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step-back-apple-jack · 2 years

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This is a little snippet of something I’m working on for @the-final-sif‘s Convict Childcare au, with some differences in that my Dream is a white Enderman hybrid. The basic premise of the au is that c!Sam accidentally kills c!Ranboo while arresting him, and kidnaps Michael for leverage. Panicked, he takes c!Dream and Michael and holds them both in a new prison far away. Dream and Michael grow very close, and are eventually rescued by other members of the server. This drabble takes place a couple months after rescue.

Today must be a bad day, was the first thought that ran through Ponk’s head when Dream all but sauntered into the office. It had been a while since Dream had felt the need to pull on the proud, untouchable facade. The scowling, flinty-eyed Michael that was clinging close enough to Dream as to be almost tripping over his heels only further proved his theory. Through the doorway he locked eyes with Technoblade who had, as usual, escorted Dream to his appointment. The piglin gave a thumbs up and a grimace before shutting the door with a click.

That boded well.

With the mask on, Ponk couldn’t see Dream’s expressions, but over the two months of near-daily visits, he liked to think that he had a pretty good read on the man’s emotional state through his body language. It was sometimes subtle, but there was always at least one tell that gave him away. He gave the Enderman hybrid a quick once over, running through his mental checklist; tail, low and relaxed; ears, perked; right hand, snugly wrapped around Michael's; left hand— ah, there it was. Stuffed into a pocket, but Ponk could see the fabric shift with the arrhythmic flexing of a fist. Too mild to be anger— perhaps frustration, or impatience. Perhaps pain.

“Ponk,” Dream greeted with almost mocking politeness, gently nudging Michael to do the same. The toddler merely glared up at Ponk and huffed. Ponk raised an eyebrow at the both of them but didn’t comment, simply nodding in return as he bit back a sigh. He had hoped they were past all of this.

“Hey, Dream. Hi, Michael,” he said, tone neutral as he tried to gauge how much of a headache this appointment was going to be. “Please have a seat.”

“You got it, Doctor.” Dream brushed past him and went to lift Michael onto one of the two chairs in the office, but the piglin squirmed away from his grip and squealed a harsh, “No!”

Both adults flinched at the volume, Dream immediately kneeling next to the fuming toddler while Ponk stood uncertainly in the back.

“You don’t want to sit, Michael?” Dream asked, voice abruptly gentle.

Michael shook his head furiously, arms crossed tightly across his chest. “No!”

“That’s alright, but I’m going to need you to be calm for this, okay?” So soft, so patient. “If you can’t be calm, that’s okay, but you’ll have to wait outside with Techno.”

The boy's eyes widened and Ponk felt a jolt of panic as they gained the unmistakable sheen of unshed tears.

“No!” The cry was even more vehement than the previous two, and Michael reached out, hands grasping. Dream pulled him into a close hug without hesitation, curling his large frame around the much smaller, more fragile one.

Ponk’s eyes narrowed at the faint, full-body spasm the movement caused, muscles tight with pain before forcibly loosening.

“Can you be calm, Michael?” Dream asked, not a hint of strain in his voice as a scarred palm rubbed soothing lines up and down the child’s back.

After several long seconds, there was a weak, sniffling assent, and then Michael was pulling back, rubbing at his teary face with his arms and wrists, his hands with their three, thick clawed fingers angled carefully away from his eyes.

Dream cleaned up Michael's face with the help of a box of tissues Ponk offered. Eventually, everyone settled enough to take their places; Dream sprawled in a chair, knees spread arrogantly, Michael standing at his side like a particularly small, puffy-eyed and fierce bodyguard, and Ponk pulling over the second chair to sit near (but not directly in front of) Dream. Dream tilted his head in a question. Usually they would take the basic vitals first, and the doctor hadn’t grabbed any of the equipment. In answer, Ponk held out his hand, palm up.

“Can I please see your left hand?”

The fabric of Dream’s pocket rustled.

“It’s fine.”

“We both know you’d say that even if you—“ Ponk caught the toddler’s eye and fumbled for a more “family-friendly” example. “You— uh. Somehow…lost all your bones?”

Dream wheezed, but Michael gave a solemn nod of agreement, leveling his caretaker an astonishingly unimpressed look. Ponk tried not to feel too vindicated.

“Even Michael agrees with me,” he said. He fluttered his fingers in a beckoning gesture, moving his hand a little closer. “Can I please see it?”

Dream hesitated. His tail, tucked beneath the chair, gave a single, frantic jerk before stilling. Eventually he shrugged, plopping the back of his hand into Ponk’s warm palm.

“Well, if Michael agrees with you…” he joked easily, lightly chucking the piglin under the chin with his free hand. The boy yelped and ducked away, one hand flying up to press against his chin, guarding it from future attacks, while the other made grabby motions towards Dream’s tail. Dream promptly flicked the long appendage up to drape itself in the toddler’s grasp. The kid tucked the plume of fur at the tip under his chin, replacing the hand that was previously guarding it to bury his fingers in the fluff instead. Whether it was to comfort Dream or Michael, Ponk wasn’t sure, but he hoped it worked. It certainly wasn’t doing it quickly though, as Michael frowned at him, eyes hard and unblinking. Today really must’ve been bad.

Ponk ignored the burning stare boring a hole in the side of his head, choosing instead to focus on his task.

“Open, please,” he commanded.

Dream splayed his left hand out as far as he could, the fingers still partially curled and trembling violently as if cold.

“Now, close until you feel no pain.”

The fingers twitched, bent, barely moving from their first position. Ponk flicked his eyes from the stiff hand, to the extended arm seemingly locked in place, to Dream’s concentrated stare at the appendage, and didn’t believe it for a second.

“That looks painful,” he remarked dryly.

Dream shrugged a shoulder, the one extended being held carefully still. “It’s not,” he said blithely.

“Dream. I can’t help you make progress if you lie to me about this.”

Dream scoffed at the word “progress”, head dipping to the side as if he had just rolled his eyes. Michael was still soothingly stroking the plume of fur, eyes darting worried glances to Dream, and protective scowls to Ponk. Dream noticed, and immediately heaved a dramatic sigh as he playfully tapped Michael in the face with the mass of fur, chuckling when the boy spluttered, batting the tail away.

“It’s fine,” he said, and Ponk wasn’t quite sure which of the three he was trying to reassure. Nevertheless, the hybrid let his fingers slowly curl back to his palm, only stopping when the tips were barely a centimeter away from touching flesh.

Ponk’s frown was hidden by his mask, but Dream’s shoulders stiffened anyway.

He had regressed.

Well, at least now he had a fair idea as to why it was a bad day. Ponk knew well the frustration and despair of a faltered recovery, no matter how temporary.

“It’ll pass,” he reassured, reaching out and taking Dream’s hand in his own, thumb hooking under Dream’s fingers and gently pulling back, assisting him with the stretch. Unfortunately, Ponk had failed to notice that he did not have Dream’s attention, the other looking at Michael, not wanting to see the doctor’s reaction to the worsened state of his hand. Because of this, Dream was unprepared for both the touch and the sting, yanking his hand back with a hiss of pain. Ponk let go immediately, hurrying to apologize, but the words choked in his throat when he felt a small hand seize his wrist.

“Are you right-handed or left-handed?”

Ponk sucked in a breath (it wasn’t Sam it wasn’t Sam the hand was too small not as strong it’s not Sam) and locked his muscles in place in order to avoid doing something disastrous like kick Michael away.

“Michael! Let go now!” Ponk had never heard Dream raise his voice at Michael, and it had been a long time since he had heard such fear in his words. The grip vanished immediately as Michael scrambled back, eyes wide and once again tear-filled as he stared at Dream who was on his feet and between the two in the time it took to blink, clawed feet planted wide and ready.

Trying not to feel too hurt by such an extreme reaction (it wasn’t until later that Ponk realized it had been the first time Michael had been physically aggressive to him; Dream couldn’t be sure how he would take it and was most likely simply erring on the side of caution), Ponk straightened gingerly and edged his chair further back, remaining seated. His wrist ached, and he rubbed it against his chest. Prime, that kid had gotten strong.

“Michael.” Dream’s tone had lowered significantly, reactive panic lessened, but it still held a firm authority. “Apologize to Ponk, and then go wait outside. You promised you would be calm and that wasn’t calm.” He kept his mask pointed unerringly toward the doctor.

Ponk felt a spike of panic as the kid moodily circled a closed fist over his chest in acquiescence. If Michael was separated from Dream after the toddler attempted to protect him, it was almost certain that the piglin would assume his caretaker would be punished on his behalf as soon as the door shut, weeks of patient effort to build trust between both Dream and Michael going to waste due to his own misstep. Ponk knew damn well what Sam had done to his prisoners, and he knew damn well he wasn’t about to let Michael believe he was anything like the Warden. Ponk would not tolerate being grabbed like that again, but punishment could come after bridges had stabilized.

“Apology accepted,” he said quickly. “But you don’t have to go outside. In fact…” Keeping his movements just a touch slower than normal, he slid off the bright yellow stethoscope draped around his neck and offered it to Michael. “Would you like to help?”

Apparently that was a magic phrase because Michael lit up-- but then hesitated, eagerness dampening as he looked from Ponk’s masked face to Dream’s, reaching out to hold the latter’s hand. The hybrid, appearing much more at ease (breathing, steady; stance, no longer defensive; tail-- there. Swaying slightly faster than true calm, but no longer agitated), squeezed the child’s fingers encouragingly.

“If you want to,” he said, as if answering an unspoken question. “It’s fine.”

Permission granted, Michael picked up the stethoscope, somewhat suspicious of the sudden change in the room’s atmosphere, but it wasn’t long before he was eagerly hanging on to every word the doctor said. It was one of the most disorganized appointments Ponk ever had, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it, not when Michael finally looked like the kid he was supposed to be. He was fascinated with listening to Dream’s breathing and strong heartbeat with the stethoscope, and quickly got distracted with placing the smooth disk on every inch of the man he could reach. Ponk then taught Michael how and where to check for a pulse, as well as how to properly apply a bandaid. They wasted quite a few of the brightly colored bandages for practice, most being stuck to a long-suffering Dream. Even his mask didn’t survive unscathed, a lime green patch stuck boldly in the center. Michael then turned to the doctor and with the utmost concentration wrapped a fiery orange one securely around his index finger. Ponk refused to admit just how touched he felt at the honor.

After Ponk confiscated the box of bandaids from Michael's new mission to cover the entire office in them, he demonstrated the same stretch he had attempted to do for Dream’s hand earlier (making certain the man was prepared this time), as well as a few other of the more mild exercises. It was risky, and Michael did indeed start to become stressed when Dream’s breaths came faster, when his tail lashed the ground in an effort to soothe the pain. But he perked up when, after several long minutes of this, Ponk pointed out how much easier Dream’s hand was flexing, how much firmer his grip.

“Although it hurts, this type of injury needs Dream to move it a lot in order to get better,” he explained to an enraptured Michael. “But too much, or doing it the wrong way, can make it worse. You also always need to take breaks.” He tried not to sound too pointed when he said that. Dream huffed under his breath, staring down at his aching, shivering hand. He didn’t say a word, besides a murmured thanks when Ponk gave Michael a heated pad to place over it. Letting Dream have a few minutes to recover in peace, Ponk kept the toddler’s attention by demonstrating the abbreviated version of brewing health and regen potions, slipping Michael a bit of melon as a treat. He pretended not to notice him sneakily passing some on to Dream.

When Dream’s jaw finally unclenched and his breathing became less deliberate, Ponk guided the two to the scale on the far side of the room, dragging his chair so Michael could stand on it and see the dial. The kid had been weighed before, during a basic check-up soon after he had been rescued, but Ponk had been more focused on making the process as quick and as painless as he could for them both, hurrying to urge the fearful, snappish toddler back to an unconscious Dream’s side. He never had much chance to actually show off the equipment.

Dream obediently stepped onto the scale, for the first time seeming almost self-conscious in Michael's presence. But he hid it quickly, poking Michael in the ribs to make him squeal.

“Look at you, buddy,” he laughed. “Almost as tall as me!”

Michael beamed and Ponk hastily muffled a snort, because even standing on a chair the toddler barely reached the Enderman hybrid’s shoulder. Freaking giraffe of a man. Him and Ranboo both. He stood on the opposite side of the scale from Michael, and pointed at the numbered dashes.

“Michael, see this?” He tapped at the dash that the red marker had swung to when Dream got onto the scale. “This shows how much Dream weighs.” He discreetly wrote the number down in his report.

Michael tapped the glass over the marker as well, then eagerly turned to Dream and held his arms out to be picked up. Dream obliged, and Michael was delighted as the marker immediately swung further to the right. He tapped harder on the glass, giggling when it caused the marker to tremble. His laughter was contagious, and the adults found themselves helpless to resist chuckling along, although Dream’s sounded a touch forced. Ponk considered showing Michael where Dream’s weight should be, to educate him and show them both how much closer to it Dream was than when he started getting treatment, but decided against it. Dream already was having a hard day with his recovery; he didn’t need to see just how much more was needed before he could be considered stably healthy. There were better ways of encouraging him. And proving a point. So instead, Ponk gestured to the hybrid to put Michael back down in the chair, and once the dial resettled, he pointed to another dash on the far left.

“And this…” He tapped the glass like before. “Was his weight when we found you.”

Dream straightened, a soft, sharp intake of breath the only indicator of his surprise. It was one thing to see the numbers slowly (too slowly) creep higher. It was another to see the leap of progress made, in a clear, hard fact.

Michael saw it too, and prodded Dream’s bicep until the other looked over at him, and then thick fingers moved in rapid sign, his smile stretched wider than the one on Dream’s mask.

“Yeah, buddy,” Dream responded verbally, his hands reflecting his words with sign language almost automatically. “I do feel better.” There was a hint of almost wonder to his words.

Michael squealed, the sound much more excited than the previous times he made it. His hands gripped the arm of the chair to balance himself as he bounced in place, near bursting with sudden energy.

“Michael—“ Dream scolded with no heat, hands reaching out to settle the boy, but the toddler had already stilled and was repeating a word in sign over and over, touching his fingertips over his mouth, like someone hiding a smile, before flicking it away into a thumbs up. Dream mirrored the motions, using his other hand to tilt his mask up so Michael could see his grin, see his lips form the words he spoke.

“Better, yes, I feel better.” He suddenly turned his head towards Ponk, who jolted at the abrupt attention. “With many thanks to Ponk.”

Caught off guard by the praise, the doctor could only splutter and stare back blankly. Dream’s shoulders were relaxed, his ears were relaxed, his tail was relaxed— Ponk couldn’t see a tense muscle anywhere. He was being genuine. It didn’t seem too unfair of him to find it surprising.

Dream’s mask was still tilted up, and the smile there was different than the rare few Ponk had seen before; neither broad and warm, nor sickly sweet. It was small, hesitant, like the shy wave a kid would do when they catch the eye of someone across the classroom— someone they wanted to make friends with.

“You can thank me by being less of a stubborn pain in my ass,” Ponk finally responded with a roll of his eyes, the words holding no bite.

A small wave back.

Technoblade, standing guard next to the office door, was already looking in Ponk’s direction when the doctor rounded the corner at a brisk trot, his hooved hand slipping from the hilt of his sword.

“You’re a bit late, doc,” he drawled, a question in his raised eyebrow.

“I know, I know,” Ponk gasped out, waving his hand in dismissive irritation. “Fran knocked over a couple of my house plants, and one of them was in a ceramic jar that broke. Had to clean up all of that and make sure she hadn’t hurt herself.”

Techno scoffed. “See, that’s why all my pets stay outside.”

“Bullshit, you let a polar bear in your house all the time.”

“Steve’s not a pet, he’s a friend.”

Ponk rolled his eyes. At the door he gave a brisk knock, waited, then hurried inside.

“Sorry I’m late, I--”

“Dot!”

Ponk cut himself off and stared down at the small piglin child that stood eagerly before him.

“...Pardon?”

“Doc, Michael,” Dream corrected with a chuckle, not moving from his spot in the chair besides giving a lazy wave to Ponk. “Doc. Doctor. Remember?” He took three fingers and tapped the inside of his wrist, on his pulse point. “Doctor.”

Michael dutifully imitated him, frowning in concentration.

“Dot. Dodder. Dodter.”

“Better,” Dream praised warmly. To Ponk, he said, “Michael's been looking forward to coming back here ever since the last appointment. He had a good time.”

A surge of warmth unfurled in Ponk’s chest, and he was glad his ski mask covered everything but his eyes as a pleased smile stretched across his reddening cheeks. Dream grinned knowingly anyway.

Ponk unhooked his yellow stethoscope from the wall, and knelt to be level with the toddler.

“I’m glad you had fun, Michael,” he said with genuine delight. He offered the stethoscope. “Do you want to help again today?”

Michael nodded so vigorously Ponk worried the boy’s head would fly off his shoulders. “Yes! Yes!”

“Please,” Dream called.

“Peese! Puhleese. Yes, puhleese!”

“Oh my god you’re so cute,” Ponk whispered fervently. He shook himself. “I mean; thank you for your manners. Here.” He handed over the instrument and Michael dashed back to Dream’s side, immediately pressing the disk to his chest. Belatedly he called back, “Thank you!”

Ponk and Dream both laughed. “You’re welcome, Michael,” Ponk said with rare open fondness. The child had made fantastic progress with trusting adults again, and even with the occasional setbacks like the last appointment, both Michael and Dream were without a doubt recovering: slowly, painfully, and sometimes Dream even seemed like he was determined to charge right back down into the pit he was fighting to claw out of, but it was progress all the same.

And it was damn good to see.

#convict childcare au #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp au #dsmp fic #my fic #dream #c!dream #c!ponk #ponk #michael_beloved #my first post!

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