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Las Nevadas is a country funded by foolishness and substance abuse, settled into the sand of the fakest desert money can buy. So, mirages and hallucinations aren’t the most unheard of things to happen, especially after working in the sun all day on the newest flashy building of the skyline.
And yet, when Foolish sees the strange sight of Quackity strolling down the road with a netherite shovel over his shoulder, he knows it’s not an illusion. As bizarre as it is, he knows it’s real, for that he is certain, but that doesn’t answer the question of why Quackity is cheerily carrying a netherite shovel.
By itself, the sight of someone with a netherite farm tool isn’t that unusual. It may seem like a waste of resources but plenty of people on the server like to build and farm, so their full netherite gear includes a set of decked out tools. Quackity, however, isn’t one of these people. He isn’t exactly known for his manual labor, so why does he have such an expensive shovel?
Truthfully, Foolish secretly hopes it’s a gift and he’ll get it, because it’s not like Quackity is going to use it much, so with that hope, he strides over to greet him, “Hey, Quackity! Hello, hello!”
“Foolish, hi! Hey, what’s up? How are you doing, man? How’s the hotel coming along?” Quackity asks with a polite eagerness.
“Oh, you know, I’m doing good. I’m doing good. It’s been going really well, you know, no like—chandeliers in this design, so it’s actually been going well.” Foolish laughs, remembering how much sanity he lost in Tubbo’s mansion. “Um, how about you? How’s it going? How are you?”
“You know, pretty good—pretty good.” Quackity smiles and there’s something wrong about it he can’t put his finger on.
Blunt curiosity getting the best of him, he prompts almost curtly, “So, like what are you—what’s the deal with the shovel? Digging some holes or something?” Foolish jokes, but Quackity pales, looking away for a second before answering.
“Yeah—yeah, you know, something like that… collecting gravel actually,” he voices causally, like it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, and Foolish would almost believe him except for the crimson that must be blood staining the tip that tells a different story.
It could be a zombie’s. But he has a diamond sword strapped to his hip, so why would he ruin a perfectly nice shovel when he has a sword readily available. He’s about to ask about it, but then he notices the name inscribed on the handle, Warden’s Favor, and that doesn’t seem right.
The Warden doesn’t just loan out his gear to people, especially not Quackity. It doesn’t make sense. And neither does the name that’s rather ominous and unfitting for just an innocent farming tool. It is, however, fitting for a different purpose. One that’d explain the blood crusted on the edge.
“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. That makes sense.” It does not.
“Well, I uh—I better get back to it. Good luck with everything and um—hey if you like—have extra I could, um, kinda use some for the concrete I need.” Foolish responds smoothly, despite the suspicion sprouting in his head and the pit growing in his stomach.
“Okay, alright. Goodbye, Foolish.” Quackity waves back, walking towards the Needle as Foolish walks the opposite way, deep in thought.
He needs to visit the prison.
To be honest, he has been dying to visit the prison for months. He can only dream about its menacing interior from the chills he gets when looking at the building’s outside architecture. Sam stopped allowing visitors sometime ago and ever since then his hunger to see what lies inside has only grown by the prevention.
So, a suspicious looking Quackity carrying Wardens Favor after his 'commute,' oddly towards the prison, is an excellent excuse to finally break in. The blood on the sharp edge of the farming tool only further exacerbating his desire to see what lies in Pandora’s Vault.
Unfortunately, it’s not exactly the easiest place to break into. Something along the lines of high security and inescapable or what not. But titles are meant to be broken. It’s inescapable now. But high security doesn’t mean it is impossible to break in to.
Just because no one has done it yet, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Only that it’s not the easiest task. But Foolish doesn’t mind. He likes a challenge. Anyone can build a house. But he builds nations after all.
Pandora’s Vault is practically the only over the top, large scale building he didn’t build. Perhaps that’s why he so desperately wants to explore it. Professional admiration and all that.
Luckily, he has a plan. He’s thought about it a lot, a fun puzzle to solve while mundanely laying brick after brick. He’s run through scenario after scenario in his mind and so fair his conclusion is that there are really only a few ways in and all of them hinge on the Warden not being around. Not that he can’t take him in a fight, but avoiding the alarm is preferable. No need to make enemies and alert everyone to his antics.
He’s fortunate enough to know the Warden’s schedule, having watched him enter and exit Las Nevadas from his scaffolding many times. And it just so happens that tonight is drinking night, where he and Quackity get absolutely wasted talking about god knows what in Quackity’s penthouse.
So, the prison will be empty or at least absent of its Warden.
There are guards of course, but Foolish is hardly worried about them, it’s nothing some gold or a sword can’t handle in any case. They aren’t his business partner nor have made promises of killing him till even his ghost is dead. So in the unideal event he does get caught by a guard, it’ll be fine, one way or another.
Which leaves only the get in problem, which he reckons would be a lot of work, except he happens to be god’s pet. So, instead of finishing the tunnel he dug into the prison, he decides it is much smarter to just get DreamXD to teleport him inside. He does not promise to teleport him out, but that’s a problem for later Foolish.
And just like that, after the Warden has left with Quackity in toe, Foolish finds himself standing in front of a curtain of lava. Without much thought he chugs a fire res and chucks a pearl.
He’s not exactly sure what he expected to find when entering the cell. He saw the hungry look in Quackity’s eyes, he saw the blood. He had enough suspicions to paint quite a few pictures for him. But even the worst images his brain conjured were tame in comparison to reality.
He underestimated Quackity, or overestimated his humanity. Same with Sam, who he knew was austere, he just didn’t realize he was soulless. Neither of them are peak specimens of humanity, but he didn’t expect this.
Before him, suspended only by the chains holding his arms up on either side, is Dream. Or at least who he can only assume was Dream. He has hardly met the man and never seen him without armor or his mask. Not that it would matter, anyone he knew well would be unrecognizable strung up like this, chunks of flesh missing and blood cascading down his skin like Niagara falls. It is as horrifying as it is fascinating, that the chew toy before him is even breathing, let alone a living person. Not just because the body looks so painfully grotesque but because it suggests someone is more than capable and willing to do this, and that in itself is just as nauseating. But despite it looking more like a defiled and decaying corpse, context clues tell him it’s Dream. Or at least, what’s left of Dream anyways.
He doesn’t hesitate before rushing forward, ignoring the blood stains on the wall, on everything. Instinctually, he throws a regen potion. It bursts right on Dream’s chest, causing his breath to hitch. Foolish waits, watching for the wounds to close. But nothing happens, besides Dream’s jade eyes fluttering open.
Immediately, his face scrunches up, because of pain or confusion it’s hard to say. But the hoarse words that leave Dream’s mouth suggest it’s at minimum shock, “Sam?”
Foolish isn’t surprised Dream hasn’t recognized him, he’s clearly pretty out of it and Foolish is covered in netherite just like the Warden. What does catch him off guard, however, is the surprise in Dream’s own voice, like even the Warden coming to heal him is an odd occurrence.
“No, it’s Foolish. You might not remember me, it’s been a bit since we talked. I kinda like—I don’t know, just showed up one day and then—like the next day you were kinda just—in prison... I show up for one day and then it all just went to hell with you,” Foolish reminisces smoothly, causing Dream to flinch at the sudden sound.
“Foolish?…” Dream croaks, trailing off like his thoughts are swimming through syrup to reach his tongue.
“Oh boy, that’s—yeah, yeah, that’s me. I, uh, I actually don’t have any more potions on me,” he says, studying the chains keeping his body suspended, “But, um, let’s like—get you down.”
Taking action, Foolish quickly pulls out his pickaxe, and it’s only as he swings it down that he notices Dream’s desperate begging, “Nononono—Stop, stop, stop, stop—stop, please. Please, stop!—”
In hindsight, he should have probably taken more care to not freak Dream out, considering his injuries and the no doubt cause of at least some of them. After all, if a shovel then why not a pickaxe.
But Foolish didn’t think about that in the moment, he was too focused on relieving Dream’s mutilated knee of its burden and he was already mid swing by the time he realized.
His pickaxe lands, breaking the chain with a surprised shriek from Dream, who promptly crumples to the ground with a hard thud. His legs land in a heap underneath him as his left arm still hangs in the air caught by the other chain. Foolish cringes as the mangled leg presses into the ground, and hurries to free the other hand.
Zeroed in on breaking the other chain, he doesn’t hear the dropping of the lava over Dream’s continued pleading. He raises the pickaxe aiming for the chain still tethering Dream to the wall, but Dream starts yanking and squirming frantically to get out of the pickaxe’s path, making it quite the challenge.
Determined though, Foolish watches for an opportunity to strike and not hit Dream in the process, and he’s just about to swing when a yell sounds behind him, “What the fudge?!”
Suddenly, a pearl breaks in the cell and Badboyhalo appears right under the pickaxe with his hands on the handle pushing it away from its path toward Dream.
“Leave him alone!” He shouts and Foolish relents, pulling the pickaxe back, ripping the handle out of Bad’s hands.
Bad glances behind him, “Dream, are you okay?” He asks tenderly, a stark contrast to the commanding voice used a second ago.
Dream doesn’t answer, having gone completely silent, only watching the pickaxe. Noticing the target of Dream’s stare, Bad pulls out his sword and moves to stand right in front of Dream, who sharply inhales at the sight of yet another sharp edge.
“Step away from him, Foolish.” Bad growls, readying his feet for a fight.
Foolish half considers pulling out his sword and doing just that, a disgusted and horrified outrage filling him with aggressive adrenaline, exacerbated by the blood dripping down the walls, highlighted now by the added light of the lava lake. But then he catches a glance at the apprehension and pain filled green eyes looking at him from his bloody mess on the floor, still fruitlessly yanking on the chain leashing him to the wall with a justifiable instinct to get as far away from the sharp tools as possible, and he lowers his pickaxe.
“Listen—listen, I don’t know what you thought was going on here, but like—I swear I wasn't hurting him. Alright? I was just breaking the chains.” He placates, gesturing to the broken remains of the right one, “See?”
He turns back to Bad, looking into his eyes, trying to ignore the scared ones behind him, “I was actually just taking him down. He’s in real bad shape and I—I kinda didn’t bring any more regen or health potions.”
“Oh… Who—" Bad swallows his question, and then turns around to Dream, who’s attentively watching his blade.
Immediately, Bad sheaves his sword as his eyes drift over every inch of Dream with a sad frown forming on his face.
“Right—okay. Here.” He exhales, not taking his eyes off the crumpled prisoner as he hands a bottle of regen to Foolish
“Let’s um—let’s get the muffinhead out of here, okay? Stay here, I'm going to like—send the bridge over.” He says biting his lip as he pearls to the other side flipping a level and sending a floating platform over.
Foolish turns back to Dream, first noticing the pool of blood forming around him as new and old wounds, freshly aggravated from the fall and writhing, begin to seep more and more red.
Getting a little anxious at the sight, Foolish quickly offers, “Here, um, drink this,” as he uncaps Bad’s potion.
But as he tries to carefully hold it to Dream’s lips, he jerks his head away and mutters back, barely above a whisper like he’s lost his voice from screaming, “No, no, please—no, please, please, please, please, please, please, please.”
He’s not sure how long he’s been hanging here, forced to stand on the mutilated remains of his knee. Long enough for the long rivets of torn flesh down his back to stop dripping, but not long enough for exhaustion to drag him to blessed sleep.
He’s been standing for just about a day now with pain as the ultimate insomnia. It keeps him awake in a sea of agony as every little inch of his body burns like fire is licking his skin and flesh.
In retrospect, he should have used his words more wisely, but at least he still has a knee and leg, that’s really all that matters. As excruciating as it is, there is something relieving about feeling the pain trickle up his leg from the weight he’s forced to put on it. It reminds him that it’s still there. That as close as Quackity was to removing it, it’s still attached to him. Broken things can be fixed, the same cannot be said for gone things.
So he stands, gravity tugging on his poor arms. He stands on the leg he thought was going to be taken from him like so many things before, childishly hoping Sam will come to take him down. He isn’t depending on it, but it would be nice.
Speak of the devil, a pearl lands in the cell, its crack hardly drawing his attention away from the unmitigated pain consuming all of his senses. It’s either Sam or Quackity, one is far more preferable than the other, but either way it’s hard to care which devil he’s about to deal with when his body feels like it’s been through a meat grinder. Quackity has been particularly brutal the past couple days, stringing him up and leaving him there, taking a shovel to his leg and a tilling pronged hoe to his back.
It seems Quackity is convinced he’s a garden, Dream just hopes that means he'll get watered tomorrow. He’s so thirsty.
A bottle splashes on his chest and he feels the cozy effect of healing, mending broken bones and replenishing his organs and blood.
Shocked, he looks up, expecting Sam since Quackity is never this quiet.
“Sam?”
It is not Sam who stares back at him, but someone clad in full armor nonetheless, so not a visitor either.
“No, it’s Foolish. You might not remember me, it’s been a bit since we talked. I kinda like—I don’t know, just showed up one day and then—like the next day you were kinda just—in prison... I show up for one day and then it all just went to hell with you,” Not Sam says with a voice that Dream doesn’t really recognize, but it isn’t harsh like he’s used to.
“Foolish?…” that sounds kind of familiar. Where has he heard that name before?
Quackity. He has talked about a Foolish before. The builder who he pays to create his country’s monuments like some little worker bee beneath him. A member of Las Nevadas, more notably the builder of it, has come to his cell. Quackity’s associate coming here and giving him a regen potion cannot be a good sign. This won’t end well.
Based on the potions, Dream can predict he’s either prepping for Quackity or is filling in for Quackity. Neither are particularly fun options.
“Oh boy, that’s—yeah, yeah, that’s me. I, uh, I actually don’t have any more potions on me,” Foolish confirms, studying him with a frown that makes Dream worry, not because it’s malicious but because he can’t decipher it and that almost makes it worse.
“But, um, let’s like—get you down.” He finally decides on, and Dream’s exuberant relief is short lived at the sight of a large pickaxe.
Panic quickly overtakes him, his brain filling with nothing but static and pain pain pain pain. He distantly realizes he’s begging with the last remnants of his voice, not that Foolish seems to care. He doesn’t even spare him an extra look as he lifts the pickaxe and slams it down.
It doesn’t land on him though. Not his arm, leg, chest, shoulder, hand, it doesn’t even touch him. It misses entirely, hitting the chain instead with a metal clang, breaking it, and setting his wrist free. He doesn’t even have time to process what happened before as much of him as possible with his other arm still hanging, falls limply to the ground. His legs crumple under him, but as excruciating as it is, he isn’t able to shift positions.
The pain is overwhelming, causing his ears to ring and reality to become muddy. He dazedly realizes Bad has entered the cell as a sword appears and his body sends his heart racing.
Whatever happens next he doesn’t catch, too focused on breathing and the loud pounding of his heart. It’s the feeling of a glass bottle touching his lips that finally draws him back to reality.
He can tell it’s another regen potion by the smell but despite the sticky feeling of blood forming a puddle around him, he doesn’t want it. Regen rarely means good things, and the pain is already unbearable.
“It’s just regen, Dream, it’ll help. I’m just like—trying to actually heal you.” The voice is worried when it insists and Dream can’t help but give into it.
He hopes his compliance will grant him leniency. Maybe Foolish is more reasonable than his boss. Doubtful, but it’s a nice thought anyways. A man can dream.
Foolish observes the regen seal Dream’s open injuries with a sigh. It’s not enough to heal them over, not with how many there are and how extensive the damage is. It’s barely enough to just stop the bleeding let alone scar things over. But at least he isn’t bleeding to death before his eyes anymore.
No longer panicked about Dream dying on him, he takes the time to actually console him before swinging his pickaxe at the chain again, “Dream, I—I kinda need you to uh, hold still, okay? I’m gonna break this other chain.”
To Foolish’s utmost surprise, Dream actually responds with a disbelieving, “Okay,” and stills while closing his eyes and clenching his jaw.
The loud clang of the iron breaking fills the open chamber, and Dream’s wrist falls to his side, along with the rest of his body. A whimper escapes him as his shredded back slams into the ground. Immediately, he shifts, unfurling his tangled limbs and using his shaking arms to roll off his back.
Foolish puts away his pickaxe and ever so slowly and carefully crouches down before him, like he would for an untamed cat.
Up close he doesn’t miss the debasing Las Nevadas emblem burned into his chest, right over his heart. If the smile didn’t look demented before, it does now with the sharp edges seared into skin. He tries not to stare at it, but it feels like an impossible task as it stares back at him, horrifyingly prominent amongst the bruises and scars.
Noticing his gaze, Dream glances down at it and grimaces. Neither say a word, just gaze at the dehumanizing mark of claim burned onto a person as if Dream is nothing more than an animal. Foolish swallows, a tight feeling squeezing his chest as the unspeakable inhumanity hangs in the air between them.
“Um, Dream, can I uh, carry you?” He finally asks in perhaps the softest tone he’s ever used, and Dream looks so surprised like he’s been hit in the face.
With an undiluted intensity, Dream studies Foolish, his eyes drifting over every inch of his body, looking for what he can only assume is malice-filled insincerity and lies.
“Y—yes.” Dream finally settles on, the words colored in absolute trepidation.
Slowly and gently, Foolish reaches out, Dream flinches back at first from his approaching hands before appearing to stop himself. He’s still trembling when Foolish wraps his arms around him and lifts him up bridal style, but he doesn’t protest beyond a choked whimper when Foolish unavoidably touches his brutalized back and knee.
Touching Dream’s torn flesh is awful not only because it has to be excruciating for Dream, but also because the texture of blood and rippled skin is horrendous. But despite how gross it is, he grips tight to Dream’s frail, far too light body as he walks along the platform across the lava.
Once on the other side, he and Bad begin their journey silently through the guard tunnels to the entrance. Likely, the same thoughts of worry, calculation, guilt, and shock going through their brains and stealing any words they might have had.
At some point he notices Dream’s no longer trembling but full on shivering in his arms, no doubt a response of staying in a boiling, lava covered cell for ages. Badboyhalo notices too when Foolish halts, and proceeds to immediately unclip his cloak.
“Here.” He manages to say in his kind motherly tone, as he lays the cloak out in his arms signaling Foolish.
Carefully, Foolish lays Dream into Bad’s arms and quickly attempts to clean off the blood covering his arms and chest. A despairing expression fills Bad’s face as he wraps Dream in the dark fabric and passes him back before pulling out his access card.
He’s getting out. He’s getting out! Foolish is breaking him out of prison and Bad is opening all the doors.
It doesn’t feel real. Maybe it’s not real.
The pain feels real though. The cold feels. The sound of Foolish’s heart beating under his chestplate sounds real. The feeling of soft warm fabric against his skin feels real. It’s a pretty damn vivid dream if it is one.
And yet, something about the saddened look on their faces makes him question reality. Because it looks like pity, and that’s an alien notion. They seem to care, and that seems impossible. It looks like they are revolted at what happened and that seems so bizarre.
Human decently shouldn’t look so foreign and feel so out of place and yet despite everything else, the caring sound of their voices and tender care of their touch is the most unbelievable.
Foolish asked permission. And even though Dream is fairly certain that no matter his answer Foolish probably would have picked him up anyways, it was nice to be consulted. It’s nice to be treated like a person even if everyday he feels a little less so.
And when they burst forth from the portal, it feels like he’s been born again, a baby in strong arms, taking his first breath. It’s cold and dewy, smelling of fresh grass and the salty ocean. He can hear the waves lap on the shore and the moment he opens his eyes to see the glittering starry sky above him, he actually feels human again.
Pain is still threading through every nerve in his body and fear is still clinging to him, not unlike the bloodied remains of his clothes, but for the first time in months he feels alive.
He’s free.
And yet, there’s a pesky whisper from the back of his head, a voice broken from screaming and crying and pleading, that tells him it won’t last. That he’s only going from one box to another. That they only healed him and let him out to deliver him straight to Quackity. Foolish works for him after all. Bad is a prison guard, he wouldn’t just let him out.
He tries to smother that voice with memories of compassionate faces and delicate hands. And it works for the most part. That is until they step foot into the sandy landscape of a desert and Dream’s bliss shatters.
Las Nevadas is in a desert.
Quackity mentioned as much and the sand occasionally on his shoes supports that fact. Foolish has brought him to Las Nevadas. To Quackity.
The voice was right, it’s always right. Good things don’t just happen to him. Everything comes at a price. A favor. A stack of gold. A netherite ingot. All good things cost something, but this is a price he isn’t willing to pay for his moment of freedom.
He has to get out of here. He can’t go back to Quackity. He can’t. He tasted hope and freedom and he can’t go back to nothing but scorching pain pain pain pain.
“Oh god. Please, no.” He mutters desperately to Foolish no louder than the wind as he starts squirming, trying to get free.
It’s stupid really. Dumb to think he can keep freedom. Dumb to think he actually had it to begin it. It’s useless to try and fight. He doubts he can even walk. But maybe the adrenaline will fix that. Or maybe he can just crawl away through the sand. He has to try, before he can’t.
Everything was going pretty smoothly. Turns out it’s surprisingly easy to break someone out of the inescapable Pandora’s Vault. All it takes is just a measly teleport from a god and a really nice prison guard and it’s free sailing from there.
That is until, all of a sudden, Dream starts freaking out. Frantically, he writhes, attempting to escape his arms and land himself on the hardass ground. Foolish keeps a sturdy grip on him though, trying not to let him fall, but also trying not to hurt him.
“Oh!—um, Dream, maybe uh don’t try to get me to drop you? That really isn’t going to help your injuries. If you just kinda wait a second we are almost home—”
Dream stills and looks up at him with terrified green eyes as he pleads hoarsely, “Don’t bring me to Quackity, Foolish. Please, don’t bring me to Quackity.”
Foolish abruptly stops in his tracks, “What the fuck?!”
He looks around confused, almost partially worried that Quackity is going to jump out of a corner with the bloodied shovel in hand. He doesn’t, obviously, and Foolish is instead left wondering just how hard Quackity hit Dream in the head with the shovel.
“Why would you—why would I like—uh what? I’m so confused. Dream, do you think I’m bringing you to Quackity’s house? Do you like—think that like Quackity built this? No, I’ve done all of this. This uh—this is kinda like my safe place, my summer home.”
Glassy green eyes bore into him, scanning every inch of his expression, no doubt looking for deceit. It’s uncomfortable to be studied so intensely and almost offensive. Does Dream really think Quackity is capable of this? He probably couldn’t even build half of this. No, probably not even a single one of the buildings.
But he tries not to be insulted by Dream’s insinuation. Instead hoping his work speaks for itself as he watches Dream finally move his gaze to their surroundings. It is quite the sight to behold, colorful pillars and statues and monuments built to the sparkly sky above them, layering the flat desert with gaudy architecture.
It doesn't take long before the tension bleeds out of Dream as he stares at the highly skilled craftsmanship all around them, or maybe he’s just actually bleeding.
Either way, he sounds a hundred times calmer when he finally asks in a weak whisper, “Holy shit, you—you built all of this?”
A proud smile blooms on Foolish’s face as he answers, “Uh, yeah, yeah, it um took me a while, but yeah I built this,” while watching awe and wonder cover Dream’s face.
“It’s a nice place.” Dream breathes out as he closes eyes.
At first, Foolish thinks he’s dead, but then he sees his chest moving up and down and realizes yeah, he probably was just bleeding after all.