did give him the blueprints,” George mutters, tapping against his chin. “Well, we can try. And if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll have to find a different way instead.”
They have to ask the others first, but George doubts that they will disagree. They might not work with the Syndicate often, but they are on friendly terms, and while he knows that Bad isn’t overly happy with the Syndicate’s methods, Bad has also never disagreed to work with the Syndicate if it was necessary.
“I can contact the Syndicate,” Sapnap says and he’s already stood up like he plans on running to the city immediately.
“The others,” George says, shaking his head. He hates to destroy Sapnap’s enthusiasm, but they can’t make decisions like that on their own, and it’s only four AM, so there’s no way that Niki is awake. And there’s no way that she’s going to be happy about being woken up at this time.
If anything, it would just destroy their chance of them agreeing.
Sapnap presses his lips together, but he does sit down again. “The others won’t disagree,” he says, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“They won’t,” George agrees, “it’s still not something we should decide on our own. Also, have you looked at the time?”
Sapnap sighs. “Fine,” he says, propping his chin on his hand.
“Anyway,” he says. “Do you want to look with me at the other files?”
“I’m not sure I should,” Sapnap admits, and when George looks up to properly study Sapnap, he can’t help but agree.
It’s faint, almost invisible, and people who don’t know what to look for wouldn’t notice it, but it is there.
“Yeah,” George drawls, looking at the smoke above Sapnap’s head, “probably the better decision.”
He takes the next file from the pile and opens it.
“Oh,” he says surprised, “this one’s about Dream.”
“Dream?” Sapnap bends forward to look at the document. “He didn’t tell me that he’d found his file. I’m surprised he took it with him.”
George shrugs. “Maybe he suspects something?” he asks, not sure what exactly Dream should suspect.
But they also have never really talked about that—mostly because Dream never mentioned anything. It’s also possible that Dream took it with him simply because he was curious about what the Association would put in his file, and there’s no ulterior motive for that.
George presses his lips together. It’s not like they can ask him.
“Or maybe he was just curious,” he continues.
“Possible,” Sapnap says, but he doesn’t sound like he really believes that.
George tilts his head. They should’ve asked Dream more about his time as a trainee and then as a hero because maybe Dream did suspect that there were things happening that are important for their research.
And he doubts that he’ll find anything about it in Dream’s file they have here.
The first page has his name—both his birth name and his Superhero name—, his birthday, the names of his parents, and his power listed.
The first entry is expected. They all know that Dream can manipulate electricity; it’s common knowledge. Everyone knows about that.
But there’s more.
George frowns. “Unknown second power,” he reads. “Has— has Dream ever said anything about this?”
“I— second power?” Sapnap asks, disbelief obvious in his voice. “I didn’t even know you could have a second power.”
“Yeah,” George says slowly, “same.”
Is it possible to have a second power? He’s never heard about that—he does know that some people wrongly assume that they have more than one power because they don’t realize that their abilities are still connected to their powers even if they appear like something entirely else.
It happens quite a lot that people don’t realize just how powerful they actually are, and that their powers are more than the few abilities they have access to and can control. So, when things happen that they weren’t able to do before that and that slightly differ from anything else they’re capable of, it’s not surprising that they would assume to have a second power.
But the Association knows more about powers than most Superpowered people combined.
There’s not a lot of research done, and there’s even less available for people outside of the hero community, so if anyone knows about a possible second power, then it’d be the Association.
And for some reason, George can’t believe that it’s a mistake.
“I mean,” George says, squinting at the paper, “is it possible that this is part of their experiments?”
They know that experiments happen, that the Association wants to find out more about powers, and that they want to amplify those, it wouldn’t be too far stretched that they might also experiment with secondary powers.
But—
On their own?
That’s what Pandora’s Vault is for, that’s why they arrest villains and give them life sentences. There shouldn’t be a reason to experiment on their own heroes, and things could go wrong.
Dream already has powerful abilities as it is, so it not only seems redundant to try to add more, it also seems incredibly dangerous because they could lose an already powerful hero.
And as it seems, they weren’t even successful.
Unless they never experimented on Dream, and they just found out that he has some sort of mutation that makes a second power possible—only that this power never developed, and now they try to find a way to make it artificially possible which is why they even started the experiments.
That’d be the better version for sure.
“Their experiments?” Sapnap asks. “Like them experimenting on—”
“Maybe,” George says quickly to interrupt Sapnap, “they found out that Dream has a gene that might make a second power possible, so now they try to find out if they can make it happen.”
Sapnap nods, and relief is obvious on his face. “That’d make a lot of sense.”
“Yeah,” George says, “and I mean it says that the second power is unknown, so, like, they just found the mutation, but the power never developed.” He shrugs. “If anything else happened, the second power shouldn’t be unknown, right?”
“Right,” Sapnap says, and George can tell that Sapnap believes it as much as he does.
“So,” George says, “we can think about that later, but there’s more in the file, so maybe we get the explanation for that without having to, you know, create conspiracy theories.”
He turns to the next page.
The notes about Dream’s trainee years aren’t very interesting. They’re about his powers, how they developed over time, how well he took to the training, what worked for him and what didn’t.
But then the notes jump from age 10 to age 13. There’s nothing about when he was eleven or twelve. Nothing. Not a single word.
The two years aren’t even blacked out, they’re simply missing.
And the next entry is about his switch to Guardian.
“Did,” George begins carefully, “Dream ever say that something weird happen when he was eleven and twelve?”
“No,” Sapnap says, frowning. “Why?”
“These ages are missing.” George holds the file up. “Like, just not there. Not even blacked out or anything.”
“Huh.” Sapnap blinks. “Not as far as I know. Maybe we can ask Sam if he knows more?”
“We should,” George agrees. “I mean I know that Nighthawk disappeared when he was twelve, but that wouldn’t explain why either of these years is missing.”
“That’s so weird,” Sapnap mumbles. “I can’t remember anything else that happened that year. Maybe they just forgot? Like, Nighthawk probably made those entries, right? So, in those years, he might have forgotten because he was busy with other things.”
George hums. It’s a possibility. In those years, the renovation of Pandora’s Vault should’ve happened, and Sam did say that there were multiple heroes who spoke out against it and who tried to stop it.
Maybe Nighthawk was one of them? And that’s why they got rid of him?
And when Nighthawk died during Dream’s twelfth year, then it makes sense that information is missing, and that an entry is just forgotten.
Only that the handwriting doesn’t change from the age of ten to the age of thirteen when Guardian became Dream’s new mentor.
So, if Nighthawk was the person to write about Dream’s progress, and the Guardian takes over, then the handwriting should have changed.
George frowns, but he doesn’t say any of that aloud and just turns to the next page.
“Anything else?” Sapnap asks.
George shakes his head. The entries stop with Dream’s debut as a hero, and then there are just a few notes about Dream’s powers, that his control isn’t as good as it should be, that his passive abilities are even worse than his active ones, that no one can figure out why that happened since Dream was one of the best power users as a child.
And that his powers developed normally until he turned eleven.
Notes:
finals start next week for me, so i think the next chapter should be out in two weeks? hopefully lmfao :')
Chapter 19: colder than the darkest sea | Dream XIV
Notes:
title: jaymes young — moondust.
did not expect to be gone for this long, but oh, well. had my last exam yesterday, so that means finally semester break wooo
we went out to celebrate surviving our exams, and tbh, i barely survived that, so if there are any mistakes, sorry for that, and it’s definitely not because i’m hungover. ha.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It starts like this:
He only knows the heroes from TV.
None of them have ever seen any of the heroes in person. Some of the older trainees have, but most of them also have mentors, so it makes sense, and they’re still too young for that.
He skips across the hallway. But he might get one soon!
He’s only barely able to stop himself from barreling directly into the man who’s standing in front of the door to his next classroom. The man puts his hands on his shoulders, steadies him.
“Careful,” he says, and it makes him look up.
He knows that voice, and he knows that face. Obviously, he knows both of them. All of them do.
“Who are you?” the man asks, and his voice is gentle and nice, but his eyes are blood-red and so piercing that he doesn’t like to look at them.
He doesn’t say anything, just looks at the man with the sharp smile with wide eyes. He’s not supposed to tell anyone his name—not even when it’s a hero.
“Hm,” the man says, tilting his head. “You must be one of the trainees.”
He nods. He’s allowed to say that, and it’s not like it’s deniable. He’s wearing the black and red uniform that every trainee has to wear as long as they’re in the headquarters. The trainers explained that they’re basically like some sort of identification although they also have to wear a bracelet, so they can access areas the public isn’t permitted to see.
“You know who I am?”
Of course, he does. How could he not? Everyone here knows the heroes, knows what they look like, knows as much about them as there’s public about them.
“Yeah!” he exclaims, a bright grin on his face. “You’re Guardian.”
Guardian nods slowly, still smiling. “Your powers are very impressive,” Guardian tells him, and it makes him beam even more.
“Thank you!”
“It’d be a shame to waste your potential,” Guardian mutters, and it’s so quiet that he probably shouldn’t have heard it.
But he did, and he can only blink at that. Waste his potential? He’s one of the best trainees, and he’s even supposed to get one of the heroes as a mentor later this year! Before his tenth birthday, the trainers said. And there’s barely anyone who’s been allowed to get a mentor before they turned ten.
“Waste my potential?” he asks, voice quiet because he knows he shouldn’t have heard it, and he knows that most adults don’t like it when he asks too many questions, especially when it’s about topics he shouldn’t know anything about.
“Don’t worry,” Guardian says, petting his head. Then he looks at his watch. “Mmh,” he makes, “you should go to your training, kid, I’ve already kept you longer here than I should have.”
He nods. That’s true. He has class in five minutes, and he can’t come too late again. He already overslept on Monday.
“Bye,” Guardian says, and there’s something in his smile that feels weird, but Dream just grins back and waves.
“Bye!”
He doesn’t understand until much, much later that Guardian not only knew his name but also waited specifically for him there. It hadn’t just been a coincidence.
There have never been a lot of coincidences with Guardian.
He’s been pacing through the cell for the past hour. Probably. Maybe it’s been more. It probably has been less, if he’s honest.
The lights went on a few hours ago, and he’s gotten his breakfast then.
He thinks it was breakfast, at least, and he thinks that the lights were out during the night, but everything is possible, and he’s not going to trust a single thing that’s happening in here.
And now he’s waiting for Guardian to come back—he didn’t tell Dream when he’d be back, and for all Dream knows, it’s possible that Guardian won’t actually come back for some time.
He has to be busy, right? Maybe he won’t find the time to visit Dream again. Although Dream doesn’t even really know what Guardian’s job is ever since he left the field. It could be that his main area is the prison now. Or something.
Dream groans.
He should just stop thinking. There’s no point in trying to figure things out when he has literally nothing to work with. It’s just going to drive him crazy, and that’s simply something that he should avoid for as long as somehow possible if he wants to survive that place, and that’s, kind of, what he should try to do.
When the door opens, he tenses. He expects it to be Guardian, or maybe even the Warden, but when the door swings fully open, it’s neither of them.
Instead, there are just two guards—dressed in the black uniforms that all prison guards in Pandora’s Vault wear, as well as helmets that completely cover their faces.
And it’s obvious that they have so much trust in the prison and its security that they don’t even think they have to be careful, so Dream doesn’t break out.
They’re not wrong, of course. Dream doesn’t have access to his powers, and he wouldn’t even know how to get out of the prison if he managed to overpower the guards. He’d probably somehow manage to orientate himself, but even that would be useless for him if he can’t get out.
He narrows his eyes when they come closer and grab his arms to force him to stand up. There’s no use in resisting, so he doesn’t.
Maybe he gets answers wherever they bring him although he really doubts it. He doesn’t think they’re going to give him any answers ever unless they have to, and he can’t think of any scenario in which they would need to tell him about their plans.
“Where are you bringing me?” Dream asks, but he doesn’t get an answer just like he expected.
They’re silent as they lead him through the prison; he’s not familiar with this part of Pandora’s Vault because while he’s studied the blueprints, he didn’t really focus on the cells because they didn’t need that for the original plan. He regrets that now, although he’s not entirely sure what he could even do with that knowledge.
Maybe if he actually dared to break out, it would be useful, but he’s not there yet. He’s not sure he’ll ever get to that point because…well, breaking in is one thing, breaking out a whole other, especially if you have someone who’s able to dematerialize themself. Dream can’t do that, and even if he could…
He glances at the cuffs around his wrists.
Yeah, he wouldn’t be able to do anything.
He’s not even entirely sure how exactly these cuffs work because they have no lock which most likely means that the only person who can unlock them is the person who also locked them—and who has the Superpowers to do so.
Sam’s might be able to do it as well, but Sam isn’t here, so it doesn’t matter either.
Somehow, the prison manages to look almost the same everywhere, and Dream isn’t sure whether that’s because they used the same materials for the entire building, or maybe he just overlooks a lot of details, but he does wonder how anyone is able to navigate the prison.
The guards probably have one week dedicated to getting to know the prison during their training. It almost makes him scoff.
It does remind him though just how much bigger the prison is than it seems when you only know the blueprints.
The one time, Dream was here before, he was only ever in the front parts of the prison—which are mostly the communal areas and offices. In the back are the cells and the storage rooms and…other things.
He can certainly imagine what those other things are.
It takes almost five minutes until the guards stop in front of a door. One of the guards unlocks it while the other’s grip around Dream’s arm tightens like he’s going to use the first one’s distraction to immediately bolt.
He could do that, probably. It wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do, but he could do it. It would be a lot easier than having two people’s focus on him.
He’s not going to do that though because he’s not even entirely sure where exactly he is. Somewhere in the back part of the prison, obviously. But that’s the only thing he knows. He’s not even sure on what floor they are.
As soon as the door is opened, Dream’s getting shoved into the room. The door is immediately locked behind him again.
The room is white which is the first thing he notices. Blinding white so, especially after just spending a whole day in a cell that’s completely black.
The room is white, and there are cabinets on the walls all around the room, and it looks a lot like a doctor’s office.
He’s getting a really bad feeling about this—like he’s not had that to begin with.
But there isn’t anyone else in the room except for the guards and him.
One of the guards leads him to the bench in the middle of the room.
“Sit down,” he says—his voice is muffled by the helmet he’s wearing, and he sounds so distorted that Dream wonders if they’re using voice changers.
Dream follows the order slowly; the guard is impatient, he seems tense like he expects Dream to attack him any second. He almost yanks on Dream’s arms as chains the cuffs to the bench, and for a moment, Dream wonders if he could just pick up the entire bench to attack both of the guards.
Then he notices that the bench is anchored to the ground. Maybe they’re not that stupid. Or maybe something like that has happened before.
And Dream sadly doesn’t have the superstrength to rip the bench out of the floor.
The guard steps back from Dream, the second guard unlocks the door, and then they’re both gone.
He can hear how they lock the door again before it’s completely quiet.
And now, he’ll have to wait for whoever to arrive. He hopes they won’t take too long.
There’s a clock on the wall, and while it doesn’t tell him what day it is or whether it’s afternoon or night right now, it does tell him that it takes exactly fifteen minutes until the door is unlocked again.
The person who comes in is someone he doesn’t know. He’s never seen him before. He doesn’t think so at least; he’s pretty sure that he would be able to remember him although there’s something weirdly familiar about him.
Dream shakes his head. Maybe he’s imagining things. That’s probably what it is.
“Good afternoon, Dream,” he says. “I’m Doctor Williams.” And no, the name doesn’t ring any bells either. He could have sworn though—
“Have we met?” Dream blurts out, and for a moment, the doctor seems surprised.
Then he schools his expression into something more neutral which doesn’t help with Dream’s suspicions at all. “We haven’t,” Doctor Williams says, and he sounds a bit too nonchalant for Dream’s liking.
There’s something the doctor isn’t telling him, he’s sure of that. He just isn’t sure what exactly the doctor isn’t telling him. If they’ve met before, then why does he not just tell Dream that it’s happened? There’s no point in hiding something like that.
Unless…
Dream tilts his head.
Unless them meeting before is connected to something that Dream shouldn’t be aware of.
But even then—
He would remember that, right? He should be able to remember that. It doesn’t make sense why he shouldn’t.
Someone could have fucked with his memories, but why should they? There’s no reason for them to do that.
Nothing makes sense.
Absolutely nothing makes sense.
“Sorry,” Dream says, “I must have confused you with someone else, then.”
For a moment longer, Doctor Williams is staring at him before he turns away. “That must’ve been it,” he agrees. “I assume you don’t know why you’re here.”
Dream isn’t one hundred percent sure, but he can definitely think of a few reasons. He keeps his mouth shut though. If he does that, chances are higher that Doctor Williams is telling him more than he would if Dream just randomly guessed and was correct on top of that.
So, he says, “Yes, that’s true.”
Doctor Williams nods as he opens a few drawers. “I need a blood sample from you.”
“For what?” Dream asks, trying to sound as interested as somehow possible. People like it when you ask questions.
For a second, it’s quiet, then Doctor Williams laughs quietly. “As always,” he says.
As always? What does that mean? He thought they didn’t know each other.
Doctor Williams finally turns around to look at Dream again. “As you might know,” he says, “your powers have developed weirdly.”
Oh, so now they’re going to tell him that they only keep him here, so they can help him?
“Yeah,” Dream says because he knows. Obviously. He’s the one with the weirdly developed powers. Of course, he’d know. “Guardian told me it might be because of my training.”
Doctor Williams narrows his eyes. “It might be,” he agrees, “there are a lot of reasons why powers might develop like they do, and training and nurturing is a big part of it. I wouldn’t say for sure that this is the only reason though.”
He frowns. “So, you’re saying there might be a genetic reason or whatever for that?”
“Possibly,” Doctor Williams agrees. “That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
Is it so they won’t repeat the same mistakes with new Superheroes and trainees? It would make sense why they would want to learn from their mistakes although he does wonder why they never did that before. If they offered him to find out why his powers didn’t develop like they should have, he would’ve agreed to it. Years ago.
“Alright,” Dream says. “Do you have any theories so far?”
Doctor Williams hums. “Nothing I can tell you.”
Of course.
He sighs. He shouldn’t have expected anything else.
“Makes sense,” he says.
Should he say anything? It can’t make things worse for him than they already are, right?
“You know,” he adds nonchalantly, “I would’ve done that years ago if someone had just asked me.”
He’s not sure why he says that. Maybe because he likes being an asshole. It could be.
And when Doctor Williams looks up, there’s a gleam in his eyes. “I know,” he says like he didn’t tell Dream that they’ve never met before.
Or maybe it starts like this:
Everything is normal. Everything is like it normally is except—
Except that he’s alone.
But it’s nothing unusual, per se. It happens, that Nighthawk is out because he has things to do, because something kept him at the headquarters for longer than normally.
Usually though, usually, he tells Dream when that’s the case.
Maybe he’s just forgotten.
Dream nods as he tightens the blanket around himself. It’s been getting colder over the past few weeks, and Nighthawk has said that it might start snowing soon.
It’s been some time since he’s last seen snow—it doesn’t usually snow here, but apparently, this winter is supposed to be colder than the past few ones.
He looks out of the window. So far, the only thing that’s happened is a lot of rain.
Maybe that’s why he’s late.
It’s been raining so heavily the past few hours that Nighthawk might’ve decided to stay at the headquarters for longer to wait for the rain showers to weaken.
He does that sometimes—Dream does it, too because he’s really not keen on getting wet to the bone within the five minutes it takes to get from the headquarters to Nighthawk’s apartment.
It’s still weird that Nighthawk hasn’t said anything, that he hasn’t informed Dream so far, that he’s not called him to tell him.
It’s still possible that Nighthawk is busy with a project and simply forgot about the time and with that didn’t call Dream, but—
He’s never done that before.
Dream sighs, resting his chin on his knees.
Maybe he should just go to bed because it’s already past midnight and when he wakes up Nighthawk will be back, but before he can decide on anything, the bell rings.
He frowns. Who is visiting someone at midnight? Did Nighthawk forget to take his keys with him?
When Dream checks the camera though, it’s Guardian and not Nighthawk standing in front of the door which is…not something he’s expected.
Has Guardian ever come here before? He doesn’t think so. That’s not a good sign. That’s definitely not a good sign.
Dream has only ever seen Guardian with slicked-back hair and carefully arranged clothes, now though, his hair is disheveled, and his clothes are dirty.
He’s not wet, maybe a bit damp, but he doesn’t look like he’s spent a lot of time outside.
He tries to not stare too obviously, but that dark patch on his shirt looks a lot like blood. Maybe there was a villain attack. Although Dream hasn’t heard anything about that yet. It happens sometimes, though, that the public gets informed about attacks longer after they happened if not a lot of civilians are in danger.
“Good evening, Dream,” Guardian says, and there’s something in his voice that makes Dream frown. He can’t quite place it, but it almost sounds like disdain.
“Nighthawk isn’t home yet,” Dream says because it makes sense that Guardian would want to talk to Nighthawk, right?
“I know,” Guardian says, and Dream blinks.
“Do you want to come in to wait for him, then?” Dream asks because if Guardian knows that Nighthawk isn’t home yet, then that’s what he probably wants to do. It would be easier if Guardian just told Dream what he wants, but maybe it’s because of some top-secret mission, and he can’t tell Dream anything.
Although he could tell Dream whether he wants to come in or not.
“No,” Guardian says, “I wanted to talk to Nighthawk. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
And then he’s gone as quickly as he came, leaving Dream standing in the doorway. What the heck was that?
He shakes his head, closes the door.
Guardian is a Superhero, and Dream is merely a trainee, so there must be reasons for whatever that was. Superheroes always have a lot of reasons for the things they’re doing, and since Dream isn’t on the clearance level yet to actually know those things, it’s hard to figure out why they’re doing what they’re doing, but Guardian must have his reasons for…this.
And then he decides that because this was so weird, he should just go to bed and hope that Nighthawk will be back in the morning.
But he can’t fall asleep, and he doesn’t hear the door opening a single time throughout the entire night.
The next morning, Nighthawk still isn’t back and when he flips through the newspaper, there’s an article about a missing hero.
There’s no name, no picture either, but Dream starts to slowly get the feeling that he knows who they’re talking about.
“Possibly dead,” it says, but there’s no body. “Villain attack,” is the explanation although Dream kept an eye on the news and the Association’s radio channels the entire night, and absolutely nothing had happened the entire night prior.
It’s obvious though that the Association thinks he’s dead, that he had been killed by villains because otherwise they would have never released those statements. It just doesn’t make sense—none of this does. If there had been a villain attack, if there had been a villain strong enough to possibly kill Nighthawk, then why is no one reporting that?
Why are there absolutely no news about anything regarding that except for this?
But when he later asks the other heroes, none of them have any answers for him.
Frost tells him that there hadn’t been any emergency alarm, that none of the other heroes had been sent out, that they only found out now like he did.
She’s the only one who tells him anything. The others just shrugs and walk away like Dream didn’t just possibly lose his mentor, like it doesn’t matter what has happened to Nighthawk, like it’s just another hero like any of the others as well.
Maybe it’s like that for them, maybe they’ve lost so many colleagues over the past few years that they just got numb to it, that they don’t care anymore. He doesn’t know.
He doesn’t know, and no one tells him anything, and the Association doesn’t like him asking questions. And if he’s honest, the rest of the year and the beginning of the next one is a blur. He doesn’t remember most of it, so in the years following, he sometimes wonders if he had just imagined things, if he had seen things that hadn’t been there.
If the things he thinks he remembers now about that time are just things his brain came up with because he doesn’t have a lot of memories left from then.
But—
But it still doesn’t stop him from wondering a few years later if Guardian had been somehow involved in Nighthawk’s disappearance that night.
They find burned feathers, and when a coroner analyzes the remains, he says it looks like the burns stem from lasers.
Dream never sees them himself, and when he asks them once he becomes a Superhero, once he has the clearance to review evidence like that, they tell him that it doesn’t exist anymore, but if that’s true, if that’s really the truth, then it couldn’t have been from a villain.
There aren’t any with laser powers.
He’s in a white room. But it’s not the same white room he was in when he met Doctor Williams. And he also doesn’t remember getting here.
He blinks.
The walls are bare, and the room is almost empty except for the chair he’s sitting on and the machines around him.
He squints. They look like they’re monitoring something, but he can’t tell what exactly it is. His heart rate, probably, but there are still three more monitors around him that he doesn’t recognize.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a young woman says as she comes into Dream’s field of vision. She’s dressed in a white lab coat, glasses hiding most of her face.
“Who are you?” he croaks out. His voice sounds like he hasn’t talked in days, and maybe that’s true.
The woman just hums, a syringe in her hand that she flicks before she comes to a halt in front of Dream.
“Hold still, please,” she tells him. “It’ll just be a little prick.”
“What’s that?” he asks, trying to jerk out of her range of motion, but he’s tied to the chair, and he can’t move.
She grabs his arms and before he can say anything else, it’s already too late.
He blinks.
He’s back in the white room, but something is off.
He tries to turn around and to his surprise, he can properly move this time.
The machines are gone, but he’s still sitting on a chair. The room seems taller than before. Maybe he’s sitting on a smaller chair? But when he looks down, it’s the same one he’s sat on before. Just…newer?
He frowns and gets up, but before he can investigate the room further, the door opens and—
“How do you feel?” someone asks him, and for a moment, he can’t place the voice until he remembers to open his eyes.
Hasn’t he had his eyes open the entire time—?
He shakes his head quickly before focusing on the person who’s talked to him. At least, he assumes they meant him.
“Uhm,” he says, “I—” He coughs.
“Hmm,” the person makes. It’s not the woman from earlier—this time it’s a man, maybe in his mid-thirties, he’s also wearing a white lab coat, and Dream doesn’t think he’s ever seen him before although there’s something weirdly familiar about him. “That’s to be expected,” he says to a person to Dream’s left side.
A person, Dream hasn’t noticed until now.
But he can’t turn his head when he tries to see who the man is talking to.
“It’s happened the first time, too,” the unknown person says, and Dream freezes. He knows that voice.
“Good evening, Dream,” the Warden says, a small smile on his face as he comes into view, then he turns away from Dream and towards the man. “Keep me updated.”
The man nods, and Dream notices his shoulders tensing up.
“What’s going on?” he says—or more like tries to say because he’s barely able to get the words out and when he does, his throat is so dry that he sounds like he’s not only not talked in weeks but also like he’s a chain smoker who’s not drunk anything in the past three days.
The Warden turns to him again, his smile widening. “Didn’t Doctor Williams tell you about this?”
And he did. Dream knows that. But—
He frowns.
“He did,” Dream says, “but—”
“Perfect,” the Warden says, not even letting Dream finish, and then he turns away again like he doesn’t care about what Dream has to say.
And he probably doesn’t.
“I—”
“Shh,” the Warden makes without even looking at Dream. “Don’t you see we’re talking right now?”
But they hadn’t. They hadn’t talked. They hadn’t even started talking yet. They hadn’t even looked like they would start talking again.
“Clara?” the Warden says, and the woman appears in Dream’s vision again.
“Yes, sir?” she asks.
“Could you, please?” he asks, and Dream wants to know what she should do, wants to ask what the goal is, wants to know what they plan on doing with him.
Only that then, the woman bends over him. “Just a little prick,” she says, “it won’t hurt.”
“Hold on,” he wants to say, but he’s not even able to get the words out before—
Before—
“Good morning,” a man says, and he jerks up.
He’s back in the white room and—
“How do you feel?” someone asks, and this time he’s sitting in an office stacked to the top with files and books.
The man sitting across from him looms over him, hands folded in front of him, and while there’s a smile on his face, it doesn’t look friendly at all.
“I—” he says, coughs. Why does he sound like—
He blinks his eyes open, and he’s greeted by black walls and a tiny light bulb in the corner above the door.
He breathes out—he’s still in his cell. He probably never even left it then. Then why—?
“Good morning,” someone says, and it’s so unexpected that Dream startles into a sitting position, ready to fight whoever it might be.
Only after a few seconds after his eyes have fully gotten used to the light, does he recognize Guardian who's standing next to the door—in the corner without the light bulb—in the darkness like a creep.
“What are you doing here?” Dream says, but his throat is so dry that saying those few words makes him cough. Just like when he—
Just like in the dreams.
But they weren’t dreams.
They were real. Some of them at least.
He’s sure of that, but—
But.
“I did tell you I would come to visit you again,” Guardian says, head tilted as he watches Dream like he’s Guardian’s stupid little pet project. Although maybe he is. Maybe he is, and he’s never realized that before.
There has to be a reason why Guardian took in Dream when Guardian not only never had a trainee before, but also always refused to train a mentee from a different hero.
He still remembers those stupid questions from reporters after it had been announced that Nighthawk was dead, and that Dream would switch to a different mentor.
(“How does it feel to be the first?” someone had asked him, and that question had been so weird that Dream could only look weirdly at the person who had asked it.
“The first?” he had replied.
“To be accepted by Guardian!” the man had said like Dream should’ve known that.)
Maybe Guardian is convinced that it was Nighthawk’s fault that Dream’s powers are as weird as they are, and maybe he was convinced that he’d be able to change it. It’s possible that this is why Guardian accepted Dream as his mentee.
Who knows.
It also might be something entirely else.
“You did,” Dream agrees. “You lied to me, by the way.” And he’s not sure where he takes the courage to be like…that. It can’t come from dealing with Guardian for so many years because that has only taught him that he should just keep his mouth shut if he doesn’t want to get in trouble.
“When did I lie?” Guardian asks, one eyebrow raised, but he doesn’t sound angry. He doesn’t even sound irritated—he only sounds amused like nothing Dream ever does matters, and that irritates Dream.
“About my powers,” he says. “Doctor Williams said that it might be genetic.”
And Dream isn’t sure exactly what he expects, he doesn’t expect Guardian to start laughing.
“I’m your mentor,” Guardian says. “I’ve known you for more than half your life. I taught you basically everything you know, so I think I know you and your powers better than Doctor Williams does.”
It makes Dream grit his teeth. Because maybe it’s true, but Guardian isn’t a specialist when it comes to different powers, and he was also not the person who taught Dream all the basics, who taught Dream in the first few years.
“But—” he starts, but he’s almost immediately interrupted by Guardian.
“Dream,” he says, “I know you, I know your powers, and compared to Doctor Williams, I also know your parents. I should know that your problem isn’t genetic or anything else like that. It comes from improper training.”
How does Guardian know Dream’s parents? He can’t think of anyone whose mentor knew their parents. Or maybe he means that he only knows about their powers? What kind they have? How they developed? It would make sense to get that information if you want to know as much about someone’s powers as possible to get them the best training there is.
But it’s a weird way to say that because usually the Association already collects all those information about a trainee to calculate just how powerful that person might become.
Whatever.
It probably means nothing.
It means nothing because if it’s true, if the way his powers developed is only because of improper training, then shouldn’t have things changed after Guardian started to train him? And anyway, until he was eleven, things progressed normally. He remembers the annual evaluations he had to go through. And he also remembers that nothing was off until then.
“If that had been the only reason, then shouldn’t your training have changed that?” he finally asks.
Guardian shrugs. “The most important time for your power’s development is your childhood and ends with the beginning of puberty. Most things you learn during that is basically impossible to revise.”
“Doctor Williams said—” Guardian takes a few steps forward, and Dream immediately shuts his mouth.
“Ever thought about the possibility that Doctor Williams is lying to you, Dream?” Guardian asks as he crouches down in front of Dream. “He doesn’t want you to know about what he’s doing, so why should he tell you the truth?”
But there is no reason for him to lie about that. Especially because he could have not said anything at all.
Of course, that doesn’t mean he can’t have lied, but why would he? What’s the point?
On the other hand, why should Guardian lie to him? There’s also no reason for that.
Right?
“He—”
“Why do you trust a person you’ve known for a few ye— hours more than you trust me?”
It’s not like he doesn’t trust Doctor Williams more than he trusts Guardian, but Doctor Williams just seems more knowledgeable about those things, and what he said makes a lot of sense. It feels stupid to blame only one person for pretty much everything.
Especially because Dream is also sure that he has a big part in how his powers developed as well.
Dream exhales, not looking directly at Guardian. “You just— you just make yourself hard to believe if you give only Nighthawk the fault for everything when my powers— my powers literally developed completely normal until I was eleven.”
“Sometimes, you don’t see the consequences until it’s too late,” Guardian says conversationally, shrugs. “Back then we didn’t know as much about powers as we do now, and most heroes used the outdated practices their mentors had worked with.”
Dream narrows his eyes. Does that mean—?
“You’re not the only one with powers that didn’t develop normally,” Guardian confirms Dream’s silent question as he gets up again. “Most of the others just didn’t have impressive enough powers or skills to get through the exams.”
“Fine,” Dream says because it’s obvious that Guardian won’t admit to anything else, and Dream feels too tired to continue arguing. “I believe you.” It also could be true. Maybe Guardian is saying the truth. It’s not like Dream can really know. And it also might be true that Doctor Williams is lying to him. He just—
He just doesn’t know.
He just doesn’t know anything.
“I would’ve let you meet them,” Guardian says, “but most of them don’t work for the Association anymore.”
And now, Dream is full-on frowning. “Don’t work for the Association anymore,” is usually a code for something else. But there’s no way that Guardian would so readily reveal that they’re dead.
Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he’s just chosen an unfortunate wording.
Maybe.
“Okay,” Dream says quietly.
Guardian is smiling now. “Great that we could come to an agreement.”
Sure, Dream thinks. Sure, he doesn’t say.
“Alright,” Guardian says. “I have to go now. There are a few more things I have to do.”
And he’s already unlocked the door, already opened it halfway when Dream remembers something.
“Wait,” Dream says before Guardian can leave the room.
Guardian stops, and it’s obvious from the way that he doesn’t immediately turn around, that he thinks about whether he should respond to it or not. Then he does turn around to look at Dream. “Yes, Dream?”
He’s not even sure why he’s asking this—maybe because it doesn’t make any sense to him, maybe because the more he thinks about it, the more questions he gets.
Why is Guardian insisting that it wasn’t the Association when he knows that Dream knows it wasn’t a villain attack? There’s simply no reason for him to uphold this lie.
“How would it make sense that it wasn’t the Association?” he finally asks.
Guardian sighs. “There are so many things that you don’t understand yet.”
“But it wasn’t a villain attack, and apparently, it wasn’t the Association either, so who should it have been?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you again, Dream,” Guardian says, shaking his head. “Good night.” Then he slips out of the cell and closes the door behind him before Dream can ask anything else.
And—
And hadn’t Guardian greeted him with “good morning” after he had woken up?
But maybe it starts like this:
Guardian brought him here. Although Dream isn’t entirely sure where here even is.
He’s never been here before, and Guardian told him to close his eyes before they stepped out of the car, and because Guardian is a hero, and trainees are always supposed to do what heroes tell them, he did that.
He’d asked Guardian what they’re doing here, where here is, but Guardian had just shushed him like he’s a small child—when he’s already eleven, he’s not a small child anymore—and told him that it’s a secret and a surprise, and it would neither be a surprise nor a secret if he told Dream what it is.
Which is true. So, he didn’t ask again.
But now, Guardian is gone, and Dream is all alone in a white room with big machines, sitting on a chair, and he still doesn’t know where here is or what he’s supposed to do.
Hopefully, Guardian will come back soon because the constant peeping of one of the machines scares him. It echoes weirdly in the room, and it makes it sound louder than it probably is. And Dream knows that he shouldn’t be scared because it’s just a stupid machine, and machines aren’t scary because he can control them, but—
But.
He pulls a face.
All of this feels so weird. And he shouldn’t even be here because he has training scheduled with Nighthawk later in the afternoon, and when Guardian doesn’t hurry up with his surprise, he’ll miss it, and he’s not sure how he’s supposed to explain Nighthawk that he’s missed his training.
He promised Guardian to not say anything because Guardian said that they won’t be able to do it again if Dream doesn’t keep it a secret. And he also said that Nighthawk would be happy about what they’re doing here, but only if he doesn’t hear about it until they’ve finished, so Dream would have to lie, and Dream doesn’t like to lie. He especially doesn’t like to lie to his mentor.
Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest. This sucks. Maybe he doesn’t want to go here again if nothing changes soon.
The door opens, but instead of Guardian, a stranger, wearing a white lab coat and glasses, enters the room. And Guardian isn’t even with him.
“Good afternoon,” the man says, smiling. “I’m Doctor Williams.”
Notes:
updates should return to being once a week nodders
Chapter 20: master and puppet and blindfolds | Dream XV
Notes:
title: chxrlotte — hellfire.
i’m so sorry for not updating sooner!! i was sick, and then writer’s block and various health and family issues kicked my ass lmfao
i don’t know when the next chapter will be out (since uni started again, and things have been really busy :/), but the fic is definitely not abandoned, so dw!!
Chapter Text
It gets harder to tell how much time has passed.
It could have been weeks by now, or maybe it’s just been days. There’s nothing he could base time on.
He wakes up in darkness, and he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Sometimes, he’s not even sure if he’s really awake.
The food stays the same every time, and he can’t tell whether it’s been hours or even days since the last meal. He’s never hungry when he gets the next meal, but it means absolutely nothing to him.
And the weird dreams he’s been having aren’t helping.
They feel like memories, but he doesn’t remember any of those events. He doesn’t remember Pandora’s Vault previous of his visit when he was already a Superhero, he doesn’t remember Doctor Williams. He doesn’t remember the cells or the inmates.
But it feels like he should.
It feels like he should, and it doesn’t make sense, and he just…he just can’t explain it.
It would make sense that they somehow fucked up his brain, but that still doesn’t suffice as an explanation, that still doesn’t clarify whose memories those are. Or if they’re real.
Because maybe they’re not.
Maybe they’re not even real.
Doctor Williams is humming as he adjusts the cuffs around Dream’s wrists.
They’re not the same nullifiers he has to wear when he’s outside of the lab or in his cell, but they’re still suppressing his powers. He can feel the faint buzz of electricity, and it’s the closest he’s gotten to his powers in what seems to be weeks.
And yet, he’s still cut off from them. It almost feels like they’re mocking him, like they’re trying to tell him that no matter what he does, it will never have been his decision.
“We need some of your blood,” Doctor Williams explains, taking place on a chair.
“For what?” Dream asks. He doesn’t expect an explanation, but he can try. Especially in a setting like this where he’s not instantly threatened with being knocked out for asking questions about himself.
It makes sense, of course, why they’re treating him like he’s not even there or like it doesn’t concern him. And it makes sense that they don’t want him to know anything, but it’s still infuriating. So, he still tries whenever he has the chance.
Doctor Williams just shakes his head.
Dream sighs. Obviously.
He flinches when Doctor Williams pricks his skin without a warning.
“Sorry,” Doctor Williams says, but he doesn’t sound very sorry.
He watches as one, two ampules are slowly filled.
“That should be enough,” Doctor Williams mutters, reaching for Dream’s cuffs, but before he can remove them to put the others on again, the door opens.
“Ah,” Doctor Williams says, a polite smile on his face. “You’ve just come at the right time.”
“Doctor Williams,” the Warden greets as he enters the room before carefully locking the door again.
The Warden stops in front of Dream as Doctor Williams cleans the room quickly.
“Good evening, Dream,” the Warden says. “How are you feeling?”
“Cold,” Dream says because it’s the truth. It’s the truth, and maybe they’re going to assume that there’s more to it than there actually is. If they wasted time on something as unimportant as this…Dream wouldn’t be mad about it.
“You’ve said that before,” the Warden notes. “Have you been feeling cold this entire time?”
Dream shrugs. “I think?” He’s spent too much time unconscious to be sure, but whenever he was awake, he felt cold as if someone had ripped his heart out and replaced it with a block of ice.
The Warden nods slowly; his eyes are squinted as he examines Dream like he can read all of his thoughts. It’s not…well, it’s not impossible.
Dream doesn’t know what the Warden’s powers are. Or if he even has powers. And he’s not sure what would make more sense.
But if he had powers, then Dream wouldn’t be surprised if the Warden was a telepath.
The Warden snorts, and then he turns away from Dream. He walks closer to Doctor Williams who’s standing at the opposite end of the room.
The Warden nods towards Dream. “Anything?” he asks.
“Same as always,” Doctor Williams mutters. “This isn’t the problem.”
“Hm,” the Warden makes. “As expected.”
Doctor Williams nods. “There has to be something,” he whispers, but it isn’t quiet enough for Dream to not hear. “His brain activity obviously shows it, but…”
“Do you think—?” the Warden starts before he turns to Dream, narrowing his eyes at him. When he turns back to Doctor Williams, the only word that Dream can catch is “mutated.”
“Could be,” Doctor Williams says after a few seconds, “but—” He doesn’t finish the sentence.
The Warden hums in agreement. “Probably not.”
And that seems to be it. That seems to be the entire conversation.
Dream breathes out, and it’s not like he’s expected them to talk about what they’re doing and their goals right in front of him, but it’s still disappointing.
“Alright,” the Warden says to him. “Come with me, Dream.”
For a second, Dream just looks at him. “Where?”
The Warden doesn’t say anything, just holds out his hand as he expects Dream to reach for it. And he does because of course, he does.
“Good,” the Warden says, and it’s the last thing he hears.
He’s back in the white room, but this time he’s lying down.
The man from before leans forward, so Dream can see him. “Take a deep breath,” he says, like he doesn’t have a goddamn syringe in his hand filled with an unknown, clear fluid.
He’s not going to take a deep breath—
There’s blood coating his hands.
It’s his own, he realizes, dazed.
It’s all over his forearms, his hands. Slowly, it drips down onto the floor. It’s— it’s—
He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to claw his eyes out.
He wants to—
There’s a hand on his head, and when he forces his eyes open, the Warden stands in front of him.
“It’s okay,” the Warden says. “You won’t remember—”
Someone pats his head.
“I know it hurts,” they say.
His ears are ringing. He isn’t sure he recognizes their voice, and he can’t see their face either.
They’re standing in front of him, but he’s sitting, and he can’t look up with their hand on his head, and they’re not crouching down either.
“But don’t worry,” they continue, “you’ll be fine. Just one more time, hm?” They finally remove their hand, take a step back, and—
Glowing red eyes stare back at him.
“Wha—” he tries to say, but they shush him.
“It’s fine. You’re fine. You’re going to be okay,” and it sounds like a lie.
He doesn’t know how he knows that, but it’s a lie. It has to be.
He’s sitting outside, and the sun is shining.
His arms are bandaged, and they’re so tight that he can feel his fingers tingle.
But he doesn’t care about that. It feels like it’s been weeks since he last saw the sun, but that can’t be because he was on patrol yesterday with—
He frowns, shakes his head. That doesn’t make any sense.
And it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t—
He blinks.
He’s in his cell again, he thinks. It’s dark, so he can barely see anything, but when he reaches out, he can feel the thin blanket that he’s gotten with his last meal.
The Warden—
He frowns.
He can hear his blood rushing through his ears, and there’s the distant taste of iron like he’s bitten on his tongue.
He was just—
He was just with Doctor Williams. And then he was in the courtyard, but he’s never been there before. He doesn’t remember. It can’t—
It’s not—
He’s never been in there before, so why— why does he remember it?
Was it even a memory?
It had to be. It felt like one. It can’t—
He’s sitting outside, but his arms aren’t bandaged. His skin is smooth, and there’s not a single trace of an injury.
He was allowed out yesterday, too, but today is a nicer day. The sun is shining again, nothing left from the rain and thunderstorm that he’s even been able to hear in his room.
But although it’s a nice day, and he’s grateful that he’s allowed outside, he wishes he could see the sea. It’s been some time, he thinks. He’s not entirely sure. He hasn’t been able to keep track of the time, but it must have been weeks by now.
He’s not allowed to go outside, though, and he’s barely allowed to be in the courtyard, and even then, he’s constantly being watched, so that he doesn’t do anything stupid.
Like when he— when he—
“What was that?” Guardian says, and he blinks his eyes open. They’re in a big room with black walls and a moving target on the other side from where they are.
“What was what?” he asks, and his voice sounds younger than he remembers. Younger and smoother and—
“You hesitated,” Guardian says, a frown clear on his face and blood-red eyes narrowed.
“I—” And he’s not sure what he’s supposed to say because he doesn’t remember—
“Something is off,” someone says, and after a moment, he recognizes it as the woman he’s met the first time he was here.
Dream frowns, keeping his eyes closed, so they don’t notice immediately that he’s awake. What is off?
“What do you mean?” a second voice asks, a voice he doesn’t know.
“He’s not reacting to the stimulants like he should,” she says. “Are you sure you didn’t overlook anything the first time?”
“No,” the other person says, but they sound unsure. “I don’t think so. We didn’t notice anything even though he’d been under watch for years.”
“That’s weird,” the woman says. “There has to be something we haven’t found then because I can’t explain why his brain reacts like that otherwise.”
It’s quiet for a moment, and it gives Dream time to think.
The first time? Do they mean the first time he’s been in their lab? As in a few days ago? Or do they mean anything else? But if there was something else, then he would remember…right?
“Does the chip interfere?” the person says. “None of the others have one.”
“It shouldn’t,” the woman says. “It only blocks—” she breaks off.
“Oh,” she says, “he’s awake. Give me a second to put him under again.”
“Dream,” Nighthawk says, and there’s an urgency in his voice that makes the smile on Dream’s face disappear.
“Yes?” he asks, coming closer.
“Have you been noticing that anything has been weirder than before?” his mentor asks, and it makes him frown.
Weirder? He doesn’t think so. Everything has been normal, just like before. He has breakfast at seven AM, then he goes to his classes, and in the afternoon, after lunch, he meets up with Nighthawk.
Things have been the same for a few couple months now.
Although—
Nighthawk tilts his head. “Dream?”
There are things he doesn’t remember. Memory gaps that he can’t explain. He’s never had the best memory, but it’s never been quite this bad.
He’s not sure it’s something unusual though.
“I don’t think,” he says finally.
“Are you sure?”
And he nods because—
When he hears the key turn in the lock, he tenses.
His legs don’t reach the ground, and he’s sitting on his hands because it’s been cold, and they refuse to give him a blanket whenever he asks them for one.
It’s fine, though. He won’t be staying here for much longer.
The door is finally being pushed open.
“Dream,” Guardian says, “are you ready to come home?”
But that can’t be.
That can’t be because Nighthawk is dead, and—
He nods.
Guardian smiles and stretches a hand out.
“You don’t look great,” is the first thing Guardian greets him with, and it makes Dream clench his teeth, so he doesn’t get snarky.
It’s not something Guardian has ever appreciated, and as much as Dream would like to start now, he has the feeling that it won’t go over well.
And he really, truly can’t make things even worse for himself now.
“Haven’t been sleeping well,” he only says because it’s true, and he doesn’t want to talk about anything else.
“Hm,” Guardian says, crossing his arms as he watches Dream carefully. He’s never liked that—when Guardian looks at him like that because it’s always made him feel like he knows exactly what’s going on in Dream’s head, like he can read Dream’s thoughts.
“Do you remember anything?” Guardian asks him, and it’s such a weird question that it dumbfounds him.
Whatever he expected from this conversation, it wasn’t this.
“Remember what?” he asks carefully.
“This.”
Dream blinks. “Should I?” He doesn’t think he does. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t. He was here before, obviously, most heroes have visited Pandora’s Vault once, but there hasn’t been anything else apart from that.
Really, anything else wouldn’t make sense.
Why should he remember this? There’s no reason for that.
“Alright,” Guardian says without answering Dream’s question. “You should eat more,” he tells him. “You’ll need it.” And—
Dream blinks his eyes open.
It’s dark, and he’s alone. And Guardian isn’t here.
But…
He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.
What is happening? What is happening to him?
When he opens his eyes, Doctor Williams is looking down on him.
“How do you feel?” the doctor says.
“Like someone ran me over,” he says.
Doctor Williams just laughs. “That’s normal. You shouldn’t feel a thing when you’re with your mentor again.”
“Mentor?” he asks because he’s not had a mentor in years. And why should he be with his mentor anyway? He’s been imprisoned. He’s not here willingly. He’s not going to get out anytime soon.
“Dream?” Doctor Williams asks, a frown on his face.
“Yes?” he says, but his ears are ringing, and he can barely hear himself. He shouldn’t be here. He—
Dream’s allowed to go to the courtyard after a few days. He’s not sure why, but maybe they think that whatever they’re doing to him, will have such a bad impact on him if they don’t allow him to go outside.
Not that it matters. He couldn’t care less about the reason as long as he can go outside.
But when he steps outside, the courtyard isn’t quite right.
The tree wasn’t there before that, and there hadn’t been a bank either—
How does he know that?
He frowns as he carefully steps around the flowers growing in the grass.
When he visited Pandora’s Vault, he wasn’t in the courtyard. He’s sure of that. He would remember that. And he doesn’t. And yet, he still remembers it.
He blinks, and—
And—
It’s raining. It’s raining, and his hands are freezing, but he doesn’t care about that.
He breathes in deeply. He’s always liked the smell of rain. There’s simply something so calming about it that he can’t properly explain.
Someone steps next to him, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Guardian says.
“Why?” he asks, propping his chin on his arms as he watches the rain fall.
“Come back inside,” Guardian says, ignoring his question.
He sighs. “Give me ten minutes,” he says finally, trying to find a compromise because he knows that Guardian hates it when he does that.
Guardian shakes his head. “You should come back inside now.”
“But I don’t want to,” he says.
Something ugly crosses Guardian’s face. And he braces himself for a slap, maybe. Yelling, of course.
But then Guardian sighs, and it sounds like it physically hurts him.
“Dream,” he says, and he can hear the contained anger in Guardian’s voice. “I know it’s hard for you,” he continues, “but Nighthawk has been dead for four years.”
It makes him grit his teeth because it’s the Association’s fault. It’s the Association’s fault, and maybe it’s Guardian’s too. And he knows, no matter how much they like to deny it.
“I don’t care,” he says quietly. Because he doesn’t, not about the Association, not about his duty. Because he just wants his mentor back.
“Dream,” Guardian says, and this time he sounds angry, sounds angry like he so often does. Like it’s been happening more and more ever since he’s refused to forget about his former mentor.
So, he turns away from Guardian. And he knows he shouldn’t. He knows better than this. He’s known better than this for years.
“Dream,” Guardian repeats, and now he’s grabbing his arm, tries to get him to turn around again, to face Guardian, to—
“Dream?”
He blinks. “Yes?”
The woman is crouching in front of him. She’s narrowed her eyes as she watches him. Her hair is tightly bound back, and Dream knows that he would get a headache within an hour if he tied his hair like that.
“Ah, you’re back with me,” she says, getting up.
He was always here, no?
“How do you feel?” she asks him, back turned towards him as she prepares something. He’s not sure.
“Cold,” he says because he’s been cold for the past few days, and his chest feels like it’s freezing at this point.
“Mmh,” she makes. “Nothing new then.”
“Nothing new then,” he echoes, staring at his hands.
“Anything else?” When he looks back up, her head is tilted.
“Weird—” he stops himself before he can say too much. Maybe he should tell them about the dreams he’s been having, but he can’t imagine that they actually mean anything. And even if they did…why should he make it easier for them?
“Weird what?” she prompts him.
For a moment, he considers. Maybe they would stop if they knew more. If they found out whatever they’re looking for. But—
No. They wouldn’t. And he knows that.
“Just been feeling weird,” he finally says, and the look on her face makes it obvious that she doesn’t believe him.
“I feel weird,” he complains.
Guardian tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
And he can’t explain it, not really, but there’s something off about his powers, there’s something in his body that they don’t like, that they want to get rid of, but it doesn’t make sense. It just doesn’t make any sense.
Maybe he should forget about it, continue training like he always does. Maybe he should just hope that it’ll go away on its own because maybe he’s just imagining it. Maybe it’s not real. Maybe it’s actually just puberty, a change of his powers.
Only that he knows there’s a new energy source in his body that wasn’t there before. An energy source that is not only foreign to his body but that also isn’t part of his powers, and he can’t explain it.
He can’t explain where it’s coming from or what it’s doing. He can’t even fully access it.
But it’s there. It’s there, and he can feel it. And it’s foreign to his body, foreign to his mind, foreign to his powers. It doesn’t belong there.
He scoffs bitterly. No matter how he’ll try to explain it to his mentor, to the other trainers, they’re just going to tell him once again that it’s his lack of fine motor skills. And sure, they are lacking. He’s aware of that. But it’s not that, this time.
And he’s also aware of the fact that they’re not going to believe him. Because they never do. Because they think they know best. Because they think he’s stupid, because they think he’s just a child who doesn’t understand anything—not even his own powers.
“Dream?” Guardian asks, and his head snaps to his mentor.
“Sorry,” he says, “just— my powers are behaving weirdly.”
Guardian hums. “Powers change with puberty,” he says, and he knows it’s not true.
He knows his powers better than Guardian. He knows that there’s something off about them. That something has changed that shouldn’t have changed.
But he doesn’t know how to explain it, to make it clear that this isn’t just a natural change.
Because it’s not.
It’s not, and he knows.
He knows better.
And it doesn’t matter what Guardian says.
“We might have to try something else,” the woman says in a hushed tone, but it’s still loud enough for Dream to hear.
The Warden tilts his head. “What do you mean?”
The woman glances at Dream. “If your suspicions are correct, we might have to trigger it manually.”
Dream frowns, trying to concentrate on the words, but it’s hard. It’s been getting harder in the last few days. He barely hears their words, and every time he wakes up in his cell, he doesn’t remember what they said. If they even said the things he thinks he remembers.
Maybe this is just another one of the weird dreams he’s been having.
The Warden hums before he comes closer to Dream. He narrows his eyes as he examines Dream. “You might be right.”
Dream coughs. “Trigger what?” he croaks out, and his voice sounds like he hasn’t talked in weeks. It might be the truth; he can’t even tell how long he’s spent here. He hasn’t from the minute he had woken up in his cell, but with more time passing, with the longer he’s spent in this weird state in which he isn’t asleep but isn’t really awake either, his feeling for the time passed has completely disappeared.
The Warden sighs like Dream is an annoying dog who keeps bothering him. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Dream blinks. Nothing that concerns him? “You—”
“Shush,” the Warden interrupts before Dream can say anything else. He turns back to the woman. “Can you be a dear and—?” He nods towards Dream.
“Of course,” the woman says, hurrying out of Dream’s vision.
And Dream wants to say something, wants to ask the Warden about— about—
He frowns.
Ask about—
When he wakes up, there’s a quiet buzzing in his head again, but when he tries to reach out to his powers, there’s still…something blocking his access.
He turns his head and ignores the sharp pain in his neck as he tries to orientate himself, and— yeah, there are still the nullifier cuffs they always put on him after he leaves the lab.
Which…doesn’t make a lot of sense. Maybe they switched them out for a weaker version? He can’t explain why there’s the faint residue of his powers otherwise.
Or they fucked up something. That’s also a possibility.
It’s not like he knows what they’re doing. What they’re trying to achieve. What their goal is. For all he knows, they could be messing up his powers so badly that he won’t ever be able to use them again.
If he has the chance to ever use them again.
But whatever they’re doing, something seems to happen. He’s neither sure what exactly it is, nor how it’s related to his powers, but it’s…it’s something. And he doesn’t like it.
His powers have always been quite clear-cut, and now…
Although there’s the possibility that whatever is happening to him isn’t even because of his powers. They’re using…they’re using stimulants. He thinks.
No, he’s sure about that. He’s sure he’s heard them talk about it before. They’re using stimulants, but he’s not reacting to them like he should? It was something like this.
He’s not reacting to them like they thought he would, and he certainly doesn’t know how much of them is already in his system. It wouldn’t be surprising if they fucked with his head in some way.
It would be more surprising if they didn’t.
Carefully, he reaches out to use the wall to stabilize himself as he pulls himself up, and—
He grimaces. Did he twist his neck while he was asleep?
The bed is so hard that he usually wakes up with back pain and sometimes headaches, but he doesn’t think his neck ever hurt as much as it does now.
And it doesn’t feel like the dull pain that comes with a twisted neck. He can’t explain where the pain would come from otherwise.
Although—
He sighs. What did they do?
If it’s not a twisted neck—which it certainly doesn’t feel like—, then it can only be because they did something to him. Shocking, truly.
He gingerly touches his neck and—
Oh.
He doesn’t know where the chip used to be, but there’s a raised part at the back of his neck, only a finger width below his hairline, and when he slowly presses down on it, the pain intensifies.
It seems to be sutured, and there’s no blood, but they didn’t put a bandage on it either. It makes sense. The Association’s healers have always only healed wounds, so they wouldn’t bleed anymore, but they never healed them completely.
It was something about…the healers’ energy, he thinks. Guardian once explained it to him when he was younger, after he’d broken his arm during a mission. Since he didn’t bleed, there was no reason for him to get healed.
But he’s not entirely sure about that anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.
Blood-covered and dirty Superheroes with crooked uniforms and messy hair just can’t hold up the image that the Association so desperately wants to convey.
He shakes his head and immediately regrets the movement when sharp pain shoots down his spine.
They removed the chip. Okay. But why would they do something like that? Even if they don’t think he’s going to get out of here, wasn’t the chip for more than that? And even if it was just to track him, he can’t think of any reason why they would remove the chip. It’s not like the chip interfered with— with—
He frowns.
They did talk about the chip, didn’t they? He can’t— He isn’t able to fully remember what they said, but—
But.
He’s sure they mentioned it.
Sam did say that the chip had been inserted so long ago that his powers might have been affected by it, so maybe it falsified the results?
But how did they only realize now?
There’s no way he’s the only one with a chip, but perhaps it’s due to his powers. It would make sense that someone whose powers aren’t in any way related to technology wouldn’t have the same problem.
And it still doesn’t explain why he’d been so young when he’d gotten the chip. Or why he doesn’t remember it.
It couldn’t have been a small operation, so he would have needed to remember anything of it, no? Even if they kept the operation itself away from him, even if they completely healed him, he would have needed to pick up that his powers were reacting weirdly to something in his body, and he can’t imagine that they wouldn’t have.
He knows himself, and he knows his powers, and maybe he knows neither as well as he should, but he knows that.
They wouldn’t have just accepted a foreign object.
He closes his eyes.
He was eleven. And then he was twelve.
And he barely remembers anything from those years. There’s a lot of fog, a lot of hazy memories.
Guardian always tried to tell him it was because of his former mentor’s death, that he was still so young, that it’s normal. And he believed it back then because it made sense, because it was an easy explanation, because he was still in shock from the sudden death of his mentor.
But he was twelve when Nighthawk died. Not eleven. He was twelve, and there was no reason for him to forget a majority of the previous year—not when Nighthawk was still around, not when he wasn’t grieving yet, not when things were still normal.
Not unless things weren’t as normal as they should have been.
“Good morning, Dream,” the woman says. “We’re going to try something new today.”
“What?” he says flatly.
She smiles at him, but it’s sharp, and her eyes are cold. “It won’t hurt,” she says, and he doesn’t trust her, doesn’t trust any of them, but he especially doesn’t trust what she just told him. “And I’ll be so quick, you won’t even notice anything.”
She gets closer to him until she stands right next to his legs.
“Hold still,” she tells him, both of her hands on his leg. “Now take a deep breath.”
And before he has any chance to react, before he can ask what she’s planning to do, it’s already too late.
He hears his bone break before he ever feels it.
“Good,” she says.
He definitely felt that. He definitely feels it—although he only registers the pain slowly like his nerves aren’t quite working like they should be.
“Won’t hurt,” he repeats what she just told him. “Won’t even notice.”
And she just shrugs, turns away from him to write something down like she didn’t just break his leg. And the computer is too far away, the letters too small for him to read.
Sometimes, he wonders if there’s actually a reason for what they’re doing. If they’re just doing some of these things for fun, because they can. Just because she writes something down doesn’t mean it was necessary.
His leg throbs, he can feel the blood pulsating, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it should. As he knows it does.
It’s not the first time he’s broken a bone, and all the times before this one, there wasn’t this weird…numbness.
“Anything feeling weird?” the woman asks, and Dream wants to tell her to fuck off, to leave him alone, to never speak to him again.
But he can’t. Not if he doesn’t want things to get worse.
“A bit numb,” he says, and she nods.
“That should be normal,” she says, but she still writes it down.
“Normal?” he asks, and he doesn’t expect an answer because they never tell him anything, because they shut him up before he can finish his questions, and it makes sense, obviously.
But then she nods, says, “It might be your body’s reaction to the removal of the chip.” She pauses. “It’s possible that your whole body will feel weird as long as it needs to adjust to the sudden loss of another energy source.”
“Ah,” Dream says, “makes sense,” although nothing makes sense. Not to him anyway.
He knew that they had removed the chip, but he still doesn’t have an explanation for it, still doesn’t get why they would do it.
But maybe the chip had been falsifying their results. Even though it now sounds like the removal is also doing that.
“Okay,” she says, stepping away from him. “Nothing else that’s unusual?”
He shakes his head.
“Good.” She clasps her hands. “That was it for today.”
And she has the syringe in her hand again. The one with the clear liquid, the one—
He thought they had finished for today.
He twists as if he could stop her like that. She had literally lied to him not even half an hour ago.
“Deep breath,” she tells him, and—
Why—
“Dream,” Nighthawk says. “I know this might be a weird question, but—” He hesitates.
“But?” he asks, head tilted.
“You have to be truthful with me, okay?” And there’s something weird in Nighthawk’s voice, something he doesn’t quite recognize, something he can’t fully explain.
So, he nods.
“Have you been missing time?” Nighthawk finally asks, and—
He squints.
Has he?
“I don’t—” he starts because he doesn’t think so, but—
“Dream?” Nighthawk is frowning now, and there’s something worried in his voice.
“I haven’t—” he tries again, but he can’t get himself to finish, can’t bring the words over his lips.
Because he hasn’t been missing time. Because there hasn’t been anything weird. Because—
(“You can’t tell anyone about this, alright?” Guardian tells him, and he nods because he understands. Because he knows that Nighthawk wouldn’t want this. Because he—
He hasn’t met Guardian since—
He doesn’t know—)
His head hurts.
“Dream?” And there’s someone shaking his shoulder, but he can’t see their face, doesn’t recognize their voice.
He knows he should know them, but—
Wasn’t Nighthawk—
He blinks.
Guardian’s face is only a few inches away from his own. He snaps his fingers like he’s trying to get Dream’s attention, like he’s been trying to get it for a few minutes now, but that can’t be.
That can’t be because—
Because—
“What?” Dream croaks out.
Guardian doesn’t say anything, just narrows his eyes as je examines Dream’s face. His red eyes look less sharp than usual, and there are dark shadows underneath them. He’s never seen Guardian with eye bags.
“For how long has this been happening?” Guardian asks, and before Dream can ask what he means, the woman appears in Dream’s field of vision.
“This?” she asks. “For as long as he’s been in here.”
“But it didn’t happen the first time?”
She turns away to the computer, and after a few seconds, she shakes her head. “No, it didn’t.”
What didn’t happen? What are they talking about?
He clears his throat. “What do you—?”
“Shush,” Guardian says mildly, but it’s enough for Dream to immediately shut his mouth.
“Any theories?” Guardian asks the woman, completely ignoring Dream again.
She presses her lips together. “Maybe,” she finally says. “There are—” she stops. “Should we?” With her head, she points towards the door like she just remembered that Dream is still in the room.”
“Of course,” Guardian says pleasantly.
“Behave,” Guardian tells Dream, and it makes Dream grit his teeth.
“Not like I can do anything else,” he mutters.
And then the door closes, and Dream is alone.
He sighs, twisting in his chair to get a better look at the room. It’s the same one as always. Probably. He can’t notice any major differences between the ones he’s already been in and this one.
The computer is still too far away from him to be able to read anything, and even if it was closer, he fears his vision would be too blurry anyway.
He leans his head against the chair, looks at the ceiling. He really wants to know what they’re talking about because constantly having to guess what they might be doing—or at least planning to do—is becoming boring.
There’s nothing he can base his guesses on because they’re so incredibly tight-lipped about everything they do like they fear that Dream might break out and tell the whole world about what they’re doing.
Like he can’t do that even without knowing the details.
Do they really expect him to break out?
He grimaces.
Probably. Especially since they now know he’s working together with the villains. Because they have to assume that the villains will break him out at some point.
How long would he have to stay in here for them to lower their walls?
And there’s another problem.
He sighs again.
He doesn’t know how long he’s been in here. And maybe it’s been weeks already, but he’s not sure about that. Not really. If so much time has already passed, then how is it possible that he’s still here? That the villains haven’t tried to break him out?
Unless they’re not going to.
He quickly shakes his head. They will. He knows they will.
(But how can he be so sure? How can he know what they will do? How can he assume anything about them?
He doesn’t know them. He’s barely spent any time with them. And he’s not their friend. He doesn’t even belong to their group. They worked together because they had the same goal, because they worked on the same thing.
And now?
They needed him, and now they don’t anymore. Now he’s useless to them. Now—)
He tightens his hands to fists, ignores the sharp sting of his nails pressing into his palms.
When the door opens again, it’s just the woman returning.
There’s no sign of Guardian, but that’s not overly surprising. He never seems to stick around for long.
“How do you feel?” the woman asks. He still doesn’t know her name although it must have been days—maybe even weeks—since he’s first met her. It would make him feel bad if he wasn’t locked up in a prison.
“Sore,” he says because while his leg might not hurt anymore, he can still feel it. Obviously, he can still feel it because they broke it, put a cast on, and then left him to do…whatever they expected him to do.
His powers can help and quicken up the natural healing process, but they can’t actually heal injuries themselves. That’s something he could’ve told them himself if they had just asked.
Although it might not actually be what they’re trying to achieve. It’s not like he knows what they’re trying to find out—they’re not telling him anything, and he hasn’t realized anything off about his powers.
“Hm,” the woman makes, quickly writing something down before she steps out of his vision. “It’s been…ten hours,” she says from somewhere on his left side, “have you noticed anything? Have you been feeling weird?”
“Weird?” Dream asks. “What exactly could I have noticed?”
A pause, then, “Something like your body temperature being unnatural warm? Almost like you have a fever? Maybe a tingling? Headaches? Just anything that’s unusual.”
He has had a headache, but that’s nothing unusual. In the past few weeks and months, they seemed to have been less frequent than when he was active as a Superhero although that might just have been due to stress. Which also would explain why he’s been having headaches on and off ever since he was locked up in Pandora’s Vault.
But since the headaches aren’t unusual, he doesn’t mention them. And anything else…he doesn’t think there’s been anything that seemed wrong.
“Nope,” he says.
The woman hums, and he hears her pen on paper again. “Alright,” she says, “thank you, Dream.”
“What are you trying to find?” he quickly says before he loses his footing again. They only keep him awake for the conversations in which they ask him questions that don’t make any sense anymore when he wakes up again, and they already barely make sense to him when they’re asking them.
He’s not sure what exactly it is that they’re trying to achieve with him being constantly unconscious—although he’s not entirely sure if he’s actually unconscious, at least he’s not lucid enough to know what’s going on or to remember the things that happened—, but maybe it’s just because it makes it easier to quickly get their plans done when he can’t object and try to escape.
The woman doesn’t say anything, and it’s not surprising. It’s what Dream has expected. He doesn’t think that any of them are ever going to tell them what they’re trying to find out or achieve with whatever they’re doing here, but it’s worth a try. If he doesn’t ask, he can never get an answer, and maybe one day, they will actually slip up and tell him.
She appears in his vision again, eyes narrowed. “Are you not telling me something?”
He quickly shakes his head. “Nothing has been off,” he says because nothing has been off. Except for the broken leg, probably, but he doubts that she wants to hear that as an answer.
“Then you’re done for today,” she says, smiling, and he’s sure it’s supposed to be reassuring, but it just looks threatening.
Then he registers her words, frowns. Today?
Didn’t he just wake up?
“Wait,” he says, but she’s already gone again, and—
And—
He sits on a couch. He sits on a couch he vaguely recognizes. It’s black, and it’s leather, and—
Sapnap is sitting next to him.
Why is Sapnap sitting next to him?
Right.
The couch belongs to the villains’ base, and he’s sitting on it because it’s already happened before, because it’s something he remembers. A dream, then. Or, well, a memory.
“Sapnap?” George calls out of the kitchen. “Have you seen the butter?”
He blinks. He…doesn’t remember that. He’s pretty sure he should remember that if he’s now dreaming about it. Unless his brain came up with a scenario, but—
“Bad finished it!” Sapnap yells back, and he still doesn’t seem to see Dream although he’s looking in his direction, so he really should be aware of Dream. But it doesn’t seem like it, and he’s not trying to start a conversation or interact with Dream in any way.
He doesn’t think there’s been any scenario in which that happened.
“Hey,” Dream tries to say, but nothing comes out of his mouth. “Sapnap?” Still. Nothing. “Sapnap!”
He doesn’t get a single reaction.
But before he can try something else to get Sapnap’s attention, George walks out of the kitchen.
“Of course, he ate it and didn’t refill it,” he grumbles, falling down on the couch next to Sapnap.
Sapnap snorts. “And then he gets angry at us when we do the same.”
George agrees with a huff and for a few seconds, it’s silent. And neither of them has noticed Dream.
It must be a dream, there’s no other explanation. There’s no other explanation that would make sense to Dream, at least.
“Have you contacted Techno yet?” Sapnap finally asks, voice quiet, and he doesn’t look at George. Instead, he’s focusing on his hands where he’s ripping out small skin pieces from around his nails.
“Yeah,” George says, cracking his thumb. “He said they would think about it.”
Sapnap hums.
Why would they contact the Syndicate? For what? Dream knows that they are allied, but—
He squints.
He clears his throat. “About what will they think—?”
The light is so blinding bright that he has to keep them closed for a minute before he risks opening his eyes again. It still hurts, it still makes his eyes sting.
He doesn’t remember that the light has ever been this bright.
But when he has opened his eyes, when he recognizes more than shapes around him again, he’s not in the white room, and he’s not chained to a chair.
He’s back in the yard, and the sun is shining, and when he looks down, his legs and wrists are as thin as they didn’t used to be since he was eleven.
“Isn’t it a nice day?” Guardian asks, and Dream’s head snaps to him.
For once, he’s not dressed in his usual uniform but in civilian clothes. It looks weird on him. Foreign. He’s never seen any of the heroes in their normal clothes. He’s never seen a hero except for Nighthawk and Guardian up close. And he’s only seen Guardian once. Twice now.
“It is,” he agrees, and his voice is timid in a way he doesn’t fully recognize. And it’s high-pitched. A lot higher than it should be. Than he remembers.
Guardian slowly sits down next to him on the bank. “How are you feeling?”
Dream shrugs. “Cold,” he says. He’s never been someone who feels cold easily. He’s often played in the snow with only a thin jacket and without gloves when he was younger—Nighthawk always said that it’s because of his powers—, but for some time now, he’s been feeling weirdly cold.
It’s located somewhere in his chest and from there, it slowly spreads out. Sometimes, it’s so bad that his hands start shaking.
“Hm,” Guardian makes, tilting his head. “That’s not good.”
He shrugs again. “The sun helps.”
“That’s nice,” Guardian says, offering Dream a small smile. His eyes almost glow in the sun. Do his powers also warm him? It would be cool if a Superhero had the same thing as him, and he knows that Nighthawk doesn’t have it.
Dream pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them.
“Do you like it here?” Guardian asks after a small pause.
“It’s okay,” he says quietly, but it’s lonely. He doesn’t talk to anyone but the staff here, and sometimes, the guards will stop to greet him. There’s no one his age here that he could spend his time with, and the other people aren’t allowed to talk to him.
Not that it really matters. He doesn’t spend a lot of time here, he doesn’t think, but it’s still more than he wants to. It’s necessary though, he knows that, and Nighthawk has been busy the past few weeks.
Guardian nods, and then he’s quiet again. He doesn’t say anything until a guard comes to collect Dream.
“It was nice to meet you again,” Guardian says, smiling.
And Dream nods, avoiding Guardian’s gaze.
Why is he here? What is he doing here? And why does Guardian still remember him? It’s been years.
It’s been years.
What is Guardian doing here?
And why—
He blinks, looking at his bare wrists again.
And why—
“Dream?” someone asks, someone shakes his shoulder, but they can’t be talking to him because—
He’s not—
His mouth tastes like iron.
“Dream,” the same person says again, and this time there’s a hint of order in their voice.
He opens his eyes.
He’s back in the white room. And the Warden stands in front of him.
Distantly, he notices that his head is bent forwards, a tissue pressed to his nose.
“—never happened before,” the woman whispers, and Dream can’t focus on her words, can’t focus because—
He was just outside. He was just outside, and Guardian was with him, and—
How is he already back inside? Why is he bleeding? What’s— what’s going on?
The Warden snorts. “A special one.”
Dream blinks.
The Warden kneels in front of him, head cocked, and he can’t see the woman. He can’t see her anymore, and— he should. She was just there. She was—
He can still taste iron, but he doesn’t think— He’s not bleeding anymore.
“Dream?”
He looks up, but he can barely see either of them. Everything is fuzzy, the Warden’s face just a blur in his vision.
“I—” he croaks out, and his throat hurts so much that he can’t get anything else out.
The Warden nods before he gets up again.
“Irene?” he asks. “Can you—?”
“Of course,” the woman says.
Dream frowns. There’s something—
He’s wanted to—
“What are you doing?” he tries to say, but his lips won’t move. His lips won’t move, and his throat hurts, and there’s a blinding pain behind his eyes, and— and everything still tastes like blood.
There’s blood all over his hands and his clothes.
He slowly turns his hands, but no matter how he moves, it clings to him. And maybe it becomes even more.
But it’s not his, it can’t be his. There’s no injury, there’s no pain. It’s weird to not feel any pain.
When he looks up, the sun is blinding, but he’s still shivering. He’s still so, so cold. It almost feels like he’s freezing.
Slowly, he gets up, and there’s still no pain. Still no indication that he’s hurt, but—
Whose blood is it then?
He frowns, turns to look for anyone else.
He’s in the middle of the city, it’s impossible that he’s alone, but he can’t see anyone. There’s not a single person around him.
He takes a step.
And stumbles.
There’s a body in front of him. A body that wasn’t there yet just a second ago. A body that is covered in blood.
A body—
Dream squints.
That’s—
That’s Sapnap.
That’s Sapnap, and he won’t move. His eyes are open, and his face is bloody and dirty, and he’s missing his mask.
And he won’t react. He doesn’t move. He—
He’s—
It can’t be. Dream just saw him, just saw him alive. Just saw him with George in their base, talking about butter. He just sat next to him on their couch.
It can’t be.
It’s not possible.
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