Chapter 1: Lava

                                    

                                          

Quackity was very angry. 
He had been doing this for months now; every, single day. Often, a new form of torture would be used, anything from nails to axes, yet no result would be shown. Of course, he hated the man's guts so there was some joy in seeing him anguish every time a new scar was formed or blood was spilled. None the less, it was extremely frustrating to see that nothing was going the way he wants.
"Listen here, you motherfucker," seethed Quackity. "You tell me all you know about the revival book, and everyone's happy. Got it? Now spill it!"
In front of him was a bloodied man, now only limply lying in a puddle of red.  It was a sad sight: sullen cheeks, scars that blanketed every inch of his skin, matted hair which originally would had been closer to a shade of blonde now more brown, and droplets of blood still oozing out of his injuries.
The most notable part of this man was perhaps his eyes. Those dark, dead eyes. Initially they would have been a brilliant green, reminiscent of spring grass or glittering gemstones, now wilting leaves and rotting. They say that eyes are the gateway to the soul. If that's the case, then perhaps it just goes to shows how broken he was.
"Not going to answer, are you?" said Quackity. "Fuck, I'm tired of this shit anyways. You should feel lucky that I've only been here for five hours. Next time I come, you better open up that pretty little mouth of yours and give me the revival book. Or else..."
He smirked.
"You'll be wishing you were dead instead. See ya later,"
"Dream."
• • •
Quackity had left, leaving Dream still bleeding on the ground. Perhaps it had been a careless mistake, or just a way to prolong his suffering, but Quackity had left a few "gifts" on him, quite literally.
Dream struggled to push himself up, and began dislodging the metal blades, nails, and ax that had been embedded into him. One by one. 
Cling, ting, thuck.
He then laid there, staring up at the same ceiling that had been over his head for almost a year. 
Tick, tock. 
Those vacant eyes, used to be so free and so full of laughter, now empty and wandering. 
Tick, tock. 
He used to get paranoid from the clock's ticking, but now it was just background, a whisper, a reminder of how long he has been in here, and that the end was in the distant future of forever.
Tick, tock.
At times like these, perhaps the best thing to do is to think back and look through your memories. Of the happy times, of the childish times, of the times before everything changed. So he did, digging through the fading emotions of the past.
The memories flowed like a river. Whether it was the jokes, the games, or any other seemingly trivial thing, they were all delightful. It may be the only thing that reminded Dream that he was still alive and made him feel alive.
Dream closed his eyes and tried to relive those memories.
The tweet of birds was interrupted by the sound of screaming and wheezing.
"Sapnap! Get back here!" shouted George, whose sleep had been interrupted by an ice-cold bucket of water that materialized out of nowhere and was now drenched from head to toe.
"No way, sleeping beauty woke up?  Guess Dream didn't need to kiss you after all, huh?" teased Sapnap, wearing a smug grin. 
As they ran around chasing each other, Dream was doubling over and laughing so hard one would be concerned for him. This was a normal day for the Dream Team, where mischief and laughter filled the emptiness from sunrise to sunset.