Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The type of world that this interpretation takes place in is one where there are no servers. It’s just one massive world of mostly unpopulated wilderness with a couple of spots of civilization instead of the "multiverse connected by a hub" type of interpretation. To match with DSMP's canon, The End has not been discovered either. Strongholds exist across the world, but none of the portals are functioning (having long since been tampered with by various entities).

Magic exists as much as it does in the actual game, albeit a bit more complex to explain the game mechanics.

Death and Respawning

Players are supposed to respawn indefinitely until their internal magic sources run dry (which is highly unlikely). Players don't develop a magic source until they hit puberty, so children are extremely susceptible to perma-death. The only other way players can permanently die is via the Three Canon Deaths curse. If a player dies in a way that dramatically affects history, it’s considered a Canon Death in the eyes of the gods. Players only get three of these to prevent them from getting too arrogant. Obviously, most people never get the chance to perform acts of history-changing martyrdom, so it’s not something many people know about until they actually witness or experience it.

Edit 3/1: Read Chapter 17 "Martyrdom" for more on the Canon Deaths curse.

SMPs

SMP, in this world, is synonymous with "territory." SMPs exist on a spectrum. On the smaller side is Dream's SMP as it was in the beginning — the Before Tommy Era. It was just a community of close friends. On the opposite side is what is essentially Hypixel (referred to vaguely as The Kingdom). L'Manberg is not an SMP since it technically isn't considered its own territory in the eyes of the surrounding SMPs. L'Manberg, the Badlands, El Rapids, Snowchester, etc. are considered cities/towns within the Greater DSMP. The Antarctic Anarchist Commune and Logstedshire are located in the unclaimed wilderness.

"L'Manberg may be independent, but it'll never be free."

Aging

The story takes place over the course of years rather than months. I'm going to be extremely vague regarding age because players age at different rates depending on if the type of hybrid they are or if they are one at all. For example, Tommy is the equivalent of 12 years old when he joins Dream's SMP and about 16 as of Doomsday, while Fundy is a young adult through it all while probably having been born after Tommy too. Once they reach adulthood, their aging slows down considerably.

Eyes of Ender

Although the portals in strongholds are unusable, the strongholds themselves contain plenty of loot and their libraries are filled with vast amounts of ancient knowledge. Unlike in the actual game, eyes of ender aren't craftable (or at least the crafting recipe is either lost or kept secret). Most people don't even know what eyes of ender even look like. As such, eyes of ender are extremely valuable.

In my own design for dreamons, they're amorphous beings with eyes of ender kinda scattered over their forms like eldritch gods and biblical angels. Dream, being a descendent of dreamons, is human in form with the sole exception being his eyes, which are eyes of ender. He wears a mask because he doesn't trust people not to straight-up murder him for his eyes.

Edit 3/3: It took me like a solid week to remember that eyes of ender are used to make ender chests. Look, so the eyes of ender used to make enderchests are not the same as the eyes of ender used to activate the end portal. I'm officially making it so that in this interpretation enderchests are like prototype end portals with prototype eyes of ender. There. Now that plot hole is filled.

Chapter Text

Dream was neither a hybrid nor a human. He was a descendent of the gods. That was what the vague memory of his parents had told him.

What bullshit.

Just because he was capable of respawning even as a child, that didn’t mean they should have tossed him out into the world to fend for himself.

When Dream was a child, he cried in the high branches of birch trees trying to escape the monsters that had taken his life too many times to count. It was atop those birch trees that he was found by a young captain with soft wool and softer eyes.

She took him to her home and cleaned him up. She pat his head and ignored the eerie green eyes that stared up at her in wonder. She brought him aboard her ship and showed him the world. Her crew avoided him like the plague, but that was okay. She didn’t avoid him. She taught him how to swing a sword and string a bow and arrow. She taught him how to be kind.

She didn’t mean to leave him behind. Her crew lied to her.

But once again, Dream was abandoned. 

This time, he didn’t die immediately. For months, he roamed the nether with nothing but a gold helmet and a crimson stem sword. If he knew that dying would have returned him to the overworld, he probably would have dived headfirst into the lava. 

Perhaps it was for the better that he didn’t. 

Dream met another player for the first time since entering the nether. A boy his age gawked at him from across a lava river. The boy had black hair and black eyes. He wasn’t particularly eyecatching at first. If anything, Dream would have brushed him off as another young explorer, but Dream was curious about the two little wisps of flames that dangled over the boy’s head like horns.

Dream was fully expecting the boy to dash away in fear. Almost everyone did once they caught his unnatural eyes. Even his mother the captain avoided looking at him for too long. 

To his surprise, the kid excitedly built a bridge towards him.

Sapnap brought Dream to meet his dad. BadBoyHalo was a real demon, a terrifying visage of shadows that loomed nearly three meters tall. But he had a kind voice and kind eyes.

Perhaps their meeting was for the worst.

It was Bad, with his ancient knowledge, that told Dream who he was.

Dream was no descendant of gods, but he was close. He was the descendant of Dreamons, amorphous beings of chaos and mindfuckery, a seductive parallel to demons like Bad. It was Bad that told Dream of his heritage and customs. It was Bad that crafted his first mask, carved from the bones of the fossils that littered the soul stone valleys. (It was Sapnap that drew the smiley face that carried over to all future masks.)

Maybe if Dream never learned the truth, he would have wandered endlessly until he was permanently killed by the irrationality of other players. Maybe the tragedy that would befall his future would be avoided.

Chapter Text

Far to the south, a war waged over an ocean. It had been going on for five years too long.

The battle royale that surrounded a drained ocean monument seemed endless. Unbeknownst to the soldiers below, a man with wings stood above them all.

He spotted his target. The Angel of Death swooped down from the sky with a sword of flames.

In one fell swoop, the sword sucked the magic of the Tyrant dry and turned his body into ashes.

It promptly consumed itself, dragging the Angel down with it. 

Neither the tyrant nor the angel nor the sword were ever seen again.

Philza awoke in the dry grasslands of a savannah. An ocean breeze wafted over him from the west.

It had been years since he’d last experienced a respawn. The itch of post-mortem sunk into his every nerve. 

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up to his feet. He didn't know how far away from the battle he was, but he certainly wasn't planning on returning.

It wasn’t until exploring the decently sized island he'd spawned in and settling down for the night that he took notice of the three hearts tattooed onto his wrist. One of the hearts looked to have disintegrated. With ice running down just spine, Philza refused to think about his death.

And so the years went on in relative peace. Philza traveled the world as nothing more than your average adventurer. 

Like this, he met the smart refrigerator who would become his wife, and together they would have one son, a rather strong-lunged baby boy they would name Wilbur. Philza would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed that Wilbur hadn't inherited his wings.

Wilbur was a disappointment. Despite his parents’ genetics, Wilbur was little different from a plain human. He couldn't fly, and he was terrible with ice magic. The only non-human thing he could do was change his eye color a bit. 

While Phil tried not to let it show, his wife was much more frustrated. She ignored Wilbur completely until eventually, she packed her bags and left.

Left alone in that too big house, Phil followed suit with Wilbur in his arms. He chose to leave the house of bad memories to explore the world. He could do it. He had spent years without dying. He could protect his child while at it.

The annual Kingdom Championships were just around the corner. Wilbur wasn't particularly interested in the fights, but he desperately wanted to see the performances that would take place in-between the battles. Rumor had it that they were the most elaborate costumes and sets with the best music in the entire world!

Phil had been to the Championships a handful of times in his youth, so he could vouch for those rumors. He originally wanted to wait until Wilbur was older, but his son had sulked for an entire year after they missed the last one.

The Kingdom was considerably far away, but they could still pass by travellers heading east in droves. Phil had decided to rest in a nearby SMP until the actual day of the championships since Prime knew how difficult it would be to get a room and board in the Kingdom itself.

Phil left Wilbur in the inn. As much as Wil loved exploring marketplaces with Phil, the streets were far too crowded for Phil to not worry about losing his son again. 

(The last time Phil lost his son, the kid had “Pied Piper”ed all the neighboring children into an extremely intense hunt for anteaters. Luckily, they were still in the city, but the panic of thirty missing children was not something Phil wanted to replicate.)

The SMP they were currently residing in was a little sketchy — Phil had to be honest. It’s population was entirely human or at least human-passing. It felt like they would have driven Phil out if he hadn't hidden his wings earlier for the sake of compact travel. At least, he didn't need to worry about Wilbur. 

Regardless, they were kind enough to human travelers. The rent was pretty cheap too. (Phil had learned a bit too late that traveling with a child was far more expensive than traveling alone.) 

Phil was packing his basket with another loaf of bread when he caught wind of a curious conversation. The Championships began next week. What battle were they excited for tonight? Did the residents have their own arena events?

According to the owner of the bakery, the answer to that was yes. And with a sly smile, she asked Philza if he’d like to watch.

Suffice it to say, that SMP no longer existed after Philza found a young piglin hybrid about his son’s age fighting for his life in a pit. 

Wilbur was absolutely ecstatic to have a brother.

Philza later learned that traveling with two children was exponentially more difficult than traveling with one.

He wondered why the second heart on his wrist was sliced in two after protecting his two sons from a baby zombie. Why was protecting his sons worth a canon death?

Chapter Text

When Tommy was barely old enough to remember his name, he crawled his way out of the anarchic hell of cobblestone he was born in. 

With a willpower as tough as bedrock, Tommy dragged himself across the world until he found himself in the great Kingdom. While his life didn't really take a turn for the better, he didn't have to scrounge through mob-infested caves for resources anymore. He even learned a couple civilized tricks like Words and Farming.

He even made friends with a boy in the box. After that, it was him and Tubbo against the world for years. They were the menaces of the kingdom, the greatest scammers of the streets.

Wilbur Minecraft was an adult. He did what all adults do and that was leave his parent’s house to strike it out on his own. Techno chose to stay with Phil, claiming that he still had so much to learn about the “art of war.”

Wilbur thought he was ready.

He was off to start his own adventure like his father had… And like his parents, he had a whirlwind romance that ended with him as a single father.

Wilbur supposed it must be genetic for the sons to be disappointments to their mothers. He quickly dismissed that train of thought though. He and Fundy were perfect as they are. 

Wilbur didn't need to have wings or ice magic to be someone his parents could be proud of. Fundy didn't need to be a girl for Sally to give him worth. His little champion was perfect as he is.

Although, Wilbur wished that Fundy aged a little slower. He barely had any time to revel in having a son of his own before Fundy was ready to set off on his own. Wilbur wasn't ready, but he couldn't do anything about it. He just had to accept that his son was an adult.

When Fundy disappeared over the horizon without looking back, Wilbur burned down the house he'd built for himself and Sally. Wilbur didn't want to go adventuring anymore. He wanted his family by his side. 

With nothing but a bag of clothes, his guitar, and Sally’s empty bucket, Wilbur set off to the Kingdom, knowing that Techno was a regular in the Coliseum’s tournaments. 

And before he knew it, Wilbur Soot was the proud owner of a cozy little library in a decently busy part of the kingdom.

It was a decently sketchy part too, which is why Wilbur owned a library and not a bookstore. If he actually sold anything, there was a line of crooks happy to steal for the sake of it. (Techno was the crook that taught him that lesson.) Best of all, he got to perform whenever he wanted without being kicked out for loitering.

For now, Wilbur was content to just hide a couple of wayward kids or low-on-their-luck teens trying to get an education. 

There were a handful of regulars that shifted in and out of his store. One in particular was a little raccoon-like shit that had tried to rob him blind a couple months ago and decided to stick around since Wilbur gave him pastries every now and then.

The kid wasn't a raccoon hybrid, surprisingly. Wilbur usually didn't pay much mind to the street rats. However, the kid was an avian, and Wilbur always had a soft spot for hybrids like Phil. And for all that the kid tried to insist that he wasn't a literal child, his wings were still made entirely of soft downy. Wilbur bet that the kid wasn't even old enough to respawn, and something about that made his skin crawl.

At some point, Tommy Innit went from “racoon under the porch digging through his trash” to “raccoon unwittingly adopted that still went through his trash.” Wilbur couldn't tell you when his home also became Tommy’s, but he didn't regret it in the slightest. 

Tommy liked to steal all of Wilbur’s bedsheets and pile them into a nest in the closet. He’d swipe Wilbur’s records and drop them in the jukebox. When Tommy found out that Wilbur could play guitar, he had Wilbur play Mellohi every day until Wilbur finally added the disc to his collection.

And like that, the days passed with ease.

Chapter Text

A couple days ago, Wilbur was experimenting with potions and blew himself up. It was an unfortunately common occurrence. Normally, Tommy would just make fun of Wilbur as the librarian bitterly ran from his bedroom to the attic.

Tommy had no idea what the fuck Wilbur was experimenting with this time, but whatever it was almost drove the man into a perma-death. Tommy wouldn’t admit it, but the sheer terror he felt as he messaged Technoblade over the communicator that Wilbur wasn’t respawning properly drove him to tears. Technoblade had rushed over with an inventory full of bottles o’ enchanting and their dad on speed dial. 

That whole mess was what led to Tommy becoming the acting supervisor of Wilbur’s library while Wilbur was being taken care of by Philza chunks away. (Tommy really did not want to know why Phil was apparently an expert in avoiding permadeaths, but he wasn’t complaining.) At least once a day, Techno would stop by the library to make sure Tommy was still alive. Tommy refused to admit that he looked forward to the famous warrior’s visits.

Today, Tommy really did not feel like being trapped behind a desk reading books. Even mellohi couldn’t keep him there. Techno had left earlier, so he flipped the door sign to “Closed” and decided to catch up with Tubbo and TimeDeo. 

It hadn’t actually been that long since Philza Minecraft legally adopted Tommy (Wilbur wasn't ready to be a dad again), but it felt like a whole lifetime had passed since his time as a homeless rat. 

Chaos ran through Tommy’s veins though. 

He’d been getting too restless recently — the urge to scam unsuspecting passersby or commit minor terrorism burning strong. Tommy didn't want to take it too far though for fear of being disowned. He didn't want to lose his new family so soon. 

He didn't want to disappoint Wilbur either.

Nevertheless, Tommy hit the streets with his friends and the feds hot on his heels, cackling like a maniac. In the adrenaline rush, he couldn't tell you exactly what led to this situation.

Whatever it was though, the events that followed would mark the beginning of his life changing forever.

Tommy Innit, reckless and loud, a firecracker of life and energy, collided right into Dream WasTaken. In a hurry, Tommy grabbed onto the masked green boy and ran through alleys and over fences. Tommy hadn't paid much attention to the fact that his involuntarily accomplice was able to keep up with him until they both collapsed in laughter on a rooftop. Their pursuers scattered like headless chickens below them.

Dream didn't like being in the Kingdom. He tried to avoid it if he wasn't participating in the annual championships. It was too crowded and filled with people who would gladly slice his throat and gouge out his eyes. Dream definitely didn't like to think about how much eyes of ender sold for on the black market. 

He tightened his mask just a bit more.

Even so, Dream had to be here. He needed to get his SMP recognized before someone else decided to claim his land. Dream was confident in his ability to fend off intruders, but Bad told him that it would be better to lie low. Dream’s SMP was supposed to be a safe place for his friends and family after all. 

… Dream was lost. He’d lost his way four dead ends ago, and he was in the sketchy part of the kingdom too. Anytime he tried to reach out to someone for directions, they either tried to fight him or they would flee after watching him beat the people who tried to fight him into the ground. 

He was getting nowhere. 

To make matters worse, he was body-slammed by a flurry of feathers and chased down by the city guards.

After who knows how long, Dream and the juvenile avian fell onto their asses, high from the exhilaration. They laid there laughing, gleefully recalling neat tricks like Dream parkouring his way up a wall and Tommy tripping them with a hoe. It was the most fun Dream had in months! 

Once they settled down, the pair took the time to notice the other.

Tommy Innit. Dream WasTaken. 

They would meet again. 

And again. 

And again.

Tommy, a bit lonely without his older brothers, would latch onto Dream.

Dream, a bit lonely without his best friends, would let him.

The pieces were falling into place. 

Chapter Text

Demons were the closest entities to the gods on the mortal realm. The gods had no control over demonkind. The full-blooded demons were even exempt from the Canon Deaths curse.

As powerful as demons were though, they were few and far between, hunted to near extinction by fearful, determined players. 

BadBoyHalo was one of the only full-blooded demons left in the world. For a majority of his existence, he was no different from any other demon. He was cruel and malevolent, a harbinger of discord and a catalyst of wars. What set Bad apart from other demons later in his life, however, was his willingness to be kind.

Kindness did not come naturally to him — he was a demon after all — but he tried. 

The day BadBoyHalo met Skeppy was ingrained in his memory like craters on the moon. He could never forget the unfocused yet steady eyes that glared at Bad on that midsummer day.

Bad didn't know what Skeppy used to be nor did he care. As far as Bad was concerned, Skeppy’s past was irrelevant. All Bad needed to know was that Skeppy was cursed (with what, Bad had several different ideas) and that Skeppy was willing to sell his soul.

Bad pulled himself up from the summoning circle as the candles flickered into a dim red. Despite the horrifying way he slowly towered over the cursed diamond creature, Skeppy stood unwavering with a deal at the tip of his tongue and a fire burning in his eyes.

But Bad wants to be kind. So he is stern and kind and has two children who look up to him at home. 

What Skeppy had to offer and what he wished for, Bad would do him one better.

When Bad first met Skeppy, he was a little slip of a thing drowning in a corruption curse and choking on shards, a failed human weapon willing to sell his soul to escape his tormentors. It had taken him a while to heal, but Bad almost couldn’t tell that the Skeppy that lazed around in a hoard of diamond blocks and was an occasional menace was that same person. 

Through trials and tribulations, Bad was there for Skeppy. Skeppy — who was a good listener and surprisingly funny and confident, who made Bad’s life so much brighter, who was his equal — became Bad’s greatest treasure. Bad wouldn’t change him for the world. They were best friends. Bad wouldn't let anything take Skeppy from him, not even death itself. (Rebinding his magic source was a painful and complex ritual. He didn’t tell Skeppy that their matching friendship diamonds were a bit more serious than what the label says.)

It was going to be the two of them together forever until Skeppy dies or the world ends.

At the rate the Egg was growing though, the latter seemed to be the case… Bad would make sure that was the case. If the world ending was what it took to have his friend back, he'd do it. 

After all, Bad is a demon. He wanted to be kind, but Skeppy is worth being the villain for. 

Chapter Text

Technoblade often insisted that they were just business partners. 

Tommy knew better though. He’d spent a good portion of life with Wilbur, Techno, and Phil even before he left the Kingdom to join Dream’s SMP. Techno was just being awkward like he always was.

After all, what kind of person would just give their business partner all sorts of armor and weapons and let him raid their chests for unreasonable amounts of golden apples. Tommy was fully aware that he was being a pest, but it's not like Techno didn't know what he was getting into when he let Tommy stay.

Techno was awkward, but Tommy knew that Techno liked having him around. Tommy was still wary of Techno (he could never forget Tubbo and the fireworks and the withers and Theseus— ), but Techno was still the same brother who ran like hell to spawn and hugged him when he respawned for the first time, whispering reassurances as Tommy cried his lungs out because he  learned the “don't dig straight down” rule a little too late. 

For Tommy, Techno meant safety as long as they were on the same side. Being exiled, Tommy clearly wasn't on the side of government, so it was fine! Phil visited sometimes too. And Ghostbur.

If Tommy ignored the everpresent chill and the missing weight on his back, he could pretend that they were back in Wilbur’s library. If he closed his eyes, wrapped snugly in Techno’s heavy cloak, he could pretend that he was still the child he wasn't allowed to be in years. 

Techno owed Dream a favor. 

Techno always paid back what he owed. 

Techno would give Tommy to Dream over a favor.

Techno was no longer safe.

Those thoughts pulsed in an endless cycle. Tommy couldn't pretend anymore. It creeped into every second of peace.

Tubbo stood before him, willing to take him back. Tommy wanted that. He wanted to go back home. He… Wanted to go home. Techno’s retirement cottage used to be home. Wilbur’s library used to be home. Tommy couldn't— wouldn't return there. L’Manberg survived on pillars and rafts, but it was the home he never wanted to leave from the start.

Tubbo and the rest of L’Manberg wanted him. Tommy didn't know how long Techno would feel the same. Through war and conflict, at least Tommy wouldn’t feel threatened by his own people.

Tommy would always regret betraying Techno though. He knew this would hurt Techno. The Blade had a far softer heart under the rocky walls protecting it.

Tommy hardened his own heart. He didn't want to be the bad guy of Techno’s story, but he refused to wait in fear of Dream.

Better safe than sorry.

Chapter Text

Wilbur remembered his mother as a stoic, no-nonsense type of woman. Even so, he remembered her being kind.

But that was before she realized Wilbur was defective. Soft encouragements and playful music turned into silence and annoyed glares. Before he knew it, his mother was no longer a part of his life.

Wilbur had always been aware that Phil was also disappointed in him. Or maybe Philza was disappointed that they had nothing in common. 

It only made sense for Techno to be Phil’s favorite. They just got along better. Wilbur understood that. 

Maybe Techno couldn't fly, but he and Phil were both hybrids. There was just something about that that Wilbur would never understand. 

 Techno was an introvert. He and Phil could spend hours just reading in each other’s company. Wilbur was too energetic. He would either bother them too much or need to leave the room.

Techno was battle-hungry. Phil had always wanted to pass on his knowledge. Wilbur would rather play guitar. 

It… It was fine. Wilbur and Techno got along just fine. They were brothers. When Wilbur found out that Techno didn't know his own birthday, he even decided they should share his! Twice the fun! Twice the presents! (Wilbur didn't have to worry about being forgotten twice a year either.) 

Wilbur left knowing that Phil and Techno would be happier without him interfering. He couldn't stand to watch from the sidelines as he smiled and pretended to be fine.

Sally was seductive and beautiful. She had a stable job as an accountant and was quite the strong, independent woman. Wilbur, a wandering bard, knew that he could never be her match. Even so, she took him by the hand.

Their marriage may have started as a shotgun wedding, but they were so happy together. Wilbur loved her dearly. For her entire pregnancy, she went on and on about how much she wished the baby to be a girl. She wanted a daughter to impart her merling traditions onto. 

Sally was over the moon when their baby girl came into the world, albeit surprised by the shape-shifter genes from Wilbur. From the second their daughter was born, Sally showered her in pretty shells and pearls, projecting her people's traditions onto their little siren.

Wilbur knew that even the most lovely people had their flaws. He remembered the screaming match he had with Sally after Fundy came out. If she wouldn't accept that their little champion was not a princess, that was on her. 

The divorce was messy. They did love each other, but Fundy was infinitely more important to Wilbur than her shallow pride. Sally swam down the stream and out of sight, leaving only her bucket for Wilbur to remember her by.

(Of all the family who walked out on him, Sally was the only one he did not regret parting with.) 

Fundy was an adult too soon. Wilbur and Techno aged similarly, so he'd never thought about it much. As a fox, Fundy aged about as quickly as one both physically and mentally.

He was still a bit childish, but he was no longer a child. Wilbur, still a young adult, could barely process it when Fundy followed in his father’s footsteps and set out for his own adventure.

Wilbur would never admit to crying as he watched the house he’d raised Fundy in (the house he built with Sally) burn to the ground. He didn't look back as he set off to reunite with Techno.

Wilbur was all out of sorts still when he received a message from Techno. The aftereffects of nearly perma-dying were still ringing through his skull.

Wilbur had to reread the message. And again with his glasses on this time. And maybe squinting. Was his communicator glitching?

He called Phil over to read it for him.

It seemed it read exactly as he was pretending it didn't.

Tommy left Tubbo in charge of the library. Tommy left the Kingdom to join some stranger's SMP.

What the fuck?

Did he think Wilbur died or something? He didn't even bother letting Wilbur know himself. Did he think that having Techno breaking the news would make it better?

Maybe Wilbur should have just left Tubbo in charge from the beginning.

Wilbur didn't like Dream. He was amiable with the masked man, sure, but he didn't like him. 

There was just something wrong about him that no one else seemed to notice.

The kids really liked Dream though. He definitely had a better “older brother aura” than Wilbur did, so he just naturally drew kids towards him. 

Wilbur was somewhat grateful that Dream had appeared to keep Tommy occupied and out of too much trouble. Techno could also vouch for Dream. The two were fellow tournament fighters, and Wilbur vaguely recalled seeing Dream in the last Championship's final match.

It still didn't change the fact that he had just taken his little brother without even bothering to ask for permission.

And at the rate he was buttering up Tubbo and Fundy, it wasn't just Tommy who Wilbur had to watch out for. Was he trying to build an empire of children or something? Why was he recruiting so many people? 

Worst of all, Wilbur couldn't even keep them by his side even if he wanted to. He had no say over them.

Wilbur, forever on the sidelines, watched his kids leave him again.

Chapter Text

All his life, Wilbur was stuck watching the people he loved leave him. Always on the sidelines, knowing he'll never be good enough.

Wilbur accepted it then, but he wouldn't now.

L’Manberg was his . People came to him . He was the one who built it. 

They couldn't just fight by his side, fight in his war, then just look away just because a cheater exiled him out of his own fucking country . He fought tooth and nail for this. 

Over and over again, he let his family go without him. Not this time. Not this fucking time. He won that election. He deserved to be on that podium. Schlatt should never have even been a candidate.

Arrows rained from the sky. Wilbur screamed as he pushed Tommy out of the way.

He woke up at spawn. 

On his wrist, where three hearts had been tattooed on in godly ink, one had a slash through it. Wilbur knew every square millimeter of that heart. He could draw it with his eyes closed. He would later laugh at the new hole piercing the second heart. He and Tommy matched again.

Fundy burned the flag. Traitor , Wilbur thought emptily. Fundy had always wanted to escape Wilbur’s tight hold, so Wilbur should have seen it coming. 

(Fundy grew up too quickly. Fundy didn't realize that that was why Wilbur kept Tommy and Tubbo close.)

Wilbur didn't like Dream. If it weren't for him, Tommy would have never left the Kingdom. Wilbur would still be running a cozy library in a safer SMP instead of living in a musty, cramped ravine fighting another war.

Wilbur couldn’t trust anyone anymore, nevermind Dream. 

TNT exchanged hands. 

No matter whether they win or lose… 

Wilbur didn't know who warned Philza. It was probably Tommy, but he didn't care at this moment.

Sure, they won. Pogtopia won. Schlatt was dead. Tubbo was president. Congratulations!

Wilbur was used to letting the people he loved leave him behind. He didn't want to do it again. He really wanted to stay by their side, to cling a little tighter onto them. He built L’Manberg for their sake, a country to keep them safe and happy. It was his symphony.

He wanted to finish his symphony so so badly.

It wasn't his anymore.

Maybe the button wouldn't work again.

Or maybe it would.

“It was never meant to be.”

Philza grabbed Wilbur and spread out his wings to block the explosions. 

Wilbur hadn't planned for that. Phil wasn't supposed to be here to begin with. He was never really around before, so why now?

It didn't really matter, he supposed. 

His unfinished symphony would remain forever unfinished. If he couldn't have it, no one could. 

Wilbur didn't want to let it go, but he shoved his sword in Phil’s hands and smiled.

The least he could do was warn Phil that his son had a fuck ton of withers ready to go.

Chapter Text

Tommy liked following Dream around. He was really cool and strong. Tommy had always looked up to Techno (the sheer joy Tommy had when he found out that The Blade was Wilbur’s brother—), but Techno was pretty awkward. And after Tommy’s first death and subsequently his first respawn, Techno hesitated to let Tommy follow him back out to the wilderness. 

Dream was just as amazing as Techno and far more willing to amuse Tommy. Tommy would join Dream on little hunting trips and even teach Tommy hints of magic. Tommy’s favorite trick was the MLG water. Dream thought that was funny since Tommy’s little wings were developed enough to prevent fall damage on their own, but Tommy liked the high-speed adrenaline more.

(Dream was also the one who taught Tommy how to obtain discs. The first time a creeper dropped a disc, it was promptly blown up by another creeper next to it. Tommy was upset all day after that.)

In the beginning, Dream wondered why the kid kept following him around. 

Dream was pretty sure the kid was a street rat, but the kid was too well-kept to be homeless. That’s not to say Tommy was clean — the kid was always scuffed up — but there were little things. It was like how his hair was properly cut instead of jaggedly chopped or how his shoes actually fit his feet despite growing like a weed. 

After some thought, Dream came to the conclusion that Tommy Innit was homeless at some point but was recently taken into an orphanage or something. There wasn't an adult figure hovering over the kid as far as Dream knew, so it was apparent that Tommy was on his own for the most part.

Was Tommy even old enough to respawn? 

Dream really hoped he was. Somehow, he became genuinely invested in Tommy’s wellbeing. 

The day before Dream was ready to leave the Kingdom to go back to his SMP, he went to the library Tommy hung around with the other orphans. 

As always, Tommy and Tubbo were hunched over a children’s book. Tommy was carefully sounding out the words for Tubbo. Dream watched them fondly. It was obvious that Tommy only had basic literacy, but he was serious about helping Tubbo. They noticed his bright green hoodie soon enough though, and both of them waved him over.

Dream sat down and made them an offer. He had to return to his SMP. It was pretty far away. Would they want to come with him?  

It's not like Dream hadn't thought this over for days. He knew what he was getting into if he brought them home. He'd spent months with Tommy and enjoyed every moment. Maybe he'd regret it years down the line, but for now, this gremlin child was one of his.

Dream expected them to hesitate. After all, they’d be leaving their home and friends. He wouldn’t put it past them if they said no. The two friends looked to each other and silently came to a decision.

See, the thing is that Tommy and Tubbo actually lived in and managed the Soot House Library. Wilbur Soot, the owner, had an accident shortly before Dream came to the Kingdom, so they couldn’t really just abandon the library.

Tommy had been overworking himself by managing the library by himself from open to close (and how did Dream not notice that?). Tubbo knew enough about the alphabet to at least organize the shelves. Tommy would go with Dream while Tubbo stayed in the Kingdom until Wilbur got back— if he got back that is. If not, well, then no one was paying the rent and the library would close.

That was the plan. Tommy Innit would join Dream’s SMP and Tubbo would join later.

Chapter Text

In order to ensure stability in his SMP, Dream ruled with an iron fist.

It didn’t start with L’Manberg. No matter what future residents would say, Wilbur’s drug empire was not the start of it all. It didn’t start with Tommy and his chaotic personality and the discs either. From the very beginning, Dream made sure that the people of his SMP followed his word.

When the SMP was new and they were just a small community working together, no one noticed. The common goal aligned with Dream’s wish for a stable and peaceful land. Dream was the good guy, the mediator, the enforcer. 

Tommy was a little gremlin, sure, but he wasn’t really any worse than the others. If anything, Tommy kept things light-hearted. Dream fondly remembered the little fights they’d all get into, the times they burned each other’s homes down and stole each other’s stuff. Dream would step in and settle any problems, and at the end of the day, there were no hard feelings.

It was Wilbur that ruined everything.

Tommy and Tubbo missed their older brother. Dream graciously allowed Wilbur to visit them, then Wilbur just never left. The fiend stole Tommy and Tubbo from him. The delicate balance of his SMP was tipped dangerously out of his favor. Wilbur whispered rebellion and discord into their ears. He got louder and louder, drawing in whoever would listen.

And before Dream knew it, there was a war. The peace he’d sought so badly to maintain ruined so shamefully. Not even Eret’s trap was enough to deter them. If anything, it made them more determined. Why couldn’t they just understand that Dream wanted what was best for the SMP?

Tommy challenged him to a duel. Dream won. (He didn’t know how to feel about being the cause of two of Tommy’s canon deaths. Every respawn after would hold so much more weight.)

Tommy offered his discs in exchange for independence.

Dream had always been a little soft for Tommy. Even though he’d gladly burn his best friend’s enchanted diamond armor to keep George from getting too power-hungry, he’d let Tommy keep his netherite gear (and even returned it after a sneaky shift of hands). That is, until Tommy kept outwitting him and needed some obligatory grounding. Dream was honestly quite lenient on his requirements for Tommy.

After all, Tommy was a child.

Tommy was still a child even now, but he had long since been corrupted by Wilbur’s idealism. Just like before, he’d keep Tommy’s discs hostage as long as Tommy kept misbehaving.

Dream honestly hated both Manberg and Pogtopia. What his friends saw in the traitors, he’d never know. Since they were so insistent on not being part of his SMP (and they most certainly were), Dream wouldn’t mind reveling in a bit of destruction.

Chapter Text

It was the Finale. Their personal war was finally coming to end.

Tommy held the Axe of Peace to Dream’s throat. Dream’s mask was shattered, but the blood dripping from the lacerations hid his face as well as the white porcelain did.

Tommy cringed a little at the question asking his prior relationships to the prisoner. What was he supposed to answer with? In the end, his mouth had sputtered out lies before he could really think it through.

Sam was kinder than Tommy expected honestly. He was very strict, but that was par for the course as the warden to a prison containing a powerful madman. Even though Tommy wasn’t allowed to bring anything into the prison, Sam at least let him give Dream one very important object. Sam had been part of the SMP long before Tommy, so even he knew the importance of it.

Sam held onto it through the walk to Dream’s cell. He inspected it over and over again before finally returning it to Tommy just as the bridge began to move over the lava pit.

The lava fell behind Tommy.

Dream stared at Tommy from across the room. He looked pitiful, sitting with his back against the far wall and tracking Tommy’s slightest movements like a trapped animal. Tommy mused that he was one now.

Dream’s mask was still shattered from that final battle, but he wasn’t bloodied anymore. Tommy could see the scars (more than Tommy remembered) that littered Dream’s face and, most importantly, one of Dream’s eyes of ender without hindrance. For all that he'd been putting it off, Tommy hoped to be the first one to visit Dream for this reason.

Dream smiled sadly at Tommy. Tommy had no sympathy in his heart for the prisoner (but he mourned the person he was before).

“You must feel so embarrassed."

He held out the only object he was and ever will be allowed to bring in. 

The mask was a replica of Dream’s since Tommy didn't know where Dream stored his masks anymore — in an ender chest, probably. 

Tommy only vaguely remembered Dream teaching him how to make them (way back then, when he still slept in the Community House), but he messed it up plenty before seeking out BadBoyHalo for help. Tommy had planned to leave the face blank, but Bad had quickly carved the damned smiley face. In a slightly sadder tone than usual, Bad recounted how Sapnap forcefully drew on Dream’s first mask when they were kids. 

Dream hesitantly took the mask from Tommy. He pulled off his broken one — not bothering to cover his face, knowing Tommy didn't care — and slid the new one into place. Dream really was pitiful like this.

Dream deserved this.

Tommy pulled himself up and took a step back. He deserved some closure.

“I'm sorry.”

“Why didn’t you say that last time then?”

The first time Tommy saw Dream without his mask, he just thought that Dream’s eyes looked interesting. He’d seen weirder. (Tommy was born in a hell of forbidden magic and endless cobblestone.)

Dream had built up his face reveal as this whole rite of passage type of thing, so Tommy had been fully expecting Dream to be either extremely disfigured or altogether inhuman. That was usually why people wore masks, wasn't it? Tommy was honestly kind of disappointed.

Dream couldn't be more relieved.

In those early days, when Tommy lived in the Community House with Dream and George, Tommy had gotten used to Dream not wearing his mask at all. Tommy remembered having nightmares and squeezing himself between Dream and George in the middle of the night. Gogy would pat his head sleepily then drift back to dreamland. Dream wouldn't move at first, but come morning, he'd be wrapped around Tommy like a boa constrictor, face plain and too close for comfort.

When Dream did wear it, it was pushed back or to the side, more decorative than functional really. Dream had said that it was because his SMP only had people he trusted.

He couldn’t remember when Dream started never taking it off. Tommy couldn’t remember the last time— no, Dream pushed it to the side sometimes in Logstedshire (but Tommy didn’t like to think about that).

Chapter Text

The SMP was supposed to be his safe haven where he could live in peace with his friends and family. That ceased to be the case when Wilbur arrived.

After the creation of L’Manberg, Dream had a bit of difficulty controlling the flow of travelers through his SMP. It was hard to manage outsiders when his own citizens were rebelling. By the time Schlatt came into power, Dream had given up on that altogether. People came and went.

When Dream noticed the arrival of Captain Puffy, he didn't know what to do. She was… Familiar… In a good way. Usually, he would interrogate newcomers, but he kept his head down around her.

It had taken Dream a while to place the captain in his memories. Sheep hybrids were fairly commonplace, and he didn't interact with her much. It wasn't until he'd gone to the flower shop she owned with Nihachu to buy a bouquet that the memories clicked.

Her warm smile and rainbow scarf. Her soft wool and softer eyes when she looked at Niki.

Dream left the flower shop with a knot in his chest. His mother was alive and well. That was good. He adjusted his mask and made his way to George’s summer home.

Dream really couldn't help himself. His mother was right there, and he was feeling a bit mischievous. He wondered if she remembered him. Did he mean anything to her at all? For all Dream knew, he was just one of many abandoned children she’d taken on.

Did she cry when he left?

Dream clutched at the strap of his quiver. Did she ever find out that her crew lied to her and left him for dead in the Nether?

He hoped she remembered, but he couldn't bring himself to ask. It was apparent that she was frustrated by his stalking, but she was still so incredibly kind. Dream felt his heart melt when she called him her duckling. It wasn't quite what she used to call him, but it was close.

Her little parrot. She used to think his eyes looked like parrot feathers (no one else except George thought that).

It had Dream taken a while to realize that no one was going to be visiting anymore. Tommy had said he would visit again, but that was all Dream had to look forward to in the three obsidian walls and a lava cascade that he was imprisoned in.

The only person who checked up on him was Sam.

Dream had stopped wearing his mask. More often than not, it was buried at the bottom of his chest. It had been… a while.

When Sam told him that Captain Puffy was visiting, Dream wondered if it was worth pulling out the mask. It’s not like she’d never seen him without it.

As the lava fell, Dream merely laid down and stared up at his ceiling. He wondered why she was visiting. It’s not like she knew him. The most he was to her was a weirdo that liked following her around every now and then. It’s not like he was a kid.

Dream heard the barrier drop and the captain's heels click against the obsidian.

The hitch of a breath was the only sound audible over the lava popping when Dream turned his head to meet her eyes.

Chapter Text

When Fundy learned that Wilbur had nearly perma-died, he dropped everything to visit his dad. Wilbur, in his half-delirious state, had forgotten Fundy was an adult. Fundy, knowing this, let Wilbur baby him for a bit.

Wilbur was in absolutely no state to return to the library he owned in the Kingdom anytime soon, so Phil asked Fundy to let Tommy and Tubbo know that the library would need to close down indefinitely. Fundy had met the two a handful of times over the past few years when Wilbur insisted that Fundy visit and spend the holidays as a family.

Fundy expected Tommy and Tubbo to argue against closing the library, so he prepared himself when he went.

Dream and Tommy visited the Kingdom once a month to check up on Tubbo. It was by chance that on this particular visit, Fundy was also arriving.

Closing the Soot House Library was bittersweet. For years, it was Tommy and Tubbo’s home and a sanctuary for many of the neighborhood kids. Regardless, without Wilbur there, it hadn’t been much more than a living space. Thankfully, Dream had opened his home to the two of them with welcoming arms. Tommy loved it there, and Tubbo was excited to follow.

While Tommy and Tubbo prepared to empty out Wilbur’s library and pack up their belongings, Fundy and Dream bumped into each other. Dream’s mask was a bit loose. He wasn’t really used to wearing it around the two kids, so he’d forgotten to tighten it.

The mask slipped down with Fundy and Dream in a tangled heap surrounded by books.

Dream didn’t have the time to panic when Fundy calmly fixed Dream’s mask for him.

“You’re a dreamon, aren’t you?” Fundy asked.

“Just a descendant,” Dream answered nervously. “You’ve met a real dreamon before?”

“I read a book about it. Eyes of ender are highly sought out.” Fundy grinned reassuringly. “I won’t tell anyone. Do Tubbo and Tommy know?”

“Tubbo knows the dreamon part. Apparently, he was the apprentice of a dreamon hunter when he was much younger.” 

They didn’t talk about it again, but Dream didn’t always wear his mask around Fundy.

The day Dream, Tommy, and Tubbo were ready to set off for Dream’s SMP, Dream cautiously invited Fundy to come with them.

Wilbur wasn’t part of Dream’s SMP to begin with, so obviously he’d never agreed with how Dream governed the land. But Wilbur did have a point about Dream being overbearing. Just like Dream wanted his SMP to be peaceful, Wilbur wanted his family to be happy. 

Despite being on the rebelling side, Fundy didn’t really have any hard feelings towards Dream. Fundy liked to think that he could sympathize with Dream a bit. He, Tommy, and Tubbo had all lived under Dream’s leadership just fine. 

In the end, Dream and Wilbur weren’t that different.

Fundy quite liked Dream, to be honest. From the moment they met, Fundy craved Dream’s attention. Whether it was romantic or not was up in the air, but Dream was someone that Fundy looked up to. With the war long over and L’Manberg independent, Fundy decided to take a shot in the dark and ask Dream out. After some pestering, they were engaged.

Of course, their relationship wasn’t perfect. 

Fundy knew that the only reason Dream went on a date with him despite having been rejected repeatedly for weeks was because of George’s marriage to Ninja. Fundy had caught Dream buying flowers for George on more than one occasion. 

There was also that whole issue with Dream being overtaken by his dreamon bloodline, and wow, was that nerve-wracking. At the end of that day, Fundy was reassured about his engagement.

The wedding was a complete disaster.

Fundy wanted to clear his mind. He’d been settled in Dream’s SMP for a while, but he used to go on adventures all the time before that fateful first meeting. After some time away from the SMP to just think, Fundy realized that a weight had been lifted. He and Dream had never truly loved each other to begin with.

Fundy would go back to the SMP eventually. His friends and family were there, but for now, he needed a break.

 (If he met a radish hybrid on these journeys, that was no one else’s business.)

Chapter Text

Techno did not immediately warm up to Philza and Wilbur. 

Wilbur didn't like him much either at first. Wilbur was cold. He didn't actively antagonize him, but he ignored Techno any chance he could. Phil used to apologize for Wilbur, claiming that Wilbur’s mother had just left him.

Techno used to think that Wilbur was also adopted by Phil. Wilbur looked nothing like Phil. He was completely human too.

Even after they started getting along. Even after they became as close as real brothers. Even after Wilbur would share his birthday with Techno... The misunderstanding would plague the two kids for a while.

Years down the line, Techno would realize that Wilbur was actually Phil’s biological son. Techno knew how Phil treated the two of them. He knew that Phil usually preferred to keep his company over Wilbur’s, given a choice. 

In an admittedly belated attempt to make it up to Wilbur, Techno denounced any familial ties to Phil. From that point on, Techno was just a friend — Phil’s student at best. The damage had already been done. Wilbur had already left them and started a family of his own, but Phil visited Wilbur and his wife and kid more often without Techno to worry about. 

Techno never got to meet little Fundy.

Wilbur didn’t trust anyone anymore. Techno knew that look in his eyes as well as he knew the edge of his sword. Wilbur would lash out the second he had the chance to. Techno wished he had been there for his twin— for Wilbur early on. Maybe he could have prevented Manberg from the beginning. 

Techno worried for him. He also worried for Tommy, who’d been dragged into this whole mess. Tommy was still optimistic, though, just as he always had been. 

Techno didn’t know Tommy before Wilbur had taken him in, but he didn’t think it was normal for a kid to be this used to living in musty crevices. Techno wondered if Tommy was actually okay with the whole situation — as okay as he could be after being exiled, that is — or if he was putting up a show of bravado. 

(Tommy was used to it, but it was because he was used to it that he didn’t show how much he hated it. It wasn’t until much, much later that Techno learned Tommy had claustrophobia.)

Techno knew that Wilbur had originally planned to take back L’Manberg, so he wasn’t really that interested in joining them. He was just a bit bored after the whole potato war, and Wilbur offered to pay him back for his time.

At some point, Wilbur decided that just blowing Manberg to smithereens was the better option. Techno could definitely get behind that, so he opened up his vault to the rebellion. 

Techno couldn’t believe that the others had actually decided to start up a new government right in front of him. He only lent them all of his painstakingly crafted gear under the assumption that they wouldn’t do that! They lied to him!

It didn’t matter anyway. Wilbur was nowhere in sight, so he was probably still going on with the plan. When the earth beneath their feet collapsed, The Voices were screaming too loudly for Techno to notice Phil run a sword through his son. 

(Techno didn’t know that Tommy was also on his last life. If he knew, then maybe he wouldn’t have told him to die like a hero. Tommy should never have had any canon deaths, to begin with; he was just a kid.)

Techno didn’t cry when Tommy betrayed him. He didn’t go home and rage while The Voices called for the blood of his little brother. He didn’t ask why Tommy chose the people who exiled him instead of his brother.

He regretted ever rescuing Tommy from the snow and taking him into his home. ( Lies , a tiny voice whispered beneath all the others.)

It felt like deja vu.

Techno was chasing down a thieving raccoon around his home. Tommy was rambling his excuses.

Unlike last time, it was daytime. Unlike last time, Tommy wasn’t in rags. Unlike last time, Techno wouldn’t make the same mistake.

But like last time, Tommy’s self-proclaimed baby blues were a dim grey.

Tommy laughed as though everything was right in the world. He sighed after, unable to keep up the act. He whispered his apologies and accepted his fate.

Tommy was preparing for the final battle against Dream. It was practically a suicide mission.

Techno might never see Tommy again, but it was too late for forgiveness and reconciliations. The least he could do was let Tommy have his small bit of hope in the form of an armful of potions.

It was far too late to regret. That seemed to be a pattern when it came to him. 

Chapter Text

Dream ruffled Tommy’s hair. The gremlin child shouted that he wasn’t a child. They laughed. They had fun. Times were good.

Tommy was like Dream’s little brother. This little brat who had just lost his last baby tooth, who got angry too easily, who built a dirt hut even though there was a perfectly fine community house to live in and made cobblestone towers and crude jokes and—

Dream was like Tommy’s older brother… Once upon a time. 

Dream wasn’t like Wilbur. Wilbur was someone who took Tommy in when he didn’t have a home, someone that Tommy wanted to make proud. Dream was someone he could count on to have his back and worry over his bad decisions.

Dream was pretty bossy and had a tendency to hold things over their heads, but that wasn’t a surprise. Sapnap just equated it to Dream having a firstborn complex. Wilbur and Techno did the same thing with Tommy when they wanted to poke fun at him.

At the end of the day, when it mattered most, Dream would always be there to support his friends.

“ I don’t give a fuck about anything actually!”

“I care about your discs because that’s what gives me power over you—“

“I don’t care. I have lost all care about anything on this server.”

Dream didn’t care about them. When did that happen? When did George become a pawn for Dream to throw away as he pleased? When did Punz and Sapnap become hired help rather than friends? 

(When did Dream think that exile was proper retribution for burning down a house?)

Sapnap cursed the green fucker out and slammed the door to his bedroom. He could hear Quackity pace behind the door, but he wasn’t ready to see anyone.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a particular uniform gathering dust. Tubbo had said that he’d fund the Dreamon Hunters once he settled in as President, but there was too much going on recently. Tubbo probably wasn’t ready to focus on anything after exiling his best friend either.

Sapnap had doubts. He was hoping that maybe Dream’s outburst was just a slip-up out of anger rather than the truth. Sapnap was equally angry about it, but… What if he really meant it?

Sapnap pulled himself up and examined the enchanting table language sewed into the lining of the uniform. Fundy had made them.

Dreamons. BadBoyHalo said that Dream was a descendant of them. That was a while ago, so Sapnap had almost forgotten. 

BadBoyHalo was a demon. For all that he tried to be kind, he didn’t care much for the affairs of mortals. He brushed off fatalities and worried over the most inane things.  Sapnap was pretty sure the demon had been fanning the flames of chaos during the last war.

Sapnap wondered if Bad knew something about Dream’s bloodline. Dreamons were innately evil. There was a reason why Bad was willing to help them out with their Dreamon Hunter business despite being a demon.

Dream couldn’t be evil by nature though. Dream was his best friend. They’d known each other longer than everyone else. Something must have happened. 

Bad should know something. 

A flicker of uncertainty grew in the back of his mind. How much did Fundy and Tubbo actually know about dreamons?

Didn’t Tubbo say that they exorcised Dream? How could they exorcise someone who couldn’t be possessed?

Chapter Text

Philza Minecraft had only one canon death left. On his left wrist were three hearts. One heart was partially disintegrated, like smoke. Another heart was slashed through the center. The third heart was still intact.

Phil had spent much of his life proud of these hearts. They were proof that he had done the world some good. He didn’t particularly understand why he lost his second life protecting his still-too-young-to-respawn sons from a gold-clad baby zombie, but he was still proud of it.

Here, in Dream’s SMP, too many people had hearts on their wrists. This SMP had caught the eyes of the gods, and that never meant anything good. 

(Phil noticed that Jack Manifold had a full triad of hearts on his right wrist. Why was that?)

Everyone in this SMP was destined to die. Was that why protecting his sons lost him a second heart? Had the gods planned this whole tragedy from the moment they were born? 

Why Wilbur? Why did Wilbur die so easily?

Phil sighed into the cloak he had been mending. It was soft and warm.

At least Phil didn’t have to worry about Techno. Technoblade never dies.

Phil chuckled against the fabric.

When Phil learned about the Three Canon Deaths curse, he was told that it was to prevent mortals from becoming too arrogant. 

Players didn’t die like villagers or animals or illagers because Players were made of magic. When they died, they would respawn. As long as they had magic, they would always respawn. The gods thought that players needed something to teach them the value of life, to learn that their actions had consequences.

The death of a villain. The death of a martyr. These were deaths that would mean something in history. The gods would only allow each individual three of them. (And unlike normal respawns, the scars from those deaths would never heal.)

Luckily, most players were normal people. Almost no one knew of or even needed to know of the curse. Philza had only learned about the curse in his quest to permanently kill a tyrant from his youth.

The fact that the people of this SMP learned about it the hard way… Even Phil’s grandson had a canon death. Tubbo and Tommy, the youngest of the SMP, were on their last hearts. 

Did Wilbur know that his body would forever remain under the rubble because Phil didn’t notice that a stray wither collapsed that lyric-carved room? 

Did Techno know that his decision to fire at Tubbo would lead to the child being permanently scarred across his face?

Did Tommy know as he died that his wings wouldn’t respawn with him? (Who did it? Who would dare take away their wings? Avians were so rare already, and they dared defile a child’s wings—) 

Phil took a deep breath. The soft fabric of the cloak was getting damp. He pushed himself back up and resumed his patching.

Phil had a feeling that he would also die in this land. It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when. Phil and Techno were too deep in the conflict of this land to not be pawns in the gods’ game. It wasn’t just about governments. It was about the corruption, the selfish, and the traitors.

Philza didn’t regret his actions. He would set a dozen withers on the land again if that’s what it took.

He wished that Wilbur had never taken Tommy in. He wished he’d denied Wilbur when his son asked Phil to adopt Tommy because he ‘wasn’t ready to be a dad again.’ Most of all, he wished that he could have been a better dad for Wilbur. Maybe then, he wouldn’t have let Wilbur lead the sword through his chest. 

Phil knotted the thread and snapped off the excess. The cloak was good as new.

Hopefully, Ranboo wouldn’t mind a hand-me-down. The boy needed better clothing to live in this biome.

Phil never wanted to see the three hearts form on the enderman hybrid. If he had to fight the gods to keep that promise, he would gladly aim his sword at the skies. It wouldn’t be martyrdom. It’d be revenge.

Chapter Text

Some memories just never leave you. 

Tubbo remembered a lot more about his childhood than most people would. Or maybe it was just Tommy who didn't remember enough. Although he and Tommy looked about the same age, Tubbo had been alive for quite a bit longer, probably. (Wilbur had this weird expression when he realized Tubbo aged slowly.)

Tubbo remembered his father. He didn't really remember what his father looked like (was it because of time or trauma?), but Tubbo remembered his kind head pats, his sense of humor, and his sadness. Tubbo remembered his father always smelled like alcohol.

Most importantly, Tubbo remembered that his father was a Dreamon Hunter. It was a family business, apparently, and his father wanted to impart his knowledge onto Tubbo as well. Tubbo had memorized every sign of dreamon possession before he had even learned to read. 

It didn't matter much in the end. Dreamons had been driven to near extinction, so Tubbo’s father was always out of work. Life wasn't great. They lived in a shitty apartment cramped between hundreds of other shitty apartments. But the apartment was better than a box on the street.

Tubbo wouldn't understand why he'd been abandoned until much later. His father couldn't afford rent anymore, and traveling outside the Kingdom with a child was incredibly difficult. Phil recounted the days raising Wilbur and Techno with a regretful fondness as he rubbed his thumb over the wrapping on his left wrist. 

Tubbo was the son of a Dreamon Hunter. Fundy was an adventurer who’d found a book on Dreamons. They both knew the signs.

There was an unnatural shift in the air. Tubbo called out for Fundy.

Tubbo turned slightly only to find Fundy for standing ominously over his shoulder. Tubbo most certainly did not jump in fright, but he did smack Fundy for it.

Fundy sensed it too. 

After arranging a compass tower, they were led to Dream. They were hoping this wouldn’t be the case. Tubbo was hoping that it was just Drista making a ruckus in the SMP again. Unfortunately, the air had been shifting for a couple of days before Drista's appearance (and her magic was a bit more controlled than Dream's), so who knew how long it would take until it reached the breaking point. Tubbo’s memory of dreamon hunting had never been put to practical use before.

Before the wars, Dream rarely ever let himself lose his hold on chaos. He was always the person trying to maintain stability.

Nowadays, Dream switched sides as he pleased when it came to Manberg and Pogtopia. Anyone with eyes could tell that Dream just wanted to throw them into chaos since he hated both nations. Tubbo could tell that Dream's recent actions were pulling on the dreamon bloodline instincts. At this rate, Dream was going to become a full dreamon.

Tubbo was hoping that what the ritual he was planning on using had the right effect. 

It failed. Rather than numbing Dream’s instincts, it worsened them. Fundy had to pull on Dream and play out the day of their proposal to get him to even calm down a bit. In a final attempt to pull Dream back to sanity, Tubbo split Dream from his dreamon nature.

Dream used to be very talented at magic because of his bloodline. There were things he was able to do that few others could like teleportation, levitation, and summoning. Dream didn’t really like performing magic in front of others. Whether he was afraid they’d be jealous or a half-hearted attempt at being normal, Dream didn’t often use his magic.

No one else noticed when Dream stopped using his own magic and started relying on external sources like the rest of them. No one noticed Dream's sudden obsession with discord.

No one noticed the sudden existence of DreamXD.

Tubbo knew that Tommy had made a new friend, a new older brother figure. Tubbo had only talked to the masked man a handful of times.

It was by chance that Tubbo had walked into the room right when Dream first took off his mask in front of Tommy. Tubbo screamed and nearly hacked Dream’s head right off. It took a bit of explaining for Dream to explain that he wasn’t a real dreamon, just a descendant. Tubbo quickly warmed up when he realized that Dream was genuinely nice and not manipulating them. 

Maybe he should have been more stubborn.

Chapter Text

Sometime after Bad took Dream under his guardianship and explained Dream’s bloodline, Dream started to look for his siblings. He had been abandoned when he was a child, but he was still old enough to remember his younger siblings.

After that revelation, Dream would contact his sister. She was the only one that also inherited the dreamon bloodline, but while Dream led a life raised by people who taught him to be kind, she reveled in their bloodline instincts. She was still young though, so Dream didn’t consider her a threat yet.

Dream was watching Tommy dig a hole in the side of the hill. It’d been a while since they’d last spoken outside of war. Tommy was clearly angry after Dream had handed Wilbur a fuck ton of TNT, but that didn’t mean they were enemies now.

Dream couldn’t stand Manberg anymore than he could stand Wilbur, but Wilbur was willing to actually play along with him now.

It would be nice to talk again. They were friends, weren’t they? Despite everything that happened, they were still friends… Right? If Fundy was still willing to marry him, then Tommy should also be willing to be his friend.

Nevertheless, Dream called out to Tommy. Tommy wasn’t being loud and angry for once. He glanced at Dream and kept mining. He gave succinct answers to Dream’s questions, but he didn’t curse him out or attack him. 

Apparently, Tommy thought that an intimidation hole and an intimidation tower built from the resources from said intimidation tower were better to spite Manberg than just blowing the land to smithereens. Dream thought it was adorably peaceful yet completely in character.

A slight buzzing ran between Dream’s ears. It’d been a while since his sister had last contacted him. Dream suddenly had an idea to bring Tommy’s mood back up.

If Tommy didn’t want to talk to him, then maybe he’d want to talk to someone closer to his age. Tommy and his sister were similar enough anyway. Dream just hoped that they would simply get along rather than bounce chaos off of each other, but he could just throw her out if it came to that.

With a pop, his sister teleported to him. Dream had to remind her multiple times not to use magic in his SMP while he supervised the kids, but he was just glad they were enjoying themselves.

(His sister was surprised that Dream gave Tommy his true name. She also took to the nickname Tommy gave her pretty well too.)

Dream happily watched them banter and build up Tommy’s intimidation tower.

He had only walked away for a minute to handle a minor issue, and Drista was already using her magic excessively. Dream quickly wrangled her up and threw her out of his SMP.

Dream had left his territory for one hour. He knew that Drista was in the area, but he really was not expecting the absolute fuckery that he was returning to.

In only one hour, Tubbo hid a piece of bedrock in his enderchest, Punz possessed a shulker box (and if anyone found out, his SMP would be the epicenter of a war), there was a sign made of bedrock in Logstedshire, and Technoblade had somehow managed to be the least problematic. 

Dream had to shield his eyes from a fork as he threw Drista out of his SMP again.

(If Dream ever found out that there was actually a second piece of bedrock in Tommy’s chest—)

Chapter Text

George NotFound was just your run-of-the-mill merchant.  BadBoyHalo and George were regular business partners. George met Dream and Sapnap through Bad.

Their first meeting wasn’t anything special, but there was just something that drew the three of them together. They just seemed to click. They became best friends. Dream, in all his ego, called them the Dream Team.

Dream was the one to bring up wanting to settle down. He’d already found a nice clearing within a reasonable distance of the Kingdom. He wanted a place where he could live his life peacefully with the people he loved.

George thought that sounded nice. Sapnap had some loose ends to deal with first, but he’d join them later.

And like that, a house was built in the middle of a lake with chests.

Little by little, more of their friends would join. It was nice. It was nice… 

Bad convinced Dream to get their little land recognized as an SMP. There were enough of them there that they counted as a town. If they were recognized as an SMP, then they wouldn’t need to worry about other territories intruding on their land. Dream had already claimed the land magically, so they just needed to make it official.

Dream thought he could fend off intruders with his magic alone, but what was the point if they could handle it peacefully? George insisted he get over the bureaucratic boringness and get their SMP recognized.

Dream came back from the Kingdom with a little avian brat in tow. Tommy Innit was an obnoxious little thing. He got into everything and drew on the walls like a toddler. Dream found the kid hilarious. George didn’t really get it, but he did warm up to the kid somewhat. Tommy was hyper and loud, but at least he wasn’t an arsonist like Sapnap. 

George just smiled and laughed as the kid ran off and around. He was pretty funny. 

When the sun set, the little bird would whine and mumble out protests. The Community House only had the one large bed originally, but Tommy insisted on sleeping in his dirt. Sometimes, Tommy would have nightmares and run down the path and squeeze himself into the bed.

George never wondered what Tommy had nightmares about. In the end, he didn't really care for Dream’s little bird much.  

George had to be honest: he knew he was oblivious to the events in the SMP. He didn't pay much attention to them. He was more focused on building his little cottage and enjoying himself over getting involved in the others’ affairs. After all, there was always something going on, especially if Sapnap and Punz were involved.

He thought Dream and Tommy’s little argument over Tommy’s discs was just a running gag. He didn't think they actually cared about the discs and we're just having fun play fighting. 

Wilbur declaring independence in their SMP was pretty rude, and George couldn't believe that so many people would side with a drug empire. That was what it was, wasn't it? 

George was pretty annoyed when Dream made Eret the king, but it was whatever. 

George would be the first to admit that he didn't know the full story behind all the conflicts going on. He let himself be dragged along with whatever his friends wanted. 

When Quackity wanted to run against Wilbur for president of L’Manberg, George joined in just to annoy Wilbur. L’Manberg’s walls were a real eyesore. George was also annoyed by Tommy, the little shit.

(Tommy wasn't all that little anymore, but George would always see Tommy as the hyper little bird that ran around and wrote his name on everything— When did Tommy’s wings disappear?)

He ended up oversleeping on the election day, but he wasn't really that bothered.

Ninja had a gilded tongue. George was taken along for the ride, and before he knew it, they were married. George didn't have long to enjoy the high of the honeymoon phase before his new husband was already off on business trips. 

It felt like, with a blink, everything had changed. 

When did Dream get engaged to Fundy? Dream said that he didn't want to get Fundy’s hopes up by accepting a date. When did Dream ally with Schlatt? Dream hated the man on his first visit to the SMP. Even more confusing, when did Dream and Tommy start getting along again? George could have sworn Tommy was still angry over receiving both canon deaths from Dream.

It felt like Dream was getting further and further away from him. It was like they were coworkers instead of best friends — a king and his knight but nothing more. 

Was it his fault for not caring enough?

It was Tommy’s fault. Ever since Tommy entered the SMP, it was just battle after battle, war after war. Tommy Innit was at the center of every major conflict. If it weren't for Tommy, Dream would still be by George’s side, peacefully building houses and tidying their SMP. Dream wouldn't need to wear that mask all the time. 

As Dream dragged Tommy to exile, George knew that this whole situation was bullshit. He also knew that the truth didn’t matter. It was easier to blame all their problems on the kid who was always conveniently there. George didn't care enough to play the white king. 

(George could also blame Tommy for one more thing: Dream would never have met Fundy. George had long accepted that Ninja married him for convenience, but it took Dream walking down the aisle in a white dress to realize he wanted to be in Fundy’s place.

George never claimed to be immune to the call for chaos either as he pulled Dream behind a fountain. He wished his decision was more fruitful than just ruining his best friend’s wedding though.)

George should have been grateful that the assassination didn't take a canon life. In this SMP, where it seemed so easy to come close to perma-death, George should be grateful.

Or maybe, in the grand scheme of the gods, George didn't mean anything. That was a good thing, right? Sapnap also said they didn't mean anything to Dream either. If George up and left, would anyone notice?

(He got his answer after the failed attempt at retaking the throne. No one cared when he left.)

DreamXD wished he could do more. There was only so much he could do to help the people of the SMP without drawing Dream’s attention. With Dream in the prison, he was able to move around a bit more, but he really didn't want to push it… Especially since something was going on over there with Tommy in the thick of it.

He sensed ill-intentions stemming from the Big Innit Hotel’s general vicinity and went to stop it. He really didn't want anyone to ruin Tommy’s hotel, so he distracted George and Quackity. 

Guardian of the SMP, they called him. When had they noticed?

DreamXD was no god, but he was close. If he abused his magic a bit to make George happy, then who would cared to stop him? 

(DreamXD is tied to the SMP. He wasn't there for the wedding. He didn't know—) 

Chapter Text

Puffy loved her new son. Her little parrot was a feral thing, but he eagerly clung to her pants and smiled. She was pretty sure that he understood common language, but he never really talked himself. He did like to laugh though, so Puffy knew what his voice sounded like. 

Ignoring his creepy eyes, he was the most adorable child ever. 

A few port stops ago, Puffy found a book store that carried a lot of children's books, and Puffy bought a lot of them. Since her son seemed to enjoy listening to her talk, she thought that it'd be a good idea to read bedtime stories to him. Maybe it would also encourage him to talk as well. 

She was right. The first time he ever spoke to her, it was to ask her to read his favirite book.

George watched in amusement as Dream pulled out a well-worn storybook from his inventory. Dream pulled George up the hill and positioned him into place. Dream flipped through the storybook and told George not to move. He had the book open and gestured towards the distant walls of L’Manberg.

“One day, George, the sun will set on my time here and will rise with you as the new king.”

George pushed Dream off the cliff. What a sap. It was Dream though. He could believe that his best friend would quote a children’s story. 

Dream laughed, quickly hiding the book right after.

Dream’s storybook was damaged in the railway skirmish. 

It really was his fault alone for sitting on the train tracks. He was just turning the book around in his hands when he got hit by Tommy’s train, and it got knocked into the water. The sheer shock from losing his only connection to his childhood led to his magic going into haywire and respawning him.

To make matters worse, Tommy and Tubbo decided to hold his stuff hostage instead of returning it. He didn't care about his gear as much as they thought he did. The only thing in his inventory that had really mattered was that book.

Dream was aware that there would always be people who hated him. He just ignored them as long as they ignored him because his mother had this sad face when he didn't, and he really didn't like seeing her sad.

Of course, that meant that sometimes some people didn't ignore him. They actually did the except opposite of ignoring him. More often that not, Dream could fight back (his magic was fully developed from birth), but he was still a child. He was still naive in a world that whispered lies. 

And like the hero of the storybook he gripped tightly in his arms, Dream was lured into a graveyard of giants. Unlike in this storybook, he was never rescued.

With only the lie not even death could save him from the nether, Dream dragged himself through the nether with the fear that his mother’s storybook would forever be lost in the flames if he died.

Puffy didn't cut her son’s hair as often as she would like since the bangs covered his eyes, but that was a small price to pay to give him some semblance of normalcy when they ventured into SMPs. She had to keep him hidden from others.

Puffy was a bit worried for him. Her crewmates avoided him like the plague. Despite her grievances about it, their fear was within reason. Even beyond the eerie appearance of his eyes, his mischievous habits were almost like a demon spawn. Demons were never the sort that one would enjoy interacting with, but they were people too.

Luckily for Puffy, her son took to kindness exceptionally well. Maybe that was why when she found him crying in a tree and stretched her arms out for him, he clung onto her and smiled childishly and made her gifts with the prettiest seashells and coral bits he could find. 

Puffy taught her son to be kind. Be kind and kindness would be returned. As long as he kept his eyes covered, this would always be true,

The world wasn't kind. She could only hope that even after her son learned that he would continue to be kind. 

For now, all she could do was read him storybooks and impart their morals onto her little parrot.

Chapter Text

Tommy liked to sit on the roof of his hotel when he had time. The view was lovely, but it also served as a reminder that his well-earned peace was fragile. 

On one side, the unnatural red vines crept up everything and anything. It was just gross to look at. Its source was gross too, but that wasn't Tommy’s problem to unpackage. On the other side was Dream’s prison. 

Tommy had been putting off his second visit. He regretted telling Dream he would revisit him with a chance of forgiveness. While it was mostly a cruel taunt, he never wanted to see Dream again. He should have just said they were done and over with then.

Tommy felt his hands shaking a bit. He needed closure.

Dream was awful. He’d always been awful. He was controlling and spiteful and selfish and… And a long time ago, he was also kind. Dream was once someone Tommy could turn to when he was scared and share his accomplishments with, someone he proudly called a friend and sometimes even a brother.

But those memories were tainted. It didn't matter if they were once close. Dream had ruined any hope of redemption.

Tommy knew Dream. Tommy knew Dream’s flaws and his virtues. They stood side by side and laughed and made jokes. They stood on opposite sides of a battlefield with bows drawn and lives on the line. 

Dream was immature. It was like he never had the chance to grow up, and instead of becoming a world-weary warrior like Techno, he never grew out of his self-centered naivety. 

When Tommy was younger, he didn’t really get it. He was a child, and Dream was fun to be around. Sure, they fought over a lot of things. They were both petty and stubborn and selfish, but at the end of the day, they were friends who had each other’s backs. 

They could insult each other all they wanted, but Tommy knew that Dream would protect him from everyone else. It was just like with Wilbur, Techno, and Phil. They were a family.

( Tommy missed his family, so he asked Dream if Wilbur could visit the SMP. If he knew the future, what should he have done instead?)

Tommy knew Dream better now as his enemy than he did when they were friends.

From the top of the pillar he built over a destroyed Logstedshire, Tommy regained clarity. 

Dream hadn’t been his friend in a long time. Dream hadn't been kind in a long time. When did Dream start thinking of Tommy, of everyone in the SMP, as entertainment ?

Tommy placed a tentative hand over his shoulder. He’d never be able to fly, but he’ll get a glimpse of it from here. Decision made, Tommy took a leap of faith with a bucket in hand. With the bit of magic Dream had taught him all of those years ago, Tommy refused to die.

Dream’s sword missed. Tommy dodged a fatal blow but not quickly enough to miss the flaming aspect sword entirely. He screamed in horror when he respawned and couldn’t feel his wings.

No one knew anything about canon deaths then.

(When anyone met Tommy, the first thing they noticed about the boy were the fluffy downy wings. Dream was by Tommy’s side to watch those wings grow startlingly bright red feathers. He always wanted to see Tommy’s wings in flight. 

Something at the back of his mind twisted irreversibly in that blackstone room when he picked up scorched red feathers. In the Final Control Room, everything changed.)

Chapter Text

Okay. Okay. Not a chapter, just something I want to get off my chest.

You don't understand HOW MUCH I want to include Blob Dream into this. Like, I want to write about Blob Dream so so badly!  Have you seen this animation??? It's so cute. It's so unreasonably cute and just... Blobs. At the moment, the most I can do is make DreamXD a blob that likes to ride on George's shoulder and summon absurd quantities of random materials, but I only have that one stream of non-threatening DreamXD to work off of because otherwise, in my interpretations, DreamXD looks like every other dreamon and that is "biblical angel/eldritch horror."

Anyway, thanks for reading my rant. To make up for your time as I scream about blob Dream: here's an outdated/unfinished character design line-up I drew for Season 3. This is generally how I imagine the characters, but I drew it like a month ago before changing some of their designs again.

Chapter Text

Tommy never had a family before. Even after learning what family was, Tommy was pretty sure that if he had a family, they never would have abandoned him in that wasteland he spent his early childhood in. It was only by the grace of a series of strangers who had nothing better to amuse themselves with that he managed to survive for as long as he did.

Tommy only learned what families were after smuggling his way into the Kingdom. In an SMP as large as the Kingdom, there was bound to be a whole community of orphaned children. Many of them were only recently abandoned (or in worse cases, recently survived), and they shared their stories to whoever cared to hear. 

Tommy, who had been on his own all his life, found it envious. Even though they were on their own now, at some point in their lives, many of them had people who loved them unconditionally. Even Tubbo, who had been alone for much longer than many of them, still remembered being with his father.

Tommy took to Wilbur like a fish to water. Despite his admittedly failed attempt at mugging the tall man (and why was Wilbur so good at fighting when he was just a scrawny librarian), Wilbur cleaned his wounds and gave him warm pastries and a bed to sleep in. Tommy thought that maybe this is what having a family was like.

(The first and only time Tommy called Wilbur dad, Wilbur sat him down and apologized. It was too complicated to explain, but don't misunderstand, they were still family.)

Sometime after Wilbur took Tommy in, Tommy learned the concept of birthday parties. Tommy knew about birthdays for as long as he knew what moms and dads are, but he didn't know that birthdays were big celebrations. On the streets, another year alive meant another year until you were old enough to smooth-talk your way into an apprenticeship or another year until people stopped pitying you.

Wilbur’s birthday was coming up, and Wilbur’s real family would be visiting the library to celebrate. Wilbur’s real family who Tommy had never met.

On the day of, Tommy snuck out of the library before the break of dawn and stayed with Tubbo all day. Tommy didn't want to make Wilbur hate him, so instead of doing crimes, the two just sat in a nearby park and listened to the panhandlers play music. Tommy thought that Wilbur’s playing sounded way better.

When the sun was setting below the trees, Tommy heard Wilbur calling his name.

Tommy and Tubbo made their way to the familiar voice with hesitancy. Poking out from the shrubs they'd been laying in, they were immediately toppled over by an armful of the tall librarian.

Wilbur had been looking for them all day when he noticed that Tommy was nowhere to be found. Tommy knew that Wilbur had been putting up preparations for days for when his family would come today, and he felt terrible for ruining Wilbur’s hard work by worrying him.

Wilbur reassured him. It was fine. It was fine. As long as Tommy was fine too. They could still hold the party tomorrow. Birthday parties didn't have to be on the day of. They didn't even have to be celebrated with family. Sometimes parties had whole sorts of people of various relations. Wilbur had once invited his annoying neighbor to his son’s birthday party. As people grow older, birthday parties don't mean as much, so the birthday was just an excuse to see his family. They could choose any other day to meet if they really wanted to. 

(That's what Fundy was doing. Fundy rarely visited Wilbur.)

Besides, Wilbur really wanted to introduce Tommy to his family. Wilbur wasn't as close to Tubbo as he was with Tommy, but the two boys were best friends and Tommy had full right to invite whoever he wanted.

With the moon rising over the tree, Wilbur brought home two children too young to respawn to meet his brother and father.

Phil cooed over the hybrids. He especially adored the little avian. He hadn't seen wings that soft since before Wilbur was even born. Tommy was so excited to see Phil’s wings. They were so large that they couldn't even fit in the room comfortably. Phil showed off the talisman he had specially crafted to hide his wings and promised Tommy that he would get one when his wings were full-grown too.

Techno was a bit put off from interacting with two orphans considering his reputation as Orphan Obliterator, but the pair just watched him with dumb awe. Tommy was a bit more talkative, but it was mostly stilted small talk.

Overall, the day wasn't terrible. Wilbur and Techno were both adults, so a delayed birthday party wasn't a big deal at all. Techno even thought it was weird they were celebrating their birthdays at all still, but Wilbur insisted that they should always meet up on their birthday.

(Later that night, Techno pulled Tommy to the side and told him that he didn't need to worry about Wilbur having a real family. Tommy was real to Wilbur. If anything, Techno deserved to be the outsider here.)

“You're not using Tommy as a replacement for Fundy, are you?” Phil would ask much later, safe from the prying ears of the children.

“Of course not! It wouldn't be fair to him. That’s why I won't adopt him.”

“I thought you wanted to be his family legally.”

“Phil, I wanted to ask you to adopt him. I can handle being an older brother. Besides, you and Techno like him well enough. I'm sure he’ll be happy to have The Blade as an older brother too.”

“Techno won't acknowledge him.”

“You know how Techno is. Tommy wormed his way into Techno’s soft heart ages ago.”

“You want to be a hero, Tommy? Then DIE LIKE ONE!”

Tommy stood over the hills after respawning from Techno launching a firework at him (and Prime, it hurt so much— no wonder Tubbo still flinched at loud noises). He had run back from spawn just in time to watch the explosions turn New L’Manberg into rubble. 

He was in the perfect position to watch as Philza ran a sword through Wilbur’s chest. (No, no, no no—! Why wasn't Wilbur respawning? Why was he bleeding so much? Why did Phil—?)

“Wilbur Soot. Greatest Musician in town! :)”

Phil was surprised by the crystal clear tears that streamed down Ghostbur’s face instead of the ever-present deep blue. His family had torn itself apart, but at least, right now, they were happy.

Chapter Text

Tommy had been through enough.

Every day was like dragging himself through mud. It was slow and thick and stuck to his scars and dried in clumps in his mind. Every day, he dragged himself out of bed and told himself that it would be worth it.

It was easier to believe it nowadays. It wasn't just because of his hotel. If he put all of his worth into that one thing, he'd break down soon enough. The hotel was his , but it wasn't him . He had never based his worth on what other people thought, and that wasn't going to change just because they blamed him for everything that went wrong.

He was someone who deserved to be happy—— 

Quackity didn’t know what to think. Tommy, the spitfire, the starter of wars, was dead apparently. Tommy was… Gone.

Quackity didn't realize he wasn't breathing until after the lightheadedness became unbearable. He almost didn't want to let himself take in oxygen. 

After everything they’d been through together, Quackity always expected Tommy to go out like a fire. After Manberg vs Pogtopia, after Doomsday, after the Finale, Tommy was at the center of it all. 

It wasn’t like Logstedshire. Quackity remembered how Tommy acted in exile. When Tubbo brought the news of a pillar and the destroyed remains,  Quackity believed it then.

But this? This wasn't how Tommy should die. Not now when everything was peaceful. Not fighting in a tiny cell with Dream when Sam should have been guarding him… But Quackity could see it. 

Quackity rubbed his eyes.

Tommy dying didn’t change his plans. He still had a business to run. He and Jack still had a business deal, and Tommy wouldn't be there to ruin it.

This changed nothing.

(Why did it feel like it changed everything?)

“I didn’t think that Dream would actually…”

Bad had to stifle a laugh at Sam’s choked-up tone. The poor guy failed at his job. Everyone was so upset over Dream nowadays, but honestly, what were they expecting?

Bad didn’t know who raised Dream before Bad found him, but whoever it was must have been a very good person. Bad wanted to be kind too (for Skeppy, always for Skeppy), so he had hope in Dream. 

But Dream was a dreamon at the end of the day. They were evil! That’s just how it went. But unlike Tommy, Dream was trying to keep peace in the server. Just like the Egg! 

Thank prime that Tommy was finally gone! Bad really had to visit Dream again sometime! He’d been so busy with the Egg that Dream must be bored. If Dream manages to escape the prison before then, he’ll invite Dream to the next party!

Tubbo was too tired for this. He wasn't up for bad jokes that he didn't understand. He and Ranboo had spent all day working on their B&B, and he just wanted to lie down.

Tubbo didn't like thinking about when he exiled Tommy. It always reminded him of when he went to visit and found the ruins of Logstedshire below a too tall pillar. He assumed the worst then. Even if Sam thought he was telling the truth, there's no way it actually was true. Tommy couldn't be dead. If he died, it was going to be with a bang. If he was ever going to die, it had to have been weeks ago when they were on their last leg and Dream declared check. 

Even a hero’s death wasn’t good enough for Tommy Fucking Innit. If Tommy had to die, it was going to be as a menace to society. Tommy was being too functional to die. He was– they were finally okay.

Tubbo smiled at Ranboo. He asked Ranboo to remind him to invite Tommy to their wedding.

(They saw the death message. They both knew they were lying to themselves when Ranboo didn’t write it down.)

Dream was alone in the cell again. 

There was blood everywhere. A thick streak of watered-down blood dragged from the corner to the lava wall. The smell of iron almost overpowered the smell of burning– burnt flesh.

He really did it.

Tommy Innit was gone. The fucking menace was driving him even more insane than the isolation.

Dream should have done this ages ago. He just needed to wait for Technoblade to return that favor.

(Tommy stared at the lava wall… Where was Sam?)

Chapter Text

Sam failed.

The explosions had messed with the redstone signals. The cameras went down and the lava dispensers were stuck. Sam wanted to rescue Tommy first, but emergency procedures dictate he handle the source of the security issue first. If he couldn’t solve it in seven days, he could go to Tommy.

Sam hoped against all hope that Dream wasn’t lying about repenting. He hoped so badly that Tommy would be fine.

With a needle to his heart, he swore that he would protect Tommy.

Sam got the cameras up and running. Immediately, he switched to Dream’s cell. Tommy was alive! A little downtrodden and grey but alive! He and Dream were on opposite sides of the cell eating potatoes. Sam let himself breathe a sigh of relief.

Sam ran through the rest of the cameras. After that first round, he checked Dream’s cell again. They weren’t ignoring each other anymore. If anything, they looked like they were about to be at each other’s throats.

Sam shut off the cameras and ran. Why did he have to make the security measures so difficult? Even with his personal passageways, it was taking too long!

He grabbed two potions of fire resistance and dove straight into the lava. He didn’t have time for this! He didn’t have… time… 

Twelve minutes. That’s how long it took for Sam to get there. 

Why was the first thing that he noticed the smell of blood? 

The mask was splattered with red. Dream pointed to the lava with a laugh. 

… Where was Tommy?

Sam couldn’t stand to be in that cell. Even though he wanted to stab Dream until the maniac was unrecognizable as a person, he couldn’t stand to be in the room Tommy died in. Did Tommy cry or did he stay stubborn to his last breath? Did it matter? It was Sam’s fault either way.

Prime, how would Sam Nook react? The AI adored Tommy. Sam had programmed it to be loyal to Tommy, sure, but it had become extremely protective of the kid too. Sam was pretty sure that the AI had attempted to destroy the Egg in order to rescue Tommy and Tubbo, and that was definitely not Sam’s intention.

He had to keep the others from telling Sam Nook for as long as possible.

There used to be a cemetery in L’Manberg with plots reserved for the founding members. Puffy had never seen it, having joined the SMP after November 16. She’d heard about it though, and she thought it was extremely morbid.

Now, Puffy wished L’Manberg was still there. Maybe it would be easier to move on if the deceased had an actual resting place.

Puffy picked up a dandelion. She brought it up to her lips and blew. With all of her heart, she wished for the happiness of everyone. 

She wished that Niki was okay wherever she had disappeared to. She wished that Tubbo wouldn’t be plagued by regrets. She wished that Ranboo could overcome his demons. She wished that Bad, AntFrost, and Punz weren’t controlled by the Egg.

She wished Tommy was alive. She wished Dream was good.

She wished she could do something more for them. As she repurposed the monument in the ruins of Logstedshire for Tommy, she mourned her uselessness. She was unable to change anything no matter how hard she tried or how much she wished. 

She wished it were easy to be happy.

The dandelion seeds dispersed to the wind. One cruelly remained behind.

Chapter Text

Techno was redecorating the Syndicate’s meeting room. The table really did look pretty cool. He wished he knew what it was. He was pretty sure that Phil knew even though he claimed not to, but it probably wasn’t that important.

He was just entertaining the chat with a story when they suddenly exploded.

Techno flinched. What was going on? They seemed pretty happy for the most part. Something to celebrate? Techno wouldn’t give it much thought if it weren’t for the select few voices that were crying.

What about Tommy?

The voices were screaming over each other too loud and too quickly for Techno to catch up. He had to sit down on the ground. They’d never been this loud before. Techno had to pull out his ice-cold water bucket to manage the pain.

When they finally calmed down, the crying voices were the ones to remain.

Tommy was dead.

Oh.

That… That happened? Techno didn’t know how to react. He’d made amends with Tommy some time ago when he went off to his final battle with Dream. 

Techno had accepted that Tommy might die then, but he had whispered a tiny wish into the palms of his hands that Tommy would survive and he did. Tommy even settled down and built a hotel and gave the Antarctic Anarchist Commune invitations to the grand opening.

Where was the grand final speech? Where were the explosions? Where was the last bit of hope?

So this was it? This was how the little raccoon’s story ends? Not with a bang but with a whimper. 

Techno didn’t want to believe it, but why else would the voices bring it up? There weren’t any hard feelings on either of their ends anymore. There was nothing between them anymore at all.

And it hurt so much.

Phil found Techno curled up in his cape beside the end portal. Techno refused to tell Phil why his eyes were red and puffy.

When Tommy was a child, he begged Techno to let him help with the potato war. Techno needed to find some materials, so he took Tommy caving. Tommy was more familiar with caves that Techno would have liked, but apparently the kid had never gone too deep beneath the cave because his food supply would always run out. 

They were well-prepared this time, so Techno decided he could show Tommy how to strip mine at diamond level. Techno warned Tommy that diamonds tended to spawn near lava, so he should be careful.

Strip mining wasn’t dangerous, so Techno had looked away for a few minutes. He heard Tommy’s excited shout then an ear-piercing scream that would haunt him for years.

Techno wasn’t all that great at magic, but he summoned every bit of power he could to warp directly to Wilbur’s library. He ran up the stairs and pulled the crying child into his arms. They never told Wilbur or Phil about it.

But in that moment, Techno promised Tommy that he would protect him from the world. How many times would he break that promise?

“If he takes your final life, that is on you. [The Voices] are going to blame me, but that’s on you.”

Chapter Text

The scars of canon deaths didn’t disappear upon respawning. Likewise, the injuries of a permanent death didn’t heal in the afterlife.

Schlatt had some burns along his right side, and his right horn was chipped fairly badly. The only evidence of his second canon death was an indent at the base of his skull you couldn't find unless you knew exactly where it was. Schlatt looked the least dead of them all since the only evidence of his permanent death was a slight glow in his veins.

Wilbur had a scar along his neck that he wore proudly, mostly to spite Eret. Ghostbur didn’t remember the Final Control Room, so he wore a turtleneck to cover it up. There were a half-dozen knots in his back even though only one of those arrows had speared straight into his heart. Wilbur was never one for regret, unabashedly displaying the bloody hole at the base of his ribcage. 

MD was quite the opposite of Wilbur. He covered up the zombie scars and the bullet mark behind his mask and his heavy jacket. He tried to hide the actual slashes across his chest even though he couldn’t stop the red stains from seeping through the fabric.

Wilbur could sense an opening for Tommy in the great beyond. It was ready to take in a new soul.

Tommy didn't die in the final battle against Dream. Instead, he was peacefully living. He and Tubbo were on their bench listening to a disc they hadn’t heard since L’Manberg’s War for Independence.

There were no threats anymore. Maybe the Egg, but that was someone else’s problem for now. Wilbur was glad that Tommy and Tubbo, the children, were alive and well. They were a little worse for wear, but they would heal.

They didn't need to bring him back to get a happy ending Their attempt to revive him through Ghostbur had only solidified Wilbur’s resolve to stay dead. They were such children. Tommy was such a child, clinging to his older brother even now. 

If they just killed Dream, they’d have their perfect ending. Instead, they locked him up with only a vague hope for resurrecting a man who didn't want to go back.

Wilbur looked to the little blue spirit sleeping carelessly in his hands and sighed. Ghostbur was the one who gave them that hope. Hopefully, their plans would turn out well.

But that damned opening never left. It seemed to grow wider, calling for a soul that was constantly on the brink of death. It was like a wound that only seemed to worsen, painful and leaking a disgusting aura.

(Jack and Niki kept trying. Tommy just barely avoided their attempts. Something or someone was protecting Tommy, but the fates were pulling the thread taught.)

Wilbur watched it grow with dread. 

In life, Tommy had wrapped bandages across his entire body to cover up the fire aspect burns from his first death.

Tommy approached Wilbur with his head down. The faintest outline of juvenile plumage fluttered from behind his back. Wilbur hugged him, ignoring the bruises and the bloody nose and never knowing the fingerprints that dug into Tommy’s neck underneath the cloth around his little brother’s neck.

The opening sealed itself.

Chapter Text

Ghostbur was formed from the echoes of memories that refused to be forgotten. He wasn’t Wilbur any more than an actor was their character, but he was born from Wilbur’s lingering sentiments.

Every memory he had was so painstakingly collected and preserved. Ghostbur only wanted to remember the happy memories though. If he remembered the bad, he was only reminded that Wilbur wasn't actually worth remembering.

No. Wilbur was a terrible person. Ghostbur wasn't Wilbur. But not everything about Wilbur was terrible. There were so many things Wilbur left behind that meant so much to himself and the people around him.

So Ghostbur wrote it all down. Every good thing, he would write down before they were tainted by the memories that would follow. Every good thing was inevitably linked to something painful, but they should be remembered nonetheless.

Ghostbur didn’t write it all down though. Some were more bitter than sweet and better left unsaid. ( Like Fundy growing up too fast. Like the day Tommy called him dad. Like the day Pogtopia won— ) 

L’Manberg was gone now. Every good thing Wilbur had ever brought into the SMP was gone. Ghostbur felt his chest ache at the sight. It was all gone.

On one side, Tommy and Tubbo leaned against each other and sang their anthem. On the other side, Philza, Technoblade, Fundy, and Niki stood over the ruins with pride. 

Was Wilbur the one in the wrong? He had just wanted a place for his family to be free and happy. He must have failed so terribly if his own family thought it worth blowing it to bedrock… 

Why was it that the children had to be the ones to suffer?

“I sowed the seeds of peace, yet I'm the one who pays for war. ”

If Ghostbur was stronger, would he have been able to do something? If he could remember, would he have been able to help? 

He told Tommy he wanted to revive Wilbur. 

(The lightning strike that cut them off must have been the gods’ warning. The scars from that never faded either.)

Ghostbur was a complex being, Wilbur noted.

The blue spirit was a conscious manifestation of the impact Wilbur left in the world. Despite Ghostbur’s desperate attempts to be happy and only remember the good, the spirit was constructed almost entirely of despair. It was hard to not be made of despair when the greatest impact Wilbur had on everyone was blowing up the nation they’d just won back.

Wilbur held the spirit up, pinched between his fingers like a tiny rodent. It was sleeping without a care in the world as if it hadn’t just exhausted all of its power trying to bring someone back from the afterlife.

There wasn’t even a vessel to resurrect him in any way.

Besides, they didn’t need him there. Ghostbur may think otherwise, but Wilbur wasn't needed.

(Ghostbur wasn’t just made of despair and betrayal though. He was also made of hope and determination and love— Wilbur was so truly loved by so many people. They hated his actions and his decisions and his fall from grace, but they loved who he used to be and who he could have been.)

When Wilbur and Techno were still children with gaps in their teeth and growing like weeds, they were a bit too overconfident. They were too unlucky to cross paths with a baby zombie donned in enchanted gold armor. Philza jumped in to save them, but in his panic-induced tunnel vision, a spider knocked him cold.

Philza would wonder why saving them was worth a canon life.

Years into the future, Ghostbur would stare at the second shattered heart on Phil's left wrist and know the answer. The young Wilbur didn't know it yet, but he was destined to go down in history. No matter how many people tried to stop him or cover it all up, even if history itself would forget him... 

Chapter Text

Legend tells of a man who could sing so beautifully that nature danced around him and sang so lovingly that he moved the gods themselves. He charmed all that could listen.

When the sirens' songs lured the Argonauts to their demise, Orpheus played his lyre to pull them back.  

Wilbur Soot saw through Dream’s promises of stability and peace. Maybe it wasn't a lie. Maybe he truly meant them. But Wilbur knew it was a promise made at the cost of freedom.

Dream’s SMP was like a birdcage. Every good thing was under Dream’s strict control. Anything that posed a threat was promptly taken down. Dream played the benevolent king well, but Wilbur saw Dream for what he truly was: an egotistical tyrant.

Wilbur refused to follow Dream’s rule. With nothing but a drug van and a wall of black stone and the people by his side, Wilbur built L’Manberg.

Through a war for their independence and freedom from Dream’s puppet strings, through Eret’s betrayal and the scars that remained after, through fear and failure… Wilbur kept his head high. He could do this. They could win.

(They almost lost. There was a hole in the second heart on Tommy’s wrist.)

It was a stressful thing, being a leader. Wilbur could somewhat understand Dream’s need for control. It was inevitable for conflict to arise so long as the people of their nations were chaotic by nature. Wilbur sighed. Well, they were free to do as they pleased. He’d just have to work harder to keep the nation functioning.

On the day of their wedding, a viper appeared and took Eurydice.  

In grief, Orpheus sang a song so sad even the stones cried with him.

Wilbur remembered the pure joy when the votes were counted. Of course, he’d won. L’Manberg was peaceful under his leadership, so of course, they’d want him.

Wilbur also remembered the pure fear as the flame arrows caught his jacket, and Tommy stood paralyzed. An event like this was bound to catch the eyes of the gods, and Tommy was on his last life. Wilbur dragged Tommy away from the crowd and screamed for him to run.

And in a ravine, they mourned their home. (They cried, but no one heard.)

Orpheus descended into the underworld in hopes of bringing Eurydice back to the land of the living.

Schlatt was democratically elected. He became president fairly under the laws of the L’Manberg— well, Manberg .

Wilbur hated it. He refused to accept it. He should have denied coalition governments. He honestly couldn't believe that SWAG2020 merged with Schlatt. Wilbur wanted to rage. He only let Quackity run against him despite the avian not being a citizen because he thought Quackity had good intentions.

He sorely regretted ever letting them do as they please. It was his nation, and they exiled him .

Sure, Schlatt was democratically elected, but Schlatt crowned himself emperor. He was a tyrant worse than Dream.

Wilbur was going to take L’Manberg back… Even if it meant being the villain.

Orpheus reached the throne room of Hades and Persephone. He played them his song and asked them to let him take Eurydice back.

Hades agreed on one condition.

Wilbur was alone. Everyone would betray him again.

L’Manberg was his dream once. It was a special place for him and his family to live freely and happily. Once.

Wilbur looked to Dream. They hated each other. Dream was a psychopath, and Wilbur was a rebel. They stood on opposing sides with swords drawn and arrows flying. Their very ideologies were in conflict. 

But for now — and only ever now —they would be reluctant allies against a common enemy. Tommy didn't like it, but there was hope for L’Manberg. 

L’Manberg was Wilbur’s heart and soul. He had given everything for this nation. He’d suffered betrayals and deaths and worried and cried and screamed— all for his L’Manberg.

L’Manberg was his symphony, his heart. His heart had since withered with no one to help it beat… 

[Do not look at her until you have left, or she will remain here forever.]

TNT exchanged hands, and a promise was made.

Orpheus could not hear Eurydices’ footsteps follow him.

Wilbur could hear the fireworks go off and blades slicing against each other. They were fighting. They’d just won, and they were already fighting again.

“I don’t even know if the button works anymore. I could– I could press it…” 

Phil turned Wilbur towards him.

The gods were not known for being trustworthy. 

Had he been tricked?

Phil reminded Wilbur what it was all for, the people who it was all for. 

Wilbur knew better, though. Wilbur knew that the L’Manberg he had created would never be the same. The people he’d built it for all hated him. He was a villain who manipulated and lied and cheated. He’d hurt and pushed away the only ones stupid enough to forgive him.

Whether they would come to hate him after this or if they’d hated him before… 

“It was never meant to be.”

And he pressed the button. 

And the walls collapsed.

And a sword ran through his chest.

Orpheus turned to look behind.

Eurydice stared back. Then with a pained smile, she returned to the depths of Hades.

His Eurydice was forever gone from him. Orpheus, once a hero, was a fool.

He sang his sad song to all that could listen.

New L’Manberg had risen from the ashes of November 16.

Ghostbur was born from lingering sentiments so strong they refused to be forgotten. Ghostbur proudly showed off their New L’Manberg to all who would listen. It wasn’t Wilbur’s L’Manberg, but it was a new song to honor the original.

The worshippers of Dionysus, angered that Orpheus would not honor their god, tore him apart.

Philza Minecraft and Technoblade set fourteen withers onto New L’Manberg. They joined hands with Dream to blow the government to bedrock. Governments corrupt. It had ruined so many people.

Fundy sabotaged their supplies. Niki burned the L’Mantree. Eret stepped aside. Jack let it go.

Orpheus continued to sing even in death.

Tommy and Tubbo mourned with a song eternally etched in their hearts. Quackity continued the verses.

Chapter Text

A young woman, the new captain of a small ship of adventurers, found a small child in the branches of a birch tree. In the dead of night, surrounded by things that would gladly kill him, the child cried. The young woman slew the monsters and took the child in her arms.

She was not naive, but she was hopeful. She saw the child’s eerie eyes and knew that he was destined for hardship. She smiled at him, and he grinned back. 

This child was a demon spawn of some kind. She knew that. She knew that he would never be truly good, but she wished that he could at least be truly kind. With all her heart, she wished him happiness.

She expected the worst when he went missing, but when her crew returned with the rainbow scarf she’d knitted for him and pity lacing their words, she was relieved. 

She mourned her little parrot, but at least he would never become evil if he died kind.

Sapnap dragged a boy with eyes of ender into their home. BadBoyHalo had not seen a dreamon in ages. While he knew they weren’t extinct, he most certainly wasn’t expecting to meet one again in the nether of all places. 

The boy did not often speak, and he clutched tightly onto a battered storybook. There were ember scars on the cover, and the edges of the papers were a fragile brown. Although the boy was clearly protective of this book, his own belonging, he gladly shared the words within it with Sapnap. 

Bad was fascinated. 

He’d never met a dreamon nor a dreamon descendant that wasn’t discord incarnated. For this boy’s first course of action to be a gesture of kindness to another child, Bad had to applaud whoever raised him. They must have been a truly good person to raise a dreamon with enough patience and resolve to ingrain kindness into him.

Bad was kind of his own volition. He wanted Sapnap to be kind too. It made living in the overworld easier. Kindness and power opened so many more doors to peace than any act of force or fear could, and peace meant a longer life. Bad would do his best to continue the job of whoever raised Dream.

Maybe one day, they could return to the overworld. They should one day feel the sun and the open fields. 

(Sapnap is a hybrid. Kindness may not be his first instinct, but it is not unnatural.

Dream is a descendant, evolving alongside humankind yet never crossing. Bad wouldn’t be surprised if Dream gave into his bloodline instincts the second kindness failed him.)

The Munchy mercenary group was known far and wide. They were famed professional hunters and magicians, even as young adolescents. This was their entire life. Endless battles, endless violence.

Their career promised wealth and entertainment. While that was true, some of them were tired. They wanted peace. They wanted a place to retire and relax with only the people they trusted most.

Dream was the one who found the spruce forest and set a respawn point as the one with the strongest magic. In the middle of a nearby lake, he and George built a house for when the others finished their responsibilities and could finally join them. 

With the eight of them gathered, the chaos ingrained in their souls tended to flare up. Dream, who had spent his entire lifetime fighting, was often the one who kept the peace between them. Dream was like the older brother scolding his younger siblings for setting each other’s stuff on fire. 

George looked back on those early days with a fondness. Back then, they were happy and had the utmost trust in each other. 

Dream was comfortable enough with them that when Sapnap killed Bad’s fish, Dream had expended an unworldly amount of magic just to bring Mr. Squeegee back. However, this had brought the first sparks of doubt about Dream’s identity. Dream rarely wore his mask in the early days of the SMP, but he looked human. The only nonhuman part about him was his eyes and maybe a slight glow if they were in pitch darkness but nothing much else.

George had suspected Dream to be something like a hybrid of extinct green-eyed endermen, but he was never certain. Bad had warned him not to ask early on.

George had faith in Dream, though. Dream was a bit egoistic, but he was kind. He wanted to trust Dream.

When Dream dethroned George with the excuse that he didn’t want George to die from another assassination, George could only think that that sounded appropriate on paper. But he knew Dream. He and Sapnap better than anyone (except maybe Bad).

They had wanted to trust Dream, and they gladly stood by his for years. It was only because they knew Dream that they also knew he was a narcissist under the mask of kindness he kept up. 

But it still hurt so much when Dream said what they’d all been dreading. 

Dream didn’t care about them. He hadn’t cared in a while. 

Dream, the psychopath, whispered reassurances and lies and threats and promises. He was kind as necessary and cruel as he pleased. Tommy knew better, but he was lonely. He had no one except Dream.

Dream was his friend, and long ago, Dream was like his older brother. Dream cared back then. They used to have fun back then. Even when they were enemies, without another battle breathing down their necks, they were still friendly.

Tommy’s head was all spinny when Dream smiled at him. He hadn’t realized that he hadn't seen Dream’s face in years, not since before Wilbur. It’d been so long since then — two wars and so many more days.

Tommy took Dream’s hands and played along even though he knew it was all a lie. Right now, though, alone and exiled, betrayed by his best friend and his family, Tommy basked in Dream’s kindness, the same kindness that had taken Tommy away from the lonely library and to this SMP where everyone he would care about would reside.

Tommy was lonely. He clung onto the green bastard and let his friend run a hand through his hair and tell him lies. 

Worst of all, Tommy couldn’t tell if Dream was deluding himself just as much as he was manipulating Tommy. Dream was awful.

Dream was kind. Puffy had taught him to be kind. Bad had wanted him to be kind. George and everyone else believed that he was kind.

Therefore, Dream was kind. He smiled and made friends and gave people his time and energy. He was generous. He was friendly. He was kind. 

(But kind is not good, and kind is not nice. 

Truly good people did not blackmail others to keep them under their control. Truly nice people did not treat them like game pieces. Truly kind people did not liken themselves to gods.

But Dream was not good, nor was he nice, nor was he tethered to reality.)

As he gleefully pulled the salt and iron and water from the blood that puddled around the floor and permeated the very air and tainted the pool in the corner, he created a new vessel for Tommy, one that would be susceptible to a soul that had already crossed the border of the dead.

He really hadn’t planned to kill Tommy, but Tommy was such a menace. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He didn’t think he’d be able to successfully recreate the ritual without the book in front of him, but he was quite a genius after all.

He’d memorized that book so long ago in his fascination. Wasn't he so kind to bring Tommy back from the afterlife when he could have just left him in the terrible void Tommy had described?

Tommy screamed.

What was so wrong, Dream wondered. Tommy should be ecstatic that the revival book was real. He even offered to share the knowledge, and they could be immortal together.

Wasn’t that so kind of Dream?

Chapter Text

DreamXD claimed himself to be the protector of Dream’s SMP. No one had ever seen him before, but it wasn’t rare for entities to spring out of the woodwork with enough magic.

He did his job. He kept everything stable. He was stability if not peace. He only did what was necessary. Let them have their wars, as long as they didn’t destroy the land or wipe out each other.

DreamXD only had a vague connection to Dream’s memories, but those memories only lasted up to the exorcism. From what DreamXD noticed about Dream in the few moments that they were near enough to each other, Dream’s magic was nearly depleted.

But while DreamXD did not carry over any of Dream’s memories, the sentiments and importance he placed on them did persist in DreamXD. It was hard to revel in good feelings when the founding members had since left the SMP.  When they had been around, they were like beacons of happiness and nostalgia. He liked watching them when they were in the area, but recently, they’d been outside of the SMP more often than not.

Alyssa had been gone for longer than DreamXD had been alive. Callahan came and went, barely sparing a second glance to the event around him. Sapnap and George had since moved beyond DreamXD’s sight.

(DreamXD could not enter the Badlands where BadBoyHalo and Awesam Dude resided despite it still being his territory. The Egg crawled beneath his skin and fed off of his magic, using it against him. It was a parasite.)

One day, George finally returned with an empty stomach, emptier pockets, and a lust for chaos. As much as DreamXD missed him, he’d rather the hotel the child had commissioned Sam to build still be standing nice and neat.

George had only ever heard of DreamXD from the others in passing. He was never in the area when the so-called god of the SMP was dealing with troublemakers.

The god wasn’t relevant to George.

But DreamXD was interesting. The god appeared just as George and Quackity approached Tommy’s hotel with hostile intentions. DreamXD was a terrifying visage of terrible green eyes and light. The only comprehensible visual of the god was the white mask that resembled Dream’s mask. 

It made sense for a god born for an SMP to resemble the founder who invested their magic into the land. DreamXD was still pretty hard to look at even as he cheerfully led them to the McDonald’s construction site. 

DreamXD must have realized that his current form was too inconvenient for their purposes, so he’d condensed himself into an inconsistently-sized blob. That same smiley face looked at George adorably as it hopped onto his shoulder. 

DreamXD had the same voice as Dream. George tried to ignore the thought that he’d almost forgotten what Dream sounded like.

The ritual Tubbo and Fundy used on Dream was meant to separate a dreamon from its host. Tubbo had to tweak the ritual to suit the situation since Dream wasn’t a host to parasite. He was acting from his own instincts. When Dream was split apart, the ritual split him arbitrarily. The physical form remained and the magic concentrated elsewhere.

A cloud of pure magic and sentiments lingered over the land it had created.

(DreamXD was not a protector of L’Manberg. He was not interested in its destruction.

The lingering sentiments Ghostbur was born from had the potential to be the protector of L’Manberg, but it was too unstable and tainted to function. 

He disliked Ghostbur because although Ghostbur was faulty, Ghostbur knew too much. )

Chapter Text

Wilbur Soot did not resemble his father in the slightest. Strangers would sooner assume Tommy Innit was Philza’s biological son before they even glanced at Wilbur.

Wilbur couldn’t blame them. Even after Tommy lost his wings, people would assume they were at least somewhat blood-related. Phil said the reason Wilbur didn’t look like him was his mother was a shapeshifter (although Wilbur didn’t remember that at all).

But even beyond the physical appearance, Wilbur had always felt distant from Phil due to the dissimilarities in their interests. Wilbur was always stuck on the side when Phil would teach Techo with nothing to share with Wilbur, but Wilbur was uninterested. In the world they lived in, violence was the universal language. Wilbur had always felt like his opinions were only a joke to the people around him.

But at the very least, Wilbur knew his dad was proud of him even if he didn’t understand him.

Wilbur had almost permanently died by his own potion experiments. Phil wanted to cry when Wilbur laid still on his bed, his form fading in and out and supplemented solely on bottles o’ enchanting that Phil was lucky enough to have stored up after a wandering trader passed some time ago.

Of all the things Wilbur had to take after Phil, why did it have to be the one thing Phil never wanted to touch again. Phil sighed into his hands. Why did Wilbur even get into experimenting with magic?

(Phil didn't have the time to scold Wilbur because his son had already up and left to chase after Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy in a new SMP—)

Philza Minecraft was born in a land forsaken by magic. Even gods looked upon it with disdain. Respawning was never certain, and glitches in reality could so easily take even the most cautious hermit. To make matters worse, a Tyrant ruled the land with an iron first and a portal to an unknown dimension filled with riches.

Philza was not the greatest warrior among them, but he knew things that went overlooked by many. He knew more about the world they lived in than any book available. It was how he stayed alive in a land that called for permanent death.

He didn’t fight often — theory could never match practice — but he wanted the Tyrant to fall as much as everyone else. He researched enchantments and spells. He looked into respawning and permanent death. Although his name would never go down in history and he had never majorly contributed in previous battles, all of his efforts would pay off for this final moment.

The Tyrant was slain by Angel of Death. Angel of Death was killed by [Magic Overload].

Philza used to receive letters from Wilbur. Their communicators didn’t always have the most stable connection, so they exchanged letters instead.

Tommy often sent letters too, but his letters were more sporadic. Tommy didn’t have much in the way of an attention span when it came to letter writing, and they weren’t the most readable either. Techno wrote even less than Tommy, and they were always comedically short.

Generally, Philza preferred Wilbur’s letters over the other two’s. They were well-written, decently long, and consistent.

Philza fondly recalled the letters about forming a new government, a little nation called L’Manberg founded with friends and family. Tommy usually sent complaints about the owner of the SMP they’d broken off with, but he was sure they were doing just fine.

Wilbur was a revolutionary. When Phil read that first batch of letters, he was worried for Wilbur. Despite the many years of peace since his youth, he could never forget the sheer terror of his time at the heart of a rebellion. The only things soothing Phil’s heart were Tommy’s letters complaining about Dream being a petty motherfucker rather than an honest-to-god egomaniac like the one Phil had permanently killed.

When Philza was young, he also fought a war for freedom. He died and respawned far away before he ever got the chance to witness the birth of a new nation. Even after, he kept to himself or in small communities. While he did not necessarily have a good opinion on governments, he still carried a small seed of hope for what might have been.

And then the letters stopped. Phil wasn’t too worried, though. Techno had joined Wilbur and Tommy, so it seemed like they’d delegated the letter writing to Techno. Phil wished he could hear from Wilbur more, but it was nice to get Techno’s perspective. Techno seemed to be bored, which was a good sign!

And then Techno stopped writing. And Tommy sent small pleas for advice. And Wilbur sent honeyed lies that screamed of delusion.

And Phil only knew so much, but he was terrified. Without even packing a bag for the journey, he took flight.

Phil’s wings were as strong as iron. The feathers had toughened over time, enough to form a shield to protect Wilbur from the explosion. The pain from the shattered bone and splintered feathers forced Phil to hide them back within its similarly cracked talisman. Despite his sacrifice, Wilbur’s glazed eyes and crazed smile begged for death.

"All that hard work, and it's ruined."

Later that week, after helping Tommy and Tubbo build over the crater renamed to New L’Manberg, he learns the full story of Wilbur’s nation.

Behind closed doors, Phil screamed into his hands.

Wilbur was a lot like his father, but not when it mattered most.

Chapter Text

Eret was a false king, and everyone knew it.

They were nothing more than a figurehead for Dream to control, a pretty face with a meaningless crown. Nevertheless, Eret tried. If not for their own pride, then it was to prevent their betrayal of L’Manberg from being pointless.

They’d already fucked up in the Final Control Room. Their reputation was in shambles, never truly recovering despite the forgiveness they worked hard to earn. They would never truly be king in the eyes of the SMP’s residents, but they would do their best to make it work. (Tommy’s acknowledgment was one step in the right direction.)

Jack’s insistence on taxes reminded Eret of a policy that hadn’t been enforced since the end of the first L’Manberg war. Dream was the one who used to collect taxes for the war effort, but he suddenly got distracted by the Manberg vs. Pogtopia War. Eret had too, but they’d tapped into their personal treasury and never noticed the stagnated SMP treasury.

With it all done and over with, Eret had taken the time to revisit the SMP’s original laws. 

Punz was the acting leader now that Dream was imprisoned, which meant that Punz was often out of the SMP dealing with the foreign affairs of nearby SMPs like the Kingdom. Dream’s SMP as a whole territory was split into so many different factions that it was only recognizable by virtue of the land having been magically claimed by Dream’s magic and centered around one spawn.

From the beginning, Eret was the king only of the Greater Dream SMP. Whatever Eret did would only ever apply to still considered themselves citizens (and honestly, Eret hadn’t realized how many people were freeloading off of the neutral territory until they’d made a list). 

They left the SMP to handle personal affairs for only a few months, and Dream incited a rebellion and ended up in prison. Eret, despite being king, never had much power. It was always Dream handling everything.

But Dream was locked up, and the SMP was a hot mess. There were red vines, creeper holes, and griefed structures absolutely everywhere. L’Canyon was technically part of the Greater Dream SMP again, and there was still the museum they’d been working on. This would take time and money to fix up, and Eret was just one person. They centered their crown and proceeded to make plans.

First order of business: collect overdue taxes. Eret didn't have the same influence Dream had, so they'd need some sort of enforcement... like withers.

“If it gets things done, it gets things done.”

Eret laughed disappointedly. Wow, they sounded like a tyrant. 

Eret stood at the edge of the crater. Like everyone else, they didn’t particularly enjoy coming out here. It was only a reminder of lost hope and broken dreams to so many of the people here. Eret themself didn’t believe in L’Manberg — they betrayed it for a reason — but they recognized everything the nation and its people had been through. Through betrayals and forgiveness and spite and destruction, L’Manberg persisted. 

Eret built the original black stone walls that once protected L’Manberg. Now look at it, blown up thrice with only an obsidian grid dangling in the sky to mark the borders of a nation lost to time.

Wilbur was a great leader who inspired confidence in his people. Eret greatly respected Wilbur. They just wished they’d been a bit more confident in return, then maybe Wilbur and Tommy never would have lost their first canon lives. Maybe the rest of history would have stayed the same, but at least, they would have had one more chance, one more life to spare. 

Instead, there was a ghost that smiled while crying, formed from a hero that died a villain. Instead, there was a memorial to a child that had left his mark on everything in the SMP. 

Eret hoped they were doing the right thing by them.

Chapter Text

Puffy woke up in a forest.

A face with a pair of black lenses grinned down at her. Her mouth moved on its own to call out their name — “Eret!” — but she couldn’t figure out why. Her mind was too fuzzy for her to properly wrap her head around the situation, so she let herself be dragged around, acting solely on instinct.

By the end of the tour, when she finally let herself lie down in a bed and sort out her thoughts, she came to a startling realization: she couldn’t remember anything.

She couldn’t tell anyone. They would never treat her the same if they knew that she wasn’t who they thought she was.

(She had even forgotten that Eret and Bad knew her from before…)

Puffy once had a large ship always bustling with the activity of her crewmates. She wasn’t famous nor was she wise, but she was a captain responsible for her crew’s lives.

She wasn’t a captain anymore. When she decided to set sail for her quest, she decided to do it alone.

The red coat draped down from her hands. She gave the fabric a good shake then pulled it onto the dress form that also donned her gold-rimmed ltricorne. Alone at sea, with only the small boat she had traded her original ship for, Puffy didn’t need to keep up appearances. A simple cardigan and her rainbow scarf were enough for the voyage.

Puffy docked her ship in the ports of the great Kingdom. Surely, they would have something of worth here. 

And they did. 

Years ago, there was a little library in the dark alleys. Apparently, the owner was an alchemist. Everyone in the area knew about it. The kids willing to talk to Puffy talked about how there would be an explosion from the attic every now and again, and they could hear the frustrated cursing from the librarian.

The library had since been closed after a particular explosion and the impromptu vacation of said librarian though. The librarian’s younger brother had boxed up all of the books with the intent of shipping it off to somewhere, but that never ended up happening. And since no one ever bought the store after, there were still boxes left behind and books scattered about for anyone to read.

There were books detailing events and ideas that Puffy could never have even conceived of by herself. Maybe one of these books would point in a direction for her family’s curse! 

And there was.

But the book was unfinished. Puffy didn’t know what she was expecting. So many of the books in this library were unsigned. They were all entries on potion experiments that yielded unsatisfactory results. Puffy had to find the author of the books. Surely, surely they would know!

For the next four days, she would pour over every book in that library hoping to piece together something . She even dug through the notes left on the floor or pinned to the walls and lost behind the dusty cabinets.

Most of it led nowhere until she found a single letter. Whoever wrote it was on the verge of being illiterate, but it was still somewhat comprehensive. Dream’s SMP, it said. That’s where someone who lived in this library had moved to. Maybe they would know. 

But there were no maps of any land named Dream SMP no matter where she looked. It was like the place either didn’t exist or was actively hiding its tracks. 

Having reached a dead-end, she went back to her ship for the night. The Kingdom was large. There may be more clues, so she would stay in the area. . But in the seaside market, she bumped into a person with a crown and sunglasses. It was a fateful meeting, although she wouldn’t know it until later.

Eret told her about their SMP. It was a quaint place, small. There was currently a coup d’etat going on one of its independent territories, so Eret was in the Kingdom to collect supplies to help it. Eret told her to visit when she had the time.

While Puffy wasn’t particularly interested in a new SMP, she was surprised to find out that it was founded by a famous mercenary group. She even knew one of them personally. BadBoyHalo was a rival of hers, but they were on good terms. She hadn’t seen the man in years.

When Captain Puffy first met Bad, their paths had crossed by chances, both aiming for the same treasure. This would happen many times over the years.

After crossing swords on multiple occasions, they would eventually fight back to back against a common enemy. Bad was forced to drop the antelope hybrid disguise he used in front of strangers. Puffy screamed at the sight of the three-meter tall demon — a real, pure-blood demon! The initial terror was quickly overshadowed by the familiar voice anxiously shouting language.

(Captain Puffy left Bad the day before Dream and Sapnap reunited with him.)

Chapter Text

Obviously, I have far more ideas for the Dream SMP than what fits in this world interpretation, so I made a separate fic for them. Unlike this one where all of the chapters are connected along one timeline and in one world, Jade-Tinted Glasses is going to be a compilation of different universes and timelines.

I'll be updating Halcyon Days and Jade-Tinted at random, but I’ll try to keep posting daily. As much as I want to write for Halcyon Days, there's so many cliffhangers going on in everyone’s lore that I don't want to tap into just yet. Gonna have to wait for new streams on the Dream SMP to go up.

Anyway, new fic is the second in the same series as this fic. 

Chapter Text

Dream stood over Tommy’s crooked body with a crooked grin.

It really was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He hadn’t planned to kill Tommy — quite the opposite, really — but Tommy was just so annoying. Dream wanted to just punch his mouth in and strangle him with his bare hands. So he did.

He didn’t really think it through. Considering he meant to use his knowledge from the revive book on Tommy, his corpse was a bit too damaged for revival. Even if Dream pulled his soul back, he’d just die immediately from the head trauma.

Tommy’s corpse was useless. Dream disposed of it in the lava wall.

Right on time too. Dream cackled when Sam burst through the lava just a minute too late. Once Sam left, Dream got to working on creating a new vessel for Tommy.

Dream’s magic had been waning since Schlatt’s administration for some unknown reason, but he had enough magic to pull the elements out of ingredients. It was pretty useless in terms of escape (and incredibly useless back when Tommy killed him twice, surrounded by all those traitors—), but it was enough for his intended purposes this time.

Without a body, Dream had to craft a vessel of salt and iron pulled from Tommy’s blood. Luckily, there was plenty of that in the cell. 

The vessel didn’t really look like much yet, Dream mused. With an excited grin, he dragged Tommy’s soul back.

He watched with wide eyes and a cheshire grin as the white lump stretched and bubbled, molding itself around the soul within it.

“Tommy. Wake up.”

Tommy opened his eyes.

Dream was amazed. He wasn’t sure if it would work considering his scant resources. There was also the possibility of forgetting a key detail during the revival process, but he shouldn’t have doubted himself.

But it worked! The only slight issue was that the doll Tommy was made from didn’t take color very well. It made sense somewhat. Dream didn’t have any dye to aid in the process, so Tommy was stuck with corpse-white skin, splotches of white hair in already faded blond, and eerily pale eyes.

Honestly, Dream had to admit he looked better this way. Tommy didn’t look so loud .

And then Tommy screamed because, of course, he did. Dream took it back about Tommy not looking loud.

Tommy’s skin crumbled like sand. Tommy wailed in pain with every touch. His mind blurred with pain, stuffed with nails and scraped with sandpaper. 

Pinching was like a knife gouging through his skin. Don’t even get him started with the actual fucking lava. Thankfully, in that tiny cell, Dream didn’t do much in the way of actively torturing him, satisfied with Tommy’s screams from him pinching every now and again.  

Fall damage felt like shattering bones. 

Tommy didn’t cry. He didn’t cry. He couldn’t cry. The prickling at the back of his eyes burned so badly. He just wanted to keep his eyes shut and curl into a ball and scream .

Blue sky. Green grass. The wooden path. A weird painting of him and… Harambe? What the fuck. Why is there a massive penis on the mansion?

Tommy shook his head and looked away. That was enough of a surprise to shock the pain right out of him.

With a shuddering breath, he bit into a steak and let the natural regeneration take root. He just wanted to go home.

Tommy Innit was born with wings. In the Final Control Room, a fire aspect blade burned them off. Tommy was still young then. He was too young to be fighting in a war. He was so young his wings hadn’t even grown primaries yet.

It had been years since then. Tommy never learned to fly. Phil had been so distraught when he found out. 

Tommy didn’t know that the body he was in was not the one he was born in. A vessel made from forbidden magic to host a resurrected soul was unpredictable. 

(Tommy did not notice the stubs growing from his back. He would soon.)

Chapter Text

Sam Nook blinked to life. Its mechanical raccoon ears twitched back and forth as its AI calibrated. Its job was to build and protect the Big Innit Hotel. Its primary purpose was to ensure Tommy Innit’s safety. Sam Nook was programmed for Tommy Innit.

AweSamDude stood next to a robotic Animal Crossing copy. Tommy stared at it warily. Sam Nook, Sam had cheekily called it. 

The raccoon-themed robot was painted green and wore a yellow hardhat. It insisted that Tommy also wear a hard hat even though Tommy’s current armor was leagues better than the worksite’s hard hat. It’s little metal raccoon ears swiveled whenever it was thinking. It tilted its head sometimes when deciding what to say.

Tommy really liked the animalese voice it played while its words were projected onto the screen where its mouth would be.  It was even connected to Sam’s communicator!

But Tommy was Tommy. He wouldn’t take a good thing like this at face value.

He always felt guilty for being mean to Sam Nook though. The robot was only doing its job. It never complained, and it even complied with Tommy’s irrational demands. If Tommy didn’t know better, he would say that Sam Nook was fond of him.

After that farce of a final battle against Dream, everything was great. It wasn’t perfect — they still had a whole boatload of trauma to unload first, but they were unconditionally happy. 

For the first time in years, they could sit down and listen to their music discs. Sure, they were replaceable, but these music discs were theirs. These discs had their names inked onto the labels and peeling stickers stuck onto the back. They were memories, a symbol of their friendship. They were a promise they had made together before Wilbur, before the SMP, when it was just the two of them against the world.

For the first time in a long time, Tommy was able to live. There no lingering threat of death, no fear of war. He didn't have a family waiting for him with a warm meal or a house filled with life, but he had friends he could visit or who could visit him. He had his hotel to build.

Sam Nook wasn't warm, but he would always be there to greet Tommy.

Tommy wasn’t fine, necessarily, but this was reality. Tommy Innit was a boy who had been rejected by everyone around him. He was never going to be anyone’s top priority. He was annoying. He was loud. He was crude and selfish and stubborn. That’s what everyone told him. Besides, he'd been declared dead a week after getting locked up in the prison and stuck there for a whole month.

It only made sense that everyone would realize that they led better lives without him.

Even Tubbo had started up a perfect little family with Ranboo. Tommy had no place in his best friend’s life anymore. 

A long time ago, Tommy and Tubbo sat at their bench and whispered plans to run away. They had the chance to leave it all behind them, together.

Tommy sat on that same bench wondering if he should take that chance again. He would be alone, but there was nothing left for him here. He could leave and nothing would change— No. Tommy still had something left to do.

He had to kill Dream. Only then would he feel safe.

Sam Nook wouldn't stop him.

Chapter Text

Tommy Innit was a lot to get used to. He was a lot in general. A lot of noise. A lot of movements. A lot of personality. A lot of feathers. He was really annoying, but he was easy to warm up to. The child was hard not to love.

Philza adored the little avian. He thought that the way Tommy’s downy wings fluffed up threateningly over anything and everything was funny, and it was incredibly endearing when Tommy would bring him random shit as presents like a cat would. The kid was an annoying little shit, but he was kind and caring and fun. He was like the sun rays of a hot autumn days.

Ever since Wilbur found Tommy, he was the happiest he’d been since Fundy grew up and left. Even Techno warmed up to the kid, swearing to protect Tommy under his breath when he thought Phil couldn’t hear. 

From the other side of Wil’s library, Phil watched in amusement as Tommy sat on Techno’s shoulders with a wood sword in hand, and together, they chased Wilbur and Tubbo around. Raucous laughter filled up the space as Wilbur convinced both kids to turn on Techno and pile on top of the warrior. 

Phil took another sip from his mug. 

Yeah, Tommy was the perfect addition to their small family.

“Do it Phil. Kill me. Kill me!”

Wilbur pushed his sword into his father’s hands. There was a mad glint in his eyes and a twitch in his insane smile.

Phil tried to throw the sword to the side, but Wilbur gripped it tighter until he was bruising Phil’s fingers. Phil was terrified. This was his son, the child he’d given life to and wished nothing but happiness for.

Phil hadn’t been this terrified since Wilbur had almost permanently died from his own potion experiments years ago. Even that was like a fraction of the sheer dread Phil felt now. That felt terrible then, but Phil knew how to handle magic sickness. There was hope back then.

With the leather-wrapped grip firm against his palm, Phil couldn’t deny that this was inevitable.

Phil had seen the two broken hearts on Wilbur’s left wrist. He saw the horizontal slash on the first and holes piercing the second. He knew that the choice he made here could never be taken back.

The psychotic and desperate expression on Wilbur’s face would haunt him for years to come. Could he stop it? Could he do something else? Could he do something more?

The answer was no. He had arrived too late to challenge fate.

For the second time in his very long life, Philza Minecraft slaid the villain.

He didn’t have any time to cry. His other two sons were fighting out there. (Why was Techno attacking Tommy and Tubbo? He had to save them—)

Tommy couldn’t look Philza in the eye anymore. He always kept his head down around the man. Nevertheless, he stuck to Phil’s side like a clingy cat. Phil couldn’t pay him too much attention or else he’d lash out and leave. 

Phil couldn’t blame him. Tommy had watched from the edge of the crater as Phil ran a sword through Wilbur. Phil wanted to wrap his youngest son up in a blanket and protect him from the world, but Tommy would never let him do that after everything.

Tommy was so confused and felt so betrayed. Wilbur blew up his home, Techno sent withers after him, and Phil killed Wilbur in front of him. Phil could do nothing but turn a blind eye as the child lashed out at everything and everyone. He turned away too far though. Like always, he was too late to stop anything.

Tommy was exiled. No one could tell Phil where to.

Phil sat Tommy down on Techno’s bed. He set out some fresh bandages and regeneration potions on the bedside table and got to work cleaning the blood from Tommy’s forehead. 

The kid already had so many wounds. When Techno called Phil over to his retirement home to help Tommy, Phil had blanched at the assortment of old and new scars and half-healed lacerations and burns. There was no good reason for a child to have this many scars. It reminded Phil of when he rescued Techno from that fighting pit when the piglin hybrid was too young to even respawn.

Phil had needed to wrap Tommy head to toe in bandages then. Techno had wanted to help at first, but Tommy had pushed Techno away and called him a traitor.

There were still black marks from the wither effect on Tommy’s torso even though November 16 was months ago. There were some poorly cared for first-degree burns on his legs as though he stood too close to lava too many times. There were more explosion burns on his arms and shrapnel lacerations littering his cheeks. 

Phil’s smallest saving grace was that bloody gash on Tommy’s forehead was a superficial wound caused by the kid recklessly running around and tripping over a rock.  Honestly, it almost gave Phil a heart attack, but the kid was fine. It was just a surface wound. There wasn’t any blunt force trauma or even a deep bruise. 

They’d really all failed to protect their youngest family member, hadn’t they? They would do better this time. Wilbur was gone now, but they could try to be a family again. Even though Tommy refused to look at them for too long. Even though Tommy would flinch if they moved too quickly.

Techno and Tommy had gone out to commit minor terrorism like they usually did. Techno came home without Tommy. He was silent as he laid his head on Phil’s shoulder and silently shook.

Phil wondered if this was inevitable. Their family was doomed the moment Wilbur died at his hands. Tommy choosing L’Manberg over them was inevitable when he hadn’t trusted them in a long time. 

It was just him and Techno now.

Tommy Innit was a lot of things. Loyal was one of them. He put his heart and soul into everything he did and towards everyone he loved. 

He had been through a lot of things too. Multiple wars, multiple explosions. He’d lost his home so many times. He’d lost his loved ones many times more. He’d lost a lot of things. He held onto what he had like a lifeline. 

L’Manberg and everything it represented and everyone it was represented by were his everything. Tommy was loyal. To L’Manberg, to Wilbur, to Tubbo—

Even though Techno and Phil were his were Wilbur’s family, even though Tubbo had yelled at him and exiled him and abandoned him, Tubbo wouldn’t hurt him. Tubbo wouldn’t tell him to die like a hero as he threw fireworks and withers at him. Tubbo wouldn’t run a sword through his chest because he was a villain. 

(Tommy called out to Phil. Techno wanted him dead. Wilbur was dead. Tubbo had almost been dead. He wanted Phil. It was all too much. He wanted his family to save him. He didn’t want to die here...)

Chapter Text

Tubbo and Ranboo met on the prime path. Tubbo was the newly instated president of a recently blown up L’Manberg. Ranboo was drawn into the new nation like a moth to a flame-like everyone else.

It was on that first day, taking a shortcut through the nether, that they also ran into a little zombie piglin terrified out of its wits. The little thing stared at them with wide eyes, clutching tightly onto an eerily calm chicken. 

It wasn’t special. It wasn’t like fireworks or a sudden spell. At the time, they didn’t know anything would change. 

The child was feverish, and his right eye was festering. Even so, the piglin child clutched onto their pants and looked towards his chicken. In broken common tongue, he smiled and asked for seeds to feed the chicken. Tubbo and Ranboo were caught by surprise by the child’s overworld knowledge. The piglin child must have been born in the overworld.

The two of them were painfully ill-equipped to take care of a child then. Not only had Ranboo just arrived in the SMP with empty pockets and not only was Tubbo still reeling from the responsibilities of rebuilding a nation, but the two were also still teenagers. But they promised to return and bring the child they named Michael back to the overworld with his chicken. 

So Ranboo offered food, and Tubbo built a small shelter. The best they could do was dig a small hole in the side of a hill and craft a makeshift boat in place of a bed and storage. They cleaned up Michael’s wounds and laid him asleep, clean and warm, in the boat. It would have to do for now. Hopefully, it would be enough for Michael to survive.

It had been a stressful two years. A lot of things had happened: exile, betrayal, and loss. L’Manberg was permanently gone with no hope of rebuilding. Snowchester was safely protected by the walls, a refuge for the lost. Ranboo was settled in the Arctic Anarchist Commune. Tubbo had nearly died but ultimately won against Dream with Tommy by his side.

They were finally free from their fears. They finally had time to just live. Ranboo and Tubbo finally had the time to be friends without the constant worry of being used, nothing but tools at the hands of their enemies and allies alike.

Finally at peace, they remembered a child from the nether.

They had spent a bit of time trying to remember where they had left the child, hoping that Michael was still alive and safe. 

Ranboo tried not to think of the worst-case scenario. Sure, he knew that Michael had just caught the overworld illness that zombified nether piglins, but he still hoped that Michael hadn’t straight-up died.. 

Ranboo tentatively pushed aside the blackstone block covering Michael’s shelter. To his relief, the chicken was excitedly clucking at them, safely held in Michael’s arms while Michael was comfortably sat in his boat. Michael ran over to Ranboo, a tiny hand raised up and begging to be carried. Michael still remembered them.

“I’m sorry we’re late,” Ranboo whispered as he picked up the piglin child and chicken in his arms.. “I’m sorry for leaving you here for so long.”

Of course, there would always be difficulty in carrying children and chickens over long distances, especially when magic was involved. The portal just wasn’t working. No matter what magic tricks they attempted, they couldn’t figure it out.

Neither Ranboo nor Tubbo specialized in any type of magic, nevermind dimensional magic. BadBoyHalo, a nether demon, did his best to assist them, but there was little he could do when magic itself seemed to reject the piglin child and his chicken.

Much to their collective distress, the pair was launched into the lava below. Michael was knocked out in the process, but his chicken didn’t make it. (The chicken was always there for Michael. Michael woke up without his chicken and cried for days until Ranboo returned with a tiny chick. The new chick wasn't a replacement but a new friend.)

Michael picked up his chicken and climbed onto the windowsill to look out upon the snowy city. One day, he would be able to go outside.

He was always a sickly child. That was why he’d been abandoned in the nether in the first life. Despite coming from a line of overworld piglin hybrids, he still caught the zombie virus. The illness had festered away at his right eye, and it was only by the grace of his new dads and a bit of luck that they had prevented it from worsening to the rest of his body all those months ago. 

Michael wanted to go outside and play in the snow. One day, he reminded himself. Not yet.

He wasn’t bored though! He had plenty of crayons and paper to draw on and a whole selection of toys in chests. Sometimes, his dads’ friends would visit him and their kids would visit too. Ghostbur always brought over gifts. Foolish Jr. liked to color with him. Michelle liked to play make-believe and tag.

And at the end of the night, his dads would tell him stories of L’Manberg, a legendary nation of hopes and dreams. They told stories of the great war hero Big T. His dads would both laugh every time, an inside joke that Michael would never understand until he met the real Tommy Innit.

Chapter Text

Sapnap pulled Karl into a kiss. It was one of many, unremarkable in the long span of their relationship. Karl giggled against his fiancé’s mouth. Quackity ran over to them, and the two of them pulled their short fiancé into their arms. It was perfect—

James nursed a glass of whiskey in both hands. He glanced over to the pretty brunet in purple dancing with Leiaria. The brunet separated from Leiaria with a polite smile and a bow. He turned towards the buffet table, and his eyes met James’s. 

James had just divorced his wife, and she’d taken their kids and a part of the business too. It was terrible. His whole life was falling apart before his eyes, but he looks at the pretty brunet and thinks maybe I can—

Karl Jacobs, he remembered. Karl was a Minecraft streamer, making him one of the wealthiest guests in the entire manor. He was a whole league above the rest of them. James could only begin to imagine what brought the man here. (The answer was beyond his imagination anyway.)

James watched as Karl began to move towards him until Sir Billiam intercepted his path. James knocked back his glass from his spot. It didn’t matter if Karl Jacobs noticed him or not. He wasn’t worth it. James goes back to getting lost in the quickly dwindling amber liquid.

And then a presence closed in. Karl reached past James to pour himself a drink.

And their eyes met. And fingers brushed. And smiles tilted playfully. And maybe they imagine where they could go from here.

And then the lights went off. 

Mason leaned into Jack’s side as they tormented the bartender for the nth time that week.

Then, the doors pushed open and a pretty brunet sauntered in. He held his head high and stood proud as he confronted the bandits. Mason thought he would look prettier with a smile. Jack must have thought the same since he started getting up into the pretty boy’s space with a sly smirk. 

Karl, the supposed new sheriff of the town, glared at them. His eyes crinkled, and his nose scrunched as he pouted. Yes, he was pouting, and it was adorable. Shame the cutie was on the side of the law.

“We’ll be back with more guns and more ammo.”

Mason moved his hand away from the gunshot wound in his side. Red dripped like fresh-crushed berries between his fingers. He looked towards his enemy and saw Karl with his gun held up. Those were the eyes of a man who had faced death without hesitation.

Mason had honestly thought the new sheriff was a joke, but it seemed like he really was something.

Mason keeled over. Hopefully, Jack would make it out alive.

Rash really wanted to grab Karl by the jacket and kiss his face. The brunet definitely felt the same spark. Karl was shy though. They had just met after all, so Rash really couldn’t blame the pretty boy for being hesitant.

Even so, Rash really wanted to smooch the air out of Karl.

Rash saw the rings on Karl’s left hand. There were two rings, so Rash honestly didn’t think much of it. Later that night, after Karl ran out of the mansion in frustration, Karl admitted that there was someone waiting for him. He didn’t know who or where, but it was probably because of the same poor memory that led to Karl showing up at Connor’s AirBNB without notice. 

The empire was really going to the dogs considering they’d just grabbed an orphan, a drunkard, and Lagius of the street. John was hoping they were just comic relief considering this whole tournament was being broadcasted for the entertainment of the empire’s citizens.

The cameraman seemed to think the same thing. He walked into the cellar with a disappointed look. He kept looking over towards John. John honestly couldn’t blame the man. After the disappointment that was everyone else, the expectations on John must be very low. 

Emperor Porkius VII seemed extremely reluctant to let him try since the name ‘John’ was way too uninspiring. The cameraman gripped John’s shoulder and told him that he would put his bets on the blacked-haired warrior if he changed his name.

“Handsome.”

Emperor Porkius VII strongly downvoted that.

Karl stared at the white walls of The Inbetween. The more he stared, the more he forgot. He didn’t want to forget. He had someone — two someones, actually — waiting for him. He had to get home. The portal offered that. 

Home. Back to where he belonged.