A deadbeat. || Dream and Badboyhalo angst/fluff oneshot

The visits.

TW// This story contains visual descriptions of violence, blood, gore, and implications of torture.

“Sometimes I don't understand you.” Bad lectured, Securely finishing up wrapping Dream's upper arm. “How do you always do this to yourself? Why don't you ever just give Quackity the revive book? It would make it a lot easier for us both.”

Bad and Dream were sitting in the prison cell, Dream sat against the cold brick wall, Wincing in pain as Bad traced his fingers along a nasty cut on the palm of his hand. It had been another day of Quackity's successful torture, Something Bad, Even as a prison guard didn't understand.

He thought the concept would stupid. Had Dream done bad things? Yes, He did. And bad knew and understood that. But every time Quackity and Awesamdude walked past him, Quackity bragging about a new torture technique or ranting about how dream was too stubborn for his own good his heart just seemed to drop. He hated it, Everything about it.

The screams that echoed throughout the halls and down the corridors terrified him, Made his blood run cold. He had even begged Sam just to make Quackity stop, But even it seemed nobody was on his side. But then again, He thought, Pushing his glasses up his nosebridge as he handed Dream a health potion, He wasn't on a side either. It wasn't that he believed Dream was a good guy, But maybe torture isn't the right way to go. It's dreadful, Standing next to the entrance of the prison, awaiting Quackitys arrival. Sometimes he wished he could stay home.

He recalled a moment when Quackity had even stopped by to chat with Bad, Soaked and drenched with Dream's blood, Having a few of his teeth pocketed in his inventory. He spoke cheerfully to him as if he had jusy walked out of the happiest event of his life. Bad fearfully nodded and agreed to Quackitys every sentence to the point where he would respond with 'Yes.' when Quackity asked how he was, Or how Skeppy was. Quackity soon lost interest in talking to him.

He assumed Sam must've been fed up with his pleads, And Bad dared not to push further on the subject. He blamed himself for it occasionally, As the screams filled his ears with a familiar ringing sound.

He just wished Dream would give Quackity the book already. He was running out of excuses for staying late at the prison, As well as his patience. He couldn't say Dream was particularly social, But Bad tried his best to keep the topic light, Besides from the occasional lecturing. He promised himself he would never stop visiting Dream in private though, Because he knew it was the only good part of Dream's day.

He thought back, Only half a week into the forbidden visits, Bad was examining a bruise on his waist. Dream had turned to him, And told Bad that he reminded him of Puffy. He couldn't tell if his heart had shattered or melted, But he assuming a mix of both. He thought about how Puffy never visited, Even when visits were strictly allowed. He rarely saw Puffy anymore, And it made him wonder if she thought her son was truly a monster.

He had smiled at him, And continued to bandage him. Every night when Bad would step onto the platform to leave, He would tell Dream to make sure to take the bandages off before Sam noticed, And he always complied.

Though spending the late nights began to tire him into exhaustion. He'd wake up, Feeling as if he had just gotten out of bed, And go home as if he had never slept at all. The cycle repeated, And got worse. He was starting to worry others, But he didn't acknowledge it much. When Bad would lay in bed, Sick to his stomach and unable to get up to wash the blood from his hands, Strawberry would fly over and preen at his face. The gesture made him lighten up, Yet he still felt nauseated.

Sam caught on eventually, And made Bad take a week off. At first, Bad insisted he didn't need a break, He didn't want to let Dream down, He knew how horrible it would get. Sam gave him permission to stay later and clean up the prison so he would feel better, Though he did seem hesitant on it.

When the platform arrived at Dreams cell, He was already on the verge of tears. Desperate, Angry tears. He wanted to help more than anything, And he was failing at it. As Bad handed Dream various gapples, He explained Sams 'concern', He most definitely said concern in air quotes. Dream seemed disheartened, But understood thankfully enough. They hugged briefly before parting, Having to separate that week.

And now he was back. Kneeling down next to him as he finished up on the last injury he could find.

“You worry too much.” Dream whispered in a raspy tone, Looking at him.

“You best be thankful I do too.” He remarked back light-heartedly. “I might just be one of the reasons you aren't a full zombie right now.” He chuckled, Grinning weakly at the taller one. “Is that your new nickname for me now?”

Bad stood up, Placing the items back into his bag. He shoved a gapple into Dreams hands. ”Here. Eat this, When your done with it throw the core into the lava.”

Dream nodded, Holding the apple to his chest. ”Yeah, Thanks dad.” He joked, Pushing himself up against the wall.

”Trying to stand already? Go on, Take your baby steps.” He smiled back, Standing at the entrance of the prison cell turned towards Dream.

Dream staggered towards him, Pulling him into a broken-ish hug. Bad supported Dreams back so he wouldn't fall over, Gingerly hugging him back.

It was a strange, Loose hug. But it meant much more to them than it does to you, Reader.

They pulled away after a minute or so. Bad waved his goodbyes and stepped onto the platform. Dream stood, Watching the lava slowly cover the fading figure.