Chapter Text
If Sapnap had anything to say about Las Nevadas, he would say that it felt lonely.
Sure, at first glance one might be fooled into believing the city to be nothing but the hub of pleasures and entertainment it claims to be. The dazzling lights of the billboard signs divert the attention from the seemingly endless black void of the alleyways and the emptiness is filled with sweet distractions and illusions.
No one looks into the darkness of the night, drawn towards the glamor of Las Nevadas like moths towards a flame. They don’t pay attention to the path they are taking, eyes captivated by the brilliance and opulence of the masterful architecture, the luxury and wealth that seems endless and deceivingly easy to attain in the headless rush of excitement. A massive fountain and glittering lights welcome the visitors to the casino, where a grand staircase waits to lead them inside a world of wonders.
There is not a single moment of silence for the doubt to creep into the minds of the visitors in the city that awakens when the sun slips past the horizon. The shuffle of cards, the rolling of dice and the clatter of balls in the roulette tables, the calm voices of the croupiers announcing the results intercepted with the cheer of victory. The music of the slot machines tempts with the jingle of coins, promising riches with just a moment of luck for the ones that are not favored with skills for the game.
A grand piano and a singer with a voice almost as velvety as the curtains that frame the stage invite the ones that tire of the excitement to rest in cushiony chairs that line the lounge. High-heeled shoes move silently over rich carpets, swift to capture another victim in their spider web of distraction. Silk-gloved hands offer elegant flutes of sparkling, heady champagne and crystal tumblers of amber and liquid gold to drown their sorrows.
The singer lulls them into a trance with half-lidded eyes and pursed lips, painted dark and glittering under the soft light, beckoning the guests to let loose and forget everything that ties them down.
Dressed in a glamorous gown, almost rivaling the elaborate, enticing costumes of the dancers that lure the tentative, hesitant visitors away from the “safe” paths of Las Nevadas streets into the lion’s den. They twirl and sway hypnotically from their raised podiums, close enough to fool the patrons into a fantasy of intimacy, and yet entirely unreachable for anything but the money that leaves their hands.
They say that the brighter the lights are, the darker the shadows that lurk beneath, and Las Nevadas was living proof of it.
Blinded by the lights and deaf to reason and sense, luxury and livelihoods are gained and lost, over and over again, all within a single night. Drowned out by the rush of light and the thrill of a game, no one hears the cries of the ones that lose everything to the fickle hands of Lady Luck.
When the sun rises, the lights of the city leave, and with it fades the lights in the eyes of the ones that fell victim to their vices as they begin to understand the true magnitude of their actions.
No one is truly innocent, no one is truly a victim, and no one is truly fooled by the illusion that a place like Las Nevadas offers. The dangers are well known, and they add to the thrill, the high that comes when someone steps foot into this trap.
Morning comes, and with it comes the reason and sobriety that the bright lights cannot cover. Anyone that has anything left to lose leaves as fast as they have come, eager to leave behind the quicksand of sin and excitement found only in the desert that housed Las Nevadas. They leave with a fast-beating heart and the burn of shame as they look back at the trap that had lured them in so enticingly just hours before.
Without the cover of the night, the city dwarfs. Under the unforgiving lights of the sun, the glamor is washed away, and all the flaws are laid open as the city shows its true face. A facade, an act, a trap decorated with lights and glitter.
The streets are empty and quiet, the city lifeless and abandoned by its visitors as they head back to their homes. A bitterness clings to its air, like stale cigarette smoke and glass shards as it lies left behind, waiting, always waiting.
Like a mistress, an affair, a secret lover, discarded after a night of passion and thrill and excitement.
When daylight returns, the rush is over, and the city empties as people leave for their homes.
Because even with all its temptations and its distractions, Las Nevadas is nothing but exactly that. A temptation, a distraction.
Not a home, never a home.
Not to the visitors, not to the employees, not to the builders.
Not to anyone but its owner, who poured everything into this legacy, and who grew more bitter and more angry with every day that the city lies abandoned.
And when the sun sets, and night falls, the cycle begins anew.
Sapnap would call it fake if he didn’t know how serious Quackity was about this project, this legacy of his. He noticed what the darkness failed to hide, what the bright lights and flashing colors failed to divert his attention from. Underneath it all was a desperate loneliness, and the gap it left behind was filled with something sinister. Las Nevadas held dangerous secrets about its creator, and he was determined to discover the thoughts of his once-beloved fiancé.
If only the figure would stop following him first.
There was an intruder in Las Nevadas.
Even though the lights were still on, the casino still busy, he knew what someone who didn’t belong looked like. This was not a visitor, not someone who visited to part with their valuables. This was not a curious someone who decided to go exploring. This was someone who meant harm to his masters.
The armor that glimmered proudly over a strong body made him wary, as did the shining sword that glowed with enchantments at the intruder’s side. The intruder seemed careless, but familiar, if the white headband around his head didn’t give any hints about his power or the danger he brought with his presence.
He didn’t attack, though—attacking without evidence was careless, and harming a visitor would bring him a far greater punishment than the shocks of the collar around his neck whenever his infractions were minor. Pushing people away from the city would earn him a few days underground, far beyond the slot machines and the clinking of glasses and the loud voices of people. He may not even be able to work for a few weeks after.
So Dream watched. And he waited.
And he followed.
Life was going well for Quackity. Business was booming, and the city finally seemed to have fallen into a routine. It ran like a well-oiled machine now, even without his immediate presence at any time. Now that his security system was set up as well, he was free to step back and watch, as his life work expands and well and truly becomes a legacy.
He loved the view from the ceiling-high windows of his penthouse suite. From up here, he could see everything that he built in all of its glory. It was almost as perfect as the view from the space needle, but when the city bustled with guests, he preferred to stay in the privacy of his suite.
Now that Christmas was approaching, the capital of entertainment was even more gorgeous than usual. Its usual golden lights were joined by red decorations and the decorative greens of fir and pine trees. Even the treacherous snow that did not belong in the desert suddenly fit seamlessly into the scenery.
Perhaps the only downside to the season was the increased amount of couples that wandered idly along the streets now. Usually, the streets were filled with, perhaps not exactly single people, but people without their partners as they toed the line of temptations, fully knowing they would give in to their vices before the night would end.
Many a hand bore the telltale white strip of a wedding band hidden away for just a night, spotted by knowing eyes, but uncaring hearts. Everyone here visited the city to indulge in pleasures best untold, not one of them was willing to be the judge in a city of sinners.
But now, the streets are filled with people walking in pairs, too close for it to be casual. Arms are linked, and gloveless hands are held despite the biting cold of December. He can almost hear them giggle and swoon as they saunter up and down the promenade, and it sits a little bitter, a little toxic in his stomach.
It doesn’t matter how much the couples in the streets below believe or pretend they’re in love. One, if not both of them, is lying and it will reveal itself sooner rather than later. It’s almost vindicating to watch people get married in his city, knowing that no union made in a place like this will ever last.
After all, this city is built for entertainment. Everything is a gamble within these walls, and if the visitors are willing to gamble with their love, who is he to stop them?
Maybe Quackity should have felt shame for the people that ruined their relationships for one hazy night of bliss in the whirlwind of his city. Maybe he should have felt pity for the ones that rushed into a marriage, blinded by the lights and glitter. But it was hard to care for the mistakes of others when his own burned in the shape of twin rings into his chest.
He should have thrown them out when they had abandoned him. When the two people he had loved the most left him behind to build their own fortune, their own future, without him. And yet he had held on to hope, had believed that there would be something to save if only he offered enough.
It had been foolish, just as it always had been. He fell easy, but he fell hard, and never had it turned out well for him. He was abandoned, he was hurt, and he was left behind.
The rings no longer symbolize hope, nor are they a cherished memento of times filled with happiness. No, now they serve as a reminder when his treacherous heart skips and stutters, yearning for another mistake as if it had still not learned its lesson.
Below, a group of three traverses the street. One might have mistaken them for a group of friends, but there is a closeness and ease in their touches that rang all too familiar in Quackity’s chest.
He scoffed, and stepped away from the window.
The gravel underneath his feet would have irritated Sapnap if it didn’t give him the perfect opportunity to listen for the footsteps of whoever was following him.
He doubted that it was some outside source; some mercenary that was hired to spy on him or to take his life. The presence was noticed only when he entered Las Nevadas, and only after he began to avoid the usual paths that most visitors to the city take. Sapnap was alone, in armor, armed with weapons that could have rivaled Dream’s Nightmare set. It was no wonder that he was drawing attention, yet they didn’t have to try and be subtle about following him. They were at least marginally stealthy, as he didn’t see any trace of them whenever he turned around, but that didn’t make him feel any better. The glint of armor would have easily given them away, but that meant their only chance was a sneak attack.
The city, as much as he hated to admit it, was well-designed. There were plenty of small nooks and crannies where one could hide, and hide they did, whether it was for the couples that couldn’t resist temptation or the employees that were rarely sighted. It must have been one of them; the streets didn’t keep themselves clean.
Sapnap rounded the nearest corner and paused, trudging his feet slightly to make the other person think that he was still moving as the gravel of the pathways shifted to stone. Behind the large buildings of Las Nevadas, away from the honey trap of its nightlife, the light was minimal. He had to squint, even with the ease at which he could see in the dark. There was no fake snow under his feet, so there was no crunchy sound he would have otherwise had to muffle. Crouching down low, he let his hand fall to his hilt, and he waited, holding his breath. There was silence, but blazes weren’t known for outstanding hearing, despite their elongated ears.
Eventually, someone started to grow close. The footsteps were almost non-existent, but they were also accompanied by a slight metallic clinking that Sapnap had come to associate with armor. It confirmed multiple things. Firstly: he had underestimated them. And secondly: they were much more dangerous than just a mere employee.
Perhaps it was indeed someone who knew about the reason behind his venture into Las Nevadas, or at least suspected it. He wasn’t an easy target by any means, but it didn’t change the fact that someone had been following him, and it wasn’t just a lowly crook. They were very well trained.
The figure had barely stepped into the small alley behind the building when Sapnap lunged, a hand going for the neck to perform a quick takedown. They jolted in surprise right before he could make contact, but didn’t quite move far enough out of his reach. His fingers hit the cloth underneath the breastplate, and he twisted his arm around so that the bracer on his forearm cut directly into their throat. Sapnap sidestepped, holding them close while scanning for any weaponry. Aside from a sword in a sheath, there was no immediate threat. No spikes on the shoddy armor, no knives in hidden pockets, just nothing. Not an assassin, then.
His eyes shifted from the armor to the face of the person he had captured, and his surprise was enough to get him to slacken his grip.
“Dream?!”
One green eye met his own in shock for just a moment before he ripped out of the hold. More than just surprised, Sapnap let him go, his arms falling limp to his sides. Dream stumbled forwards, almost immediately losing his balance and crashing to the ground. His ears laid flat against his head, and his teeth flashed threateningly as his hands and paws scrambled to push himself back, his nails scrabbling against the stone ground. Once there was a bit of distance between them, he immediately got back up, albeit clumsily, and faced Sapnap before hesitating, clearly at a loss on how to proceed.
It didn’t take Sapnap long to realize something was very wrong with the other.
“Where did you—What are you doing here?” he asked incredulously, staring at Dream in disbelief as he flinched at the question, yet stayed silent. Dream bared his teeth again.
Letting his gaze sweep up and down Dream’s body, he took a moment to look at the other. It’d been a long time since he’d seen him last, dressed in the mute orange of the prison uniform against the obsidian backdrop of his cell. Seeing him in armor should have felt more familiar than the prison garb, and yet it couldn’t have been more different.
His current armor, which was clearly of poor quality iron even in the barely lit back alley, covered most of what Sapnap could make out, but the bare, skeletal face told him enough, as did the matted, dirty fur of his ears and tail. His hair was long and unkempt, and from under the tangled strands, a leather collar peeked out.
More so than his looks, however, was the way he behaved that rang the alarm bells in Sapnap's mind. Dream acted completely different than all of his memories, and if he had not known him for years, he would have struggled to connect the person that was standing in front of him to the one he remembered.
Dream held himself cautiously, skittish, and timid, entirely opposite from the usually confident, self-assured way Dream carried himself. He had stumbled and fallen easily, whereas the old Dream was known for his grace even in the toughest of situations. His behavior was odd, and even odder was the fact that despite the armor, despite the weapon, and despite the fighting skills Sapnap knew Dream had and even had experienced him showcase—Sapnap didn’t feel the slightest bit of intimidation or fear at his presence. There was nothing but a sense of unease that seemed to mimic what Dream felt himself.
He was well aware that Dream had outclassed him in battle more often than not, and even though Sapnap was confident in his abilities and had spent a lot of time training in the last year, he wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate Dream as an opponent. It wasn’t a secret that Dream was more than capable of killing, and he had proven himself to be willing, too, if he deemed it necessary for his plans. In fact, Dream might have come here to kill Sapnap, but faltered instead at the sight of his face.
And Sapnap had proven himself to be against him, had promised him death at his own hands if he escaped the prison before he was released. They were not on friendly terms anymore, he couldn’t, and didn’t, expect Dream to go easy on him because of old bonds. Additionally, Dream had been stalking him across the city, armed and dressed for a fight, even flashing his teeth at him, and yet—Sapnap had not felt even slightly threatened by the other’s presence. Dream wasn’t attacking him. Something was off.
His eyes flickered back to the leather collar. Somehow, he didn’t think that it was a fashion statement.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he said, as calmly as he could and approached Dream again. He tensed, again, but instead of looking like he was preparing to attack or flee, he just managed to look even more uncomfortable and somehow even…scared. He stepped back, again, but he hadn’t been paying enough attention because his back hit the wall of another building.
Caged in, where he couldn’t just turn around and flee or back up any further, Sapnap was free to approach. At this shortened distance, he noticed a golden tag connected to the collar, hidden just slightly between the chest piece of the armor and his shirt. He reached out for it, ignoring the way Dream tensed in reaction, but still gripped him by one shoulder to hold him in place. Dream’s old speed had not been lost to his memories. This man was willing to run.
Sapnap had to fiddle a bit to pull the tag free since there was barely any wiggle room with how tight the collar seemed to be fastened. Dream struggled against his grip, just slightly, trying to pull away from his hands. Sapnap didn’t let him.
The tag was fashioned to look like one of the classic poker chips in Las Nevadas’ casinos and was distinctly made with more care and of higher quality than any other of the things that Dream was wearing. Embossed into the center of the metal was Quackity’s trademark insignia, the bracketed smile. Above it, in white lettering, “GUARD DOG”.
Dread sat ice cold in his stomach, and he flipped the tag around. On the back, engraved in capital letters, it simply read: “PROPERTY OF LAS NEVADAS”. Sapnap dropped it like it burned him, despite his fiery origins, and shock coursed through his veins. He looked at Dream, really looked at his face, and saw nothing but fear and conflict in his eyes. There were scars all over, more prominent around his mouth and jaw with heavy-handed lines snaking back towards his ears. A piece of his ear was missing, the bottom of it ripped and frayed. The tops of both were clipped.
“What the fuck happened to you?” he repeated, bile rising in his throat as his grip on the other’s shoulders tightened. He wanted to shake him, wanted to ask why and how and when. This, he realized, was the reason why Dream seemed so different, so off. He wasn’t acting like himself; he was acting like a scared, abused dog. They used to joke about him acting like a kicked puppy when things didn't go his way, but this? This was not Dream. Dream wasn't someone who cried and begged and whimpered, someone who let himself be pushed around. He was headstrong, stubborn, confident and self-assured. He was a leader, a fighter, a villain even, not whatever this was. Dream wasn't a victim. This was just wrong.
There was a time, long before the days of the server, when Sapnap had come across an injured dog lying in the shelter of some bushes. It ran from him, when he attempted to approach, and yelped when he managed to get too close. Bad had set a hand on his shoulder and advised him to let the dog be, because cornered dogs tended to bite when they had no other choice. The dog was scared, plain and simple, and Sapnap never was able to approach it until Bad gained its trust with food.
This Dream reminded him of that dog, that scared wolf with its sad, sad eyes and quivery nature, ready to take off the moment a stick cracked even slightly nearby
Sapnap looked at him, silently. Dream hadn't answered his question, and somehow he knew that he wouldn't answer, no matter what he asked right now. Dream’s ears were pressed flat to his head and his heart raced fast enough for Sapnap to feel it where his grip grazed the neck. Somewhere, from deep within his chest there was an almost inaudible, high-pitched whine; Sapnap wasn't sure if Dream even knew that he was doing it. A cold shiver traveled up his back as he looked at the pathetic figure that Dream posed.
Luckily, Dream didn't need to answer. The shining tag on his throat gave Sapnap all the answers he needed.
He couldn't let Dream go like this. He needed to talk to Quackity.
Now.