Bit of fluff for the convict childcare au: Michael gets access to paper and crayons, and uses it to make his own version of Dream's mask, so he can match his caretaker :D
What nice fluff! Would be a shame if I...
In Dream's defense, he was exhausted. The Warden was frustrated when he'd come by the night before, and that meant Dream was left with aching ribs and his left hand not quite broken but bruised to the point of unusable. The pain had brought back nasty memories from the prison, and between the two he'd barely managed any sleep.
His exhaustion meant he was less alert, less focused on watching Michael. The boy was just drawing with his crayons, and it wasn't like there was anything in the room that could hurt him. The Warden wasn't supposed to come by until the evening.
Ultimately, all these factors resulted in Dream not hearing the footsteps coming down the hallway until it was too late. Not a death sentence on it's own, but as the door creaked open, he finally looked over towards Michael and saw what the boy had done.
Everyone was frozen. Dream, Michael, and the Warden. For once, Dream couldn't read Michael's expressions because they were hidden behind a paper copy of Dream's signature mask. Held up by string and little hands just as fragile.
It was stupid. Just a child copying what was around them. But Dream knew the Warden wouldn't see it that way. The man had made it clear how much he hated Dream's mask, the fact that even after all this time the magic held strong and refuses to be pried off. One tiny bit of control Dream still had left.
In the blink of an eye, Dream was on his feet, standing between Michael and the Warden. The quick movement hurt. Made his vision go blurry and his body sway, but he needed to be in the middle. Needed to take the blow, because he'd survive it. Michael wouldn't. The moment he moved, the Warden reacted, rearing back with a distinct fury. Dream had a few seconds, so he did what damage control he could.
"Michael, take that off. Go to the tub."
His voice was raspy as ever, a tremor of fear that he couldn't quite stomp down running through it. But it would need to be enough. The Warden paused, clearly still furious but sensible enough to wait. That reassured Dream. As long as the Warden cared enough to make sure Michael wasn't caught in the crossfire, the boy would be safe. That would have to be enough.
Michael hesitated. Dream couldn't see him, not willing to turn his back to his enemy, but he could hear the paper drop to the ground and slow, shuffling footsteps behind him. Eventually, the bathroom door creaked open, a long pause followed, and it finally shut. Sealing Dream's fate.
There wasn't much time for Dream to feel bad for not being able to set Michael up in the tub himself. The Warden was upon him too quickly.
That night, when Dream was able to regain consciousness, he retrieved Michael from the tub. He had to wake the boy up; one of his arms had been left broken for the first time in awhile which meant he couldn't carry the toddler to bed. Dream's body was in too much pain for him to do much of anything but coax Michael to eat and join him in their bed. Laying down hurt like hell, but he didn't have the energy to keep standing. Besides, laying down meant he could keep Michael tucked under his chin. It didn't ease the pain, but it made it feel worth it.
He knew Michael was feeling guilty. There weren't enough words for him to explain all the complexities of their situation to the toddler. Not in a way he'd understand. Still, Dream started with the important part.
"No masks on Michael, okay buddy? It scares the Warden. Makes him think something bad happened."
Michael took a few moments to digest that, turning it over in his little brain before giving a snuffle of sorrowful agreement. Good.
"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know. It's just- He doesn't want you to be like me. I don't want you to be like me. I want you to be safe, and that means you need to be as far away from me as possible."
When Dream choked on the last sentence, he could almost convince himself it was due to the soreness from the new bruises around his throat. Michael snorted, obviously not getting the second part as he gently snuggled into Dream's chest. Mindful of all the aches.
Michael would understand what he meant one day.
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