Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sky is exactly how he remembers it: completely dark, the perfect shade of blue-black-violet, the color of his wings and horns.

He takes in a deep breath, breathing in the fresh, cold air of the End, and he relishes in it, the familiarity of it. He closes his eyes gently, imagining the way his breath would condense slightly.

When he goes to take in a second breath, he finds himself breathing in smoke. In a flash, his eyes open.

The End is burning.

With his heart in his throat, he runs towards the flames. Through the thick dark smoke obscuring the lovely sky above him, he can see it: purpur buildings collapsing, broken glass, shattered statues, houses and shops burnt out.

In short, his home, destroyed.

He lets out a heartbroken cry, and he kicks off of the ground to try to get a better view, to see if the fire has a source, to see if there’s anything he can do.

He’s a couple hundred feet in the air when he sees him: an enderman hybrid with a simple golden circlet, face split between black and white.

Red and green eyes meet his own gold ones.

“What are you doing?” he asks, horrified, but the enderman turns away, lit torch still in his hands, and the enderman continues through the city, lighting at any wood they can find, a passive look on their face.

He moves to stand in their way, but the enderman just ignores him as if he isn’t there.

“What are you doing to my home?”

“Destroying it,” the enderman says, but their voice sounds foreign.

It hits him after a moment that he’s been speaking in Ender, but the enderman speaks in the native tongue of the Overworld.

“But, but,” he says, and the enderman brushes by him.

“You can’t do this!”

The enderman brandishes the torch at him. “If you don’t move, you’ll burn with it.”

“I won’t let you,” he snarls.

“Then burn,” the enderman says simply, and the flames begin to lick at his clothes.

He screams, panicked, suffocating the flames with his hands, ignoring the burns that are forming.

When he looks up again, he realizes he’s surrounded by nothing but ash, and his cries turn from that of panic and pain to that of anguish.

It’s all gone. Nothing but ash.

He crashes to his knees and sobs.

Sparklez awakens with a gasp from the same dream he’s been having every night for the past three months, sitting upright off the hard-packed dirt, back and wings aching from too many nights spent on the road.

The sun has not yet risen, though he can see the pink and orange glow signifying that it will soon.

The past few nights have been brutal - there aren’t many towns in the mountains that separate Essempee from his normal base of operations in the Overworld, so he’s been left with few options for resting up.

Crumb sleeps on the other side of the fire, curled into a tight ball.

Sparklez sighs fondly as he lets his daughter sleep, at least until the sun has risen. He makes quick work of setting up a fire and boiling water for tea and coffee.

When she wakes, he knows Crumb will complain about another night spent on the road, but hopefully, it will end soon.

It better end soon.

Sunrise brings breakfast, and Sparklez wakes Crumb for another day of travel. He lets her be quiet as they set out, still waking up and bleary-eyed.

It isn’t until noon when they stop for lunch that Crumb finally begins talking to him.

“You were up early.”

“Compared to you, I’m always up early,” he says, lighthearted, moving the fish he’d caught yesterday from the enchanted wrapping paper he’d put it in to keep it cool to the foil for cooking it.

Crumb gives him a look that says she knows more than he’d like her to.

He ignores it in favor of nestling the fish amongst the coals, and the sounds of the forest fill the silence quite nicely.

“You had your nightmare again,” she says. “Didn’t you?”

Sparklez grimaces. “I shouldn’t have told you about that.”

“But you did,” Crumb says, smirking, letting the last syllable hang. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

Sparklez looks away. “I just can’t shake the feeling that there’s some deeper meaning.”

“You mean that it’s going to happen soon.”

He shrugs. “Same difference.”

Crumb shrugs in response, and there is nothing to fill the silence save the breeze and the slight sizzle of fish cooking and the fire crackling.

“You really think he’s been born?” Crumb asks quietly.

“Who?” Sparklez asks, not really focusing on her question as he picks at the tin foil on the fish, trying to see if it’s cooked all the way through.

“The prince from 11.2.”

Sparklez freezes.

Passage 11.2, from the Bloodlines section from The Book of Eyes , is a passage that Sparklez knows well. In fact, he’d say he has the entire Bloodlines section memorized.

After all, it dictates his family’s line.

It reads:

The Final Prince of the End,

He who lives two lives,

Is destined to be our ruin.

So it shall be foretold that his blood will end ours.

Sparklez knows that so long as he is alive, he will not live to see the end of his home, no matter how many lives he has to take. And he’s taken more than he cares to admit.

“I do,” he says at last, pulling the fish from the fire. “I know he’s alive.”

“How?” Crumb asks as he opens the foil and passes her one of the filets.

“Cause his parents did a good job of hiding him,” Sparklez says, digging his fork out of his mess kit.

“Did?”

Sparklez scoffs, feeling a little remorseful. “Well, I may or may not have destroyed a whole town trying to un-alive him once.”

Crumb blinks in surprise.

“I succeeded at getting his parents, but then…” He trails off and shakes his head.

“I’m still trying to picture you destroying a whole town,” Crumb says.

Sparklez grins, but it’s half-hearted. He picks at his food, his appetite gone. “I am an ender dragon hybrid, Crumb,” he points out.

“But that doesn’t mean you have to destroy a town,” she responds.

“But it sure does make the how a whole lot more obvious,” he says.

They fall silent.

“How do you know, anyways, that he’s a prince?” 

“He has the markings,” Sparklez says, gesturing to his own face. “A distinctive freckling pattern that all members of the royal family have.”

“All blood members,” Crumb corrects.

“Well, yes,” Sparklez admits.

Crumb snorts. “Good, I wouldn’t want your stupid royal blood if it meant having my whole life dictated by a book.”

“Hey!” Sparklez says, but it’s lighthearted.

Crumb smiles, ears flicking as she does so, but Sparklez can tell by the gentle swish of her tail that she’s deep in thought.

“What?”

“How do you know where he is?” She asks.

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“Of?”

Sparklez smirks. “Of a boy, an enderman hybrid. He fits the description: half-black and half-white skin, and in his late teenage years, which fits the bill.”

Crumb’s nose wrinkles. “An enderman with white skin?”

Sparklez shrugs. “He’s not completely an enderman hybrid, but if I remember correctly, we never did find out what else he was. Still, doesn’t matter.” He finishes off his sentence with a grim smile. “It’s not like he’s going to live much longer, and in his death, it won’t matter what he is.”

Chapter Text

Dinner is a hectic affair for the Minecraft household.

Feeding ten people is a lot of work, and while they try to divide it evenly, well. Some things are better in theory than in practice.

Of course not that Philza really minds. This is his family after all. Even if this family of his is currently driving him crazy.

Technoblade and Wilbur, his oldest twins, bicker over who’s grabbing what out of the oven, batting at each other with oven mitts, and even though they are twenty-two now, Philza still wants to push them away from the oven, afraid of them getting burnt. But some things, if they haven’t learned by now, Philza doesn’t think they ever will.

Eret, his next oldest (well, Philza uses that term loosely - he’d offered to actually adopt Eret and his siblings, Niki and Jack, but the three of them politely refused. They enjoyed being considered family, but were uncertain where they wanted to fit into the family), stands chatting with Fundy, Philza’s grandson, as they stand shoulder to shoulder at the stove, Fundy boiling water for pasta with a snap of his fingers as Eret stirs the sauce they’re making for the pasta. As the years have passed, Fundy’s aging has approached something much more similar to a human aging rate, and although he’s about two and a half, he resembles a teenager in his mid teens, similar to Tubbo, Tommy, and Ranboo.

Speaking of Tubbo and Tommy, the two of them are antagonizing Jack as they set the table, bickering and shoving each other, and Philza has to physically turn to look away so he doesn’t cringe at the idea of them breaking his dishes - getting a set of matching dishes was expensive, dammit, and while he didn’t usually care, they were celebrating tonight.

Niki gently taps Philza’s shoulder and stands on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “The cake is done and frosted. I’m leaving it in the other room so that it can be a surprise.”

Philza smiles. “Thank you, Niki.”

She beams, then crosses the room to the table to gingerly push past the boys, taking the napkins and folding them elegantly.

Which leaves Philza’s final son.

“Is everything ready? Or close to it?” Philza asks, and his family nods. “Right,” he says, clapping his hands together. “I’m gonna go grab Ranboo then.”

He takes the stairs quietly up to Ranboo’s room, pausing outside the closed door, taking in the moment.

It seems strange that just 10 years ago, Philza found him, a young hybrid, alone in a city burnt to the ground. A child with nothing but his failing memory.

Of course Philza had taken him in.

When he’d realized that Ranboo didn’t remember when his birthday was, the family unanimously agreed that the day Philza found him would be his birthday, or at least honorarily so.

Today, at least according to the Minecraft family, Ranboo turns 18.

Philza was so proud of the boy he’d taken in and the man he’d become.

He knocks on the door to no response.

With a sigh, Philza opens the door a crack, and then wider.

Ranboo sits on his bed, kicking his feet as he writes in his journal, headphones on.

Philza taps his shoulder and Ranboo jumps, sliding the headphones off, embarrassed.

“Sorry,” Ranboo says, and Philza smiles.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Oh! Okay!” Ranboo jumps up and runs down the stairs, Philza smiling as he follows, a few steps behind.

With a gasp of joy, Ranboo enters the kitchen. “Oh!”

“Happy birthday, Ranboo!” Tommy cheers.

Ranboo gives an embarrassed smile, flushing red and green. “Aw, guys, you didn’t have to-”

“Heh? What are you talking about? It’s literally your eighteenth birthday, Ranboo,” Technoblade counters.

“Well,” Ranboo says.

“Please don’t tell me I helped Eret cook for nothing,” Fundy says with a dramatic sigh.

“Help me cook?” Eret asks. “All you did was snap your fingers over a pot of water and put pasta in!”

“Oh, and it was such an effort,” Wilbur says, rolling his eyes.

Ranboo giggles and Philza smiles.

“Well, then, we should sit down and eat this meal you all labored over,” Jack says. “I’m hungry.”

“Oh hush, you,” Niki says. “This isn’t your birthday meal.”

Jack grumbles good-naturedly, and Philza herds them all towards the table, Tommy and Tubbo rushing to grab the dishes from the kitchen: fettuccine with a garlic and mushroom alfredo, steak with cherry tomatoes, a light spinach salad with strawberries, and buttered rolls.

Philza closes his eyes and smiles, sitting in the comfort of this moment: the smell of a warm, homemade meal, the laughter of his family, the warmth of the fire in the living room next door keeping the house warm even into November.

It’s days like these that he wishes he could live in.

“As always,” Tubbo says, interrupting his train of thought, “it tastes wonderful.”

“Hm,” Eret and Technoblade say with twin smug smiles.

“No thanks to you or Tommy,” Wilbur says, elbowing Tubbo playfully.

“You kicked us out of the kitchen!” Tommy exclaims.

Philza smiles ruefully as his family bickers among themselves, taking a bite of the meal (it does, in fact, taste wonderful.)

Dinner carries on, the discussion falling to a lull as their plates become clear.

“So,” Ranboo asks. “What now?”

“Well,” Niki says with a small smile. “There is cake.”

A grin lights up Ranboo’s face. “Niki! You shouldn’t have!” He exclaims, hugging her.

“Aw, well, yes I did. It’s your birthday.”

“She’s right, you know,” Technoblade says with a smile, elbowing Ranboo gently, and the enderman hybrid flushes, slightly embarrassed.

“Still. I’m not that special.”

“The hell you aren’t, boss man,” Tubbo says.

Philza smiles as he watches his kids cut the cake, Wilbur and Tommy shouting at Technoblade for using one of his swords. A slice of cake ends up in his hands somehow, chocolate cake with a cherry filling. It tastes wonderful, sweet and tart blending in his mouth.

All is well.

With a content sigh, Philza settles on the sofa, watching his family, moonlight coming in from the open window, illuminating his spot, a peaceful contrast to the golden light from the lamps shining on his children like sunlight.

Yes, he thinks again. All is well.

Chapter Text

It’s Wednesday, and Wednesdays are market days.

Wednesdays have always been market days for as long as Ranboo can remember, which might not actually be saying anything, considering how much his memory sucks, but the statement remains true.

It used to be, when he was younger, they’d all go as a group. But since then, the size of their family has nearly doubled, and trying to corral ten people in a group around the market is difficult. Philza suggested they alternate: half of them go on Wednesdays and half of them go on Sundays, which is usually the point in the week where they have to go back to the market because they forgot something, or they ran out of something, or they realized they were missing something.

Ranboo opted to stick to Wednesday. He’s joined by Philza, Eret, Niki, Technoblade, and Tubbo. They’d started as a clump of people when they entered the heart of the town they call home, but by now, nearly thirty minutes later, they’ve split up into smaller groups: Tubbo is at the music store looking into guitar strings, Technoblade is dropping off one of his swords to get sharpened at the blacksmith, Niki and Eret giggle to each other as they pick up specialty baking items, and Philza’s buying more nutritional foods like steak and vegetables.

Smiling to himself, Ranboo sticks his hands in his pockets and turns from them, wandering through the market.

He’s not looking for anything specific, but he keeps his eyes open, looking for something to catch his eye.

Not that he’s really expecting to find anything, if he’s at all honest. But the walk does him good.

Movement in his peripherals catches his attention, and Ranboo looks towards the wall. A cat hybrid he’s never seen before leans against it, her orange, black and white tail swishing anxiously behind her.

Suddenly, pale eyes meet his own, and she smiles.

Ranboo blinks, surprised. Most people don’t make eye contact with him, or maybe he’s the one trying not to make eye contact with them. Regardless, eye contact is a rare occurrence in his life.

The girl waves, and intrigued, Ranboo walks over.

“Hi,” he says, and she grins.

“Hi,” she replies. Her voice is higher-pitched than he expected.

“Hi,” he repeats.

She giggles to herself for a moment, before returning to gesture to the stalls. “I’m new here,” she says. “Where’s the best place to get fish?”

“Isn’t it a stereotype for cat hybrids to like fish?” Ranboo asks and immediately flushes as he realizes that might be a stupid question.

She blinks. “Uh.”

“Sorry, that was.” Ranboo grimaces, and she giggles. “Uh. Well. My family normally goes to that shop, right there,” he points to one of the brick buildings, “the one with the graffiti style fish.”

“Ooh, I like it!” the girl says. “I love seeing good art.”

“Yeah?” Ranboo asks.

She nods. “I’m an artist, though my art tends to be more cartoony than realistic.”

Ranboo nods sagely. “I respect that.”

She smiles, then offers her hand to him. “My name’s Crumb.”

“Ranboo,” he responds, taking it and shaking it. “Not to be rude or anything but-”

“Crumb’s a weird name?” she guesses, and Ranboo nods. “So is Ranboo. Sounds like Rainbow,” she responds.

“Hey! My name is not weird. I’ll have you know it’s a good and proper Ender name.” He flushes at the idea that his name sounds like Rainbow, which he can’t really argue against but also was definitely probably not what his parents had intended to name him, even if in hindsight it was really funny.

“I’ll have you know that Crumb is a nickname, and one I enjoy quite a bit!”

“Touche,” Ranboo concedes.

Crumb pushes herself up off the wall, back curving in a very feline way. “Anyways, I need to get that fish for my dad.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Ranboo offers.

She grins. “Thank you!”

The pair of them walk through the market, Ranboo half-leading. “So…” He says, trailing off awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.

“So…” Crumb mimics, a sly grin crossing her face.

“What kind of fish do you like?” Ranboo asks, feeling a little pathetic for not being able to come up with a good question as they enter the threshold of the fish store.

She tilts her head, letting out a soft hum. “I personally am a tuna person, but my dad likes salmon.”

Ranboo nods. “My brother, uh, Wilbur, he’s a big fan of salmon, too.”

Crumb smiles. “It’s ok in my opinion.” She pauses from their conversation to talk to the merchant, and Ranboo tilts his head, thinking.

She nudges him with her elbow, and he shakes his head before realizing that he’d been staring off into space for a moment. “Oh, you paid?”, he asks, staring at the bundle wrapped in enchanted wax paper in her arms.

“Mmhm,” she responds.

“Sorry, I was trying to think of what my favorite fish is,” he says, and she laughs. 

“Still on about that, Ranboo?”

“I guess I am!” He sighs, frowning slightly. “I’m not sure I have a favorite fish.”

“That’s alright,” Crumb says.

They leave the fish store, wandering aimlessly.

“You know,” she says, somewhat suddenly. “I really like your eyes.”

Ranboo blinks. “What?”

“They’re beautiful,” she says. “From an artistic point of view,” she adds hastily after a moment. “You just, you don’t normally see those colors in nature, not as vibrant as yours are.”

“Aww, thanks!” Ranboo says. “I don’t know, I’m kind of self-conscious about them.”

“You shouldn’t be!” She says brightly. “They match your freckles.” She pauses. “And your good old-fashioned Ender name.”

Ranboo grins. “Thank you!” After a moment, he freezes. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

Crumb stares at him blankly, then looks panicked. She opens her mouth to speak, but then Ranboo hears a familiar voice behind him, and he looks sharply over his shoulder.

Philza waves at him, Eret and Niki still talking beside him, Technoblade yawning and Tubbo fiddling with something, his guitar strapped to his back.

“I have to…” he gestures towards his family and Crumb nods. 

“I get it,” she replies.

Ranboo nods awkwardly, looking between her and his family.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Crumb asks with a smile.

Ranboo grins. “Sure.”

“Meet you here?”

He nods. “Sounds good to me.”

She smiles, and Ranboo turns away, walking towards his beckoning family. He can’t help but look back. Crumb’s still smiling, but her smile looks more smug than it had a moment before. He shakes his head, telling himself that it’s his imagination.