Jailbird Fly Free

Snip, Snip...

Dream sat on the couch in Technoblade's cabin. His bare heels bounced against the cold floorboards, wringing his hands as he stared down. His eyes traced over the lines in the wood over and over, patterns circling and twisting around each other.

They had finally broken out of that sweltering hot prison. Quackity and the warden hot on their trails, but between Techno and himself they were more than capable of escaping the two.

They weaved between the streets of the greater SMP. Through Prime church, and of course Quackity and Sam had no respect for the sacred lands, and they hadn't expected for the men to. The magic of the place had been lost long ago. Lost to simpler times, before the wars, before the great destruction of L'manberg. Before... everything.

Techno and Dream dipped into the underground sewer system and from there they travelled quickly to Snowchester. That's where they gained enough ground to lose the two, and immediately headed to Techno's cabin in the northern winter biome.

At least there, Techno had all the supplies he needed to take them on. If they so chose to follow, that was.

Sure Sam was a respectable adversary, but if techno's ability to push Quackity to his second near death with just a pickaxe was any indication of his inability to succeed at combat. Techno didn't know what was.

Dream being far too weak to engage in any combat, he wouldn't be of much use of course. So it was a good thing techno was more than capable of taking on the two.

Luckily it hadn't come to that though.

Dream had almost fallen behind twice on their escape. Just from how wasted away he was from living off a diet of only raw potatoes for six months, and having faced endless torture for the last two.

His body needed time to recuperate after everything it'd been put through.

Dream was of course strong.

In both combat and intelligence. Dream was known as the puppet master of the server after all. He'd manipulated every single person around him, playing with them like toys. Killing anyone that got in his way, if using them proved no longer useful.

Despite that however.

Despite his physical and mental strengths.

He felt like he'd been torn down. Stripped of every piece of himself that made him who he used to be.

Enduring so much torture for so long. Being in solitary confinement for nearly over half a year does something to a person. Whether the effects were reversible or not, Dream had no way of knowing. He couldn't even begin to fathom navigating it. The scars felt too great, the trauma too deeply rooted, as though it were now a permanent part of him.

In the prison he would disassociate from everything. Moving day to day without thought, just accepting it for what it was. Time both rushed past him, and stood still.

Now that he was out, however, it was as if a wave of awareness had hit him like a strong wind. Nearly sweeping him off his feet. He felt for the first time in a long time that he was alive, that he was conscious of the world happening both around and to him. Having an active role in his own existence felt so foreign and terrifying.

Dream hugged his arms around himself, hunched over as he continued to stare down the floorboards, unblinking. He was lost in the tremendous anxiety that was wrapping itself around him, creeping its tendrils into his ears with dark thoughts. Leaving him shaking in its grip.

"You alright, mate?" Philza asked, approaching the man with a mug of tea. He handed it down to Dream. He was torn away from his thoughts and jerked his head up, looking at Phil with fear etched across his scarred face.