Dream had spent nearly a week looking for Tommy.
First he had combed through the forest surrounding the campsite, scouring the dense landscape until he happened upon that childish bouquet of flowers. When he returned the next day, this time with a tracking dog and a few ripped pieces of Tommy's clothing, he was surprised to discover that the hound led him straight into the cold hills, following the boy's scent with its large black nose buried in the snow. The trail faded a mile or so in, but Dream was already sure he knew where Tommy was. He should've guessed earlier; of course the kid would've gone to Techno for help.
Sure enough, when he made a stealthy visit to the cottage that evening, he could see small footprints surrounding the house and hear Tommy's whining pitch as he complained to Phil and Techno about a card game they were playing.
It was tantalizing, being so mouthwateringly close to what he wanted, what he needed for his plan to succeed. Watching the dark shapes move behind the gauzy curtains, he had an urge to wait until they fell asleep and snatch the boy away then.
But Dream would need much more tact than that when his target was guarded by a warrior with skills that trumped his own tenfold. No, he'd have to be clever if he was to triumph.
Instead he waited and he listened, and very soon an opportunity arose.
----------
Quackity had a problem.
It was about five-foot-six and blonde, and was currently causing quite a bit of logistical trouble when it came to the whole business of executing a federal criminal, because what on earth was Quackity going to do with him after Techno was dead? The boy could live with his father, sure, but the man was also in trouble with the government, and rumor had it that he would be exiled shortly after the execution. It would be so much easier to just give Tommy to Dream, let the whole affair be done with.
The door to Quackity's office was slightly ajar, opening with a creak that made the man look up from behind the large oak desk at which he sat. Dream recognized it as previously belonging to Schlatt, but instead of being littered with stray papers and empty bottles, it was now bare, a black and gold fountain pen that Quackity tapped erratically against the stained wood the only sign that someone inhabited the drear room.
"What do you want?" Quackity said as he reclined in his chair.
Dream supposed it made him feel powerful to be behind that desk. There was something about offices with bookshelves that had never been touched and furniture with the visage of a corpse that made people feel big. Strong. Untouchable. He wanted to shatter that image for Quackity, show him just how weak and pathetic he was compared to Dream, bring him to his knees and make him grovel; but that could come later.
"I heard you got your hands on Techno. Impressive."
Quackity puffed his chest, smirking in a self-satisfied way that made him grind his teeth.
"You heard right. What about it?"
"Techno wasn't the only person you captured."
There was a pause.
"You mean Tommy?"
"Yes."
Quackity twirled the pen in his fingers.
"Let me guess. You want me to hand him over to you?"
Dream didn't respond. The question might as well have been rhetorical for how obvious the answer was.
"I hope you brought something to bargain with. I'm not simply going to release him."
Dream clenched his fists. The arrogant cunt wanted payment for the favor Dream was doing him? What use did he have for the boy anyway? Behind his mask he imagined all the ways he would kill Quackity once he regained control of the world, each blood-soaked image flashing before his eyes; Quackity broken and bruised, head lolling forwards onto his chest, intestines oozing out around a sword impaled in his gut; crying and begging for mercy as Dream stomped his head into the ground, smashing the bloody pulp under his heels again and again; screaming in distorted agony as his eyes were gouged from his face and his tongue was cut out. Dream's lips twitched into a smile.
"What do you want in exchange?"
"Oh, I don't know," Quackity mused, blissfully unaware of Dream's gruesome mirages. "It'd have to be something pretty good."
Running his fingers along the rigid spines of the books lining the walls, Dream spoke slow and pointedly.
"How about this. I'll give you my word that I'll leave your little country alone from now on. No more wars, no more fighting, no more threats. I'll let you stay independent, as long as you don't cause any trouble."
Quackity hesitated. It seemed he didn't want to accept Dream's deal, that some remaining dregs of morality were keeping him from giving up the boy. But ethics were nothing compared to the country he had dedicated his life to.
"L'Manberg cannot fall." There was a hint of bitterness in Quackity's tone, a subtext of something raw and painful he could not express. "As long as it lives, so will I."
"I'll take that as a yes."
Quackity sighed.
"You can take him after the execution tomorrow night."
"I'll be there."
Dream turned to leave.
"You know he's blind, right?"
"Yeah. I know."
The door swung shut with a firm noise and a sense of finality, sealing Quackity into his tomb.
----------
The truth was, Quackity had gained nothing from the exchange. It was foolish to think Dream was the reason the country had collapsed time and time again, but he supposed people needed a scapegoat for their failings, and he couldn't help but be the perfect candidate.
Regardless of where the blame was put, L'Manberg was a dying country. It had been from the start. It didn't matter if Dream interfered or not; the place would be abandoned within the year.
He couldn't care less about what happened to their citizens and leaders. He had warned them after all, told them that it would be so much better to just allow him to rule. They had chosen to ignore him, chosen to fight him like stubborn, short-sighted children who couldn't understand how kind and just he was. Instead they followed Tommy and bent to his will, did what he commanded. So it was necessary to separate the boy from the others and take him far away, where no one would hear from him again.
That had been the initial plan.
But Tommy was lonely, and it seemed Dream had become his lifeline, his connection to the outside world. He was so desperate to talk to him, to be friends, to just have someone there. It was pathetic, honestly, the way he clung to every word Dream said, snatching up the crumbs of conversation and devouring them like a starving man. Manipulating him was almost too easy. Each accusation Dream heaped upon the boy visibly filled him with doubt, lies building on lies to create a fabricated reality that entangled Tommy within himself.
And then one evening, while speaking with Tubbo, Dream realized something while the young governor incessantly babbled about the economic state of the country; Tubbo had never before talked so openly with him while Tommy was around. The implications were clear: the more you take from someone, the more dependent they become on others to substitute their losses.
Thus, if he were to gather from everyone their most beloved, most sacred, most important items, he could exploit them with ease. A new plan was formulated, one that would ensure Dream's return to power.
Of course, it had to be tested, for which Tommy was the perfect unwilling participant. Whenever he visited the boy, he forced him to hand over all of his hard-earned gear, which was promptly destroyed before his tear-filled eyes.
It worked even better than expected, making Tommy not just reliant on Dream for friendship, but for food, protection, and shelter. The blindness potion had been a brilliant way to further the experiment.
But then he had escaped, finding safety with his brother and father. They would undo so much of the progress Dream had achieved by allowing Tommy autonomy, control, the chance to make decisions for himself. It was a catastrophe.
The only thing that comforted Dream was knowing how much pain it must bring to the boy to not be able to look upon the faces of his family.
How alone he must feel, swathed in a darkness that neither ended nor began but simply existed, a perpetual night that no star could shine through.
He smiled.
It was a delicious thought, after all.