The Unknown Truth |Dreamwastaken|

Chapter 31 ~ The answer was obvious.

~Layken's POV~

He's hanging from bound wrists, shirtless, bloodied and bruised everywhere. His head is bent, his neck is limp, his left leg in drenched in blood despite the tourniquet wrapped around his thigh. I could cry.

I don't know how long the weight of his entire body has been hanging from his wrists. I'm surprised he hasn't dislocated his shoulders. He must still be fighting to hold on. The rope wrapped around his wrists is attached to some kind of metal rod running across the ceiling.

I look more closely and realize the rod is a part of a conveyer belt. That Dream is on a conveyer belt. That this isn't just a factory. It's a slaughterhouse. I'm too poor to afford the luxury of hysteria right now. I need to find a way to get him down, but I'm afraid to approach.

My eyes search the space, certain that there are guards around here somewhere, soldiers prepared for this kind of ambush. But then it occurs to me that perhaps I was never really considered a threat. Not if Warren managed to drag me away.

No one would expect to find me here. I climb onto the conveyor belt and Dream tries to lift his head. I have to be careful not to look too closely at his wounds, not to let my imagination cripple me. Not here. Not now.

"Dream?" My voice is a whip in the silence. His head snaps up with a sudden burst of energy. His eyes find me. His face is almost unscathed. There are only minor cuts and bruises to account for. Focusing on the familiar face gives me a modicum of calm.

"Lake?" The sound of his voice has never felt so relieving to hear. What happened to all those times I didn't want him in the same room as me? "I need to cut you down-" I say and he coughs. "Jesus, Layken- How did you find me?" Coughs again.

"Later." I reach up to touch his face. "I'll tell you everything later." Once again, I could cry. "My pants-" He manages to say. "What?" He takes an unstable breath. A breath I hope won't be his last. "In my pants- There's a knife."

I reach for his pocket and he shakes his head. I look up. "There's an inside pocket in my pants-" I practically rip his clothes off. There's a small pocket sewn into the lining of his cargo pants. I slip my hand inside and retrieve a compact pocketknife. A butterfly knife.

I start stacking boxes on the conveyor belt. Climb my way up and hope to God I know what I'm doing. The knife is extremely sharp, and it works quickly to undo the ropes. I realize a little belatedly that the rope holding him together is the same cord we used to escape from our bedroom.

I cut him free and I climb down, refolding the knife and tucking it into my pocket. I don't know how I'm going to get Dream out of here. His wrists are rubbed raw, bleeding, his body pounded into one piece of pain, his leg bloodied through with a bullet. He nearly falls over.

I try to hold on as tenderly as possible. He doesn't say a word about the pain, tries so hard to hide the fact that he's having a lot of trouble breathing. He's wincing against the torture of it all, but doesn't whisper a word of complaint. Why do you have to be like that Dream?

"I can't believe you found me." Is all he says. And I know I shouldn't. I know now isn't the time. I know it's impractical. But I kiss him anyway. "You're not going to die." I tell him. "We are going to get out of here. We are going to steal a car. We are going to find Quackity and Tommy. And then we're going to be safe."

He stares at me. "Kiss me again." He says. And I do. It takes a lifetime to make it back to the door. Dream had been buried deep in the recesses of this building, and finding our way to the front is even more difficult than I expected.

Dream is trying so hard, moving as fast as he can, but he still isn't fast at all. "They said Warren wanted to kill me himself." He explains. "That he shot me in the leg on purpose, just to disable me. It gave him a chance to drag you away and come back for me later. Apparently his plan was to torture me to death" He winces.