Dreaming of Demons (Dream x oc)

[19] It's Just a Bloody Nose

I hadn't seen Tommy again for the rest of the day, but it was still weird to think that he was alive. The Dream SMP felt more lively now that he was back. It was like he carried a buzzing energy with him wherever he went, the kind of energy that had been forgotten days before.

But I was still trying to put sense into the fact that he was alive. Dream had done something—or the Dreamon—I didn't know who was in control now. But whoever he was, he somehow had the power to bring people back from the dead. It almost made me laugh. The idea that someone could be resurrected. But even if my mind tried to convince me otherwise, Tommy was still running around, alive.

I looked down the prime path in the direction of the prison. From where I was standing I could just barely make out it's imposing silhouette in the distance. I hadn't been there in a while, and I was more curious than I had ever been to visit Dream.

I started walking, my gaze pinned on the prison building that slowly grew as I neared it. I wondered what Sam had been up to since the last time I had spoken to him. He definitely knew Tommy was alive, yet I didn't see him anywhere. Maybe he was busy making the prison protocol more safe. That would be a good use of his time.

The weather was cooler today, the clouds floating across the sky to give the sun a round of hide and seek. Maybe it would rain for once, but as I looked up to the sky, the wind only presented itself by tugging at my hair.

I rounded the corner to head inside the entry building and my steps halted.

"Quackity?"

He had stopped as well, and I noticed he wasn't wearing his usual blue jacket. Instead, he was wearing suspenders over a white button-up shirt—a sophisticated difference from his usual casual attire. It would have looked nice if he wasn't balancing a netherite axe over his shoulder.

"Taryn," he greeted, a swift smile spreading over his face. The emotion didn't quite reach his eyes. "How've you been?"

My gaze traveled over him again, warily. "I'm good. I didn't think you visited the prison."

"Of course! Just thought I should pay good ol' Dream a visit." He moved as he spoke, maneuvering past me and into the light of the outside.

"Really? I never knew you planned on seeing him at all."

Quackity turned to face me, taking a step backward. "Oh you know—plans change."

I pressed my lips together and hummed thoughtfully. My eyes fell on his shirt where the sun highlighted a small red splatter, like he might have been painting something and a splash of it had landed on his shirt.

But he was holding an axe.

"Where's Sam?" I suddenly asked, holding back a sharp edge in my voice. Had Quackity hurt him?

He shrugged, unfazed. "In the prison. Where else would he be? He might as well live there cause he's there all the time."

I narrowed my eyes. "What were you doing in the prison?"

Quackity laughed, the sound high-pitched and a bit wobbly. "What? I thought I told you. I was visiting Dream!"

He wasn't giving me the answer I wanted so I decided to ask directly, jutting my chin up to gesture to him. "Is that blood on your shirt?"

The smile slipped off his face for a fraction of a second as he looked down at himself. He brushed his fingertips over the bright red splotch before looking back up at me. "Oh—" he gave a shallow laugh again. "I had a bloody nose."

I studied him for a moment more, trying to see through his mask of casualty . But his easy smile didn't falter, and he raised a brow as I scrutinized him. After a moment, I cut my gaze away and forced myself to relax. Maybe I was too quick to jump to conclusions. I couldn't see Quackity as the type to hurt anyone anyways—at least not on purpose.