#sudshine

He barley acknowledged it. There was no point in panicking, or maybe he simply didn't have the strength to care. The uncovered parts of his uniform shrieked at the frostbite, prickling and demanding he get up and move. His gloves had always been fingerless, and he was paying for that now; his fingers felt like pincushions for the cold, the nerves protesting fearfully against the inevitableness of their own death.

The pain was minimal to the emptiness in his stomach.

Sam had given him pears earlier. They were bruised to hell and back, and almost certainly stolen, but Dream didn't care. He finished them off until his fingers were sticky, until he was swallowing stems and cores and he felt solid once more. He knew what Sam wanted in return, of course. Sam had been attempting to coax him to speak ever since Dream had fallen silent several hours ago, lost in his panic over a hallucination (and it had been, right? It wasn't real. It was so hard to tell within the darkness of the box.) Dream couldn't bring himself to say anything. He wasn't sure what would come out if he did.

He wasn't sure he wouldn't agree to Sam's terms if he did.

Sam hadn't been satisfied with Dream's silence, but he didn't try to pull it out by force this time. Instead, he sat cross legged in the corner and stared at the walls, a glaze taking over his features that meant he was having another one of his... unlucid moments. (Dream didn't know the words for it. Had never needed to before this.) He was still as stone, the red glow of his armor illuminating the small space. Dream debated attempting to sneak past him again, but his broken ribs reminded him of what happened the last time he tried anything when Sam was gone like this.

But...

Dream could feel the heat of the redredred piercing through the cold, ominous and inviting. It called to him. It was whispering to creep just a little bit closer; he could shed the agony of his slow chill if he just came within reach.

It was a risk. But he could no longer feel his fingers.

Dream inched his way over. He winced and bit back a hiss as his body woke up, set aflame through every movement. The shuffle of his boots made scraping sounds, his gasps of pain loud and obvious, but Sam didn't turn his head to look. Dream couldn't even be sure he blinked. (His eyes were so red. Everything was so red.)

Dream trembled as he got within range of the glowing heat, swallowing back a breath of relief. He scooted as close as he possibly could without touching Sam and curled up into a ball in case Sam became lucid enough to kick. It was so little and yet so much; the warmth merely brushed against him and his body was vibrating.

He wasn't sure how long he dozed. Time had long since become irrelevant outside of the looming due date of his fate. It must have been long enough, because a hand was hot against his shoulder.

"Dream." A voice said. It was so warm. How could anyone ever be so warm? Dream gave a faint hum as he leaned into that palm, soaking in that precious heat.

"Dream." The voice warned, lifting away its hand and letting the deathly chill seep its way back. Dream pushed forward until his forehead was bumping a knee, curling around his living flame as best he could. His eyes only managed to open halfway before falling shut again. So, so warm.

There was a pause. Dream felt almost scorching as the hands came back and picked him up to bring him close. He felt like he was cuddling a dying star. It felt so good compared to his box. Faintly, he began to shiver again.

"You were cold." A breath puffed into his ear. It was wonderful. He whined and tucked his head into their neck. A hand came to tangle its fingers into his hair. Like in the old days. Like when things were better.

"Sammy." Dream mumbled. The warm stilled for several moments, before pulling him even more deeply into the flame.

"Yeah, that's right. I've got you, Dream."

—

Have you considered Sam showing Dream how the prison works and Dream, even after everything, still has the instinct to hold his hand

and they say I’M the angsty one, huh buddy

and maybe it wouldn’t just be hand holding. maybe it’s his old habit of hiding behind Sam when he’s scared, because Sam always stood between him and the darkness, him and the mob wanting to kill him. maybe it’s the little happiness he still feels every time he sees him, because seeing Sam always meant he was being saved, always meant Quackity was gone.