Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Jack had been in a cage that morning.

He’d been in cages for the entirety of his life, all of varying restrictions and hardships.  His first memories were of the Nether Slums – the lawless land beyond the reproach of the Overworld where Nether hybrids had been forced to retreat so many years ago.  Those that hadn’t built up enough connections to escape to the Overworld had been left behind with the dregs of society, creating a den of sin and chaos that many took advantage of.  There were no expectations of betterment in the Nether slums, there was only gaining strength or allowing oneself to be controlled by the strong.  As Jack had been but one of many orphans in that desolate place, he’d never stood a chance of understanding the rules by which he needed to conduct himself in order to thrive.  He wasn’t like Prince Wilbur – who must have forced enough cunning and ruthlessness to barter his way into the Overworld, to a place of freedom and peace that was so very unattainable due to the tightly guarded Nether Portals.  Jack hadn’t been smart, merely stubborn, and it was that stubbornness that had somehow kept him alive until he was a teenager.

There were only a handful of ways to escape the Nether slums.  A handful referenced overall surrender – those that had utterly given up and left themselves to be prey to the criminal overlords of the sprawling metropolis, or those that had taken the more poetic route and resigned themselves to the wildlands beyond the city walls, the place where actual mobs spawned.  There were many ways to die out there – starvation, dehydration, lava, withers.  So many different options to end it all.  There were a few that took to the outskirts in search of distant portals to escape to the Overworld, but such folly was as good as death.  If there had been any measure of success through such means, someone would have made a killing smuggling abandoned hybrids out such way.  And yet, no such conmen existed, for all that they could weave intricate tales to the most naïve and hopeful pups, even they couldn’t sell such a mystical solution.

Not that they would have had a chance to pay for such things anyway.  Most children, like Jack, had been claimed as slaves the moment they set foot in the slums.  It was simply the way of things.

Death was the most predominant way out of the Nether Slums.  Garnering favor from the few Overworld beings that risked the Nether as a transport hub was how Prince Wilbur had done it – though that was an intricate and delicate dance.  It was hard to gain access to the areas the Overworld beings used, and even if that much could be managed, you had to garner favor with them, enough for them to be willing to take such risks.  The spectacularly talented could manage it – those that had come from the blood of the old noble houses of the Nether – the hybrids that had intentionally cultivated an oasis when they were rejected from the Overworld, that had stayed until the more fertile dimension had found its tolerance.  Those were the families that belonged to the ancient city located in the distance of the Nether Slums, a place long abandoned by time.  There was powerful magic surrounding it that only allowed members of those families access – it was why it hadn’t been entirely cleaned out decades ago, and why Jack had never bothered to attempt an excursion to such a place.  He knew better than to hope for such things, to dream of crumbling libraries where he might be safe, to envision his ancestors as scholars or craftsmen.

Jack didn’t know who his family was, but he imagined that they were much like him – scum on the boot of the world’s heel.

The third and final way to escape the slums was the most common, and that was through illegal means.

Ideally, a hybrid could become part of one of the many gangs that controlled the Nether Slums, work their way high enough in the ranks that they could take missions out into the Overworld using one of the illegal portals.  If they were truly resourceful, they could escape the gang from there and make a new life in the Overworld, though they would always be looking over one shoulder.  Of course, gang recruitment was a highly selective process.  If a hybrid left the slums through illegal means, it was far more likely that they would do so the same way as Jack.

They’d leave with a collar and shackles, reduced from scum to less than that, a commodity to be bought and sold at will.

Better to be a slave in the Overworld than a slave in the slums, right?  Better to be somewhere where you couldn’t die in thousands of different ways at any given second.  Better to be somewhere lush and fertile, where escape didn’t mean instant death, it meant there was a chance.

It was a nice lie.  Jack had almost believed it.

And then, somehow, someway, he had presented early. 

Despite suffering from malnutrition and dehydration for the majority of his life, despite being too small and too skinny and too weak, despite the wounds and his poor manifestation of physical Blaze attributes – the last hope that had made him useless to any of the gangs for no one would take on anyone who looked that pitiful – somehow despite all that, Jack had been given the ‘gift’ of an early presentation.  Instead of occurring when he was eighteen, he was sixteen when his secondary sex had manifested. 

Maybe it was a survival instinct.  Maybe his body was trying to protect itself by making him valuable.

It might have worked if he’d ended up in anyone’s cage beside Schlatt’s.

Jack spent the next few years of his life trapped in that awful warehouse – then ripped away from it, loaned out to a friend with the promise that he could return if he behaved well, and Jack didn’t want to cooperate, he didn’t even want to be in that awful place, but he had to.  He had to for the same reason he had followed Steward Alexis Quackity over to his fancy carriage when Jack couldn’t so much as hope for the right to share the same air he breathed.  Jack had so little pushing him forward.  He’d had one strand of motivation for so long, he wasn’t going to let it go, wasn’t going to believe in some pretty words.  He would work and make himself useful, and in that, earn himself yet another cage.

This one was prettier though.  It almost made him feel like a person.

He fidgeted uneasily with the bracelet Prince Wilbur had given him – gold mixed with green, shining jewels that cost more than Jack had likely been sold for several times over.

These rooms were his.  He could touch everything in them. 

Jack swallowed down the bile clawing at his throat as a hint of longing struck him.  He missed his cage.  Not the room Schlatt had locked him in, but the cage with the others, where he’d watched after Tubbo.  He’d understood the rules there.

Here and now, he knew he was going to have to adjust.  Quickly, if he wanted Quackity to keep him around. 

If Wilbur was important and wise enough to be crowned prince then he must have worked with a brutal, single-minded focus to make himself indispensable.  He had to sell himself as something invaluable, and the first step to making others think you were of vital importance was to believe with the entirety of your conviction that you were vital yourself. 

If you didn’t believe it, why would others?

He understood Wilbur’s parting words better now. 

Jack didn’t feel like a person, probably wouldn’t for a long time.  But he had to be valuable to Quackity, and if there was even a second of doubt on his end, that would allow for a weakness he couldn’t afford.  He had to be here.  He didn’t want power or riches or even this castle life but it was where he needed to be, so it was the path he had to take.  As wrong as it felt, Jack had to pretend he was a person who deserved opinions and desires and wants, who had thoughts that should be listened to.  He had to pretend to have that much or they would give up on him before he even began.

So as much as he wanted to avoid the plush furniture and sleep on the floor exactly as Prince Wilbur predicted he might, Jack explored the space that someone was foolish enough to designate as his.

Stupid, to think a wretch like him could possibly belong to something so very grand.

But this was a new cage with higher stakes, and for the sake of his family, for the only thing he had left, he would make this happen. 

Through any means necessary.

~:~

“So,” Connor began the first time Jack saw him, dressed in the sturdiest clothes he’d ever seen – even fancier than the linens of the estate he’d been tasked with washing for so many years. “You’re a bearer.”

The comment, unexpected as it was, sent Jack right into his most basic survival instincts, the blaze hybrid drawing in on himself to present as small a target as possible – a direct opposition to his blaze instincts, but those had done nothing all through his years of indentured servitude.  He needed to be small, nonexistent.  Maybe if he was boring enough, Connor would forget all about him. 

The one thing he couldn’t do was panic which was fortunate, as Connor seemed to have that entirely covered for him.

“Oh- oh fuck, man.” In a second, Connor’s expression of bored apathy was replaced with a fluttery sort of nervousness Jack most often saw on young maids who had yet to understand that it was their virginities and not their prowess in cleaning that had rendered them purchased by the estate. “Don’t freak out, please don’t freak out.  I didn’t mean that in a threatening way, I just- I thought maybe it would make you feel better if someone else knew.” He started waving his hands, both held up in surrender, palms facing outwards.  Jack had seen it on many a slave that had attempted to run away, one last pitiful attempt to glean mercy.  They were rarely successful. “If it’s any consolation, I don’t think anyone else does, I just- sometimes I just know things.” He tapped the side of his head, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot in what became an awkward sort of dance.

Later – months later – Jack would realize Connor did this to make him feel more at ease.  Humor and comedy were not frequent guests in his life.  Someone lowering themselves to such a spectacle for his benefit was- it was different.  Unnerving, but not scary.  It made Jack shut down slightly less, though he couldn’t help being defensive.  His status as a bearer was a secret known only to a few, something he had guarded viciously with his life.  To have someone he’d just met expose it so easily made him want to burn with fire he didn’t and would likely never have.

He truly was the most useless of blaze hybrids.

“I’m Connor,” the hedgehog hybrid continued, his fingers giving a bored waggle. “I’m the protector Quackity’s hired to look after his pups.”

That, of all things, was what recaptured Jack’s attention, brought him back to the moment.

Right, he had to survive.  He didn’t have time to act like a slave, he was a person now.  People expected conversations from him. 

“You look after Tubbo?” Jack asked, his gaze narrowed in a fierce inspection. 

Connor blinked, as though he hadn’t expected that to get him anywhere, then nodded. “He’s my newest charge,” Connor confirmed. “Along with Fundy, Ranboo, and Tommy.”

Jack couldn’t honestly care less about the pups he did not know (this was a lie, his bearer instincts made him entirely devoted to the protection and interest of hybrids’ younglings, but that wasn’t something he could afford to acknowledge) – Tubbo was the one that was important.

“Is he happy?” Jack pressed, wringing his newly cleaned hands together. “Safe?”

There had been so much dirt and grime, so many old scars.  There had been suggestions of a medical checkup but Jack had experienced enough of those in his life to know they were unwelcome – so long as he wasn’t on the verge of death he had every intention of avoiding them if he could, regardless of whatever the butler or Prince Wilbur scheduled.

Jack was wearing clean clothes and had a clean hat to cover the haphazardly shaved state of his head.  He pulled it low out of habit to cover the tips of his ears.  Aside from the stupid scales on his cheeks, they were the only indication that he was a blaze hybrid.  With his internal fire so weak – the spark unlit – there was barely any shine in his eyes, both appearing a deep brown when he knew on instinct that they were truly something else.

“He seems to be settling in okay,” Connor allowed. “Did you claim him?”

Jack wanted to snarl at the audacity of the question, that it would even be a question at all.  It was surprising from him, kindling together the few dregs of passion and rage he had left when most had been worn out of him.  Had he claimed Tubbo – it was a complicated question.  He wanted to, of course he wanted to, it was inherent, but he- he had to step back.  He’d made a choice back at the warehouse, one he didn’t regret.  Quackity was regal, articulate, kind, and intelligent.  He was everything a bearer should be, oozing nobility with every step he took.  He was practically royalty, according to Prince Wilbur, meaning he was likely set to marry the emperor soon.

Tubbo could hope for no better mother.

In light of that, how could Jack even pretend to have a claim on the small goat hybrid?  Any connection to Jack would only drag him down.

He could barely read.  

“I have no right to him,” Jack whispered, because that had been true enough. “Lord Quackity will be a good mother to him.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t love him,” Connor pointed out.

He said it like it was easy, as though Jack was a being who could ever be allowed such a privilege.

With that in mind, it likely wasn’t a surprise when Jack immediately hissed.

It surprised him.  He’d trained himself out of making hybrid noises years ago.  The blaze ones he made as a child had always been read as insolence that had left him with meals stolen away until he was feeling more disciplined, and the bearer ones-

Nothing good came from anyone knowing he was a bearer.  Schlatt had proved that well enough.

Connor held his hands up higher. “Alright, sore subject – I’ll drop it.  But if you want to talk about it…”

Jack didn’t want to talk at all.  He wasn’t used to exchanging more than a few grunts with the other low-ranking slaves back at the estate.  When he’d finally been sent back to the warehouse, he’d dusted off his socialization skills, but that was for Tubbo’s benefit and Tubbo’s benefit alone. 

This brief interchange was enough to leave him exhausted.

“Okay, strong and silent type, that’s fine,” Connor said, dropping his hands altogether.  Strangely enough, Jack didn’t tense.  It wasn’t that he thought Connor couldn’t take him in a fight, but for some reason, he didn’t feel threatened.  Perhaps he was just so resigned to his inability to defend himself that he was past worrying about it.  That was what usually happened. “Just to be clear, as a bearer your privacy comes before all else.  I won’t tell anyone about your status unless you ask me to.”

Were Jack any less trained, he would have scoffed at the absurdity of it all.  “What would you like in exchange?” he asked, getting to the point. “I’ve been told that my skills at oral sex are quite substantial-”

“No, that’s not- no, nope, you don’t have to do that,” Connor said, something like sadness tinged in his eyes, though why it was there, Jack did not know.  It was awfully reminiscent of Quackity’s gaze when he’d investigated the warehouse. “I’m not into that kind of stuff, but aside from that – look, you’re Quackity’s newest employee, and I am Quackity’s current employee.” A beat, and Jack realized the protector was waiting for him to acknowledge this.  He nodded. “I am contractually obligated to ensure that his other employees reflect well on him, which means it is in my best interest if you are successful.  You don’t have to pay me for that, this is literally for my own benefit, so.” He clapped his hands together, drawing Jack’s focus downward. “Let me help you master this shit, okay?  If you want to be by Quackity’s side, you’re going to have to keep up.”

Of everything he said – disregarding Tubbo – it was that which perked Jack’s interest.

Finally, something productive.

“I can do that,” Jack pledged, grounded at the thought of training, of someone lighting the path of who he would need to force himself to be.  Anything so he could stay by Tubbo. “What do I need to do?

“Just listen to me,” Connor said. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

And, to Connor’s credit, he did.

~:~

It was Connor who held Jack together in those early days.  Connor, that taught him the basics of what he needed to know to get around the castle.  He acclimated Jack into using furniture he’d been conditioned to avoid, coached him through using utensils, to eating meals off a plate instead of from a bowl on the floor.  He convinced Jack to make a nest and – when Jack was too terrified of its recognition or worse, immediate destruction or manipulation – Connor taught him how to disguise it as a messy bed and instructed the maids to never enter Jack’s room without his permission. 

Connor gave him enough to pass as a functional person.  It wasn’t help Jack particularly wanted, but it was something he desperately needed.  He could acknowledge that much.  He hated having to rely on someone else, but Connor gladly reminded him that Jack’s success guaranteed his own safety.  It made it a lot easier to accept.

“You deserve to take up space,” Connor reminded him. “You don’t have to avert your gaze or lower your head.  Quackity said you deserve to be here and if you cower, it will reflect badly on him.”

Own the space, Connor said. Own it as though it is yours and you are being kind enough to indulge anyone else in your immediate vicinity.  

“It’s sacrilege,” Jack muttered one night when they were practicing this, Jack fighting to keep his shoulders back and head up, the phantom crack of the whip echoing in his ears. “It’s comedy.”

“You’re not a commodity anymore, you’re a free hybrid,” Connor countered just as easily as he had every other time Jack tried to bring this up. “Being allowed to exist isn’t something to laugh at no matter who you are – it is a basic, guaranteed privilege that never should have been stolen from you in the first place.”

Jack couldn’t even try to remember the days before he was a slave.  As long as he could remember, it was all he’d been.  He’d come into the world a slave.  He hadn’t thought he’d leave it any differently.  His presence in the castle vastly rearranged all his plans.

“It was, though,” Connor continued, never one to pull punches. “And the ones who should bow their heads in shame are the ones that instigated it, but not you.  Never you.”

Stupid Connor and his stupid pep talks.

It was hard, all of it was hard.  Instead of bowing and scraping and hiding in the shadows Jack had to stand tall and speak articulately.  His opinion was requested an endlessly exhausting number of times per day, and as much as Jack wanted to lock himself inside a cage again and be done with it, he knew he couldn’t.

“Do it for Tubbo,” Connor would whisper, somehow sensing when Jack’s patience was about to snap. “Tubbo needs you.”

He did not, but that was one lie Jack would gladly tell himself if it made this burden any lighter.

Aside from being an invaluable source of information, Connor also served one remarkable function that rendered Jack perpetually indebted to him.

As the pups’ primary guardian, he could arrange visits for Jack to see Tubbo.

“You’re going to have to dote on all of them,” Connor advised when he explained the surprise treat. “It’ll be weird if you don’t.  If you treat all of them equal, though, you’re just a peacekeeper that likes kids, and people love those.”

Love.  The very mention of the word made Jack’s heart throb in an uncomfortable way.

He wasn’t worthy of such things. 

And yet, he wanted.

If Jack was being perfectly honest it was difficult for him to be affectionate with Tubbo alone.  In the warehouse it had been the best he could offer, a gift he needed to share.  For Tubbo, it had been a treasured commodity, but here, Tubbo had his pick.  There were plenty who loved him, who cared for him, most of which were of substantially greater quality than Jack.  Allowing himself to care for the pup – to show that care – was hard.  He felt like he didn’t have the right, that he was forcing himself where he shouldn’t (even though his bearer instincts screamed that this was where he belonged more than anywhere else in the world). 

Connor helped him work through it, supported his natural instincts.  Jack was allowed to do this, and it wasn’t hard to care for the other pups – they were pups and he was a bearer.  It was an easy match to make.

Another benefit of visiting the pups was that it was one of the few times Jack could sit on the floor without it being suspect.  Connor encouraged him to take advantage of that as much as possible. 

He didn’t chastise Jack’s aversion of furniture, he merely provided reprieves for him to catch his breath.

“If you try to change too much too soon, you’ll shatter,” Connor had warned when he helped Jack create a secondary nest on the floor of his closet – a place lit with soft lanterns with enchanted temperature moderation – where he’d never be too cold like winters on the estate or too hot like the pits of the Nether.  “You don’t have to hard stop everything, just pretend like you do in public.  Image is everything.”

Jack didn’t understand Connor, was suspicious of anyone who was this helpful, but maybe- maybe it was just an Overworld thing.  An Overworld thing from decent hybrids, not like Schlatt or Boomer. 

It was terrifying to consider.  Jack wanted to hate Emperor Philza and his consorts.  He wanted to hate the empire’s government.  So many of their nobles hosted illegal slaves right under their noses – had done so for decades – and none had ever stopped to intercede before Lord Quackity.  If it weren’t for the obvious and dedicated measures the duck hybrid took to right those wrongs, the way everyone worked around him just as hard, Jack would likely still feel the same way.

But he didn’t.  Because even as frazzled and adrift and exhausted as he felt, Prince Wilbur would still pull him into meetings to get Jack’s input on slave rehabilitation and possible movements from the slave rings.  Meetings that the emperor would crash – scowl on his jaw and fire in his eyes as he thrust a new slew of laws outlining Nether jurisdiction towards Wilbur – that all parts of the Nether accessible from active portals located in the empire were thereby claimed as empire territory and as such, subject to its rules.

“I should have done this years ago, damned any blowback,” the emperor snarled, seeming to have forgotten Jack was there entirely. “We’re putting those slums to rest once and for all.  All rescued citizens can go to Quackity’s refugee centers to begin reparations.” He dragged a weary hand through his hair. “I’ll never be able to make this up to them.”

“This sets a precedent, Phil,” Prince Wilbur said, holding up piles of documents with a glint in his eye. “The Nether’s always been neutral territory, lawless save for the control we enforce in our own transport tunnels.  We were avoiding stirring up political strife with other countries, but Quackity’s landmark discovery has given us sufficient grounds for it.  If anyone tries to claim we’re going power hungry I’ll tell them to fuck off in the nicest way possible.”

“Thanks, mate,” the emperor had said, and when his gaze slid from Wilbur’s he landed on Jack – Jack, who he hadn’t forgotten – and offered him the slightest bow, a show of hybrid respect – to Jack, who was nothing – before leaving again, off to change the world with just- papers and things.

Jack understood lawmaking in theory.  He’d served in Boomer’s estate long enough to understand the intricacies of a nobleman, the paperwork and filing and corruption. It was different seeing it in action though, at this high a level.

“You doing alright, Jack?” Prince Wilbur asked, and it was still strange to be asked such a question – to be asked with earnest care rather than sarcastic mockery. “Do you need a breather?”

Jack didn’t know what that meant, but he’d never taken a break before and he didn’t plan on starting to now.

“No, I’m good,” he said, remembering the alphabet his tutor had drilled into his brain.   He could organize these files.  He would be useful. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Wilbur hummed, falling back into work like it was easy, like he wasn’t changing the world, and Jack wanted to shout, wanted to rage, because if they’d done this sooner maybe he wouldn’t have been hurt as much, but there had also been some good things that had come from his servitude.  One good thing.

And it was for that good thing that he could not hate them, even if he tried.

~:~

Jack couldn’t avoid dinner with the full flock forever.  He’d like to, but realistically he couldn’t.

“It’s going to be chaos with so many people there, so take advantage of that,” Connor had advised during the few mock meals they’d had together to prep Jack for such a thing, the hedgehog hybrid trying to help it seem like Jack had been regularly eating at a table all his life rather than under it. 

There was gold-etched plateware here, utensils that cost more than he’d been sold for.  To even be allowed to touch some of these things-

At one of his old placements, he hadn’t even gotten a bowl.  He’d been tossed scraps from the table and he’d been grateful for it, taking his water from a bucket his owners had forgotten to refill more often than not.  It was an agony he’d survived from pure spite, for there was no way he could have gotten enough to sustain him.  When Jack was feeling more fanciful he pretended it was his internal blaze flame that had kept him going.  That the starvation early in his life had rendered it as weak as it was.  He’d demanded too much of it too early, before it ever had a chance to form.

It was unlikely to be true though.  Far too romantic and whimsical. 

He’d just been born weak.  He needed to remember that.

“It’s a casual meal too, even if it’s with royalty,” Connor explained. “They won’t expect you to be proper.  So as long as you look calm, they won’t know anything’s amiss.  Don’t worry about what forks to use.  Half the time, Foolish doesn’t use the right ones and Eret will follow him out of solidarity.  It’s pretty sweet, actually.”

Jack wasn’t sure how he felt about Connor throwing out those casual observations.  On one hand there was no such thing as too much information.  It was a tool whose value could never be underestimated, even the smallest detail holding the potential to entirely change the course of a situation.  On the other, getting a glimpse of how real families operated, the casual care and love they extended to each other that wasn’t anything like the rigid estates Jack had lived on stirred up an uneasy pain in the bottom of his chest that never quite went away.  It made him wonder if the tradeoff was worth it, but in the end, he knew it definitely was.

Connor had been right about dinner, and Jack had been right about hating it.  Getting to see Tubbo was the only highlight, but the things he’d known were going to be problems – the bounty of foods he didn’t recognize, the mess of utensils he barely knew how to use, the chair he had to sit in, the conversation he had to maintain – smile, he had to smile, they wanted smiles – it was more exhausting than working the nether wart fields back in the slums.  He would have preferred mushroom foraging over any of it, even with the threat of hoglins.

He could see Tubbo struggle with the new development as well, but he was a pup.  Children were extended generosities that adults – even those with similar circumstances – would never receive.  It was an unfortunate truth of the world, according to Connor.  Jack couldn’t disagree with it, but that didn’t make him any less desperate to throw down the overly fancy forks and knives and hurl his stupid soup bowl across the room because he just wanted to eat and managing to ferry the smallest dribbles of soup in the dumb spoon every single time was driving him slowly insane.

He’d thought he’d done a decent job of hiding his ire, but it wasn’t long after that dinner that he received a visit from Dr. Bad Halo.

Jack was understandably confused, though he was less so when Sir Skeppy followed on his heels. 

As one of the pups’ main knights, Sir Skeppy was invited to flock mealtime frequently.  Unlike Sir Sapnap, his participation was sporadic as he already had a partner he shared meals with – the royal doctor, Bad Halo.

A survivor of the slums, just like Jack and Prince Wilbur.

The doctor was kind enough to cut straight to the point. “I heard you were having difficulty with royal etiquette,” Dr. Bad explained, his hands folded together neatly, somehow emanating a sense of harmlessness despite his grand stature.  He’d sat on the floor without prompting, Sir Skeppy following his lead with a lazy sprawl, and the rest of them had mimicked their actions as though it was normal, Connor not so much as batting an eye as he set up a tea service, motioning for Jack to take a seat on his favorite floor pillow.

He’d tried hard not to establish preferences for any material items, knowing full well his own reactions for when they would inevitably be taken away, but Connor had figured it out regardless.  As much as Jack was grateful for him, it was things like that which made him hate the hedgehog hybrid.

“Sappy and I did too, when we first got here,” Dr. Bad continued, accepting a cup of tea from Connor with a bright smile.  Sir Skeppy bypassed it entirely and redirected his focus to balancing one of the shortbread cookies on the tip of his nose, seeming entirely uninvested in the conversation. “The royal flock – they tend to forget that not everyone is as exposed to noble etiquette as they are.  It leaves us scrambling to catch up.” The smile he offered Jack was kind, but Jack had already knew the sharp points of teeth hidden behind those lips. “I’d like to offer my services, if that’s okay.”

“I told him about it,” Sir Skeppy broke in suddenly, the first time he’d spoken up since introducing himself. “I thought we could help.  You know, pay it forward.” When Jack quirked a brow at him, entirely unfamiliar with the phrase, Skeppy elaborated. “I was lucky enough to be taken under someone else’s wing when I first got here.  I started as a commoner before I was knighted.  I didn’t know anything.  I figured I’d pay the universe back by helping you, except Bad’s waaaay better at this stuff, so-” He motioned to the Nether Demon, beaming. “We figured you’d want to keep this from Quackity.”

“They’re not going to want payment,” Connor cut in before Jack could ask for just that. “We’re all support members for the royal flock.  If one of us succeeds, we all succeed.  And if one of us fails-”

Ah.  Like Connor, they were invested because it guaranteed their own survival.

It made the ordeal settle easier on Jack’s shoulders.

There was a strange look on Dr. Bad’s face as though he didn’t entirely agree, but then Sir Skeppy was waving him off with a bored shift of his hand. “Yes, that – exactly,” he agreed with a few snaps of his fingers. “We’ll always want to help you and you’ll never have to pay us for it.  The same can be said for Sapnap.  And you should definitely never ask how to repay any of the royal flock.  They’re royal so they’ll get all weird about it.  They just do what they want and you shouldn’t question it.”

“I don’t want to incur a debt,” Jack said, knowing such things could be worse than death, that this was how so many had fallen from power in the slums and ended up right alongside him, working in the bowels of hell.

“You can’t with them,” Skeppy explained, passing over one of the cookies.  Jack liked them.  They weren’t too sweet, and he could eat them with his hands. “They already have everything they could possibly want.  What could we hope to give them?  No, if they want something they’ll ask, but otherwise you don’t have to, and you also don’t have to do everything they request either.”

That went against everything Jack knew. “But-”

“They’re royals,” Skeppy repeated, reaching over to pat Bad’s thigh for some reason. “The rules are different for them.  We’re their support team, so they want us to act like them in a way.  They know they’re above everyone else in the kingdom, but with us – who they interact with so much – they want equals. And equals are allowed to say no if they want to.”

“I hate this,” Jack admitted, burying his face in his hands.

“It’ll get easier,” Connor soothed, and Jack could only hope he wasn’t lying.

Even if there wasn’t an acknowledgement of debt, Jack couldn’t help but keep track of it himself.  If anything else, he would know how much he had to pay back, and he would do it. 

It was the only thing he had.

~:~

Ponk was a doctor the royals had hired to specifically treat brains or something.  Jack wasn’t sure, he didn’t understand the intricacies of it, but Connor thought he might be able to help Jack for some reason.  As Connor had yet to steer Jack astray the blaze hybrid decided to take the opportunity to utilize the doctor’s services.  There were plenty of old wounds that plagued him, he was sure there were some in his head too.  Normally Jack would avoid any sort of medical professional, but Connor had promised that Jack would never have to take off his clothes and if Ponk ever asked, Jack was allowed to punch him and call for the guards. 

It was what had sealed the deal on Jack’s participation.

It would be nice to punch someone.  He’d only done it a handful of times, but Connor and Skeppy were training him to be more lethal.  So he could protect himself and Tubbo if he needed to.  They were the training sessions he loved the most, though they were tightly rationed as his body slowly recovered from years of abuse.

Jack liked visiting Ponk for a handful of reasons.  The first of which being that the doctor wasn’t allowed to tell anyone what they talked about unless it was a threat to Jack himself or others.  Or illegal.  Jack had been forced to call Connor back in from where he was waiting outside to confirm that, but apparently it was true.  Quackity had meetings with Ponk too and no one was allowed to ask about them.  In fact, Ponk was contractually obligated to keep things a secret.

It was sort of bonkers, but Jack liked it.

He also liked the fact that because Ponk couldn’t talk about his meetings, Jack was allowed to sit on the floor.  There were tons of different, mismatched furniture in his treatment room for whatever reason, but Jack was allowed to hide behind the couch if he wanted to.  He could take off his shoes and socks to feel closer to normal, and if there were snacks (and there usually were), Jack was allowed to eat them with his hands regardless of whether they were finger food or not.  There was also a fluffy, cylindrical pillow he was allowed to hug if he so chose, and if he cradled it to him the way he might have held Tubbo, Jack was hidden behind the couch, so it wasn’t like Ponk could see it.

Those were the goods things.

The rest wasn’t bad, just confusing.

Jack had assumed that maybe Ponk would prescribe some medicine to help his horns grow in like Sir Sapnap’s or maybe he’d have a tonic or something to help with his hair.  Like, proper head stuff, but all Ponk ever wanted to do was ask a bunch of confusing questions.

“How are you feeling today?”

That was Jack’s least favorite, and he rewarded himself with another cookie every time it was asked before he squirreled away two more for later.  He was pretty sure Tubbo would like these.  They had molasses, whatever that was.

“Tired,” Jack muttered, hunching into a smaller ball.  Connor had said it was important to be honest to Ponk, that it was the only way Jack could get better.  If he was better, he would be more valuable – though Connor didn’t say that.  He respected Jack’s intellect enough to understand that he could infer that much on his own.  It was strange, having so many people look at him like he had any kind of intellectual worth.  Sometimes it made Jack want to lock himself up in his nest.

“What’s making you tired?” Ponk asked, and it was always like this.  Jack had to do all the heavy lifting and Ponk would just follow the stuff he’d already thrown out until they weren’t talking about his head at all.  It made it hard for Jack not to get defensive, for him to stay honest.  Ponk was supposed to help him, but he seemed to do it in the least straightforward way possible.

“Pretending to be a person’s hard,” Jack admitted with a shrug, hugging his pillow closer.  He wished Tubbo was there.

“What do you mean by that?” That was another one of Ponk’s favorite questions.

Jack tried not to get mad.  The doctor was one of the few who willingly sat on the floor with him, even though there were several pieces of furniture between them.  He acted like this was completely normal, and Jack knew from his lessons with Connor that it wasn’t.

“I meant what I said,” Jack muttered. “It was easier being a slave.”

“Because it’s familiar?” Ponk prompted, and he was smart, Jack would give him that. “New things can be difficult for us to process.  It’s harder adjusting to something entirely new.  It takes a lot of focus and energy.  I understand why that might be tiring, but you’ll find that as time goes on…”

Ponk mostly gave him peptalks.  Maybe peptalks were his medication.  Jack was beginning to think that Ponk didn’t know anything about actual treatment since all they did was talk, mostly about the same things.  Sometimes Ponk would assign him homework, but Jack never did it.  He was too tired at the end of the day.  He’d already dedicated so much energy to learning and standing up tall and pretending to be normal and dining correctly and making himself better – he didn’t have time for homework that didn’t help him grow his horns.

“It will get easier in time,” Ponk soothed, never disappointed by this failure. “You’ll get more energy, and when you get more energy it’ll be easier for you to try the homework assignments.”

Ponk’s assignments were weird.  He wanted Jack to try taking a nap on his couch, or sitting on one for at least five minutes.  When he was by himself.  When he didn’t have to.  He wanted Jack to invite people out to a picnic for… reasons?  Jack wasn’t entirely sure.  Something to do with expanding his friend pool in neutral territory.  Ponk had advised him to make food for it, to go to the kitchen and ask the chefs to teach him how to cook something.  To prove that they would if he asked.  That he could get help if he wanted it.

Jack didn’t have time for picnics and if he did, he’d spend one with Tubbo.

“What about Connor?” Ponk asked when Jack expressed as much. “Isn’t he your friend?”

“He’s my teacher,” Jack said, making a face at the word ‘friend’.  Slaves didn’t have friends, but he supposed the aides of all powerful stewards might.

“He could be your friend and your teacher.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Jack declared. 

It was something he had discovered from Bad.  The Nether Demon called it ‘enforcing personal boundaries’.  Jack didn’t have to push himself if he didn’t want to.  He thought it would be a one-way ticket to a beating, but Ponk always seemed pleased when he did this.

“Because you’re sticking up for yourself,” Ponk had explained. “You feel like someone who deserves that reprieve so you asked for it.  That’s great progress.”

Sometimes, Jack thought that Ponk didn’t understand how to be a doctor at all.

“I don’t understand the point of this,” Jack sighed one day, curling up under Ponk’s chaise lounge.  The doctor had allowed him to cover it in a blanket first so he was softly bracketed on all sides, mostly hidden from the world.  Through the slit in the blankets, he could see the smallest sliver of Ponk sitting with his back against his desk.

“The goal of therapy is to give you tools to make your life easier,” Ponk explained, despite the fact that he hadn’t given Jack a single tangible tool since this mess had started. “Do you feel like you’re doing better when you leave here?”

“I like that I get food,” Jack admitted with a shrug. “I like not having to wear my shoes.”

He knew they were a luxury, he knew he was lucky to have them, but he was accustomed to going without, no matter how much it might substantially hurt him.

“And the things we talk about?”

“What about them?”

“Do they help?”

Jack frowned. “Are they supposed to?”

There was a pause, and then the sounds of Ponk scribbling something down. “I think I’d like to increase our sessions to twice a day.”

Jack sighed and hugged his pillow closer.  He didn’t understand Ponk, but there were worse ways to spend his time, and if it helped him get better for Tubbo, it was all he really needed in the end.

Chapter Text

Three months into his stay at the castle and some things did get easier.  Jack still hated spoons with a passion but he could use them with more efficiency now, enough to keep up with his hunger, for all that he’d rather just drink from the bowl.  He wasn’t sure why royals made things so complicated, but Skeppy told him that it wasn’t an act exclusive to royalty alone.

“I dunno man, people just like chunky soups,” he’d said with a shrug when Jack had tried to grill him on this. “You’ll get used to it though.”

Jack hadn’t believed him at the time, but like most things, he had improved with practice.

Skeppy proved to be one of his more favored individuals by allowing Jack to forego spoons all together during their private lunchtimes.  He’d request bowls of creamy potato soup for them – a delicate meal they could drink straight from their mugs, and Jack was allowed to feel warm, full, and cared for, even if he really should practice dining like a normal person.

“Eh – normal’s overrated anyway,” Skeppy had murmured when Jack had voiced that much. “Everyone can have their own version of normal, right?  This is ours, and it’s fine.”

While Jack couldn’t entirely agree with that, he could admit that he liked their mug soup lunches.  They might be his very favorite in terms of mealtimes.

He’d adjusted to other things as well.  With practice and determination, he’d gotten good enough at reading that he could help Quackity with his minor tasks like a proper aide, though he still had to attend regular classes to make up for his lack of basic education.  Math, history, and literature were taught by his private tutor in the mornings.  He still had etiquette classes with Bad and training sessions with Connor and Skeppy later in the day.  Surprisingly enough, Prince Wilbur pulled him aside a couple times a week to teach him how to navigate the noble social network, though so far all their lessons were entirely theoretical.

“If you’re going to be helping Quackity, you need to understand this,” Wilbur explained, the two of them looking down on the nobles intermingling in the orchestra section of the Grand Opera House, the two of them safely secluded away in a privacy-enchanted royal box. “Nobles are like any other group of people – there are some that are good and some that are vicious assholes.” His gaze slanted over to Jack with a knowing glint. “It’s the second category you must watch out for.  They’re the ones that will gladly take advantage of your ignorance.  Lack of knowledge is a weakness they will exploit with ruthless fervor.  If they find a gap, they will gladly fill it with nonsense to orchestrate an unfortunate situation for you, and if you ever try to turn it back on them, they’ll simply say you were too dumb and misunderstood what they told you before.” He spoke with a resolute certainty that made Jack think he’d experienced such injustices, which seemed hard to believe.  Prince Wilbur seemed clever in an otherworldly sort of way, his intellect untouchable by others, but Jack supposed that even he had to start somewhere. “This is why you must be firm in your knowledge.  You must know when they’re spouting bullshit which – fortunately – is the easy part.” Rolled his neck out slowly, as though preparing for battle. “The hard part is figuring out what strategy to employ that will be most devastating to your enemies and most beneficial to your allies after the fact.  It isn’t something Quackity would be comfortable with, I think.  He’s too straightforward, and as a bearer he has enough natural protections in place that this can be allowed.  As his ally, though…”

“I’ll need to protect his assets,” Jack surmised, remembering everything Wilbur had taught him thus far.

Quackity might be protected by his bearer status and the favor the royal flock placed him in, but that didn’t necessarily extend to all the former slaves under his care, towards all his businesses and charities.  There were vulnerabilities there, and someone would have to help Quackity defend them.

That person was going to be Jack.  It was what would make him most valuable.

“You will always have our support,” Wilbur said, something he was sure to repeat often.  At first Jack had simply assumed it was a statement the prince made to make himself feel better, but between Connor and Ponk Jack had come to understand that this was something the crown prince strongly did not want Jack to forget. “But I want to give you the tools to feel comfortable fighting on your own two feet.  I know it was a level of control that brought me much comfort when I first started working at the castle.”

“I appreciate that,” Jack said, and it was easier to express his thanks nowadays, easier when the prince treated him like someone capable of retaining the information he spent his precious time teaching.

“And I appreciate you,” Wilbur said, grinning at the face Jack made.  He knew full well that Jack still struggled with accepting compliments and praise.  It was just- hard.  New.  It made him uneasy, for he knew it wouldn’t stay. “Now, come on.  Let’s get back to watching the noble ladies below.  See who’s wearing matching dresses and try to estimate the fallout that will occur because of it.”

“Alright,” Jack said, and even if he didn’t entirely understand why the nobility of the empire got so worked up over such trivial things it was still knowledge, and knowledge was power, and once he understood how nobles worked he could have strength and security, could make his own machinations.  Jack thought the latter part was beyond him but Wilbur seemed confident, and Jack wasn’t going to shy away from the challenge presented if it could make him even fractionally reflect better on Tubbo.

His new routine felt like less of a cage, though he wasn’t sure how comforting that was.  Sometimes the amount of freedom he was capable of was frankly terrifying while other times it drove him to tears of what he guessed was happiness.  He wasn’t beaten here, he wasn’t starved or deprived of water, no one stole or broke his things.  He wasn’t yelled at or berated or forced into anyone’s bed.  His private space was his own.  He could have friends and not be worried that those connections would be used against him.

In return, Jack had to work like a maniac to catch up on decades of basic knowledge and then work even harder to become the level of spectacular that was expected of castle workers – like miracle doctors such as Bad or brilliant knights like Sapnap and Skeppy.  He needed to be a master level scholar like George or a perfect mediator like Connor or cheerful like Skizz.  There was no room for average there, even if Quackity and Ponk insisted that wasn’t the case.

Jack remembered Wilbur’s lessons though.  Nobles exploited weak points so he couldn’t afford to be one.  If he was weak, it would affect the other support team members.  After all the effort they’d put into making him something respectable, he couldn’t allow that.  He refused.

Luckily, he wasn’t afraid of hard work.  He never had been, and he never would be.  It was either that or death, and he’d come too far just to give up and die.

That wasn’t to say he didn’t encounter his share of hurdles.  On top of the obvious ones.

“Jack,” Connor began one evening, the two of them curled up by the fire in their sitting room drinking cups of hot cocoa, because unlike Lord Foolish, Connor had a connection in the kitchen that left them with unlimited pots of the wonder beverage whenever they so desired.  Jack had consumed a great variety of food since he started living at the castle, but above all else, he was almost certain cocoa was his favorite.  Sometimes it came with marshmallows. “I think you need to pick another protector.  An additional one, to clarify.”

Jack, who had been struggling with the onslaught of negative reactions – things that varied between hurling his cup onto the ground to biting his own arm to sprinting to his room to bury himself in his nest – took a moment to breathe once he processed the second half of the statement.

Okay, good.  Connor wasn’t abandoning him; he was just making a helpful life suggestion.  That was fine.  There was no need to throw mugs.

Jack took a deliberate sip of his cocoa to remind himself of that. 

It was still delicious.

“I think I’ve helped you stabilize a lot,” Connor continued when he realized Jack was calm again. “And you –you know, make my protector instincts feel pretty awesome, but I think we’ve hit a plateau here.”

A few weeks after Jack had started staying in the castle, Connor had offered to be his protector.  This was, of course, after he arranged for Jack to eavesdrop on a conversation Connor had with Ponk where the hedgehog hybrid asked about bearer dynamics – supposedly so he could better help Quackity.  It was there that Jack learned that once a bearer presented it was important for them to claim a protector or peacekeeper for the sake of their mental stability.  Bearers were social creatures, they thrived with a pack, and because they were so rare it was expected for them to be immediately incorporated into one and for them to claim a more intimate connection with some of those packmates.  Those protectors or peacekeepers belonged just as much to the bearer as the bearer belonged to them.  It was a symbiotic relationship.  The bearer would boost their morale and the protectors or peacekeepers would help look after the bearers, would give them someone to have a deeper connection with.

To be safe, Jack had verified this information with Bad after the fact.  To be even safer, he and Connor did a deep dive into formal bearer research.  Some of them explained the symptoms of what happened to bearers without a claimed protector or peacekeeper and there were enough information that matched with Jack’s behavior that he was willing to lend some credibility to the documents.

They didn’t put in any formal paperwork.  Jack didn’t like the idea of having any lies directly documented in the royal records, even if a peacekeeper was just as capable of claiming as protector as a bearer.  They had an informal arrangement, and seeing as Connor was looking out for him anyway… well, it worked.

It did work, a lot.  But Jack could admit that Connor had a point about things possibly plateauing.

“I have to spend too much of the day with the pups,” Connor continued, spelling out the problem even though they both knew what it was.  It was to ensure no miscommunications, because it was better to be thorough than to risk ignorance.  Jack always appreciated that about Connor. “Which I know makes your bearer instincts happy, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need someone there for you, and right now, that can’t be me.”

Jack frowned, though he couldn’t really argue the point. 

Connor was right, after all.

“What should we do about it?” Jack asked, his finger rubbing small circles on the warm surface of his mug.

There was still no temptation to throw it. 

Progress.

“I think a visit to Ponk wouldn’t hurt,” Connor said with an easy shrug.

It had taken about six weeks for Jack to inform Ponk he was a bearer, and that was mostly on Connor’s suggestion.  It likely wouldn’t have occurred to Jack at all, seeing as he had plenty of problems to work through without going into his second sex baggage, but Connor thought it would help if Ponk had the full picture of who Jack was.  He’d also promised to stab Ponk with his sword if the doctor ever dared to share Jack’s secret, and it was Connor, so he’d know if it happened. 

The hedgehog hybrid was magic like that.

It hadn’t taken Jack six weeks to realize that Ponk wasn’t a head doctor so much as a feelings doctor, and that while he could prescribe medication and technically treat bodily wounds as well, he specialized in something called therapy, which was apparently what all their appointments focused on.  Jack had scaled back their number of meetings per week in the past few months due to his increasingly busy schedule, but he still enjoyed the ‘safe space’ Ponk’s office provided. 

Those were Ponk’s words, not Jack’s, but he did like the sound of them.

Once Jack had realized he was allowed to bring other people to his therapy appointments if he thought it would help, Connor had tagged along to a few of them.  He already embraced the no-shoe, floor-pillow, hand-snack lifestyle, though he was nice enough to let Jack wear his coat while they cuddled in front of the couch, which apparently was progress.

Because Jack didn’t like beating around the bush, they got right to the heart of the matter. “Connor thinks I need another protector.”

“Okay,” Ponk hummed, writing something down on his clipboard. “Do you think you need another protector?”

Jack frowned, and Connor didn’t bother to muffle his laughter.  He knew Jack hated when Ponk did that, which was unfortunate, because it happened a lot.  “I think the idea has merit,” Jack murmured, a phrase he’d learned from Lord Consort Eret that might be one of his very favorites. “I don’t know why he isn’t enough though.”

“Instincts are complicated things,” Ponk said, another one of his favorite phrases. “Desire for additional stability and support doesn’t mean that Connor is lacking in any capacity.  The truth is, it’s very common for bearers to have multiple protectors or peacekeepers.  Because they’re rare, it’s natural for them to spread the love, so to speak.  Right now your instincts aren’t feeling dissatisfied because Connor isn’t doing enough, they’re restless because they yearn for more intimate pack dynamics.  As a bearer, that is perfectly natural.”

He always made things sound so reasonable, but-

“Quackity only has one protector,” Jack pointed out. “He only had one protector for a long time, and he only has Techno right now.”

“Quackity is a very special case,” Ponk said, his tone patient, calm. “Having nestlings to take care of greatly stifled the desire for an additional protector back when he lived in Las Nevadas.  As for now, while Quackity technically only has Sir Technoblade on file as his protector, there’s no doubt that both Prince Wilbur and Emperor Philza are providing protector services to him even if they are not formally acknowledged.  Those actions combined with their pack connection help Quackity stabilize.” Ponk set his clipboard aside, something he only did when he wanted Jack to know the blaze hybrid had the entirety of his focus, and then he folded his hands together, something he only did when he was going to say something very serious. “Because of your trauma, you understandably have a difficult time letting people get close to you.  So while there are protectors who regularly assist you like Prince Wilbur and Sir Skeppy, you – unlike Quackity, who has agreed to be packmates with his protectors – aren’t getting the same benefits.  That’s why an informal arrangement like Quackity has likely won’t work for you.”

“So my head’s just being dumb,” Jack grumbled, wrapping Connor’s coat more tightly around him.

“No,” Ponk countered, always stubbornly gentle with his corrections. “You have been greatly affected by trauma.  It has taken an understandable toll on you and as such, you require different needs to thrive.  Different isn’t worse, it isn’t wrong or dumb, it is simply different.”

“Okay,” Jack relented, graciously accepting the cookie Connor passed him. Even though Ponk said it a million times, it was difficult for him to really grasp it.  Ponk said that was a symptom of his trauma too, but it was okay.  Ponk would repeat it as many times as he needed for it to stick. “So what do I need to do?”

“I think that like Connor, properly acknowledging someone as your protector – whether it is formally documented or not – will help you greatly.” Ponk picked up his clipboard again. “Do you have an idea of who you’d like to ask?”

Jack bit at his bottom lip.

There was one name that came to mind, one name he knew Connor would already sigh at, knew it wasn’t feasible, but the dumb desire was there regardless.

“You can say Sapnap if you want,” Connor offered, running a shaky hand through his hair, the blue quills stuck between his brunette locks bouncing under the touch. “It’ll take some work, but I think we can make something happen.”

“Connor,” Jack groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Jack liked Sapnap.  He liked him maybe too much.

At first he’d been wary of the other blaze hybrid.  He was not only a proper one, but a powerful one, whose flame burned so bright his eyes were constantly glowing, whose spatter of vibrant scales was immense and plentiful.  Who had proper horns that proudly sprouted from his wild hair.  Of course Jack had been afraid of Sapnap’s strength, though it had gotten easier once he learned that Sapnap was Bad’s brother who was also tasked with Tubbo’s safety.

Unease turned to acceptance, turned to gratitude and maybe even fondness, until Jack’s bearer instincts had him wanting to spend time with the knight more often than not, which was unfortunate, since he barely talked to the guy.

Just- he had a lot to do, as did Sapnap.  He didn’t want to bother him. What if he thought Jack was annoying or burdensome? 

Jack was pretty sure he would cry.

“He wouldn’t accept,” Jack muttered, forcing himself to sit up.  Like Wilbur said, appearance was everything, and if he didn’t feel confident he had to fake confidence until it became real. “And even if he did, we’d have the same problem.  He has to spend all his time with Quackity and the pups anyway.”

The only way they’d get an exception was if Jack formally came out as a bearer, otherwise it would be seen as dereliction of duty.  Even if they could get a medical pass there would still be questions – either enough interest would be stirred to see if Jack was a bearer, or the rumor that Quackity’s aide was weak and needy would spread like wildfire, and there would go Jack’s reputation, which was something he now had to care about.

Ponk cleared his throat. “It isn’t something you have to declare publicly, but have you thought any more about coming forward with your status to the pack-?”

“No,” Jack interrupted, lips pulling into a firm scowl.

Ponk nodded, seeming to expect this response. “I’d just like you to keep in mind that it is an option.”

There were few that knew Jack was a bearer in the castle.  Connor and Ponk were the first two, though both of them had worked to carefully convince Jack to trust Bad as well.  Apparently, medical examinations for free hybrids were much nicer than medical examinations for slaves, and after five uneventful ones, Jack conceded to have them privately with Bad while Connor stood just outside the door rather than holding his hand in the examination room.

Connor had been getting Jack suppressants and birth control through his own means before then, and Jack had never produced much of a scent to require blockers, so he thought he’d been fine, but this… it was his privilege.  He was allowed to get his old scars treated, allowed to be prescribed a diet that wouldn’t hurt his stomach.  Now he had more energy and didn’t look so sick, his cheeks had filled out, there was color in his skin.  Jack could swear he had gained a few blaze scales on his cheeks, but he didn’t want to jinx himself by mentioning them.  Bad’s treatments had even helped his hair grow back, and while Jack was still terribly uncomfortable visiting the royal salon, Connor cut his hair well enough, until Jack really did look the part of a free person.

It was different, but Jack… he was pretty sure he could trust Bad, and if he could trust Bad, he decided to trust Skeppy, mostly so he could have another protector to cuddle with when Connor wasn’t in the mood.  Snuggling wasn’t always Connor’s thing, and sometimes the hedgehog hybrid could get overstimulated, was the word Ponk had taught him.  It was during those times he needed space, which Jack understood just about better than anyone.

“Aside from Sapnap,” Ponk began, getting back on track. “Do you have any other protectors in mind? Any that you regularly interact with?”

There was Prince Wilbur, of course, but Jack would never dare to ask such a thing of his teacher, especially when the piglin hybrid had his eyes set on Quackity.  There was Sir Skeppy, but he already had Bad claimed as his peacekeeper, which would link all three of them together.  And Jack liked Bad and Skeppy, he liked them a lot, but if he had to choose one of the two brothers…

As unattainable as it was, he wanted to leave that spot for Sapnap.

It left him with limited options.

“There’s George,” Jack remembered suddenly, thinking of the laidback panther hybrid he often collaborated with. 

George was one of Lord Eret’s aides that frequently worked under Quackity.  As such, he and Jack had what Connor declared a ‘loose friendship’.  It had taken weeks for Jack to realize George was even a protector, he was so apathetic and laidback.  He’d thought the panther hybrid was a peacekeeper, would have held that belief if he hadn’t seen how insistently stubborn George could be.  When George thought he had the right path, he was immovable and unimpressed with any that opposed him.  He could come off as snobbish, but at the end of the day, George seemed to mostly care about his work. 

It was what made Jack like him so much.

For some reason, Connor seemed to choke beside him, making Jack realize that he’d be useless for the next few moments because Jack had apparently surprised him or whatever. 

Ponk brightened. “George is nice,” he said, writing something down. “You’ve said nothing but good things about him.  Would you like to arrange for him to come to one of your sessions?”

“Um- no,” Jack decided. “I think I want to tackle this on my own.”

Mostly to see if he could.  Ponk would want him to disclose that he was a bearer because that would guarantee anyone’s compliance, but Jack didn’t want to push someone into something they might not want just because of his status.  If George wouldn’t be his protector with the assumption that Jack was a peacekeeper, Jack didn’t want him.

Or he did, but that was because of his dumb instincts, and he was stronger than them.

Besides, George might think Jack was asking him for a romantic relationship or something since that was generally what protectors did with their bearers.  At least, according to Wilbur.  That wasn’t the case with Jack and Connor – Connor had been clear about that up front.  He was asexual and aromantic, and while Jack didn’t entirely know what that meant, what he got from it was that he never had to worry about Connor wanting to have sex with him and that they could be friends forever. 

Jack liked it.  It was comforting.

He wasn’t sure if George would feel the same way.  Jack wasn’t even sure if he wanted to romance to romance anyone.  There were the weird urges with Sapnap, but other than that, well… who knew.

“Okay,” Ponk said, smiling wide. “If you need us, your support system is here for you.  We can talk about this whenever you like.”

But not now.  Ponk recognized that Jack needed more time.  He hadn’t even realized he was making this decision today, but now that it was done, what was the worst that could happen?

Besides George saying no and their professional relationship being ruined forever.

On second thought, maybe Jack should talk to Wilbur first.  It couldn’t hurt to get a second opinion, seeing as Connor was still out of it.

That was what the support network was for, after all.

~:~

“George?” Wilbur echoed after Jack had spent five minutes fumbling through a delicate way to explain things before he eventually gave up and spat everything out in a graceless rush. “You want to claim him?”

“I work with him a lot,” Jack mumbled nonchalantly, his shoulders moving in a loose shrug as he went back to organizing his files. “That will solve the accessibility problem, and I like him.”

“I suppose you could do worse,” Wilbur mused, his eyes narrowed in thought.  It sounded like an insult, but Wilbur by habit wasn’t quick to give out praise.  Criticism, on the other hand, he had by the bucketful, and often used it as a distancing measure to buy himself time to think. “So what’s the holdup?”

“I’m worried how he’ll respond,” Jack said, scrunching his nose in distaste at the admission.  It was stupid, Jack was worried about pretty much everything, he would have thought it was inherently obvious, but Ponk said it was important for him to clarify this stuff to alleviate any sort of confusion. “Do you think he’ll say no?”

“George?” Wilbur echoed again, as though they’d started talking about someone else in the last thirty seconds. “No, he’s a smart lad, he’ll say yes.”

“But not because he feels compelled to, right?” Jack asked, twisting his hands together.  The callouses remained, but it was strange to feel how much his scars had faded under Bad’s treatment. “I don’t want to put him in an awkward position because we’re coworkers, but I think it’d be very helpful.”

Wilbur considered this for a moment, something flitting through his gaze that Jack couldn’t ever hope to place, but then the prince nodded. “Don’t worry about that,” he said, throwing out casual orders as always. “Despite his aloof behavior, George is a decent guy at the end of the day.  He knows you have a rough past and has probably caught onto some of your struggles.  If he can help, I’m sure he’ll be glad to, even if he will literally never say as much.  Like, ever.” Wilbur picked up his pen, spinning it idly between his fingers before he aimed it at Jack. “Deep discussions about emotions are not something you should ever expect from George, but if you need a protector to make your life easier, he’ll do the job and he’ll do it well.”

“He’s just not good at delicate conversations,” Jack surmised, watching Wilbur’s face.

The prince gave a sage nod. “Unfortunately no, but that’s what you’ve got Connor for, right?  George is just your backup guy.” His smile stretched wide, eagerly showing off his sharp tusks. “Good for snuggles and constant stability.”

Jack felt his cheeks flare with warmth. “I don’t think he’s really a snuggles kind of guy.”

“You won’t know until you ask,” Wilbur said, sending Jack off with a wink and his blessing.

The prince seemed confident that things would go well and Bad did too, who was already friends with George.  That combined with Ponk’s encouragement gave Jack the strength he needed to approach the panther hybrid – now it was simply a matter of voicing the question.

He had to wait until they were alone, but it wasn’t like that was difficult.  Even if Quackity liked to watch over Jack a lot, he was kind enough to give Jack space, and George, like Skizz, was trusted to work independently from Eret on the regular because he was so hardworking and trustworthy. 

Both very attractive qualities.

It wasn’t until the proper opportunity arrived that Jack started to worry.  Which made sense.  This was new, delicate territory, it was reasonable to be nervous. It wasn’t useful, but it was to be expected.  At least, Ponk would say that.  Jack himself would just let loose a string of expletives, because he didn’t have time to waste being fretful.

“If you have a question, just ask it,” George said, safely cutting through the chaos of his thoughts.

To anyone else the words might sound harsh, clipped, but over their months of working together Jack had learned that this was George’s awkward way of giving him an opportunity.  There were times when Jack struggled to speak up for himself – a lifetime of conditioning that emphasized silence was difficult to overcome no matter how thorough his support network – but it was easier when George gave him obvious conversational cues to cut in.  Jack wasn’t sure if George knew how much he appreciated that kindness or if the other aide even registered it as a kindness at all rather than his own inherent disposition towards efficiency, which likely wanted to mitigate distractions brought on by Jack’s silent fretting.

Whatever the reasoning, Jack was grateful.  George was direct where most nobles were roundabout and subtle, which was another thing that made Jack appreciate him so much.

So Jack tried to repay the favor in kind by cutting straight to the point. 

Fast.  Efficient.

“I want you to be my protector,” he spoke up, willing as much confidence into his tone as possible.

His attempted picture of composure was all for nothing because George was too busy jolting in surprise, scrambling to recover the files he very nearly dropped onto the floor due to his shock.

“I mean,” Jack rushed to explain, realizing he may have left out a few steps. “Would you like to be my second protector?”

For once in their months of knowing each other, George looked at him in open surprise, a thing his calm reserve usually didn’t allow.  Bad theorized that it was his own noble etiquette training coming into play, Skeppy just thought he was repressed, whatever that meant. “Me?” George asked, pointing to himself for good measure. “You want- of all people-” He cut off with a sigh, setting his files down so they’d no longer be at risk of falling on the floor, and ran a hand through his silky hair. “Give me a second, I’m trying to wrap my head around this.”

“In a bad way?” Jack prompted, knowing that if all else failed, George would at least be honest with him.

“In a surprised way,” George corrected with a wave of his hand. “I wasn’t expecting this.  I figured you’d pick someone… you know, nicer.”

“You are nice though,” Jack pointed out, his brows furrowed in confusion. “You’re direct and clear and never play any mind games with me.”

“Your standards are very low,” George informed him, an apathetic observation as he reverted back to his normal self.

“That might be true,” Jack allowed, because he’d been happy enough with a blanket and one solid meal per day, everything else was just icing.  Just a huge pile of icing. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you make me feel safe, and even if we have an informal arrangement, Ponk thinks it will help to have another protector who I can more regularly interact with, so um…” He swallowed hard, fighting not to twist his hands together.  If he wanted to look confident, he had to act confident.  No one would support a nervous person. “I would understand if you’re not interested.”

“I didn’t say that,” George replied, always direct with his words. “I just never thought anyone would ask this of me.  At least, no one who didn’t want to take advantage of my connection to House Davidson.”

Jack scrunched his nose in distaste. “I don’t care about that.”

The many noble houses of the empire and how they interacted with each other was something Jack was learning from both Wilbur and his private tutor.  Their ranks, businesses, and histories played a vital role in successfully navigating the social hierarchy of the empire.  It was complicated and made Jack’s head hurt, but for Quackity’s sake he absorbed the knowledge as well as possible.

Still, he hadn’t even known George was a noble until Connor had told him, further shaking the fundamental understanding of Jack’s world by informing him that most individuals whom the royal family regularly interacted with were of noble status.  It was considered a high privilege to assist royals in even the most basic duties.  Bad, Sapnap, and Skeppy had been an exception to the rule before they had earned their titles, and then Connor and Jack had come along, but just about everyone else – from the maids to the butler to the paper runners who visited the higher levels of the castle – they were all nobles.  

Even Ponk was from a noble family apparently, though he’d abandoned the aristocratic scene to focus on his medical practice.  It was something both Connor and Wilbur approved of.

“It’s one of the things I like about you,” George admitted easily, the corner of his mouth kicking up in a smile. 

For whatever reason, George was very sensitive about matters that pertained to his family.  Jack had assumed it was a noble thing, but he couldn’t know for sure without asking Wilbur, and he didn’t want to risk violating George’s privacy over something that was likely trivial. 

For a second, there was calm, and then George’s expression seemed to settle into something more serious. “If I accept this, will it make things easier for you?  You won’t be so… tense?”

That was a nice way of saying ‘mere seconds from completely losing it at any given moment’, but George had always been kinder to Jack than he’d necessarily warranted. 

Jack nodded, embarrassed by his neediness even if Ponk said it was natural.  Jack hadn’t even had a protector before coming to the castle, but he’d also been ‘regularly abused’ and ‘traumatized’ and ‘forced to endure hardships that qualify as inhumane’, so Jack had other priorities.  With his focus squarely on physical survival, he hadn’t been able to cater to the demands of his hybrid nature – or so Ponk said.

“It will, I think,” Jack allowed, sure to add a verbal confirmation as well. “It doesn’t have to change anything about our current relationship.  I have no expectations beyond what you have currently done for me.  You’re already plenty helpful.”

“I’m decent, Jack,” George reminded him, a patient repetition. “Decent, don’t forget it.  It’s dangerous for someone of your position to have such low standards when it comes to basic interactions.”

“Sorry,” Jack murmured, twisting his hands together again.  That was another lesson from Wilbur, he remembered it now.  Too much gratitude created more weaknesses to be exploited. 

Everything seemed to create weak spots, it was a nightmare.

“It’s okay,” George soothed, and from him, Jack knew it wasn’t a mindless platitude. “I know you don’t lower your guard for everyone.  I’m honored to be someone you trust.”

He said it like it mattered, like it was important, and it made a new strange feeling build in his stomach, similar to the odd sensation Jack got around Sapnap.

Jack decided then and there it was probably indigestion.  There was no need to complicate matters.

“As for our arrangement,” George continued, scratching idly at the back of one of his ears, the dark points perked with interest among his dark brown locks. “It would be beneficial for you to have… additional contact, correct?  Hugs and um- stuff?”

George began to look uneasy, though it was understandable.  As far as Jack had seen George wasn’t the most touchy-feely individual, seeming to prefer to keep firm personal boundaries, much like Connor when he was overstimulated.  And yet, despite this fact, he didn’t seem to hate the idea of additional contact.  There was something unreadable in his gaze, something Jack would have to ask Wilbur about later. It seemed like nerves, even though Jack was certain that they were not the root of the issue.

“It would,” Jack allowed, because he wanted to be honest with his prospective protector.  At least, as honest as he could be without coming out as a bearer. “But I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“It’s no burden,” George sniffed, seeming to fall back into his usual apathetic attitude, regaining his mask. “I accept your request.  And while I would prefer to reserve acts of physical affection and reassurance for during our breaks or when we are off duty altogether, if you immediately require something, I will be at your disposal.” He curled his hand into a fist and pressed it against his chest. “So I, George Davidson, third son of House Davidson, do swear to honor my duties as a protector to Master Jack, Duke Quackity’s primary aide.”

“Oh,” Jack said, feeling a little breathless. “Should I make a pledge too?”

“You don’t need to,” George assured him. “Now it’s about time for tea anyway, so would you…” He offered his arms out tentatively, and Jack belatedly realized he was offering Jack a hug.

George, the ice king, was offering him a hug.

Touch was a tricky thing with Jack.  For the majority of his life it had only equated pain – hands curled around his wrists pinning him in place, tight fingers against the back of his neck leading him to be manhandled at will, pinching against the pointed tips of his ears.  There were backhands and kicks and bruises, other things- very rarely was it another slave sharing food or medicine.  Until Jack was seventeen and experienced the unfiltered love of a child, he hadn’t realized touch could heal as well.  That there were hugs, head ruffles, held hands.

For years, Jack had lost that precious contact, only regaining it when he arrived at the castle.  He spent weeks tensing on reflex when anyone approached him too quickly, always prepared to curl into a tight ball, to contort himself into a more defensible position to minimize damage.  Ponk had said it was an engrained survival mechanism.  He’d spent weeks helping Jack relearn the positive aspects of touch.

Jack was pretty sure he had a handle on it now.  The nights he felt comfortable enough to share his nest with Connor, the cuddles he could have with Skeppy, holding hands with Bad.  And Tubbo – anything and everything for the pups who would gladly climb all over Jack if given the opportunity, who would hug him tight and fall asleep against his chest with so much trust it left him breathless.

Touch could be good, but Jack had a limited well of people he trusted to extend those positive contacts.

Here and now, he was shocked to realize George slipped easily into that category.

As such, there was no part of Jack who would have been capable of denying it, not when his early morning Connor snuggles seemed so very far away.

“Oof,” George huffed when Jack crashed into him with an enthusiastic hold. “You’re warm.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, perking up with a smile. “Bad says my internal flame is becoming stronger.”

“Good for you,” George hummed, leaning forward to nuzzle Jack’s shoulder. “I knew you could do it.”

It was nothing, it was literally nothing, but still-

Jack’s instincts buzzed with happiness, making him realize he’d made the best choice.

This wasn’t extraneous or unnecessary.  It was just what he, in the moment, needed.

And in turn it was what George, in the moment, was willing to give.

Chapter Text

George hadn’t really known what to make of Jack when he’d first met him.

Or he had, but it had been an arbitrary designation, something akin to ‘Duke Quackity’s pity project – do not touch’ before executing the tried and trusted strategy of minding his own damn business.

It was surprising how few aides could manage that much.  It was quite likely that despite George’s many talents in the field of politics, legislature, and organization, that the true reason he’d excelled as much as he had was because he kept his focus purely on the business of assisting Lord Eret.  He didn’t strive to improve his family name or gain status for the sake of securing better marriage prospects, he didn’t attempt to collect information he shouldn’t or sway the wills of his master one way or the other, didn’t allow himself to become the puppet or mouthpiece of some stuck-up earl or well-off marquess.  George did his work and did it well while respecting the tight level of security and confidentiality expected of his position.  He wasn’t at risk of sharing secrets for the right price and he had no delusions of grandeur.

George was a grounded individual.  He understood his place in the world.  As the middle son of a viscount, George had spent years trying to prove his worth to his family to garner some amount of affection and approval.  The former was likely a hopeless endeavor from the very beginning, but the latter had seemed attainable.  George had done his best – was diligent in his studies, had ruthlessly trained himself to uphold the dignity of the Davidson family by carrying himself an aloof and apathetic disposition.  He knew he wasn’t anything special.  He was not the heir, nor was he the business-savvy second eldest.  He wasn’t a prodigy who paved the way for medical breakthroughs or a young knight with substantial promise, sure to ascend quickly through the ranks.  He was simply George, third born and devastatingly good at paperwork if not so much social niceties, and while that had been enough to earn him a place as Lord Eret’s assistant, it had never been enough to gain him any sort of support or approval from his pack leader and father, which had likely been inevitable.  With four other sons and a handful of grandchildren along the way, the head of the Davidson family didn’t have time for George, the scorned outcast of the Davidson family.  If he wanted to be truly useful, he would have made himself a more appealing prospect to attract a mate from a powerful family, but that had been the one line George had drawn for himself.  He wanted to be appreciated as more than a mere chess piece, he wanted his mind and work to be acknowledged in their own right.

It was a stupid, childish wish.  His lack of cooperation in marital affairs had made him the black sheep of his family (yes, that was it, that was what had made him an outcast), but George was undeterred.  He had more than enough work – satisfying, validating work – to keep himself occupied.  He would have a fulfilling life in his own way, and that was that.

And then he’d met Jack.

At first it had been at a distance.  Jack had been kept in seclusion when he’d first arrived at the castle – occupied with his own studies.  The glimpses George had caught of him were through the windows, the small blaze hybrid keeping the royal pups company during their afternoon break out in the gardens.  He’d seemed so fragile back then, and yet unquestionably weathered, as though he had borne the entire weight of the world on his shoulders and would be forced to do so until the end of his days. 

It had taken six weeks for George to start interacting with him in a more substantial fashion.  It was then that he’d come to recognize that Jack was utterly unfamiliar with not just royal life or the job of an aide to nobility, but normal existence itself.  He tripped over his shoes more often than not, muttering something under his breath and glaring as though they were entirely foreign beings.  It seemed to take ages for him to write even the most basic of notes, though he’d gotten better in time, and the same applied for organizing papers.  He was slow and George had resented that, but to his credit, when Jack worked, his work was always correct.  Even if he wasn’t expedient, he was reliable, which had earned him some bonus points.

Unlike the other aides that had been gradually dismissed or reassigned to other departments, George didn’t stare at the bounty of scars that littered Jack’s hands – scrapes and burns and knicks that had never been allowed to heal correctly.  Jack, like George, was someone who kept to his own space, who was constantly wary of others, but despite his many handicaps, the blaze hybrid was a diligent and thorough individual, possibly almost as hardworking as George himself. 

It led to a peaceful coexistence, and if George found them working on more and more projects together, he was almost certain it came at the hands of a certain Lord Consort.

“Jack is precious to Quackity,” Lord Eret had explained one day when it was just the two of them.  Skizz had flitted in the way he always did, making a brief appearance before ducking back into the private office George still hadn’t been able to locate to this day, plowing through Eret’s work with a ferocity that seemed averse to his laidback attitude.  Even after all these years, George didn’t understand it, and he suspected he never would. “By extension, he is precious to the rest of the royal flock.”

George heard the words he didn’t say and wasn’t foolish enough to buy into Lord Eret’s mask of quietly regal kindness.  Lord Eret was an individual who handsomely rewarded his allies but didn’t think twice about annihilating his enemies.  His ruthlessness was likely second only to Prince Wilbur’s, though he was more reluctant to share it.

“You’ve done well by him so far,” Lord Eret continued. “I hadn’t expected anything less.” He folded his hands together, thoughtful. “I acknowledge your efforts and I am, as always, grateful for your continued assistance.”

“It is my honor and privilege, your majesty,” George had said, suddenly burdened with the realization that the basic decencies he had offered Jack – things which apparently hadn’t been emulated by the other aides even though they were the required bare minimum of manners and decorum – had somehow greatly elevated him in the Lord Consort’s eyes.

It was surprising, but Lord Eret made it clear that he appreciated the work and intellect George brought to the table.  Those were inherent appreciations, obvious things, but it was his treatment of Jack that had firmly established George’s character in Lord Eret’s eyes.  They’d worked together for years, Eret plucking him right out of secondary school, but this was the first time they’d ever been forthright with each other, that George felt close to somewhat of an equal.

It was just a feeling, though, not something that could ever be true, but still-

In light of that, there really wasn’t much to deliberate when Jack had asked George to be his protector.

Even with the knowledge that George’s treatment of Jack had been somewhat unique, the panther hybrid couldn’t have foreseen this turn of events, couldn’t have realized he was that needed.  Realistically, this was because George rarely paid much mind to his secondary sex traits.  Presenting as a protector hadn’t earned him any more appreciation in his family’s eyes than anything else, so George had shoved such useless things to the back of his mind and reprioritized on his studies.  Half the time he forgot he was a protector, could probably ignore it entirely were it not for the strange urges that infrequently plagued him.   George could usually keep them in mind, but he could admit that something about Jack’s fragility stirred up a strong need to defend the blaze hybrid.  This had manifested mostly through food, George always sure that Jack took the snack breaks he tended to work through, that the fireplace was always stoked and well fed in the rooms they were working in so Jack wouldn’t get cold.  They were dumb things, but manageable.

And now Jack wanted him to give into those instincts completely.

Were George being entirely honest, he didn’t dislike the prospect.  As prickly as he could be perceived, he never expected anyone to look on him for genuine aid – he’d been honest about that.

But Jack did, and he did so earnestly, and maybe…

It was a fact that protectors could get by without formally claiming additional packmates.  Protectors were made to protect, true, but their base goals were strength and survival, both of which could be solitary projects.  And George could always apply his protective needs towards his family, as distant and resentful as he felt to them, but maybe… maybe he could have this.

He wouldn’t have considered it before. For anyone else it would feel like a burden, like unnecessary trouble.

But Jack wasn’t anybody else, he was someone who’d survived clear hardships and was constantly working to better himself.  George appreciated hard work.  And maybe- maybe he appreciated Jack too.  Not just his determination, but…

There had been one time during their early days of working together when Jack was still learning the ropes.  George had gone to retrieve some files and returned to find the sleeve of Jack’s tunic pushed up to reveal even more scarred flesh, though George was more distracted by the teeth Jack had buried into his forearm, in the hand he had constantly smacking against the side of his head, as though chastising him for the act.

George had lost a second to numb stupor before his damage control instincts had kicked into gear.

“Hey, no- stop-” George had said in a rushed babble, setting his papers aside before approaching Jack slowly, keeping his hands up so the blaze hybrid could see he had no ill intents. “Please don’t do that.”

Jack whined – the closest he ever made to a hybrid sound – and looked at him with big, wet eyes.  In a way, George had been expecting this breakdown for a while, could detect Jack’s rising frustration with himself, though he’d expected it to manifest much differently.

“I- I need to-” Jack began, hands shaking as he pressed them against his sides. “I didn’t- I didn’t want to break anything and I couldn’t- I have to be quiet, so I-”

“It’s okay, you’re okay, but maybe we’ll find another way to get out your frustration,” George said, realizing what happened.

The path to the private royal medical suite seemed to pass in a blur, and while Bad’s gaze was slightly saddened, he was still calm and cheerful as he treated Jack, acting as though everything was perfectly normal.  George had tried to pull back to give them some privacy, something he thought Jack might want, but then the blaze hybrid had whimpered once more, and how could George leave?  So he stayed, but he couldn’t hold Jack’s hands since they were being treated, but the peacekeeper kept leaning into him and-

Maybe George wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulders, and it was just- warm.  He was warm and so small, so fragile, and something tight had clenched in George’s chest, something he couldn’t identify.

Touch was a fleeting thing in George’s life.  His earliest memories revealed a family steadily kept at a distance at best, and at worst- there were no hugs for skinned knees or hands carded softly through his hair.  There were no teasing tail flicks or held hands or cuddles.  George’s family was all about dignity and strength (a mask they desperately held onto to hide the fact that they had bought their noble title rather than inheriting it for generations like the other nobility that looked down their noses at the Davidsons).  If there was contact, it was usually the aggressive type – not the kind George ever tried to linger on, the kind that made his head hurt if he dwelled on it, so he didn’t.

George didn’t have much experience with casual affection, but Jack, he needed something, and George-

He’d liked giving it. Having it.

He could pretend he’d been forced into a corner as much as he wanted, but the truth was George wanted to be Jack’s protector, because if he did, he could satisfy the need for physical contact for both of them.  Perhaps the need to protect had sparked after that incident.  Afterwards, George had been sure to treat Jack the same as before, letting nothing in their interactions change.  The peacekeeper seemed wary of this at first, though slowly relaxed as time went on, and when he began to look frustrated by his duties he turned to George with a pinched expression, his eyes turned downwards.

“Ponk says if I start getting too worked up by something I should take a break from it and try something else.”

“That works out pretty well then,” George hummed, gathering up a pile of folders he’d put on the backburner for that day. “Could you deliver these to Lord Foolish’s office?”

Jack perked up at that, clearly grateful to still be of assistance.  The smallest of grins pulled at his lips and he left with a spring in his step, returning later with a bashful smile and a plateful of cookies courtesy of the totem hybrid.

From then on, it was easy to think of additional tasks for Jack to do, busywork George reserved for when he was more exhausted – things that kept him productive that didn’t require as much mental focus.  It was clear Jack needed it more than he did, though sometimes George would pull them both aside for walks when things got too tense.  He’d do so under the guise of showing Jack around, pointing out different paintings or pretending to run errands together.  The job of a royal aide could be stressful for someone who’d trained their whole lives for such a thing – he couldn’t imagine the strain Jack might regularly endure.  In truth, George didn’t know the exact specifics of Jack’s background, but he was certain things had not been easy for him.

With all that in mind, when Jack had asked George to be his protector, there was really only one answer.

Strangely enough, it was an answer that made something click in his chest, something that made George feel right.

It wasn’t worth looking into, but still, it was a nice development. 

~:~

Of course, George wasn’t stupid.  He’d expected there to be ramifications from this decision – serious ones at that – so he was not surprised to be called into Prince Wilbur’s office the day after he’d formally pledged himself to Jack.

“Georgie,” the piglin hybrid greeted, wearing a mask of mock cheerfulness as he lazily waved George inside, his feet already propped on the desk he most definitely cherished, an illusion of casual laziness that George may have bought if he weren’t so certain that the only time Wilbur ever did such things was when he was trying to make a statement. “So nice of you to join me.  Come in, come in.”

George was already in, but he schooled his expression into one of neutrality rather than annoyance, taking a seat in one of the indicated visitors’ chairs with a sigh. 

He wished the prince would just get to the point.  They both knew why they were present, and yet, Wilbur was certain to drag this out. 

He was petty like that.

George fended off small talk with basic pleasantries, graciously accepting and pretending to drink the cup of tea the prince had been generous enough to share with him.  Cookies were snuck into his pocket for George knew better than to eat in front of Wilbur, and also knew better than to make it seem as though he was snubbing the prince’s snacks.  While they were equally ruthless, Eret was easier to handle than Wilbur as Eret was more straightforward and didn’t enjoy playing with his food quite as much, so to speak.

“So,” Wilbur spoke up suddenly, a change in tone indicating that they were finally about to approach the proper reason for this meeting. “I heard Jack claimed you as his protector.”

“In an informal capacity, yes,” George allowed, taking the cue as an opportunity to set his teacup aside – half-finished and, to this point, un-poisoned as far as George could tell. “Though I did make a proper pledge to him on my family’s name.  I’ll honor my commitment.”

“Good,” Wilbur chirped, though he wrinkled his nose at the mention of the Davidson family.  Not that George blamed him – he didn’t like his family either – he just wished the prince would pretend to consider hiding his distaste. “I suppose I don’t have to tell you what will happen if you’ve taken on this responsibility with less-than-noble intents.” He offered George a smile that was more teeth than kindness, his small tusks shown off with sharp, vicious points. “If you ever intentionally hurt him, Mr. Davidson, they will never find your body.”

“I know, your highness,” George said, sure to keep his tone level.

It was an ultimatum he was already somewhat prepared for, mostly due to the meeting he’d had in the early hours of the morning delivered to him via one Sir Connor, who had woken George with a wicked grin as he pinned the panther hybrid down against the couch he had fallen asleep on, a dagger pressed against his throat.  How he even got on Davidson grounds without being detected, George didn’t know, but he took the hedgehog hybrid’s words (who he’d previously only seen in passing) to heart, seeing as the man had already proven his capabilities.

“Not that I think you’ll do anything,” Connor said with a lazy, lopsided smile. “But on the offhand chance you do, I will deliver unto you a fate worse than death.” He chuckled, something low and dark, enough that George wasn’t even certain that this was the first time he’d threatened someone. “You’ll wish that I killed you by the time I’m finished.”

“Noted,” George had said, somewhat breathless. “Now get the fuck off me.”

“Oooh, you’re feisty, that’s good,” Connor had said, easily acquiescing. “Use that to protect Jack, he’ll appreciate it.”

The blaze hybrid seemed to have no idea just how many people he had in his corner, was oblivious to the well of support and love he had access to.  George wasn’t jealous, but he could admit a sense of unease low in his stomach when he dwelled on it.

“But do you know know?” Wilbur said, dragging him back to the present. “You seem like decent stock, George.  I can see why Eret keeps you around, but I need to impress upon you exactly how precious and fragile Jack is.  It was a big step for him to reach out to you-”

“Wilbur.” The voice was clipped and deep, and while George could place it in his sleep, he was still surprised to see Lord Eret standing by the door, having effortlessly pushed into the room while Wilbur was talking. “Enough of this.”

The crown prince made a face at him. “Eret-”

“I understand your intentions,” Eret interrupted. “But it is unnecessary.  This conversation is over.” He nodded towards George, whose body thankfully followed on instinct even if his brain was lagging horrifically behind.

They walked in silence for a few moments, George bracing himself for further conversation as they relocated to Eret’s office and floundering when the Lord Consort seemed to just… go about his day.  As though nothing had happened.

It took about thirty seconds for George to crack. “Aren’t you going to threaten me?” he asked, horrifically out of line all things considered, but Eret had always been somewhat lenient with him. “Read me the riot act?”

“No,” Eret said simply, putting down his forms to give George his full attention. “I don’t need to.  I know you’ll be a good protector for him.” A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I think this will be good for both of you.”

“Oh.” George wasn’t how to respond to that.  Felt flustered by the open communication of faith when he and Eret normally spoke exclusively of business. This was entirely new territory for them.  George wasn’t sure he liked it. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for having faith in you, that’s something you’ve earned through your own actions.” The consort’s smile widened into something proper, genuine. “I think Jack chose well in you, George.  I’m glad you two have each other.”

“I-” George felt his face flood with a furious heat he couldn’t stop if he tried. “I also- I-” Oh fuck, this was horrible.  He hated this, he hated this a lot. “I have those files you were looking for.”

He said it in a rush, turning towards the pile he had organized just that morning and pointedly ignoring the laughter Eret didn’t quite muffle behind him.  The lord consort was clearly amused by something that had absolutely nothing to do with George and his inability to discuss sensitive subjects.  Absolutely nothing at all.

“Thank you,” Eret said, his voice smooth as silk. “For everything.”

“Literally never mention it ever,” George muttered before throwing himself furiously back into his work, desperate for the distraction.

Still, if he kept one eye on the clock, counting down the minutes until Jack arrived from his studies, that was his business and his business alone.  He was a protector, after all, he should be interested in his charge.  That was perfectly natural.

~:~

“You’ve been busy lately,” Dream said nonchalantly, trying so hard to come off as casual but forever incapable of managing it – at least when it came to George.  Even with his mask, George could detect Dream’s interest, the Head of the Knight Legion fiddling with his last shortbread cookie as though he was contemplating feeding it to Philza’s crows. 

Which he very well might be, he was a suck up like that.

“Busy doing your mum,” George muttered, taking a sip of his lemonade and grinning at the way Dream sputtered, a few of the bolder crows hopping closer to their secluded corner of the high nobility training yard.  At this time of day the place was entirely deserted, which was why they’d started sharing their lunch there so very long ago.

When Dream collected himself once more he did so with a wheezing laugh, one hand pressed against his chest as though to steady himself. “You know she’d be happy to see you,” he said, offhandedly snapping his cookie in fourths before hurling it in the training yard, lips no doubt matching the grin on his mask as the crows went into a frenzy battling over them.  Spoiled brats.  They acted as though the emperor and Lord Foolish didn’t sneak them sweets all the time. “You should come around again soon.”

“I don’t know,” George sighed, pressing his lips together in a firm line. 

It wasn’t that George didn’t like visiting Dream’s estate or didn’t enjoy interacting with his friend’s small family.  Dream’s mother was an absolute delight that refused to allow George to go home with anything less than two baskets of sweets, and it was always fun to watch Drista harass Dream into training with her.  They acted the way he imagined a real family would, which made his visits to the Wastaken House both buoying and painful.  He would visit more frequently if he could, but Dream also had the misfortune of belonging to one of the major families of the empire – the four most powerful clans under the emperor himself.  There was the Essempi duchy – whom Lord Eret belonged to that had produced politicians of great renown for generations, and Las Nevadas – the House of Charity – which was now under Duke Quackity’s keen eye.  There was the technologically inclined Awes, whom Duke Samuel belonged to, and lastly there was the Wastakens, who’d always belonged to the First Knight Order of the empire, and Dream was no exception.  Through hard work and a lot of natural skill he’d come to replace his father as Head of the Knight Legion, Duke Wastaken retiring to an administrative role within the empire’s military. 

As a protector, Dream was a catch beyond all catches, the prime candidate on the marriage market.

He was also kind of an idiot, which was why George liked him.

But alas, if anyone knew Dream returned that favor – or, more accurately, if George’s family ever learned of that favor they would exploit it as much as possible, and Dream – the utter moron – would let them.

So as much as George despised hiding their friendship from the majority of the world, he knew it was the only way he could maintain his peaceful existence as the black sheep of his family.

“Come on, George, Patches hasn’t seen you in forever,” Dream groaned, playing up the dramatics by trying to scrunch himself into something small and pitiful, something that would be forever impossible with his gargantuan frame. “She needs her George cuddle time.”

“You just want to draw more pictures of us together,” George huffed, his ears flicking in irritation as he resolutely did not dwell on how much he enjoyed visiting Dream’s cat, or the large rounded daybed Dream kept heaped with pillows and blankets that was positioned strategically to absorb as many sunbeams as possible in his room, therefore making it the most perfect napping spot ever, the sneaky bastard.

“I’ll have the chefs make those cookies you like!” Dream declared, not even attempting to sound apologetic. “Come on, it’s been so long.”

“I’ll have to check my schedule,” George sighed, knowing his resolve had been shaken. 

He tried to split his time between Dream and Sapnap equally since they hated each other for some reason, and as they were his closest friends, he didn’t want to spark the ire of one by seeming to favor the other.  At first it had been a matter of principle, but then he realized the losers actually kept track of such things, which made him both despair and a little bit proud.  Not that he was surprised, of course, those idiots of his always found new ways to outdo themselves.

“I have to check if Jack will need me,” George added belatedly, realizing that was now a thing he had to keep in mind.  Granted, a majority of their interactions came during work hours.  Jack had Connor when they were off duty but if George wanted to do his part well, he should check at the very least.

“Jack?” Dream echoed. “Jack who?  You mean that new aide?”

“Yeah, the one that works for Duke Quackity,” George said, knowing full well that Dream already knew who he was referencing. “I’m his protector now.”

“Wh- you?” Dream sputtered once more, flailing his arms for good measure and looking nothing like the composed and dashing knight so many noble ladies waxed poetic over. “He asked- why?”

“You don’t have to be so surprised,” George sniffed, even if he himself had felt similarly confused. “We work together a lot and he needed the support.” He stared down at his legs stretched out before him, the tips of his toes soaking up the afternoon sun from where they extended past the shelter of their private resting area.  Jack was right about one thing at least, shoes were vastly overrated. “I don’t know for certain but I think his life before he came here was pretty rough.  He needed help, and I… I’ll admit, I like helping him.” George took another sip of his lemonade to buy time, beads of condensation rubbing against the pads of his fingers. “I never really thought I’d do the whole protector thing, not really, but it feels nice.  Different, but nice.”

Dream didn’t say anything for a long moment, which meant he was quietly evaluating the situation, seeming to decide it required thought and consideration, which made George irritated.  He would have much rather Dream babbled out his gut response so they could move on with the conversation.  This information was hardly world changing.

“It’s that why you’ve missed some of our lunches?” Dream asked, voice exercising the utmost care.  There was curiosity, but this time he was making an effort not to press George’s boundaries.  He would back off if George wanted him to.

But George- he didn’t want that.  He needed to talk about this with someone, and Jack was always so weird about Sapnap. 

It left George with limited options.

“Yeah,” George huffed. “Sometimes I’ll picnic with Jack, at least when he’s not eating with the pups.” A beat, and then to reward Dream’s consideration he bumped elbows with the giant lug of a hybrid. “I haven’t been sneaking extra visits with Sapnap if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not!  I wasn’t!” Dream immediately insisted, waving his hands in a frantic flutter as though this would prove his innocence. “That’s- wow, that’s really big, George," he said, as stupidly sincere as always.  Sometimes George hated how much Dream wore his heart on his sleeve, worried the knight would one day suffer for it, or at least, he had until he realized Dream was only like that with those he held close. “And this – taking care of Jack – it makes you happy?”  

George waited a moment to give the illusion of thinking it over, stubbornly looking off to the side so Dream couldn’t see his flustered expression.

“Yes,” he said when the silence became unbearable. “Yeah, it makes me really happy.”

It was stressful, but every smile he earned from Jack, every hug he was allowed to receive made him feel complete in a way. The times they would cuddle together on the couch, when Jack looked at him in relief when George was doing so very little, and yes, he knew he was going to protect this individual until the day he died, that Jack was so strong yet delicate at the same time, that he’d overcome so much and George just- he wanted to make Jack’s life easier.  He wanted to have that kind of effect on someone.

He wanted to make a difference.  He wanted to matter.

“Then I’m glad,” Dream said, his voice soft. “And I know you’ll do a great job.”

“Of course,” George said, puffing up with pride while giving a pleased flick of his tail. 

Of course, he said, but Dream knew he meant thank you, and the knight would be forever kind enough not to make him say it aloud.

“I’m here if you ever need any help,” Dream continued. “I’ve never claimed someone as a protector, but I take care of Drista and my mom whether they like it or not, so I might know a thing or two.”

“Two whole things – you’re being too generous with yourself,” George laughed, earning another squawk from Dream. 

Honestly, with all the squabbling he did, George would think he was an avian.  As it was, he didn’t know what kind of hybrid Dream was.  Even if he’d seen the man without his mask back at his estate, the Wastaken hybrid type was a fiercely guarded thing – by order of emperors of old.

“Oh, fuck off,” Dream huffed, sneaking his last shortbread underneath his mask and taking a vindictive bite out of it. 

In the distance, a few crows wilted in disappointment.

Spoiled babies.

There were a few moments of silence, and then-

“You could always bring Jack with you to the estate.”

It was George’s turn to let out a dramatic groan. “Come off it.”

“I’m serious!” Dream insisted. “I’m sure my mom will be happy to pump him full of snacks too!”

“Just make sure it’s all finger food,” George grumbled, not really thinking about it. “I mean- not that we’re coming, I agreed to nothing.”

“But if it does happen, we will have all the best finger food,” Dream declared. “And the three of us will have way more fun than you ever could with Sapnap.”

“You are a child.  An actual child,” George informed him with a huff. “And if you want any chance of Jack liking you, you’re going to have to keep your rivalry to yourself.  He likes Sapnap, as far as I can tell.  Or he likes Bad, which for him is the same thing.”

“Handheld food, no badmouthing Sapnap,” Dream summarized. “I can do those things.”

“We’re not actually coming.”

“Of course not,” Dream cheered. “But maybe one day.”

“Maybe,” George sniffed, acting aloof as he finished his sandwich, trying to combat the weird fluttered feeling in his chest, the one that was entirely contented at the thought of two of his favorite- or, more favored individuals being together in one place.

Sapnap was the only one that was missing, but that wasn’t anything to read into.

“I’ll take a maybe,” Dream hummed, perpetually cheerful, and George wondered why he was even friends with this person.  How it had even happened at all.

Whatever the reason or means, a smaller part of himself could admit he was grateful for it.

Chapter Text

George might have been bewildered to have claimed someone, but Dream had always expected it, for all that he’d pretended to be surprised when George had brought it up.  To be honest, he had been somewhat shocked, but that was mostly that such a thing had developed on its own rather than through Dream’s intervention.  As much as George pretended to detest maintaining close relationships, it was clear – at least to Dream – that his upbringing with the Davidson family had left him terribly starved for affection.  Maybe that was what had drawn Dream to the panther hybrid all those years ago – a chance meeting of two young nobles at the empire’s most prestigious academy.  Dream had been popular before he’d even arrived at the school – well-connected due to the kindness and charisma of his parents.  Despite being unable to host proper functions in their own home (it went against Wastaken rules), they regularly rented out grand spaces to throw parties, directly feeding the economy and keeping themselves tightly connected in the social spotlight of the empire.  The Wastaken family might be strong on name alone, might be known for its military prowess and honor as a household of knights, but the other way they defended the royal family was to bend the ears of the nobles.  His parents had started more than one set of rumors on the royal family’s behalf, had swayed public opinion time and time again and one day, Dream would do the same. 

It was what they’d done when Duke Schlatt’s image needed to be thoroughly destroyed overnight, it was what they did to support the emperor’s decision to implement polyamory into the royal flock, and it was what they would continue to do to protect Duke Quackity from the sharp tongues of ignorant nobles.  On two different battlefields, the Wastakens would defend those they’d pledged their service to.  It may have garnered its fair share of enemies, but it had also gifted Dream with a well-padded friend pool before he’d even hit academy grounds.

It seemed like the exact opposite could be said for George.

Quiet and surly, George seemed to wear a perpetual scowl whenever Dream passed him in the hallways, the older student’s shoulders braced as though he was prepared to do battle with the entire world should he need to.  He was resilient and intelligent to a degree that intimidated people, that sparked jealousy, which made rumors follow soon after.  They couldn’t attack George’s brains so they’d commented on his decorum – how he seemed extra closed off.  Perhaps he wasn’t all there, they’d said.  Or maybe this was the only thing he had going for him.  What was even the point of trying so hard as the middle son?  It wasn’t like this would gain him anything – he should step aside so someone more worthy could shine.

George had reacted to none of the comments.  Every vicious murmur, every stupid attempt at chastisement – he weathered it all with a bored expression.  He seemed to demand a personal bubble at all times, holding himself with an elegance and dignity that made the pettier students rage. 

How dare he be unaffected by gossip.  How dare he pretend to be above them.

The truth was, they could never hope to reach George’s level.  He would always be above them.  It was why he’d been chosen as a royal aide fresh out of school and why he’d been promoted to Lord Eret’s personal assistant shortly thereafter.  Being exceptional was simply as inherent as breathing for George.  An inevitability.

Dream hadn’t known what to make of him.  Had sat back and watched longer than he should have, awkward in the way that preteens were.  He was always going to step in and put an end to the rumors – no one deserved to have their reputation dragged through the mud when they hadn’t done anything to earn such a thing – but something about George’s disposition made him pause.  There was pride there – a quiet pride in himself, something that created an unshakable resolve that made Dream think that there was nothing that could ever truly break George.

It was a remarkable depth of character.  There was a good chance Dream had wasted more than one letter to his family marveling over this student he hadn’t even properly met yet.

He was torn with indecision – something that normally didn’t happen.  Dream liked to think of himself as a sure, resolute individual.  Once he was braced with a conflict he almost immediately knew what steps were needed to solve it.  It was something ingrained in him due to his knight training, his father always sure to emphasize just how much split-second delays could cost you in the heat of battle.  There were no prolonged contemplations, you either knew or you were dead.  By habit, Dream had applied that to all other aspects of his life.

And yet, it didn’t work for George.

It got to the point where Dream started tailing him.  At first, he had simply kept an eye on him from a distance, mindful of George whenever he passed, but then it became more deliberate.  When he purposefully started seeking the panther hybrid out, he knew he was in trouble.  It beguiled him that he hadn’t done anything yet – it wasn’t like him at all – but his instincts urged him to be so careful, seeming to know that one wrong move could ruin everything.

And he was right.

He just hadn’t been able to prevent that wrong move from happening.

Dream might have been shirking more of his social obligations to track George in his free time.  It was probably strange, how much he liked watching George work, but more than that were the times where George just… seemed tired.

The academy took in students when they were preteens.  George might be older than Dream, but he wasn’t that much older.  He was too young to have an expression like that.  It was nothing George ever wore in public, there wasn’t even the slightest crack in his mask when he was in the company of his peers, but when he was alone, Dream could see the weariness in his eyes, the tension in his shoulders.  George wasn’t as otherworldly as he seemed, he was just tired.  A tired, lonely, stupidly brilliant hybrid who was trying to make a name for himself in the world.

At once, Dream was hit with the desire – the sudden unrelenting force where he knew no matter what it took, he wanted to make George’s life easier.  He wanted to protect him.  It was why he’d thought George would present as a peacekeeper at first.

It was in their first proper meeting where he realized he was grossly mistaken.

There was a chance Dream had been following George – the panther hybrid on his way to the library for a quick exchange of books before he disappeared into the private suite he had to himself – his suitemates having all requested or bribed their way into transfers early in the year so they would not be shunned by association – where he would continue his studies.  Dream wasn’t stupid enough to go into the library with him, but there was a small courtyard where he liked to linger next to it that hosted a few stray cats, and he would pet them while George was busy, and then-

“You know you’re actually shit at sneaking, right?” An unimpressed voice drawled from above, and Dream had about two seconds of pure shock to flail and straighten before he looked up to see George perched on the edge of the lower roof of the library, the panther hybrid’s eyes narrowed in a blatant sort of loathing. “You’re a lumbering orangutan in a dumb smiley face mask.  No one’s going to mistake you for anyone else, you idiot.”

“I um- I-” Oh wow, George was talking to him.  Oh wow, oh wow. “I wasn’t trying to hide?”

He had not meant to make that sound like a question.

“No shit,” George sniffed, and Dream could see his claws beginning to extend from where he had his hands curled around the edge of the roof, a proper sign to fuck off if ever there was one. “I assume you were trying to be an utter nuisance.  Congratulations, you succeeded.”

Dream tensed.  Oh no, this was going even worse than Drista said it would. “No, that wasn’t what I-”

“I know what you were trying to do,” George sneered, his tail flicking in irritation behind him.  It was very cute.  Dream shouldn’t register it as cute because he was belatedly realizing that George was very much going to be a protector and that explained so much, he was so cool, maybe they could be protector friends- “I’ve seen you redirecting assholes away from me.” His eyes somehow managed to narrow even more. “You got some kind of knight in shining armor complex?  Want to defend the poor, helpless outcast?”

“You’re not poor or helpless,” Dream’s mouth decided to reply without his permission.  He should really get that checked. “Though I am technically a knight in training-”

“I know, idiot,” George snapped, rolling his eyes for good measure. “I don’t think there’s a single person on campus who doesn’t know that.” He redirected his focus. “So why the fuck are you following me?  What, you get your jollies off on protecting the weak?  Or do you think that you’re the only one that can harass me?  Always lingering in the corner of my vision like a creeper, you creeper.”

Dream winced behind the safety of his mask.

This was going all wrong.  So very, very wrong.

“I think by this point I deserve answers,” George sniffed, carrying on when Dream failed to reply. “Or better yet, peace.  I don’t care what family you’re from, take your dumb mask and get the fuck out of-”

“I like you!”

The words hung in the air like the graceless elephants they were.

Ah man, Drista was right, Dream was bad at improv.  But it was do or die now, and those were at least stakes he knew how to handle, even at the tender age of twelve, so he took a deep breath and tried to fall into battle mode.  This hadn’t been the plan, but Dream was sort of committed now, so this was what he was doing.  Yep.  This was going to be great, Drista definitely wasn’t going to mock him for this later.  Not at all.

The wind seemed to entirely fall from George’s sails, the panther hybrid deflating with a confused blink. “What?”

“You’re cool!” Dream insisted, taking the opportunity while he had it. “You work so hard and don’t give a shit what anyone else has to say.  You just- you do what you want and you hold yourself with dignity and um- your tail’s cool.”

George opened his mouth.  Closed it.

“Oh, sweet Prime,” he muttered, releasing the edge of the roof so he could bury his face in his hands. “You’re actually an idiot.”

“I’m not!” Dream insisted, and then because he was a little tired of straining his neck (and perhaps a little concerned for George being perched precariously on the roof edge), Dream focused some of his hybrid powers into his legs and jumped up to the lower roof beside George, landing in a crouch so they wouldn’t have to shout so much. “This wasn’t how I wanted to do this,” Dream admitted while George stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, his gaze surreptitiously shifting between Dream and the courtyard he had just occupied. “I was trying to think of a way to approach you but I just kept not doing that, because I didn’t want to bother you-”

“Already failed there,” George muttered, coming back to his normal self when the demand for sass arose.

“I know,” Dream sighed, settling down properly on the roof.  There wasn’t much he could do to make himself smaller than George, the difference in their stature was too great, but he could at least make an effort. “I’m sorry.  I never intended to cause you any sort of mental stress and I promise I’ll stop following you if that’s what you want.”

“It’s obviously what I want,” George sniffed. “It’s why I started this conversation in the first place.”

“Okay.” That was fair, so Dream wasn’t upset about it.  All in all, he was lucky George hadn’t reported him, but that could likely be due to Dream’s familial status. Even if Dream’s family wouldn’t protect him from his own stupidity, George didn’t know that.  Not yet. “Would you like me to do away with the rumors surrounding you?  I can change public opinion-”

“I’ll do that on my own, thanks,” George said, going so far as to bare his teeth at Dream.

There were very sharp.  Dream wanted to run his tongue along them.

What.

“Okay,” Dream repeated, grateful for his mask all over again.  He was pretty sure he was sweating.  Or dying.  This felt like death. “Can I be your friend?”

“Fuck no,” George said seemingly on reflex, already shifting back onto his feet and backing away towards the window he must have crawled out of.

“Please?” Dream was on his feet in a moment, though he made himself stay at the edge of the roof.  He wasn’t going to follow George anymore, he’d promised. “We could have lunch together-”

“Prime damnit,” George cursed under his breath, his head slumping in resignation. And then he was canting a glare over his shoulder. “You know what?” he began, eyes narrowed in challenge. “Sure, we can be friends, but we can never be seen together in public.  And if you even so much as think of using your image to protect me, I’ll shred you.  Damned who-”

“My family is.  Yes, I got it,” Dream said, buoyed with a sudden rush of hope. “Thanks, George.”

“What the fuck ever,” George huffed, and then he was slinking back into the library, his tail flicking angrily behind him.

It had taken Dream probably far too long to realize why George didn’t want to broadcast any sort of connection to him, why he didn’t want to rely on others for help.  He hadn’t been trained to expect kindness from anyone and seemed to view all others as snakes that spread malicious gossip.  Every offer was a trap in disguise, was the potential first step to his downfall, and George was a proud individual.  If he was going to get anywhere, it was on his own merits.

Dream respected that about him.  Perhaps even loved it.

George had been snippy during their first few meetings, likely assuming that he was some sort of passing fancy for Dream, that once Dream was allowed to properly interact with him that the interest would fade.  He didn’t hold back on his vicious mockery, made no efforts to be friendly at all but that was okay, Dream could wait, and when George started to suspect that maybe Dream got off on that kind of thing, he became sickeningly sweet – brownnosing left and right, a smile on his lips but an open challenge in his eyes as he waited for the day Dream would crumble.

Which wouldn’t happen.  It wasn’t in Dream’s blood, didn’t align with his hybrid type.  He recognized his connection to George for what it was now, that this was his future packmate.  He just needed to prove himself.  So he took a page from George’s book and was patient and resolute. He weathered everything, the derision and the false compliments and countered them with utter sincerity of his own, all on George’s terms.  

“You’re insufferable,” George snapped when he was close to breaking, so desperate to guard his heart, to find some sort of fault in Dream. “Why do you need this? Is it an ego thing?  You must have everyone like you?  Do you know how many of your peers you’re neglecting when you waste time with me?”

“It’s not a waste,” Dream reminded him. “It’s my time and I’m doing exactly what I want with it.” And then, before George could snarl his response, he dug into his satchel. “Here,” he said, passing over a parchment-wrapped stack of cookies. “My mom made these for you.”

“You’re- what?” George’s cheeks flushed dark. “You weren’t supposed to tell anyone about this.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell our peers,” Dream corrected. “But I tell my family everything and um- it’d probably be weird if I suddenly stopped mentioning you in my letters since I did that before I properly met you.”

“You send letters to your family?” It seemed utterly incomprehensible to George, so much so it made Dream’s heart ache. “Why?  Do they give you orders?”

“No, they just let me know how things are going,” Dream said, keeping his tone casual because George detested pity almost more than anything else. “I have a younger sister who’s starting her basic training.  She managed to make three different boutique managers cry the last time she and my mother went shopping for formalwear.  Dad finally gave up and allowed her to wear her apprentice dress uniform.”

There was an awkward beat of silence, and then George cleared his throat. “Unlike you, it seems your sister has a good head on her shoulders,” he sniffed, cradling the cookies close. “The number of petticoats they make young noblewomen wear is stupid.  Good on her for advocating pants.”

“That was her opinion,” Dream said, smiling wide.

Look at them, they were bonding.  He was making progress.

George fiddled with the parcel once more. “You’re taking a bite out of every one of these,” he informed Dream. “Exactly where I tell you to.  Don’t try to get around it.”

“Hey, more cookies for me,” Dream cheered, and even though it hurt to think that at this point George thought Dream might do something dastardly like lure him into a friendship just to poison him, Dream was still grateful that his gift hadn’t been entirely rejected.

George was a panther hybrid, and his feline nature came through in a lot of ways.  The most prominent being that any sort of connection between them wasn’t something that could be rushed.  Dream waited and appreciated what glimpses of the true George he was allowed to see, sneaking him gifts and recounting letters from his parents, sharing harmless gossip and getting thoroughly trounced in chess.  They discovered a shared love of geography and lost a few weeks geeking out over the maps in the ancient logistics section of the library, safely indicating exactly what Dream would be getting George for his birthday.

He didn’t care if they had to sneak around, if George didn’t want to be seen with him in public.  Dream didn’t care if he started neglecting some of his other social connections.  It was all worth it to be trusted by George, to get to help, care, and protect the panther hybrid as much as George allowed.

When it got to the day where George would no longer share bites of his cookies, hoarding the precious treasures with a hiss, Dream had smiled so wide that tears had come to his eyes, because this was it, this was their friendship. 

They were friends.

“What are you doing over winter break?” Dream asked, sprawled across the couch in George’s common area.  As irritated as he was that the panther hybrid had been neglected by his peers for what were frankly stupid reasons, he could admit it had its bonuses.  He was allowed to spend as much time in George’s suite as he wanted, and as George warmed up to him, the allowed visitations had steadily increased.  It got to the point where Dream stayed over in George’s suite more often than not, which was permitted so long as he didn’t distract George during his more frenzied study sessions.

George blinked up from the table he had overtaken in the common area – something likely intended for board games or cards that he had commandeered for his own legislature usage, an explosion of law books and research papers splayed haphazardly across its surface.  It took him a few moments to mentally disengage from his previous task, during which his glasses slid ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose, allowing Dream a better view of his rich brown eyes.

“Stay here, I think,” George muttered before looking back down at his papers, distractedly pushing his reading glasses back in place with a huff as though irritated by gravity’s audacity to follow the basic laws of physics. “Take advantage of the lack of crowds and claim my favorite corner of the library.  Maybe take in a show.” He shrugged. “The usual.”

Oh.  Oh fuck no, that was not going to be the usual.  Dream was going to obliterate that definition of the usual from George’s vocabulary if it was the last thing he did.

Alright, drastic actions needed to be taken.

“That sounds terrible,” Dream said, sure to keep his voice permeated with cheer to hide his frustration at the continued negligence of House Davidson. “You should come to my estate instead!”

George, who had been taking a bored sip of his now-definitely-cold tea (he was going to drink it anyway, out of spite if nothing else, and he forever refused to indulge Dream’s offers to warm it with magic), promptly sputtered, managing to jerk to the side to aim the spray of tea away from his precious notes.

This lapse of composure lasted for all of a second and then it was as though it had never happened, the only evidence of it the barest flush dusting George’s cheeks while he delicately dabbed at his lips with a handkerchief that was definitely Dream’s. “Why are you so stupid?” George lamented with a sigh. “Surely you’ll have a mess of familial and social obligations to catch up on once you get to the capital.  I’m not going to get in between you and your family.”

“That’s right, you’re not,” Dream agreed, who had learned long ago that the best way to shut down George’s arguments was to simply not argue back. “I’ve told my family all about you, remember?  They’ve been dying to meet you and understand that you might spend hours buried in the library or my room doing research – that’s totally fine.  No one wants you to stop being you, but George-” He slid to his feet carefully, sure to keep his body relaxed and sliding to his knees next to George as soon as he was close enough, wanting to ensure he didn’t tower over the other protector and set off his instincts. “I don’t think any of us would have a good Yule knowing you were stuck here all alone.  So come home with me.  Have some good food, avoid everyone you want, and relax for a bit.” He offered George a wink. “You know the security and privacy restrictions on the Wastaken Duchy are second only to the Antarctic Castle.  All the servants are on strict confidentiality agreements – no one would ever mention your presence, and only approved individuals are allowed onsite.   We wouldn’t be at risk of broadcasting our friendship.”

George worried at his bottom lip, the first sign that he was genuinely thinking this over, and Dream celebrated. “Your parents won’t mind the intrusion?”

“It’s not an intrusion if it’s you,” Dream said honestly, and while it might have earned him a smack on the back of his head it had still gotten George to agree, thus leading to the first of many wonderful school holidays together.

It was, quite frankly, the best.  Dream’s hybrid instincts were satisfied in a way they’d never been before, that restlessness that fluttered under his breastbone finally coming to an abrupt halt.  As he’d expected his family had been entirely wowed by George, finally understanding Dream’s connection to his friend.  Whether George knew it or not, he’d been adopted by the Wastaken family that winter, and from then on it wasn’t just Dream who received letters and packages from his parents while he was at school but George as well, who had a steady supply of cookies and scarfs and blankets sent to him directly. 

Dream could tell George was more confused by this than anything else.  As far as he knew, Dream’s family had nothing to gain from treating him so favorably.  He didn’t seem to understand that they could like him simply for the sake of it.  Thankfully, he still accepted the gifts and started sending some in turn along with letters, until Dream’s mom began to joke that George was her more dutiful son.

(It made George flush when she mentioned that around him.  He’d deny it until the day he died, but there was a part of him that was likely touched to be so casually included in a family, claimed the way he always should have been with the Davidsons).

It marked the beginning of a beautiful running trend. From then on George took all his breaks at the Wastaken House, leaving his own family to believe that he was staying at the school.  It spoke to the utter disregard the Davidsons had for their son that they seemed entirely unbothered at not seeing George for a good five years.  Even when they moved onto the secondary education in the capital – George attending law school while Dream finished the final stages of his knight apprenticeship – George pretended he was staying in the school’s lodgings for the sake of easily accessing the school’s study materials, when in reality he resided with Dream and his family.

It came to an unfortunate stop when they graduated.  George had to go back to his own house – safely upgraded from child to adult as he secured his position in the royal castle – but it was okay.  Dream had waited for George before, he could do it again.  With the combined might of his family and his own persistence, Dream was able to convince George to visit regularly, though that had decreased somewhat when George had befriended Sapnap. 

Which just- ugh, Dream wasn’t even going to get started on that mess right now.  One thing at a time.

The bottom line was, he knew George had a lot of love and devotion to give.  He’d experienced it himself.  Because the panther hybrid had been so guarded, Dream wouldn’t have thought that this was a connection George could make on his own, but it made sense that it was Duke Quackity’s assistant.  Dream had caught a few glimpses of the small blaze hybrid from a distance, but even that was enough to catch sight of Prince Wilbur’s bracelet firmly secured around his wrist.  Jack was Duke Quackity’s assistant and claimed by the royal family – if he’d asked George, the panther hybrid wouldn’t have been in a place to turn him down.

And yet, George hadn’t looked resentful at all.  He was, in his own way, quietly happy, quietly thrilled.  He finally had someone who allowed him to act on his protector instincts in a way his family had never permitted.

Dream had always been certain that one day he and George were going to share a peacekeeper.  It was the simple way of pack dynamics.  Protectors were great but had a tendency to clash without some kind of mediator.  That combined with the fact that both of them would like to have children at some point… okay, so Dream had expected the peacekeeper to be female, but he could work with this.  If this was what made George happy, Dream was entirely onboard. 

George was his future packmate.  That had been decided by his instincts long ago.  He had a suite in Dream’s house, a bed in his room, and a place in his heart.  Dream had long since surrendered to that inevitability.  Jack might be an unexpected factor, but that didn’t make him an unwelcome one.  He was good for George, Dream could tell that much.  Made his shoulders carry a little less tension, had his smiles come more frequently.  True, some might perceive the future-kid-thing a problem, but they had plenty of options.  Surrogates.  Magic.  Adoption.

Dream was getting ahead of himself.  He knew he and George weren’t close to that yet no matter how much Dream wanted them to be, and he hadn’t even met Jack yet, but that was a problem he could fix easily.

After all, even the greatest journeys began with a single step.

~:~

Unlike with George, Dream decided to put some actual thought into how he would meet Jack.  Because he had to meet Jack.  He was important to George and made the panther hybrid smile regularly which made him immediately vital to Dream’s life.  It was important to designate their meeting space in an area where Jack would feel most comfortable.  While the reason he had selected George hadn’t been disclosed due to privacy reasons, Dream knew two things.  One, that George suspected Jack had a rough past and two, that George was the second out of two protectors.

It wasn’t uncommon for peacekeepers to have more than one protector when they were in a pack situation.  After all, Dream’s mother was a peacekeeper, and she had Dream’s father, Dream, and Drista who all gladly acted as her protectors.  For out-of-pack arrangements, however, it was uncommon for a peacekeeper to have more than one protector, mostly because a peacekeeper wouldn’t need more than one protector.  Of course there were exceptions in polyamorous relationships, but on the whole those tended to feature more peacekeepers than protectors when things balanced out.  A peacekeeper needing more than one protector who wasn’t a packmate and wasn’t fulfilling some sort of romantic connection generally indicated a level of need sparked by severe trauma.  There was nothing shameful about requiring that added support – hybrids were pack-focused for a reason – but it told Dream a lot about Jack before he ever properly met the guy, the essence of which was that he was someone who had to be approached with extreme caution.  Dream could not fuck this up.  If he upset Jack he’d upset George, and there was a good chance that their friendship – as deep rooted as it was – would suffer because of it.

So no pressure.

No pressure at all.

Dream was able to come to a decision on the meeting place, knowing that the majority of Jack’s work focused on the private offices of the royal flock.  Specifically, the spaces dedicated to Duke Quackity and Lord Consort Eret.  There wasn’t much Dream could do to access the former – he in specific had no reason to bother the tightly guarded bearer of the royal family, but Lord Eret frequently requested information from the military branch and Knight Legion, and if Dream just so happened to deliver that information personally when he knew Jack was going to be there (look, there was a reason he bribed the emperor’s birds with homemade cookies and it wasn’t from the kindness of his heart), he could always play it off as trying to get a hopeful peek at George, even if he knew for a fact the panther hybrid was stuck in the archives that morning, something Dream was more than capable of conveniently ‘forgetting’.

Approaching while Lord Eret was present was risky, but Dream ultimately decided that the support and security it would offer Jack outweighed Dream’s own personal chances of success.  If George found any sort of kinship in Jack, then Jack’s past was difficult in a manner that was entirely unjust, and Dream had no intention of adding to his woes.  He might be curious and eager, but he wasn’t a dick.  At least, not on purpose.

George would gladly say he was a dick accidentally to anyone who’d listen.  Dream was sure Sapnap would be at the top of that list.

Whatever, he had to focus.  He was just making a routine file delivery.  Nothing strange to see here, nothing-

“I thought you’d send a runner,” Lord Eret greeted, more confused than accusatory, which was likely due to his split attention, the noble peacekeeper’s focus dedicated to at least three different projects splayed across his desk. 

Part of the reason George had been selected as Eret’s righthand man had to do with their similar (i.e. insane) work ethics.  They were, quite by chance, a match made in paperwork heaven, and a constant terror to those who cared for them.

“I wanted to stretch my legs,” Dream offered with a strained laugh, which would hopefully be enough for the Lord Consort to catch onto his supposed desire to see George. 

It wasn’t like he had shame.  Dream was beyond such things at this point.

“Ah,” Eret said with a blink, graciously accepting the files Dream passed over to him.

And now was the hard part.  Jack, who’d been hunched over a nearby worktable, blinked up at the intrusion.  Despite having practiced this many, many times, Dream found his perfect casual conversation starter choking on his tongue, which just- super helpful – come the fuck on – but then Jack was smiling.

“Are you Sir Dream?” Jack asked, abandoning his worktable to approach Dream tentatively, one hand fidgeting with the bracelet Prince Wilbur gifted him. 

It seemed to be a subconscious action.

“That’s me!” Dream said, urging as much warmth into his tone as possible. “Sir Dream Wastaken, Head of the Knight Legion, at your service.” He pressed a fist to his chest and bowed as a show of respect, something he hoped would gain him a few brownie points in Eret’s book. “Are you Jack?”

The blaze hybrid got a little bashful there, shrinking in on himself. “Yes, that’s um- that’s me,” he said, twisting his bracelet some more. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I- I work with George.”

“I did hear that,” Dream said, sure to keep his voice gentle.  Jack was small but it was clear that he’d suffered more than Dream had imagined.  Despite having most likely undergone treatment, the peacekeeper still had a bit of a limp, which meant he sustained injuries so severe that they were going to take multiple healing sessions to satisfy properly. “From George himself, actually.  He talks about you a lot.”

“He does?” Jack asked, eyes wide as though he couldn’t have possibly fathomed such a thing.  In his peripherals, Lord Eret stood a bit straighter, though he was still pretending to look through the files Dream had given him.

“Yep,” Dream soothed. “All good things, I promise.  You’re very reliable, and warm!  So I’ve heard.”

Jack’s smile, which had been small and tentative at best, stretched into something that made Dream’s heart twist almost painfully. “Bad says my inner flame’s been getting stronger every day.  That’s- I mean, that’s why I’m warm.”

“Congratulations,” Dream said, and while he’d been certain to convey his sincerity, watching Jack flush under the wake of it, lashes fluttering against his cheek as though he was overwhelmed, confirmed his goal safely accomplished.

Oh.  Oh fuck, Dream got it now, understood why George was so committed.  He wanted to protect the hell out of Jack too and he’d only talked to the guy for a few minutes.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered, as though he dared not raise his voice. “George talks about you too,” he offered, making Dream perk up. “A lot.  He always smiles when he does it – you know, in his own George way.”

Jack then did a perfect recreation of George’s half smile, so scarily accurate it made Dream’s instincts buzz with pleasure.

Cute peacekeeper-must protect-GEORGIE-good packmate.

Focus.  Focus.

“That’s so him!” Dream laughed, sure to keep things gentle, anything to keep Jack from perceiving it as a mockery. 

It seemed to work, Jack’s shoulders relaxing as he laughed along and to his credit, he didn’t seem at all put off by the ceremonial mask the Wastaken family was required to wear while in public.

“Hey,” Dream began when their laughter had died down, knowing it was time to strike. “I just wanted to say thanks.” Jack paused, intrigued in the way Dream feared he might be, like he didn’t understand what he brought to the table. “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on this, but George isn’t the most social guy.  A lot of people are jealous of him so they give him the cold shoulder.  It’s stupid and he says he doesn’t care about it, but I know it made him really happy when you asked him to be his protector.  It meant a lot to him.” Dream pressed his fist against his chest again – so many pledges in one day, but for Jack, it felt worth it. “I consider George my closest friend, and I’d like to help him however I can.  Since he’s your protector, that service extends to you as well, should you ever need it.” Dream bowed, sure to make it deep enough – respectful enough to be appropriate for a bearer, because even if Jack didn’t understand the symbolism, Lord Eret would. “I um- have been carrying something with me on the offhand chance I met you,” Dream explained, reaching into his pocket. 

He removed the enchanted bracelet box, and Lord Eret gave up all pretense of not eavesdropping, the weight of his gaze a visceral thing.

As a member of the Wastaken family, Dream had to open the box for Jack for security purposes, though the contents were not entirely unfamiliar to the blaze hybrid.  After all, Jack already had one bracelet claiming him to the royal family wrapped around his wrist.

“This is a symbol of the Wastaken family,” Dream explained, revealing his family’s colors and crest twisted in elegant patterns with gold, pearl, and jade, forming yet another pack bracelet. “If you wear this, it will mark you as a friend to my family, which should offer you some additional protection should you need it.  Of course, you don’t have to wear it-” Dream was quick to add, waving his hands nervously as Jack stared at the jewelry. “It’s just- an option, a tool, if you should need it.  I wanted to help and I thought that this- it could help.”

Jack was too shocked to respond, seeming mesmerized by the bracelet – and while it was distinctly elegant and pretty, Dream hadn’t thought it was that particularly mind-blowing. 

Had he come on too strong?  Oh no, he’d fucked this up after all, gotten too excited.

Lord Eret cleared his throat suddenly, making Jack look towards him with a blink. “It’s an offer made with no expectations,” he explained. “Sir Dream is not foolish enough to expect any sort of payment in return.  He and his family are decent nobles, and excellent allies to have.” He cocked his head, contemplative. “Even if you do not choose to wear it, it would be a useful tool to keep.”

“I don’t want to create a debt though,” Jack whispered, worrying at his bottom lip.

Oh no, he was like George after all – nothing in his life had been free before, had it?

“There’s no debt!” Dream rushed to assure. “Or- if there was, you paid it by claiming George as your protector.  Bam.” He clapped his hands together lightly. “Debt gone.  Everyone’s even.”

Jack gave him a hopelessly confused look.  Dream’s poor heart was really being put through the wringer that day. “But that was for my benefit.”

“But it helped George too,” Dream said, making his tone gentle once more. “You both got to benefit and I’m really happy about that, so I- I wanted to give you a gift.” He motioned towards the bracelet. “To show my appreciation and support.”

“What if I don’t deserve it?” Jack whispered, scarred hands curling into shaky fists as he pulled back on himself.

“You’ve already made George smile,” Dream said. “That was more than enough.”

Jack stared at the bracelet once more, his eyes suspiciously wet.  Dream held his breath as those calloused fingers reached forward, curling around the enchanted metal with trembling hands. “I um- might have to give this back,” he informed Dream as he carefully took it out of the box. “If George wants me to.”

“That’s fair,” Dream said. “You’ll have my family’s support all the same, with or without the bracelet.”

“I-” Jack started blinking frantically, his throat bobbing in a rough swallow. “I um- I think I need to go see Connor, Lord Eret.”

“Of course,” Eret murmured, dismissing him with an elegant nod. “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” Jack whispered and then, through seemingly gargantuan effort, he pulled his gaze towards Dream again. “T-Thank you.  I- I’m sorry, I-”

“You don’t have to explain it,” Dream soothed, swallowing the urge to release protector rumbles. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jack.  Please say hello to Sir Skeppy for me.”

“Will do.” Jack managed a tight smile, and then he was gone, the bracelet cradled carefully in his hand like a precious treasure.

Dream watched him leave, feeling as though he were in a trance, at least until Lord Eret cleared his throat suddenly.

“So,” Eret spoke up when he realized he had Dream’s attention. “You just wanted to stretch your legs?”

Dream had no apologies, though his shoulders still hunched in defensive reflex. “He makes George happy,” he repeated. “I’d be at his service for that alone.”

“I suppose I don’t have to express the delicateness of Jack’s situation to you,” Eret said, a statement rather than a question. “He’s been gravely wounded, Sir Dream.  He likely will be for a long time.”

“Your majesty,” Dream began, allowing all the anger he’d furiously subdued to bubble into his chest once more. “I would burn the world down for him.”

To some, it might seem like an extreme response for someone they’d just met, but Lord Eret had been working with Jack for months now.

As such, the corner of his lips merely kicked up in a smirk. “Good,” he said, which was all the permission Dream needed.

George was going to be a member of Dream’s pack, and now that he’d met him, he knew Jack would be too.  Knew his instincts would accept nothing less.

Looked like he was going to be doing a lot of trauma research, but it would be worth it to be a good protector.  To be someone both George and Jack were proud of.

He was Dream Wastaken, and no one messed with his hoard.

Chapter Text

“In hindsight, I was expecting this,” Prince Wilbur mused as he looked over the bracelet Dream had given Jack, the blaze hybrid too tense to contemplate touching it again so he just walked a restless path up and down the length of his office instead, mustering a tight grin whenever Duke Quackity aimed a concerned look his way and pointedly not focusing on George as he processed the explanation Jack had just given. “Granted, I didn’t expect him to act this soon, but this was inevitable.”

“I’ll kill him,” George grumbled, running an irritated hand through his hair.  He’d done it enough times that it was beginning to look more flyaway and manic rather than his usual tame curls. “That giant, idiotic baboon.  I should have never told him anything.  I don’t know why I thought he’d respond like a normal person-”

“George, you’re not helping Jack,” Wilbur interrupted cheerfully, and all at once George’s eyes went wide, the panther hybrid releasing an apologetic rumble as he glanced Jack’s way. “And honestly, this is Dream’s normal.  The Wastaken family doesn’t do anything by half measures.  So again-” Wilbur motioned to the bracelet. “This was inevitable.”

“Is it good, though?” Jack asked, flashing Quackity a smile that conveyed as much gratitude as possible when the older bearer wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him to sit down on the couch.  Yes, this was- cuddles were better than pacing, much better. “Or is it bad?  Did I do bad?”

“You are wonderful and have done absolutely nothing wrong,” Wilbur told him, sure to hold Jack’s gaze.  He wasn’t patronizing when he said it, a repetitious well of support that made Jack’s cheeks heat with embarrassment that he should warrant such consideration. “George has done absolutely nothing wrong, and this-” He held the bracelet up. “Is a good thing.  The Wastaken pack is one of the strongest and most honorable noble families in the entire empire.  Their reputation is blastproof.  It is netherite, unbreakable.  They hold a lot of power in both the political and social scene and unlike most families, they don’t let that go to their heads.  They are kind, upstanding, and a noble family of defenders.” Wilbur sat back with a sigh, placing the bracelet down on his desk. “Frankly, you couldn’t ask for better allies.  Everything Eret said was true – there are no expectations with this.  They wouldn’t dare in normal circumstances, and they especially wouldn’t dare with someone who’s already been claimed by the royal family.”

“So it’s a good thing?” Jack surmised, his head still reeling.  It was true that part of him had been eager to meet Sir Dream once he’d learned how important the knight was to George.  He’d been interested but intimidated the same way he was with most people he didn’t know, but nothing could have prepared him for behemoth that was Sir Dream. 

He was as tall as Sir Technoblade though he wasn’t as broad, for all that Jack didn’t doubt he was perfectly capable of taking out everyone in whichever room he happened to reside in at any given time.  The smiley face mask was the same as it’d been at a distance, but instead of unnerving it seemed to go with Dream’s warm voice.  Despite his impressive stature, Jack hadn’t been afraid of Dream, mostly because he was just- he was really nice to Jack.  Even Jack’s instincts liked him, a pleasing thread of warmth filling his chest when Dream displayed his utter devotion to Jack’s protector.  He cared so much, to the point where Jack was perhaps a bit jealous.  He wasn’t sure anyone would ever go through such lengths for him, would befriend or pledge to protect someone else just because Jack had taken a liking to them.  But Dream had for George, and he’d sounded entirely sincere in his offers.  More than that, George seemed to think he was entirely sincere, which left Jack with a small conundrum that required more information.

It was why he’d turned to Wilbur in the first place, who’d promptly called in Quackity for whatever reason.

“If it makes you happy, yes,” Wilbur allowed. “If it makes you feel uncomfortable and burdened – no, and you should return the bracelet.” Wilbur let out a thoughtful hum. “It won’t change Dream’s commitment to you, of course.  Once a Wastaken makes a decision that’s pretty much it for them, but he wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable either.”

“You’re saying that either way, I’ve earned another ally?”

“Essentially,” Wilbur said, smiling in approval. “For Dream, this bracelet is a promise, but for everyone else who sees you wear it, it’s a symbol.  It says that anyone who messes with you will suffer not only the wrath of the royal flock but the Wastaken family too, and honestly, one of those would have been horrible, but both will make you pretty much untouchable.”

“It could make him a target too,” George muttered, folding his arms across his chest with a tight scowl. “People might try to get close to him to use him as a mouthpiece for their own needs.”

“They might have were they any other two families,” Wilbur mused, balancing on the two back legs of his chair. “But the royal flock and the Wastakens aren’t exactly patient with those that bother anyone under their protection.  I think they’d act more as a deterrent than an incentive.”

“How do we explain Dream knowing Jack?”

“That’s a backstory we can invent if – and only if – Jack is interested.” Wilbur straightened once again, aiming a kind grin Jack’s way. “There’s no rush in this, Jack.  You can have time to think it over.  Hell, you could never wear the damn thing unless there’s an emergency.  It’s really all up to you.”

“I… I like the gift,” Jack admitted, knowing the intricate and elegant jewelry had made his bearer instincts sing when the glittery bauble had been presented to him.  That was his.  That marked him as an ally. “I like that Sir Dream wants to help George.  I think that’s really sweet.” He turned his attention to his second protector, who was still attempting to suppress a scowl. “Are you okay with it?”

For whatever reason, George seemed surprised to be addressed at all. “I’m not thrilled that he didn’t ask me,” he muttered, looking off to the side with a pale flush dusting his cheeks. “That he assumes I’ll need his help.”

“I don’t think that’s it,” Jack offered quietly. “He seems to respect you a great deal, he just- he wanted to help however he could.” He turned back towards Wilbur. “I like that part a lot.”

“Then the choice is yours,” Wilbur allowed. “Dream is a noble protector.  He won’t try to take advantage of the situation and he’s one of the few nobles whose intentions I can safely declare as entirely pure. Which might seem too good to be true, but keep in mind that George wouldn’t be friends with the guy if he was actually a giant asshole.”

That was a good point.  Ponk always said that context was key, in that sometimes looking at things from a different angle outside Jack’s own trauma-warped perspective would reveal different truths – sometimes things that could even serve to soothe his concerns. 

What Wilbur said was a prime example of that, and it made Jack feel much better.

“Even if Jack accepts the bracelet,” George spoke up suddenly, his eyes narrowed. “How is his sudden close connection with Dream supposed to be explained without dragging my name into things?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Wilbur said, waving him off. “Dream’s been working a lot with Technoblade, and as Technoblade is Quackity’s protector, we could spin a believable story about Jack and Dream regularly interacting.” He chewed on his bottom lip, thoughtful. “The honorable nature of the Wastaken family will cover things from there.” He shot George a quick wink. “Don’t worry, your name can be kept safely out of it.”

“So it’s all good?” Jack asked, his gaze shifting between the two protectors as he leaned into Duke Quackity’s side. “I can wear the pretty bracelet?  I mean-” He felt his cheeks get swarmed in a humiliating rush of heat. “The- the totally normal bracelet?  The um- irrelevant- I can…” He trailed off, his face feeling unbearably hot as he stared at his hands.

And yet, no one laughed at him.  There was not a single ounce of derision.

“It is indeed a pretty bracelet,” Wilbur said, his voice gentle. “And yes, it would be perfectly acceptable for you to wear it.”

“Oh,” Jack murmured, his instincts buzzing with satisfaction to be given such approval.

“Jack,” Wilbur began, still gentle, but there was a thread of beseeching in there, enough to coax the blaze hybrid to look up, meeting Wilbur’s gaze with a hard swallow. “I’m honored that you trust my opinion so much.  I’m sure you’ve been through a lot, but the fact that you’re willing to place your trust in me – that you’ll actively seek out my advice –means a lot, and I want you to know that I don’t take any of it for granted, not even for a moment.”

Jack felt himself get heated, floundering once more.  He’d never thought about doubting Wilbur.  Perhaps it was because he was from the Nether Slums himself, or because he seemed to understand where Jack was coming from, how little he’d started with.  Prince Wilbur was an invaluable ally to him, and while Jack feared for the day that the prince considered him too bothersome to aid, for now, he was grateful for what he had.

“For the record,” George spoke up, saving Jack from having to scramble for a response. “If he ever betrays you, I will gladly commit treason and beat the shit out of him.”

Wilbur barked out a laugh, something that eased the room’s tension. “I’d deserve it too.”

Jack didn’t know what to make of that, felt listless, but then Quackity was releasing a few comforting coos, nuzzling the side of Jack’s head.

“Should I give him a bracelet too?” Quackity asked. “To grant him the protection of Las Nevadas?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Wilbur said, smiling wide. “And as it so happens, I may have prepared a little something in case that came up.” He dug through his desk before pulling out yet another fancy jewelry box, flicking it open to reveal a different, intricate bracelet – this one gold with sapphires, and while Jack’s stomach curdled at the thought of seeing Schlatt’s horns on the stupid crest, he paused when he realized-

“It’s the old family crest,” Quackity said with a blink. “That’s… oh, thank you, Wilbur.  I’m still in the process of getting it formally changed back.”

The bracelet Jack had from the royal family – it had the old Las Nevadas crest on it as well, but it wasn’t prominently featured.  It wasn’t like this – a special bracelet just to display Jack’s connection to Quackity.

“Yeah,” Wilbur scoffed, passing the box to George so he could deliver it to the couch. “Even after all these months those assholes are dragging their feet about it, but this will probably kick them into gear, if they ever see it.” He smiled at Quackity. “It’s the proper crest of Las Nevadas.”

“Could you wear it, Jack? Please?” Quackity asked, his voice hopeful. “I’d want one for George too, but there’s a reason you can’t do that sort of thing, right?”

“My family’s… stubborn,” was what George settled on. “If they knew I had any sort of substantial connection to the powerful houses of the empire they would never stop harassing me until I exploited that to the fullest.  It’s why I have to keep so much of my life to myself.  As of right now they still think I’m in the general aide pool with the dozens of other newbies.  If they knew I worked closely with any of the royal flock…” He shuddered. “It just isn’t worth it.  So while I am grateful for the offer, I’ll have to decline.”

Wilbur didn’t seem entirely happy with this and neither did Quackity, though they didn’t argue the decision.

“I’ll wear it,” Jack spoke up, pulling the focus off George. “I’ll wear both of them, if it’s okay.  I like the thought of it, wearing them both.”

Being wanted by so many who were so genuinely good.  He’d been desired by monsters before, by lowlifes and scumbags and thieves, but to be protected by individuals of quality he himself could never hope to achieve – it was a reminder he liked to have.

“Here then,” George said, kneeling before Jack. “Let’s get them on you.”

It was approval.  Support.  It was- it was a claim, and Jack loved it.

It scared him, how much he liked it, and yet he couldn’t turn away from it if he tried.

~:~

While the bracelets both fed into his bearer instincts and provided a physical reminder of the support Jack was lucky enough to receive, there were still a handful of things they didn’t quite cover.  The most pressing of which for Jack, at that exact moment, was when he had to tackle his more difficult therapy homework.

To be fair to Ponk, Jack was the one who had made things hard for himself.  The assigned task was for him to step outside the relative safety of the castle – for ten minutes, had been Ponk’s initial suggestion.  Perhaps Jack could go on a brief walk around the outer walls or he could go to the nearby park.  Connor or George, of course, were an encouraged and expected entourage in these meetings, but Jack…

He was being stupid; he knew he was being stupid.  He’d never been to a proper market, had never experienced the hustle and bustle of average city life.  He’d never been allowed the freedom to explore, much less the confirmed safety to do so.  He was entirely unprepared to go to the markets, and yet, if Jack was going outside, if he had to break the comfort and protection of the castle anyway, he wanted to do something useful.

And there was a chance, a chance, that Skeppy had mentioned a bakery that just happened to be incredibly close to the castle that had just released a new blackberry-focused item.  There was also the smallest chance that Tubbo loved blackberries. 

Not raspberries, of course, never those, but blackberries- those were treasured.  Tubbo loved them.

And Jack-

Jack loved Tubbo.

There wasn’t much he could do for the goat hybrid that Quackity couldn’t already do better, but Jack wanted to do a little bit more than be a babysitter during their precious playtimes together.  He wanted to make the pups smile, he wanted to be someone they always thought of fondly.  He wanted to give them presents.  He wanted to overcome this fear and go to this bakery even though he’d never gone shopping before or been to a market and was intimidated by crowds and generally afraid of all individuals he did not know.

All in all, his plan for the day was a catastrophe waiting to happen.  If Jack had any sense, he would ask Connor to go with him.  He knew the hedgehog hybrid wouldn’t mind, but Connor… he did so much for Jack.  He deserved to enjoy his day off.  Jack should be able to do this – after all, how hard could it be?  He had a bag of allowance (so dubbed by Duke Quackity) or walking around money as dubbed by Prince Wilbur (they kept periodically shoving piles of money Jack’s way and he had no idea what to do with them – he just dumped them in the empty drawers of his dresser and things had stayed that way until Connor got him his pretty money bag), and the basic knowledge of how it should all work courtesy of Bad.  The doctor had been kind enough to break down a basic exchange of how things functioned at the market as part of their etiquette class when Jack had asked him, acting like such a thing was entirely normal.  He’d even offered to take Jack out on some of his errands so he could give a proper demonstration, but Jack had wanted to do this on his own.

He wasn’t sure why.  He’d never been proud.  He could never afford such a thing.  He was wildly out of his depth and likely to get overwhelmed, which would cause more harm than good.  Ponk always stressed the importance of not pushing himself, but how was Jack supposed to get better if he didn’t?  He just- he didn’t want to struggle to do something that everyone else seemed to master as inherently as breathing.

He knew what Ponk would say on the matter.  He wasn’t being kind to himself, his circumstances were wildly different.  Even all those people had someone show them the ropes at first, it would be fair if Jack did too, even if he was a late bloomer.

There were so many things he was learning late, that he’d fallen behind on.  Sometimes he sat back and wondered if the entire first two decades of his life had been meaningless.  Had he learned anything at all?

(Realistically, he knew he did. He’d learned plenty, and he’d gotten the greatest treasure he could ever hope for.  And even if he hadn’t, with his focus on survival it would have been fair for him not to learn anything at all, he had different priorities – but that didn’t make it less frustrating.)

Currently, Jack was deliberating in the small side courtyard that Quackity preferred to use when entering and exiting the castle.  It held the smaller carriage house and stables, but unlike the main hub at the front of the castle, it was substantially less occupied.  It was just the way Jack liked it.  Now no one could watch him quietly freak out while he contemplated the foolishness of his endeavor.

He really should just ask for Connor’s help.  Or Bad’s.  He shouldn’t feel bad, he just wished-

“Jack?” a familiar voice spoke up behind him, and Jack turned to see Sir Dream in what appeared to be casual clothes – his usual knight’s uniform and armor replaced with high-quality but subtle clothing that made him look like a merchant’s son or practiced scholar.  It was elegant but refined, with a green cloak so dark it almost appeared to be black, the only obvious nod to his family’s colors. “I thought that was you!” Dream cheered when the knight got a good look at him. “Are you about to head out on some errands?”

“I was trying to,” Jack admitted, tugging at the cuffs of his own tunic.  His clothes were now of the highest quality, though like Dream, he preferred the more subtle designs, nothing that would pull undo focus his direction. “It’s part of my therapy homework, but I’ve never gone to market before, and I…”

It was stupid, he’d suffered under the wrath of slavers who were much worse than anything that could be waiting for him out there, but at least with slavers, Jack had an idea of what to expect.

Out there the entire world was open to him, and he already knew how dangerous it could be. 

“Hey,” Dream spoke up, his voice terribly gentle.  Like Bad, his disposition seemed to be a direct counter to his intimidating stature, and it was enough to ease some of the tension from Jack’s shoulders. “I was just about to head out myself, why don’t I come with you?  It’s been a bit since I’ve hit the market anyway.”

Jack – despite having come this far without a protector entirely by design – found himself perking up. “You wouldn’t mind?” he asked, fingers finding their way to the Wastaken bracelet carefully looped around his wrist. “I only need to go to the bakery, but I’ve never bought anything before and all the people- It’s just- a lot.” He sighed. “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

“We all have our own trials,” Dream offered quietly, something not far off from what Ponk would say. “You and George do plenty of things as royal aides that I’ll never manage.  That doesn’t make me less, it just means I’ve walked a different path in life.” His head cocked to the side, considering. “The same can be said for you.”

“But everyone’s gone to market before,” Jack huffed, tugging nervously at his sleeve again.

“You haven’t,” Dream pointed out. “And you’re part of everyone.  In fact, I’m sure Prince Tommy and the other royal pups haven’t gone either.”

“They’re children.”

“You’re nitpicking,” Dream hummed, patient and- playful?  It felt like Connor, which was nice. “My point is – this is new to you, so it’s okay for it to be intimidating, and it’s also okay for it to not be something you’ve experienced before.  There’re no societal rules we must abide by here – just the ones that make you comfortable.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Honestly, you could go your entire life without ever going to the market and no one would care.  There’s plenty of nobles who have done just that.”

“I’m not a noble though.”

“That’s an argument for another day,” Dream laughed, his voice a little strained. “But let’s just say that’s true – I can promise it doesn’t matter. Regardless of who you are or where you’ve been, it’s okay to be a little behind in things some might consider basic life experiences.  And think of it like this, if you had already gone to market way back then, then I wouldn’t be able to accompany you for your very first trip.” Dream straightened, his body seeming to buss with excitement. “That is, if you’ll have me?”

“You really don’t mind?” Jack asked, his voice small.

“Of course not,” Dream said cheerfully. “It’d be my honor to show you the ropes.”

“Then, um- let’s do it,” Jack said, offering out his hand the way Skeppy did, a small grin tugging at his lips when Dream returned the hold with an excess of care. “To the bakery and back?”

“To the Hypixel and back, if you want it,” Dream hummed, seeming to think nothing of it.  Jack didn’t know where Hypixel was, but he guessed it was pretty far away. “But the bakery’s good too.”

Jack was beginning to understand what Wilbur had meant about the Wastakens not doing anything by half-measures.

“Okay, before we go, I think it would be a good idea to come up with a codeword,” Dream began as he led Jack over to the gate. “Something you can use in case you feel overwhelmed.  We can have one for if you just need support, and an emergency one for if you want to return to the castle right away.  If you say that one, there will be no questions asked, no judgement, nothing – just me getting you back to the castle as quickly as possible.” He let out a thoughtful hum. “They should be words we won’t use often in conversation, but still something you’ll be able to hold onto if you’re panicking.”

“Um.” That was smart.  Really, really smart.  It was also something he employed with Connor on a less extreme basis in the castle, something he must have taught to George. “I use the color system with my protectors.  Red can be for us to return to the castle, and yellow just means I need help.  Will that work?”

For a second, Dream flailed, but then he recovered so quickly it made Jack wonder if it’d even happened at all. “Color system – right, that works,” Dream said, his voice coming in a squeaked rush. “Yeah, that’s- if you’re good to go, I’m good to go, so-” He held his hand out to Jack, and for a second the peacekeeper thought he wanted to shake again, and then he realized-

Dream took his hesitation to mean something else.

“Not that- we don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dream sputtered, waving his fingers in an uncoordinated flutter. “I’m sorry, that was presumptuous of me, I just thought it might help-”

Jack put his ramble to a stop by grabbing Dream’s free hand, twining their fingers together carefully and – oh, that was nice.  He liked that.  He’d held his protectors’ hands before, but Dream was much bigger than both of them.  As such, his grip dwarfed Jack’s, but instead of feeling intimidated or threatened, Jack just felt safe.

“Thank you,” Jack said, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s really no problem,” Dream wheezed, and Jack liked to imagine that if he could see Dream’s face, the protector would be sporting a dark flush. “Onwards!”

Despite having only met Dream once before, Jack found himself happy to keep the taller hybrid’s company.  Even though Dream was both bigger and substantially stronger than him, he never dragged Jack.  If anything, he let the blaze hybrid set their pace, let Jack tug and direct as needed.  While it was intimidating to exit the safe walls of the castle, Jack’s instincts beginning to murmur in unease, it felt a little easier with Dream by his side.  Dream, who confirmed the route to the bakery, who gladly told Jack the shortcuts he liked to take, or the path that led back to his estate. 

The further they got from the castle, the more the streets became inhabited, the busier things got, until they were no longer the only two individuals treading their path.  Jack found himself huddling close to Dream on reflex, his pulse jumping in his throat, only to startle when he heard a low rumble of comfort.  When he looked to Dream, the knight simply gave him a thumbs up with his free hand – something Connor had said meant good.

And Jack hadn’t even said yellow.  Dream had just done it because he thought Jack needed it.

The weight of it sat heavy on Jack’s shoulders, not that he could dwell on it long.  The crowds were beginning to build up more until they were in the marketplace proper, and the crowds and crowds of people – all talking – moving everywhere, and it wasn’t- they weren’t slaves, they weren’t getting auctioned off, this wasn’t a workcamp or a dungeon, it was fine, it was-

“Yellow,” he whispered to Dream, tugging on his cloak frantically. “I’m sorry.  I- yellow, please, I-”

A beat, and Jack found himself lifted into the air, a broad forearm wrapped under his thighs and raising him until he could rest comfortably against Dream’s side, something that safely elevated him above most of the crowd.

“Is this okay?” Dream asked, his voice soft as he pulled them off to the side towards a less busy area. “A lot of times, larger hybrids will hold smaller ones like this when a space is crowded.”

“They do?” Jack asked, and instead of answering Dream simply pointed down the street where, low and behold, there was an ox hybrid balancing an adult bunny hybrid on her broad shoulder, the bunny hybrid seeming as content as could be.

Now that Dream had pointed it out, there were others he could see – a mouse hybrid getting carried by a bear hybrid, a cat hybrid lazily curled around the broad shoulders of a golem hybrid.  It was just- perfectly natural.

It was also, now that Jack had gotten used to it, very nice.

“This is cool,” Jack said, allowing some of his excitement to sneak into his tone. “I like being up high.”

“Most hybrids feel better when they have the high ground,” Dream allowed. “It should resonate especially well with your instincts since blazes can fly.”

“Now that you’ve pointed that out, my instincts do feel happy,” Jack noticed with a blink. “Thanks, Dream.  I think if we stay like this, I should be okay.”

“That’s awesome,” Dream gushed before Jack asked if he’d be alright with that. “George never lets me carry him around despite him being like, the laziest hybrid ever.  He’s too proud, so I really appreciate you letting me do this for you.”

When he talked like that he made it seem as though Jack was the one doing him a favor when it was definitely the other way around.  Still, when they moved forward Dream had a little bounce in his step, a cheerful tune hummed under his breath that made Jack smile as he enjoyed his new view above the crowds.  Across the way, he caught eyes with the bunny hybrid.  He had a mess of brown hair, and he offered Jack a broad grin and a happy wave of his hands, like they were connected by this very basic thing. 

Maybe they were.

“I’m gonna wave at his ox hybrid too,” Dream cheered, making Jack realize he’d caught the exchange. “Look, we’re such cool protectors.  Look at what cool protectors we are!”

“The coolest,” Jack laughed, and if they gathered some excess attention at Dream’s sudden burst of laughter, Jack didn’t feel uncomfortable about it.  He had Dream and a good view of his surroundings, he could identify at least three exit routes the way Connor had taught him to, and their destination was safely in sight. 

This afternoon was looking up after all.

“Here we are!” Dream declared when they arrived at the bakery.  It was just as pretty and picturesque as Skeppy had described it, making Jack’s heart flutter with happiness.

At least, up until they got inside.

And then it was just- hybrids.  Hybrids everywhere.

It was a popular shop – which was great for business according to his teacher and less great for Jack, who felt like he was in that awful basement in the nether all over again.

He didn’t even have a full second to panic before he found Dream’s arm wrapping around his shoulders, and then he was pulled close, tucked against Dream’s side and under the protector’s cape, safely bracketing Jack from most of the world.

“Are you okay?” Dream asked, just loud enough to be heard over the noise. “Do you need to go outside or to the castle?”

“N-Neither,” Jack declared, surrendering what little pride he’d accumulated and wrapping his arms around Dream’s waist, burying his face against Dream’s tunic.  He knew it wasn’t appropriate for someone he didn’t really know, but with as much as George talked about the guy, it felt like Jack did know him. “I need- I need the blackberry um- things.”

“Okay,” Dream said, letting out another comforting rumble. “How many do you want to get?”

“Um.” Jack’s mind blanked.

“Let me rephrase that,” Dream said, his voice gentle. “How many do you want to feed?”

“A-All the pups,” Jack said. “So that’s four, and then- uh- Quackity, of course, and George and Connor and Ponk, and- and Skeppy and Bad, and if I g-get Skeppy one, I should get one for Sapnap.”

“Sure,” Dream said, his tone lacking judgement. “What about the rest of the royal flock?”

“Yeah, maybe we can get some for them just in case,” Jack said.  The more he dwelled on the problem, the easier it seemed to breathe, like it was distracting him from his worries. “We definitely need one for Prince Wilbur.  And Lord Eret, and Lord Foolish loves sweets, so that um- just leaves-”

“Philza and Sir Technoblade,” Dream finished. “That’s a fair amount of people you’re going to make happy.  The bakery sells things individually, and then by the dozen and half dozen.  Since you need at least fifteen, what do you think you should order?”

“Um- two and a half dozen?” Jack ventured. “That way, everyone can have two if they want one.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Jack didn’t realize it until later, but Dream kept him distracted up until it was their turn at the register, and even though Jack hadn’t become less intimidated by the crowds, with Dream’s steady scent and the smell of fresh baked goods, it was hard to be sent back to the dark and dreary dungeons of his past.

“H-Hello,” Jack said once he got to his counter worker, her sharp gaze seeming to pin him in place. “I um- I need- some of the blackberry treats please.”

“Buns or tarts?” the woman asked, and-

Oh no.  Oh no, Jack hadn’t prepared for that, he hadn’t- he’d thought there was only one option, he should have pushed Skeppy for details, he didn’t know which was the right choice-

Focus.

He could do this.  He knew how to do this, it was the same route he took when encountering a new problem with his teacher.

He just needed to step back and breathe.

“A dozen of each, please,” he said. “And then half a dozen of whichever you have more of.”

“Good deal,” the lady chirped, smiling bright, and she- she hadn’t been judging Jack, or was angry with him.  It was okay.  He’d needed a moment and she’d given it to him and it was okay. “That will be five silver, please.”

“R-Right.” Jack started fumbling for his money bag while she got the order together.  He’d never actually used it in public before.  He hadn’t interacted much with the actual money itself – it was something that had been thoroughly trained out of him.  Slaves that stole were treated to fates worse than death, and in hindsight, this was one of those trigger things he really should discuss with Ponk.  As it was, he couldn’t exactly buy something if he kept staring at his money in fear.

“Is everything okay?” Dream whispered, bending down so he could murmur in Jack’s ear.

“I- no, it’s fine,” Jack insisted, reaching towards his silver with shaky fingers.  He could safely count out five of them.  He knew he could.  He had time, even, the lady was putting his order together.  He just needed to grab one at a time and put them on the counter, except his finger slipped-

Two fell on the floor and Jack flinched, waiting for a hit that had to come.  He’d been clumsy, he’d been bad, he’d touched what he shouldn’t have, he’d been wasteful and lost a precious resource and deserved to be punished because of it-

“Here, mister!” a bright voice said from below him, and when Jack cracked his eyes open it was to see a small dog hybrid pup holding his silvers up to him. “You dropped these!”

For a moment, Jack was dumbfounded.  It was unheard of to return money in the Nether Slums.  Once it was out of your hands, it belonged to the will of the world.

But here was a young pup, offering it back to him with a smile.

“T-Thank you,” Jack whispered, carefully accepting the coins. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome!” the dog hybrid cheered, his tail wagging happily behind him. “I’m getting a cookie because I’m a good boy!”

“You are indeed,” Jack said, and how could he do anything but smile in the wake of that enthusiasm? “Here,” he said, offering back one of the silvers.  He had plenty, after all. “For your help, I really appreciate it.” He glanced up, realizing he had the pup’s mom’s attention, and felt his cheeks flush. “That is, if it’s okay with you.  I…”

A warm hand landed on his shoulder, and he looked back to see Dream offering him another thumbs up.

“It’s been a long day,” Dream explained to the mother. “And this made it a lot better.”

“Oh,” the woman said, easing into a smile. “Then by all means, he did earn it.”

“Wow, a whole silver,” the pup gushed as he marveled over the coin Jack gave him. “I’m gonna buy some cookies for papa with these!”

“I’m sure he’ll like that,” the mom hummed, patting her kid’s shoulder, and Jack-

He wanted that.  He wanted that so badly it hurt, but he knew he wasn’t in a place to get it yet.  If this outing had taught him anything it was that he still had a long way to go, but he was getting there.

A month ago, he couldn’t have imagined leaving the castle walls.  Now he’d left and he was touching money, using it, and making others smile, and Jack- he wanted to do that more.  Wanted to use this money to create more happiness in the world.

“Here’s your order, sir,” the woman said when she returned with his boxed of baked goods, accepting his payment with a grin. “I hope you have a nice day.”

“I think I already have,” Jack declared, sharing a broad smile with Dream.

It was comforting because it was true, and he had the hope that it might occur frequently from here on out.

Chapter Text

“Idiot,” George snarled from where he pounced on Dream from above, Drista proving herself to be a generous ally as always by sneaking George onto the Wastaken estate so he could properly ambush Dream. “Stupid, idiot.  Why do you have to be such a big, stupid idiot?”

“George!” Dream wailed, flailing around the garden like the giant imbecile George thought he was, twisting this way and that and making absolutely no effort to pull George from his back despite the fact that he could easily do so. “Why are you being so mean?”

“Why are you so dumb?” George countered with a growl, making a dedicated effort to bat at the back of Dream’s head, vindictively ruining the blond’s carefully-styled locks while Dream released a noise of despair, as though he wasn’t going to hide it all beneath a mask and hood when he went out in public anyway. “What the fuck, Dream?  Why can’t you act like a normal person?”

“You have literally no room to talk,” Dream huffed, spinning in a rough circle in an attempt to dislodge George.

The panther hybrid gripped on tighter, burning with resentment. He knew damn well that the only reason he’d gotten this far was because Dream had let him – had likely sensed George waiting for him on the edge of the roof.

Well, no matter, George was going to take advantage of that stupid indulgence if it was the last thing he did.

“I’m his protector, Dream.  Me.  I should be the one running errands with him, and yet you come swooping in, handing out bracelets and carrying him around-”

“I was just trying to help!” Dream insisted with a wave of his arms. “I was helping!  Your friends are my friends, remember?”

George used what leverage he had to crane over Dream’s shoulder, aiming an unimpressed look at the other protector. “Sapnap.”

It definitely wasn’t satisfying to watch Dream’s cheeks flush dark. “Most of your friends are my friends.  There’re exceptions.  And besides, I don’t know why you’re mad at me, I just happened to be there.”

“Oh really?” George hissed, squeezing on tighter.  Maybe if he tried hard enough he could choke all the stupid out of Dream. “So you just happened to start stabling your horse in the side courtyard – after using the central stables for years – for no particular reason?” Prime almighty, how stupid did Dream think he was? “I know all the stable managers, you asshat, it took three silver to confirm that you didn’t switch until after I told you about Jack!”

“Okay, so maybe I bettered my odds,” Dream admitted, stumbling over his words in an effort to appease George which was impossible by this point because George was pissed. “But I needed more opportunities to organically bump into him if he’s going to be my friend!”

“Why does he have to be your friend?!” George snapped. “Jack has literally nothing to do with you!”

At that, Dream finally came to a halt, looking up at the panther hybrid with those same stupid green eyes that George had come to hate.  And definitely not love.  There was no love there. “But he’s your peacekeeper, Georgie,” he said, and George fucking knew befriending this lummox had been a terrible mistake all those years ago but he’d surrendered to the insanity anyway, allowing the poison that was friendship to cloud his judgement.  George was not touched by this, he wasn’t. “It’s a big deal, of course I had to help.”

And fuck, of course he did.  This was Dream he was talking to.  George knew how Dream was, knew how this was always going to go.  And granted, maybe a large part of him had thought Dream would blow this off, or worse, react the same way he had when George had befriended Sapnap.  Only a small part of him suspected that Dream might be supportive, but George should have known that this would be different.  Jack wasn’t just a friend like Sapnap who was taking up George’s free time – another protector and therefore, a rival – he was a commitment, a claim.  Where George thought Dream might get jealous, the other man had been thrilled.  This was – for George – a very large development.

He supposed were he an individual that was more sensitively-inclined, this could be considered touching.  Jack seemed to register it as such, seemed awed that George would have a friend that cared for him so much that he’d help with Jack as well. 

And maybe it was, but that wasn’t the point.

“I’m not going to hurt him!” Dream insisted. “And I won’t do any more stuff with him in public if you don’t want me to, but he looked so scared, George.  He was trying so hard and I just wanted to help, and-” He sighed. “I’ll go and get you next time.”

“Yes,” George sniffed, giving the back of Dream’s head one last thwack before he slipped off the idiot’s back.  “You will.”

“I’m sorry, Georgie,” Dream whined, making himself look especially pathetic as George walked towards the double doors that led into the sunroom – the very space Dream had exited just before George’s assault. “Are you mad at me?”

“I’m irritated,” George huffed, waiting for Dream to follow him inside before he shut the doors after them. “Just like you knew I’d be.  You’re getting ahead of yourself.  You should have waited for me to arrange a meeting between you and Jack.”

“But if I did that then I’d never meet him,” Dream sniffed, eyes hurt and wounded and a lie, George had seen Dream and Drista’s teary eyed theatrics before and he wasn’t going to fall for it twice.  Not when he knew just how much they’d learned to emote in order to get their feelings across from under the shelter of their masks.  Prime, he swore they were actually puppy hybrids for all their whimpering.

“So you decided to take matters into your own hands then?” George challenged as they exited the sunroom and entered the side hall. “Damn how I feel about it?”

“Well, I uh- suspected you wouldn’t be the happiest,” Dream admitted. “But I was also hoping you’d come around to it.  You know, so all of your favorite hybrids could hang out together.”

“Who says I have any favorites?” George sniffed. “Because I don’t. That’s stupid. Childish.”

“And for you, absolutely true,” Dream countered without apology, his voice bright. “Look, I’m not trying to undermine you here.  I meant what I said, I just want to help.  I like to think I’m a big part of your life, and Jack has, without question, become another big part of your life, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to balance interacting with us when we can just as easily all be together.  As friends,” Dream clarified just when George was about to snap out something vicious.  Damn, he knew George too well. “That was why I pushed, but it wasn’t my intent to make you feel uneasy, or like you weren’t doing your job as a protector.  You’re an amazing protector, and Jack seems to think the world of you.”

“You’re biased,” George muttered, his tail flicking in irritation. 

There was, perhaps, the slightest chance that George felt somewhat self-conscious about how he might add up as a protector compared to Dream.  Dream was, without a doubt, the very definition of what a protector should be.  He was strong, charming, muscular, and open with his feelings.  He communicated well, was loyal to a fault, and one of the highest-ranking knights in the entire kingdom.  He belonged to one of the four strongest families.  He had a great pack, plenty of wealth, and status he had earned based on his own merits.

He was everything anyone could hope for in a protector.

And then there was George.  George who was slight, whose family ignored him, who was blunt and surly and not a warrior.  He wouldn’t be able to carry Jack around, he couldn’t shower him in riches and likely would never be able to take him back to meet his family.

How was George supposed to match up when they were compared?

“No, I’m just right,” Dream huffed. “Jack loves you and you saw that for yourself, you just don’t want to admit it.”

George wanted to snarl again, wanted to lash his claws out at Dream, wanted to do anything but broach the terrible topic of feelings and relationships.  As irritating as he’d found the bracelet incident to be, he knew it had been well-intended; that Jack could only benefit from it.  He hadn’t expected Dream to go shopping with Jack, nor the impromptu tea party that followed, Lord Eret pulling George from his work personally to go out in the gardens because someone or other had brought blackberry tarts back for the royal flock, and who the fuck would care about some dumb berries anyway, but then-

But then there was Jack in the middle of it all, puffed up with pride and happily distributing the baked goods he’d acquired, Dream a proud sentinel standing just over his shoulder, the two of them looking perfect as could be. 

It didn’t feel like there was any room for George in all that, but when Jack had caught sight of him the small blaze hybrid had brightened, and between one breath and the next he was before George, holding his arms open hopefully, eager for a hug.

Right now, Jack still needed him as much as George did in return. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if that would change once Jack got to know Dream better.  What if they iced George out?  George had been a default anyway, someone chosen because he worked with Jack frequently, not because he’d been at the top of the list.  He’d been a last resort.

“Is this okay?” Jack asked him quietly after Dream recounted the story of their afternoon excursion, the royal flock gathering close with wide smiles.  It was fortunate that Skeppy and Sapnap were occupied with a training drill that afternoon or things might have been a lot less pleasant. “I would have called you or Connor first, but I wanted to do it on my own and then I couldn’t, and Dream was just there, and…”

“It’s okay,” George had soothed, hugging Jack close. “It’s alright, I’m glad you’re friends with Dream.”

“We’re friends?” Jack whispered, eyes wet with restrained tears, which led to them visiting Bad and Ponk and Connor to confirm that yes, Jack did have friends, whereupon he started crying in earnest because that had never happened before.

He’d never had friends. 

George hadn’t had friends for a majority of his life, but Dream had changed that with his stubborn determination.  George hadn’t had friends, but it was different because he’d never been poor.  He’d been neglected but provided for to an extent, but Jack hadn’t even had that.

Until now, when he was over two decades old.

It made George want to murder some people, that was for damn sure.  He knew Jack, the blaze hybrid wasn’t the type to lie about these sorts of things, he just said them without thinking. 

“It was hard,” Jack said later when they were retelling the story yet another time to the eager pups. “There were a lot of people and I forgot about the whole money thing.”

“What money thing?” Prince Tommy had asked, his eyes wide.

“Slaves aren’t supposed to touch money,” Jack said, making more than one person pause. “I’d forgotten how that was just sort of… inherent for me.  It made me scared of my own wallet, but I got through it!” He smiled at Ponk. “Can we start working on that too?  I think I like buying people presents.”

“We can definitely make that happen,” Dr. Ponk said, his gaze shining with pride.

It was such an offhanded comment, but it confirmed the very worst for George.  That Jack used to be a slave.  That he’d been one long enough to have never had friends, that he was afraid of crowds and touching money, that his level of normal was different than everyone else’s.  He may have even been one his entire life, and just-

It put things into perspective. George was being stupid.  Dream was right, Jack was thrilled to have him as a protector – George was a reliable well of support that didn’t hurt him.  He already knew Jack’s standards weren’t high, but they were set on George – was happy to see him, be near him, cuddle with him.  Even if Jack grew to like Dream more than George, so what?  George was still Dream’s friend.  Even if he had to step back – if that was what was best for Jack, he’d do it, and he knew that Dream would keep him around.  That much, he could trust.

He really had gotten worked up for nothing.

Well, not nothing – Dream always needed to be taken down a peg or two, so that wasn’t a waste.

“Maybe there’s some truth to your words,” George admitted as they made their way to the informal dining room. “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that you shouldn’t keep seeing Jack without me.”

He didn’t realize he was walking into a trap until he said it, and from the corner of his eyes he caught the wicked smirk Dream never would have been able to subdue.

“So what I’m hearing is that I can invite both of you to visit soon,” Dream cheered, clapping George on the back. “Thanks, Georgie! I’ll go tell my family the good news.”

“Dream,” George hissed, but the idiot was already dancing into the dining room, already being greeted by his mother and grumbled at by his sister and George despaired, he really did, but maybe-

Maybe part of him was excited.

But that was childish and immature, so he ignored it.

~:~

“Don’t be nervous,” George advised Jack for what was perhaps the fifth time that carriage ride, though to be fair to the panther hybrid, it wasn’t like Jack didn’t need it.  Despite having mentally prepared for this with both Ponk and Connor, Jack was still understandably nervous when it came to the upcoming visit.  While he’d been to the Las Nevadas Duchy a handful of times with Quackity ever since he’d come to the castle, that had felt like safe, familiar territory.  Jack was supposed to be there, he was helping Quackity.  He had a job he was expected to complete that he couldn’t otherwise do without visiting the location.

This was different though.  This time he’d been invited as a guest for purely recreational purposes, which meant that Jack didn’t have a purpose that extended beyond… bonding?  Bonding. 

Bonding with someone who wasn’t even his protector or packmate.

According to everyone he’d asked, that was a perfectly normal expectation between friends.  In fact, both Quackity and Wilbur had assured Jack that he was allowed to invite friends to his private suite if he wanted to – he just needed to clear them with Skeppy (and Connor, in a less official capacity) first.  Jack had just started getting the hang of exiting the castle.  He couldn’t do so by himself yet, but it would be fair for him to want to have all bonding activities happen on his home turf, as Connor had put it.

This had been the one exception that Wilbur had declared perfectly safe, considering where Jack’s current comfort levels were.

“The Wastaken estate is one of the most well-guarded, privacy enchanted mansions in the entire capital,” George continued, running through the familiar breakdown Wilbur had already given Jack that morning at breakfast. “Most of the mansion is maintained by magic so it has a limited staff.  Aside from the butler and servers at mealtime, it’s unlikely you’ll see any of them.  It’ll just be Dream and his family and they’re all excited to meet you.”

“But I’m just a peacekeeper,” Jack said, the first words he’d managed since the carriage ride had begun. “I’m not even that good of one.”

Because he was a bearer, which could bring a type of peace, but it wasn’t his specialty.

“You know, I didn’t get it at first either,” George said, surprising Jack.  He snuggled closer to the panther hybrid’s side, grateful for the arm George kept around his shoulders, and earned a small grin in return. “Dream and his family are totally different from my own.  They’re sort of like the royal flock, I guess.  They support each other’s interests – so if Dream trusts someone enough to befriend them, Dream’s family knows that they’re a quality individual.”

Jack supposed that sort of made sense.  It was, after all, what made him immediately fond of the other royal pups. 

Tubbo liked them, therefor Jack liked them.  It had been that simple.

Maybe it was that simple for Dream’s family too, it was just a coincidence that they happened to be one of the most powerful families in the empire.

“Also, you’re a great peacekeeper,” George added, leaning over to nuzzle his hair. “And if I hear you put yourself down again, I’m going to march you to Ponk’s office myself for some of those self-affirmation exercises.”

“My life was a lot easier before you and Connor started communicating,” Jack grumbled, his cheeks swelling with an embarrassed flush that was mostly gratitude, Jack burying his face against George’s chest to hide the buzz of pleasure that came from being so well looked after.

He’d overheard Connor talking to George at the impromptu tea party after his bakery expedition.  Jack hadn’t intended for things to come out as they had, but Quackity had been so excited by his success with his therapy homework that the duke had wanted to celebrate then and there, and of course Prince Wilbur wasn’t going to get left out of things, and somehow that had led to all of them – including the emperor and Sir Technoblade and even Lord Foolish – going out to the gardens, Wilbur and Bad showing Jack the ropes of throwing a casual tea party.  The only ones who’d been missing were Sapnap and Skeppy, and while Jack was slightly disappointed by that, Bad had promised that their baked goods would be delivered to them safely in one piece.

After weathering the crowds outside the castle, even a tea party with all his favorite individuals became a little tiring, so Jack had followed Ponk’s advice and taken a moment to himself, finding a secluded area where he could breathe for a bit and evaluate how he wanted to proceed.  He knew none of them would be upset if he retreated to the castle for a nap.  If anything, they’d think it was well-deserved, and his nest did sound awfully appealing at the moment-

“Trust me, it was perfectly fine,” Connor’s voice drifted into his hiding place in a soft murmur. “I kept an eye on them the entire time.  If Dream had done anything fishy, if Jack had needed backup, I would have cut in, but they were good.  Dream was very respectful.”

“I suppose if he hadn’t been, you would have stabbed him?” George murmured in return, and that was his trying to be casual voice – a subtle flavor of neutrality that couldn’t quite mask George’s interest.  At least, not when one knew him.

“Among other things,” Connor replied cheerfully. “But it was okay.  You’ve got a good friend.”

“Wow,” George drawled, back to his normal sarcastic self. “From you, that’s positively gushing.”

“Take the compliment for what it is, jackass.”

“Whatever, loser,” George huffed before the two of their voices drifted away.

Later, Jack would return to the party to find Connor destroying Dream in a game of chess on the outdoor board (that until that point Jack had thought was solely decorative) with George lingering beside them, laughing so hard at Dream’s misfortune that he could barely breathe and eagerly returning each and every one of Connor’s stoically delivered high fives.  Jack had checked in with Wilbur just to be sure, but it was a comfort to know that his two protectors did, indeed, like each other.

“They’re just both prickly,” Wilbur had explained with a few pats to Jack’s shoulder. “In a literal sense for Connor, but it takes George a while to warm up to people.  Even when he does, he’s not going to be obvious about it.  It saves him room to cut his losses should the need arise.”

“Cut his losses?” Jack echoed, not quite getting it. “Could you elaborate?”

Wilbur nodded, leaning forward as he lowered his voice. “A lot of people are dumb when it comes to George.  Because he has standards and won’t stoop to being anyone’s pawn, won’t accept any bribes – because he’s good at his job, basically, a lot of people ice him out.  And granted, they’re terrible individuals he never should be friends with anyway, but when that happens enough, it hardens you.  It hardened George.” He nodded towards the trio of protectors, Sir Technoblade kindly offering Dream some advice that Jack’s former escort took with a nervously strained laugh. “He doesn’t perceive himself as someone capable of making or maintaining friendships.  So while he may be grumpy with Connor – and Connor will be grumpy with him in turn to make George more comfortable – he does actually like the guy.” 

“He just doesn’t want to get called out on it if Connor changes his mind,” Jack realized, his heart sinking when Wilbur nodded. “That’s awful.”

“It is,” Wilbur agreed. “It’s natural for hybrids to build up defense mechanisms against something that happens frequently.  It is in our best interest to preserve our mental health.  It sucks, but it’s understandable, and for George…” He smiled wide. “Well, I think everyone here can agree that he’s worth waiting for.  With enough love and support he’ll eventually trust us.  Just be patient, and don’t take anything to heart.”

“Okay,” Jack said, committing the conversation to memory so he could share it with Ponk later.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that a lot of what the prince had said could also apply to Jack. 

It had been a nice tea party, and George had assured him that this would also be a nice visit – and if it wasn’t, they could leave the moment Jack was uncomfortable.  None of Dream’s family would be upset or offended.

“No, it wasn’t,” George countered with a pleased hum, bringing him back to the present. “What color are you at right now?”

“Green,” Jack said, going with his gut instinct like Ponk had suggested. “I’ll be a bit greener when we get out of this carriage.”

“Yeah, the anticipation is always more burdensome than the actual thing, I’ve learned,” George sighed before releasing an onslaught of supportive rumbles that made Jack shiver in appreciation.

Okay, he could do this.  It was just Dream and his family, and all of them wanted him to be there because they were a normal, loving pack.

He could do this.

The Wastaken estate was different than the Wastaken Duchy.  The duchy was a territory maintained by the Wastaken family that was located in a different part of the empire, much like the Las Nevadas Duchy.  Most noble families had some sort of territories they managed, but not all had estates – or mansions – located in the capital.  Whether it was to keep up with their political duties or to stay in the cultural hotspot of the continent, Wilbur said it was vital for them to have these footholds in the heart of the empire since they would be required to frequently travel there anyway.  No one wanted to be the nobles who were forced to stay in a hotel regardless of how luxurious it may be, so the richest families had estates – usually large enough to host the lower-ranking families they were affiliated with should they so need it.  After all, it was a common fact of nobility that they couldn’t really turn guests away.  Unless there was adequate support to deny someone’s request, refusing to host could be seen as a weakness, as though the family did not have sufficient funds to allow for such accommodations.  It could be a double-edged sword, but nobles could be vicious in their own way, which was why most didn’t take advantage of this unspoken rule.  It was better to stay with friends than to seek beyond your means and make a powerful enemy.

The Wastaken family was a rare exception to this rule.  By decree of the emperors of old they were allowed a level of secrecy unrivaled by any other major family.  They repaid this generous respect by dedicating their efforts to the empire’s protection, and had for generations.  Both the Wastaken Estate and the Wastaken House – or, the mansion at their duchy – had access restricted to select personnel and invited guests and family only.  It was why all gatherings hosted by the Wastaken family had to take place in facilities they rented ].  Sometimes they even used the castle ballrooms, depending on availability.  According to Wilbur, Emperor Philza was greatly fond of the Wastakens, and would gladly let them do whatever they wanted, at least within reason.  But the Wastakens were a family with great honor, and had never sought to abuse those privileges. 

It was both intimidating and a comfort.  On one hand, this pack was friends with the emperor.  On the other, Dream was friends with Jack, and Jack had Quackity and Wilbur in his corner, so if he somehow committed a grievous mistake they might be kind enough to let him off with a warning.  Jack would hate to accidentally ruin things between two such powerful families.  Three, if Las Nevadas got involved.

The estate was one of the older-established mansions, and as such, was set up in a rather secluded area of the capital.  In a place where real estate was in the highest demand, the Wastakens had plenty of room to themselves.  Plenty of peace and privacy, which spoke to how powerful they were.

Jack liked it.  It was much better than Boomer’s estate.  It was clean and bright and grand, not cramped and looming and gaudy.  The road up to the front of the house itself was just- and there were so many plants and bushes and trees – how many gardeners would it take to manage such a thing?  Or was that maintained by magic too?  And what that a fountain?

“Yeah,” George began, chuckling at Jack’s open-mouthed amazement. “I suppose it’s not so bad.”

“It’s so pretty,” Jack whispered, overcome with awe. “Should I even be here?”

At that, George’s gaze hardened.  “You were invited here, so yes,” he said, giving Jack’s shoulders one last squeeze before the carriage came to a stop. “What’s your color?”

“Green,” Jack said, deciding it was excitement more than nerves that was mixing him up.

“You let me know the moment that changes,” George informed him, his expression serious. “Now, if I know Dream he’s going to be waiting out there for us like the impatient lummox he is.  He might even want hugs, but I can buy you space if you want it.”

“No, I think a hug sounds good right now,” Jack declared, and this was it.

He followed George out of the carriage, taking in the warmth of the sun and the pleasant floral scents lingering on the breeze.  He liked the openness of it all, the lack of people.

“George!  Jack!” Dream called, practically bouncing down the stairs that led up to the front door. “You’re here!”

“And you’re wearing your mask,” George noted, seeming confused by this for some reason.

Immediately, Dream started fidgeting. “Well, I um- I didn’t want to worry Jack,” he admitted before turning to the bearer. “Our home nests are the few places Wastakens can remove our masks.  It’s why we have such tight privacy enchantments.  Now, to be clear, I trust you to see what I look like, but I didn’t want to share that knowledge if it would be a burden, so me and my family can stay masked up while you’re here if that will make you feel better.”

“But- this your home,” Jack said, knowing that above all else, that was where a person was supposed to be most comfortable.

“And you are our guest,” Dream said. “We pride ourselves on being good hosts, and we wouldn’t be good hosts if we made you uncomfortable.”

It was a stupidly touching thing.  It made Jack wish he had a mask of his own, anything to hide the sudden burning in his eyes.

“If you trust me, I’d be honored to see,” Jack whispered, having been plagued with the yearning to know what Dream’s smile looked like – if it was lopsided, if he showed teeth, if he had a crooked nose or strong jaw. "I won’t tell anyone.”

“I know you won’t,” Dream said, his hand rising to his mask. “Now let me just…”

“You don’t have to build up dramatic tension, you idiot,” George huffed when Dream seemed to be doing just that.

With a weary sigh, Dream moved, pulling the mask away without ceremony.

And then it was just him.  Just Dream beneath the mask.

Just Jack who got to see him for the very first time.

Chapter Text

“You have scales too!” Jack burst before he could help himself, marveling at the generous scatter of black, purple (and was that silver?) scales that crested around each of Dream’s eyes like a C, disappearing under his mop of blond hair and dusting against his cheekbones the way Jack’s should have. “They’re so pretty!  And you have so many of them!  Look, George, look how many he has!”

“You’re just blowing up his ego at this rate,” George muttered, looking off to the side in mock despair, but there was a grin on his lips and that was what mattered, that was the important part.

“Thank you, Jack,” Dream said, puffing up with pride and leaning over so Jack could tentatively trace his scales. “Your scales are pretty too.”

“T-Thank you,” Jack said, flushing even though he knew Dream was just being nice.  Still, it made his inner bearer happy to get such compliments, he had been working hard to build up his internal flame, and Bad swore he was getting new scales every day.  Maybe in a few years Jack might even look like Sapnap, but prettier.  Wouldn’t that be something? “Oh wow – do they help protect you from the cold?  Are they- wait, sorry.” He knew his cheeks darkened. “I forgot we weren’t supposed to ask about your hybrid stuff.”

It was one of the things Wilbur had warned him about.

“It’s okay,” Dream hummed, giving Jack’s wrist a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll let you know if you ask anything I can’t answer.  But for now – yes, these scales do help protect me from the cold.”

“That’s so cool,” Jack whispered, knowing his scales were intended for similar purposes, though his defended and helped channel his natural heat. 

So really, it was like insulation.  If Dream’s scales were insulating his own internal power then he was very strong, which might be why he had to wear a mask in the first place.  If everyone knew how strong he was, it would make him more of a target. 

This way, he had the element of surprise.

The scales weren’t the only distracting thing though.  There was also the matter of Dream’s eyes which were a beautiful, blinding green that seemed to almost radiate power.  There was something else in there – specks of purple, Jack thought, but he didn’t want to stare for too long and be considered a creeper, but Dream just- he looked so friendly, and his smile was nice, and it made Jack’s instincts feel settled and complete-complete-complete.

“You look like you sound,” Jack found himself saying, heart fluttering when he caught Dream’s blink of surprise. 

Oh wow, he could see that now.

“What?” George asked, coming beside him with a gentle smile. “Dumb?”

“Kind,” Jack said, his fingers finding their way to the Wastaken friendship bracelet wrapped around his wrist. “Warm.  Friendly.”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Dream said, bouncing up to his full height so he could pump his fist.  It was nice being able to watch him celebrate, and as expressive as he was with his mask on, this was so much better.  Jack understood why George visited so often now. “Suck it, George, I’m warm and friendly.”

“I’d rather not, thanks,” George sniffed before taking Jack’s hand. “Now, we’ve been cramped in that carriage for too long, you idiot, so why don’t you give us a tour of the gardens?”

“That’s a great idea!” Dream cheered, and he- he cared for George so much, there was such affection in his eyes and Jack got it now, he understood why Dream had reached out to him. 

To say that George was a close friend to Dream was an understatement.  It was clear that the blond hybrid considered George so much more than that, and the realization left Jack a little uneasy.  He wasn’t exactly sure what to do with the information, so for now, he’d follow Ponk’s advice.  There was no reason he had to do anything right now anyway; he could always think it over.

“This way!” Dream declared, and then he led them properly into the mansion. “My mom has full control of the gardens, which is why they’re not a horrific wreck, for the record, and you’ll see that-”

“George!” a bright young voice cheered before a green blur bodily slammed into the panther hybrid, though George seemed to have been expecting it, the brunette staggering back only a few steps as he adjusted for the youngling’s weight.

“Drista!” George said, and this was the most Jack had seen George smile – at least in a genuine manner. “How is the vastly superior Wastaken sibling doing?”

“I am radiant and badass as always,” the new person – Drista – sniffed. When she pulled back Jack realized that she was a teenage version of Dream – tall for her age with long, blond hair that was pulled back in a high pony.  She seemed to be wearing training clothes, but her eyes were the same brilliant green as Dream’s, though her scales weren’t as plentiful. “How is my dumb brother’s best protector friend and his soon-to-be best peacekeeper friend doing?”

“I am also well,” George said, shifting into a smaller, though no less fond, smile. “Though you might want to back off on the abrupt entries for a bit, please.  At least until Jack gets used to you.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the new girl said, properly disengaging from George before she turned to face Jack. “Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am Drista Wastaken, second child of the Wastaken family and super prodigy genius extraordinaire who will definitely beat her dumb older brother’s graduation record.”

“You will not,” Dream huffed while Drista offered Jack a formal bow, much like Dream had that first day. “Dad wouldn’t let me graduate early and he’s not going to treat you any differently.  Get over it.”

“Never,” Drista huffed with a toss of her hair. “The difference between you and me is gumption.  I have it in spades whereas you are a giant whiney baby-”

“I am not,” Dream hissed, his cheeks coloring a pale lilac when he flushed. “And could you restrain yourself for like, five seconds?  I want Jack to come back many times.”

“If he doesn’t come back, that will be because of you, not me,” Drista sniffed before leaning closer to Jack. “If you need help escaping, I am here for you.  Dream’s not allowed to enter my room, so if you ever need space from him, you can go there.  I’ll show you where it is later.”

“Drista,” Dream whined, eyes wounded. “We already set up a private room for Jack, he can go there if he needs space.”

“You did?” Jack asked, struggling to keep up with the whirlwind conversation.

He was pretty sure good things were happening. At the very least, his instincts hadn’t been set off.

“Of course we did!” Dream said, perking up. “We set it up next to George’s, and there’s a connecting door between the two of them that locks from your side, so you can visit him anytime you want.” His expression softened, and he offered his hand out tentatively, a hold Jack found himself returning on reflex. “I talked with Dr. Ponk and George and my mom, and we all thought it was important for you to have a space that was strictly yours since this is entirely new territory.  And uh- as you can already tell, we uh…”

“We don’t do casual,” Drista informed Jack sagely. “So even if you did stop being friends with Dream, that suite will still be yours, and we’d still be your allies.  That’s just the way we roll.”

“Oh,” Jack said, overwhelmed. “And no one can go in there but me?”

“Yep,” Dream said. “Everyone else has to be invited in.  And it’s okay if that never happens.”

A room, for Jack.  This wasn’t even his house and he had a room here.  He could build another nest.

“I made sure to get a bunch of blankets and pillows,” Dream said. “Connor said that was very important.”

Jack felt his cheeks heat. “I’ve never had them before,” he murmured, fumbling for an excuse. “So I- it’s just-”

George’s hands found his shoulders – a steady, grounding presence. “You don’t have to explain it.  I, for one, love a good blanket pile.”

“I’ve got a daybed in my room George likes to nap on,” Dream volunteered. “You’re free to rearrange it if you want.”

Nest-nest-nest! pounded in the back of Jack’s mind, but in a pleasant way, a way that made him shudder.

“I think I’d like that,” Jack said, not daring to raise his voice above a whisper.  He turned back towards Drista with a blink, suddenly remembering she was there. “I greatly appreciate your offer, though it looks like I’m settled.”

“Just the same, my room’s there if you need it, as am I,” she said, her expression serious. “I know how annoying Dream can get firsthand.”

George cackled just as Dream let out a groan of despair, but he was still smiling, it was still all in good fun and these three were- they just cared for each other, like Bad and Skeppy.  Like Quackity and Techno with the pups. 

It felt like pack.

“Okay, I’ll give you guys some space for now,” Drista sniffed, as though she was the epitome of generosity incarnate. “But I will be joining you for tea, and if you upset Jack in the interim, you’re both going to get it.”

“Yes, Drista,” George and Dream chorused at the same time, and before Jack could interject the young hybrid was gone, trailing off with a confident pep in her step.

Wow, she was really… really great.

“She reminds me of Tubbo,” Jack found himself saying, and that was- oh damnit-

George laughed even as Dream gave a confused look. “She’ll take that as a compliment once she meets Tubbo,” he declared, and then he winced. “On second thought, maybe we should spare the world that team up.”

The comment, innocent as it was, was enough to startle a laugh out of Jack.  It felt nice, had his smile stretching so wide his cheeks hurt, and for whatever reason that made both his protectors smile too.

“Come on,” Dream said, offering his arm out to both of them. “Let’s go see the garden.”

The garden was as pretty as Jack hoped it would be – as pretty as the royal gardens back at the palace, even.  It was substantially less intimidating than the mansion behind them and Jack enjoyed the fresh air and pleasant sunshine as Dream took them around the space, recounting different childhood memories as they went – trees he and Drista had dared each other to climb, the gazebo his mother liked to host family tea parties on, the pond George had fallen into the first summer he stayed over.

“You said you wouldn’t talk about that,” George hissed, his cheeks flushing a dark pink. “There were extenuating circumstances.  I didn’t fall, I was pushed, and furthermore, if we’re talking about that little incident then let me direct you to the corner of the roof where Dream’s practice sword accidentally got stuck when a certain someone was trying out a sword combination that his father explicitly forbade-”

“Okay!  Okay, why don’t we move along now?” Dream said with a nervous laugh, gently herding them down the path. “Wow, I think it’s almost teatime.  I think my mom requested the chef to make those tarts you like so much, George, isn’t that exciting?”

“Guess who tried to retrieve it from the roof without alerting his parents?” George continued in a conspiratorial whisper. “Guess who got stuck hanging by the back of his pants for thirty minutes-”

“George!”

“I’m surprised they didn’t break, to be honest,” George chuckled. “At the time it was terrifying, but in hindsight – hilarious.”

“Alright, I won’t talk about you getting shoved into the pond anymore,” Dream huffed, a pout tugging at his lips. “But there was this one time where Drista dared George to eat pond slime-”

“You said it was a rite of passage!” George burst, his tail flicking in frustration. “I was a dumb preteen – let it go, Dream.”

“Maybe we should have moss cupcakes at his next birthday,” Dream said, shooting Jack a wink.

The expression on George’s face shifted in a wicked sort of vindictiveness. “You know, Dream went through this phase where he literally crawled everywhere because he thought it would improve his strength training-”

“George,” Dream whined, and Jack couldn’t stop laughing, overcome with the thought of these two protectors – who seemed so calm and composed and sure of themselves – had once been silly kids.  They hadn’t always been this confident and steadfast, they’d been allowed to bond and fumble their way through the world.  They’d been together a long time it seemed, and they had a good time recounting their different adventures to Jack until they settled down for tea, where Drista did indeed join them and dished out her own favorite anecdotes from their misspent youth.

“Look, they’re both dumb,” Drista huffed as she shoved an entire cream puff into her mouth. “Do you know how many times my mom chastised them for eating mud?  It was more than once.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” George hissed. “I keep telling you that second time Dream lost my Essempian chocolate and that stuff’s expensive.  I wasn’t letting it go to waste.”

“Twice, Jack,” Drista sighed, ignoring the older protectors and holding up two fingers to emphasize this. “Twice.”

“The first time was a dare?” Dream hazarded, George rolling his eyes in despair beside him, and how could Jack possibly worry about violating some sort of unspoken tea etiquette when they were being so goofy? 

All the food was handheld – little sandwiches and quiches along with an array of scones, small cakes, and indeed those little tarts George liked so much, which were apparently blueberry.  The tea was good on its own without sweetener, but even the few times Jack thought he might need it he found Drista adjusting his cup for him, informing him exactly what sugar and cream ratios worked best for what flavors.

“I can get her to stop if you like,” Dream offered, watching the exchange carefully. “You don’t have to go along with her if you don’t want to.  She just presented, so her protector instincts are fairly strong right now.”

Like Jack, Drista had an early presentation.  It was common for most hybrids to manifest their second sex characteristics when they turned eighteen, though there were sometimes extenuating circumstances that led them to manifesting early.  For Jack, it had been his body’s shock response to suddenly entering the Overworld after spending a lifetime in the Nether.  For Drista, it seemed that her close pack connection with two extremely strong protectors – Dream and his father – had resonated with her latent protector instincts, thus resulting in an early presentation. 

Like responded to like, Bad had explained once.

Were Drista a slave, her presentation would have guaranteed her a ticket to an underground fight ring, damned what her level of fighting prowess was.  The slavers would see a young teenage girl manifesting as a protector and see an opportunity for a special cash fight, charging out the nose to see someone using the characteristics they thought only belonged to musclebound, adult males.

But she wasn’t a slave.  She had a powerful family that supported her.  She was loved, protected.  She was safe.

Still, Jack’s inner bearer couldn’t help but worry for the pup.

“It’s okay,” Jack said, smiling at Drista’s narrow eyed determination. “I’m grateful for her help.”

And not just because it kept him from having to use spoons.  That she felt compelled to assist him, to put forth the effort for him, that she was trying to adapt the drink to suit his taste– it was a level of commitment that made his heart throb with warmth, and while he might be a little uncomfortable, he knew that was mostly because even at this point, he struggled to wrap his head around the fact that people wanted to help him purely for the sake of it.

Then again, he felt good helping people when he expected nothing in return, so maybe other people felt that way too. 

Nice people, at least.

He’d thought the comment was nothing special, really, but Drista immediately perked up, her pupils dilating before she released a rumble of protector pleasure and pride.

“Good-good-I did good,” she purred, seeming to practically buzz with excitement before coherence returned to her.  And then she was flushing. “Aw, damnit, did I do it again?  That’s so embarrassing.”

“I thought it was sweet,” Jack offered while Dream and George surrendered to their laughter. “You did do well, and your instincts were right to acknowledge that.”

Drista considered him for a moment, then grinned. “I like you,” she declared, making Jack’s eyes go wide. “If you ever get bored of my brother, you can hang out with me.  I’ve got plenty more embarrassing stories about these two.”

“I’d be honored,” Jack said, and he meant it because this was Dream’s family, Dream who was George’s close friend, who cared for George so much.

It was true that Jack never would have gotten this on his own.  If he hadn’t connected with George, it was unlikely he would have ever met Dream, would have been allowed this privilege.  There would have been no reason to, and while he could resent that or feel bad about it, honestly, Jack was too happy with what he had to try.  It was a frustration he’d expressed with Ponk, but the doctor had helped him come to terms with it.  Because – so what?  So what if it wouldn’t have happened on its own, the fact was that it had, and while Jack should always be conscious of people’s motivations and intentions towards him – that did matter – in this case, Dream’s intents had always been pure.  Had always been noble.  His dedication was true, and if that was the case there was no reason Jack couldn’t appreciate his friendship for what it was.  Even if he’d only gotten it because of George, the fact was it was still there, and it made Jack happy.  He hoped that in turn, he could make Dream happy as well.

At the very least, Jack seemed to be doing okay with Drista.

She let out another rumbled purr of contentment before clearing her throat, obviously trying to recover some sort of professional disposition even though Jack sincerely didn’t care.  He was a bearer and he loved most, if not all pups, and now that he knew she was a friend, he would never be able to turn her away.

“Try this,” she said, putting a few tiny cakes on his plate. “They’re Dream’s favorite and he always eats too many.”

“I do not,” Dream sputtered, but then he coaxed a few strawberry tarts onto Jack’s plate as well, and despite all the new things Jack had tried over the past few months, these were still fresh and exciting and made all the better by his companions’ enjoyment.

After teatime Dream showed Jack up to the wing of the house that hosted the pups’ suites.  He showed off where his and Drista’s rooms were, and then George gave Jack a tour of his own – a space positively covered in books – shelves overflowing with them into piles on the floor, splayed across tables, scrolls and maps and journals open everywhere.  It was totally unlike the neat office the panther hybrid maintained back at the castle, and he spent a few minutes bustling around the space, trying in vain to clean it up while he muttered about Dream’s meddling under his breath.

“No matter what he says, this is all his doing,” Dream whispered to Jack as they kept clear of the chaos. “Just like yours and Drista’s space, I don’t come in here unless George explicitly invites me or he personally requests I retrieve something for him.  This mess is all him.”

“You moved my quills,” George groaned from across the room, half-buried beneath his desk as he sent papers flying.

“There’s one behind your ear,” Dream advised with a chuckle, laughing harder at the stink eye George offered him before diving back into the mess.  “Why don’t we give him some space?” Dream offered as he guided Jack back towards a door located on the side wall. “You can look at your own room in the meantime.  This door’s unlocked right now, but I wanted to show you where it was.”

“This leads straight into my room?” Jack whispered, scarcely able to wrap his head around such a thing.  Dream had mentioned as much earlier, but to actually see it was another thing entirely – to know that they’d put together this level of thoughtfulness just for him- it was a lot.

“Yep,” Dream said, sounding proud. “Do you want me to show you around, or would you like to explore it by yourself?” After a beat, he added, “There is no wrong answer.”

While Jack’s fingers itched to help George put his room back in order – internal house cleaning hadn’t really been his specialty as a slave, he’d always been relegated to the basement or out in the fields, anything that kept him mostly out of sight – if there really was enough bedding in his assigned space to create a nest, Jack knew it would be better for him to be alone to look through it, and the prospect of a nest was too hard to pass up.  Even if this place was full of friends it was still new, and being exposed to that newness for a prolonged period of time was wearing him out.  

“I’ll go by myself,” Jack decided, his hand curling tentatively around the door handle. “I- thank you,” he said, belatedly realizing that in his shock, he’d yet to say as much. “Thank you, for this, it’s- I know you’re safe and George is here, but this is- it’s…”

A hand curled around his shoulder, and it was warm and firm. “It’s okay,” Dream’s voice was unspeakably gentle. “Hybrids are territorial by nature.  No matter how friendly we are, it feels good to have a space we can retreat to that we know is firmly our own.  That doesn’t mean you think any less of us.”

“Thank you,” Jack whispered again, his eyes feeling hot. “I um- I might need some time in here, just to- recuperate.”

“It’s okay,” Dream repeated. “George and I will be waiting in his room; take all the time you need.”

“Thank you.” He couldn’t say it enough, and to keep from spilling out a repetitious diatribe Jack forced himself to go into the new space, the room that was set aside strictly just for him.

It wasn’t – he realized with a start – too unlike the room he kept back at the castle, which made him realize that Connor must have been consulted far more than he had previously assumed.  The space was homey but not cluttered, it left plenty of room for Jack to collect things but didn’t give him too much because that would, without question, freak him out.  As promised there was a large, strategically-positioned bed far from the windows for defensive purposes – big enough to hold several adult hybrids along with some pups – as well as a bounty of bedding, just as promised.  It was enough to almost have Jack surrender to his instincts entirely, but then he caught sight of a large package next to the blankets with familiar, messy writing scrawled across the top.

‘From Connor’ it read, and Jack grinned, deciding to focus on the gift from his primary protector first.  He’d learned not to ask questions when it came to Connor so he opened it with some minor anticipation and was rewarded with a folded set of Connor’s clothing, still bearing his scent.

What a wonderful, wonderful protector he had.

But that wasn’t all.  Underneath Connor’s clothing was a cloak from Wilbur, was a scarf from Bad and a shirt from Skeppy.  There was something from Quackity, and underneath it one of Dream’s off-duty tunics.  And then there was- he had something from George too, and just when he thought he couldn’t get any happier-

There was the shirt Tubbo had outgrown last month.  Tuboo, who could be in his nest.  All of Jack’s favorite people.

With a swallow he set to tucking them into his new nest, trying to think of the ways he could repay Connor when this was over.  He started digging into Dream’s piles, marveling at the range of fabrics and thicknesses, at the variation of pillows, and in short order he had a perfect nest in this home-away-from home.

Oh wow, it was so- it was so nice, he didn’t want to leave it.  He just wanted- he wanted-

He was safe, and he didn’t have to second guess his desires.  Before he could overthink it, Jack shucked off his boots and crawled into his new nest, promptly burrowing himself under Connor’s cloak and a fluffy blanket that smelled like Dream and Drista.  They must have carried it in together.

His pack.  His family. 

He was safe-safe-loved.

With that feeling encompassing him like a lovely cloud it was easy to give into his exhaustion, to drift into a peaceful sleep after a morning in a stressful – if nice – new place.  Just a little cat nap.  He just needed to rest his eyes.

Between one blink and the next, he was gone.

~:~

Jack was comfortable when the first few knocks dragged him towards coherence, pulling him from his slumber with a few confused blinks.  He wanted to whine, wanted to burrow back into his nest and maybe get a few more minutes of sleep, but Connor wouldn’t have knocked if it wasn’t important.  That was enough to push him firmly into the world of the living, Jack rubbing his eyes as he tried to properly evaluate the situation.  Did he take another midday nap?  Or was it midnight?  Had he forgotten to deliver some paperwork? 

“Jack?” Dream’s voice drifted from nearby, muffled by a door, and Jack startled slightly to realize that this lovely nest wasn’t the same as the one he had back at the castle.  This was- oh, right, he had a suite in the Wastaken mansion now, with a wonderful, wonderful nest that he loved a lot. “Are you doing okay in there?”

“S-Sorry,” Jack said, beginning the process of reluctantly extricating himself from his nest. “I fell asleep.”

“That’s okay,” Dream assured him, a hint of relief in his tone. “We thought it was something like that.”

“Sorry,” Jack repeated. “New stuff takes a lot out of me, even when it’s really nice.”

“You don’t have to apologize for that,” George grumbled.  He sounded like he was right next to Dream. “The Wastakens make me exhausted too.”

“Hey!” Dream huffed, sounding somewhat offended.

“Oh, get over it.  I keep visiting, don’t I?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Dream sniffed, and Jack could picture his petulant expression, sped up his efforts slightly because he wanted to properly see the protectors again, wanted to soak up Dream’s face while he could. “Sorry to wake you but it’s around dinner time and I wanted to check if you were hungry.”

Jack blinked, then glanced out the window, shocked to find that the sun was indeed beginning to set.

“We can have dinner delivered to my room,” Dream continued while Jack scrambled to put his boots back on. “Or we can have it downstairs with my family.  My parents were both interested in meeting you, but they can just as easily wait until next time.  Your comfort is our priority.”

He kept saying that and he kept backing up his words through his actions, and for Jack who was sitting next to his perfect nest in his nice, not-too-decorated room that had George next door and Dream across the hall, it was hard not to prostrate himself on the floor and weep from gratitude.

“They’re not expecting too much, are they?” Jack asked as he finished tying his boots. “They know I’m not a fancy noble?”

“They know you’re Jack and they think you’re great,” Dream cheered. “But if you’re asking if they know you’re one of Duke Quackity’s refugees, then yes, they know that too.”

“They also don’t care, for the record,” George spoke up. “They don’t have any old-fashioned, classist prejudices.  Dream’s parents are nice, I wouldn’t allow them to meet you otherwise.”

“But again,” Dream spoke up. “You don’t have to meet them now.  You can take all the time you need.  I meant what I said earlier about hoping you’d visit again.”

“I want to,” Jack whispered as he got to his feet, because that at least was true. “And I think I’d like to meet them, though I don’t know if I’ll be able to last the full meal.  Would they be upset by that?”

“Not at all,” Dream soothed. “That bracelet you’re wearing gives permission for you to act casually with us.  You don’t have to worry about decorum or anything.  This place is safe.”

“Okay,” Jack whispered, taking it all in.  He’d never eaten outside the castle since he’d become free.  He’d always been with the royal flock or Connor, with Bad and Skeppy, or with George during their work breaks.  While he’d trained for this dutifully under Bad, he was still a bit uncertain, but he trusted George and Dream.  He trusted the type of people who would raise individuals as loving and bright as Dream and Drista.

With one last swallow, Jack opened the adjoining door that led to George’s room and grinned when he saw the two protectors hovering right next to it crammed in side by side. 

They’d been waiting for him.  Just for him.

“Hello,” Dream said, his gaze locked on Jack and Jack alone, never straying towards the room behind him. “Do you like your space?”

“I love it,” Jack whispered, smiling wide. “I like it a lot.  I don’t know how it could possibly be better.”

“I’m sure we could think of something,” Dream hummed before offering Jack his arm. “Shall we go to dinner?”

“We shall,” Jack said, grinning when George offered to take his other arm, until Jack was safely buffered between the two of them.

The dining room they were led to was not the grand one they had passed earlier but a more intimate space, one that didn’t feel nearly as intimidating.  Drista was already present when they arrived speaking with who Jack assumed Dream’s parents were.  His father was broad and tall, and it was clear to see who Dream and Drista had taken after, the protector radiating strength and stability even from a distance.  He had the same dense concentration of scales around his eyes Dream had – if not more – though his hair was closer to a dirty blond, even if his eyes were still green and piercing.  His mother was slightly – and he meant slightly – shorter.  Her height was still impressive for a female, and Jack was surprised to find that she was a piglin hybrid, though unlike Techno’s pink locks her hair was a glimmering gold that both her children had clearly inherited.

“Yay, you’re here!” Drista cheered when she caught sight of them. “I was just telling mom and dad how patient you are to deal with these two all the time.”

“Why am I getting lumped in with Dream?” George asked, his tone dripping with offense. “I’ll have you know that I am forever and always a delight.”

“Yes, you are,” Jack agreed, giving his arm a light squeeze and grinning at the way George puffed up with pride. “You’re nice too, Dream.”

“Thank you,” Dream huffed, shooting his sister an unimpressed look. “Jack came here for a reason, you know.” With that, he perked up, turning to address his parents. “Mom, Dad – this is Master Jack of Las Nevadas.  He’s Duke Quackity’s assistant and George’s new peacekeeper.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your grace,” Jack mumbled, hoping he got the titles correct.

“Oh please, you can just call us mom and dad while you’re here,” Dream’s mom hummed, and beside him George sputtered, which made Jack feel slightly less bad for doing the same.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Dream’s father added while they tried to recover. “Dream’s told us a lot about you.”

“And we know you’re awesome because he wanted to invite you here,” Drista added. “That’s a pretty big deal for us.”

“Drista,” Dream hissed. “I didn’t want to freak him out.”

“But wouldn’t he feel less worried?” Drista asked, her brows pinched in confusion. “Now he knows we already like him.  I mean-” She continued, aiming a wry look at Jack. “We put up with Dream, you can’t be worse than him.”

“I am being attacked on all sides,” Dream complained as his parents broke into laughter – but it was nice, easy, and Jack found some of his nerves drifting away as they settled around the table – Dream’s dad at the head with Dream’s mom and Drista on one side and Dream, Jack, and George on the other, with Jack safely bundled in the middle.

Of course those nerves returned when the first course was delivered, but Jack paused when the dome plate covers were removed what appeared to be an oddly shaped salad.

“This is a lettuce wrap,” Drista spoke up suddenly, seeming excited to share this news. “Our chefs just invented it.  It’s like a salad, but you can eat it with your hands.  Look-” With that, she grabbed the bottom-most piece of lettuce, wrapping it around all the ones piled on top of it until it was an oddly shaped cylinder.  And then, as though it were a sandwich, she just- took a bite out of it.

Whoa.

“Ta-da,” she sang, looking utterly contented. “It is the best thing in the world.  You should try it.  Do you like salads?”

To this point, salads had somewhat been the bane of Jack’s existence with their explosion of small pieces that were difficult to stab with a fork.  He barely finished half of one on a good day, and even if he enjoyed the flavors he managed to partake, he was always so frustrated by the end of things that he could barely remember what they tasted like.

“I- I don’t know,” he admitted, because he could distinguish the difference between a salad and the experience of eating a salad, and it was the latter he detested with a passion.

“Then you should give this a try,” Drista cheered. “And if you don’t like it, we could get you some more of those tiny quiches from earlier.”

“Oh, the ones with ham and cheese?” Dream’s mom spoke up as she started rolling up her own wrap. “Pierre really did outdo himself with those.” She turned to address the butler. “Have a plate of those delivered regardless, please, I think we could all use another taste.”

The butler left and just like that, everyone else was focused on their food, no one paying the fact that Jack was unfamiliar with a basic meal staple of Antarctican nobility.  Salads had a tendency to make him cry on a good day so Jack had given up on them, but having a salad he could eat with his hands…

With careful movements he mimicked Dream’s actions, grinning when he got the hang of things.  There were other things besides greenery – nuts and fruits and a pleasant um- vinaigrette?  Maybe?  There were small crumbles of cheese that had a dash of saltiness, and while Jack had long given up on such things, being able to take a proper bite of it and get a taste of all the flavors together-

He couldn’t have stopped the noise of satisfaction if he tried.  Thankfully, it had been a blaze one, not a bearer one.

“Do you like it?” Drista asked, beaming in anticipation. “Is it good?”

“I love it,” Jack said, and it was easy, easy to eat his wrap while the others talked about their day, while Drista proudly informed Jack what her father did and what charities and businesses her mother looked after, how her own training was going. 

The salad wraps were followed by mugs of soup, and at first Jack had been terrified, thinking he was the only one who’d been served in such a way, but then Dream’s parents were clinking their cups together and Drista was gushing about how this was the newest fad among the castle knights and trainees.

“They say Skeppy started it,” Dream explained. “Makes it faster to eat the soup and you don’t have to worry about spoons.  It’s so much more convenient, it sort of became our new favorite thing.”

“He uh- showed me that too,” Jack murmured, marveling at the depths of flavor – the soup and tomatoey-spinachy thing – warm and smooth and good. “We have special mug soup lunch days.”

“Could I join you sometime?” Dream asked, entirely sincere. “Mug soup is better with friends.”

“It really is,” George mused, squeezing Jack’s hand below the table.

The main course was some kind of hand pie – with a flaky but substantial crust, holding tender meat mixed with perfectly cooked vegetables and a rich gravy.  Three courses and they hadn’t even touched utensils, three courses and Dream’s family was acting like this was totally normal, George making it seem like the height of refinement, and Jack had been so scared that he would have to fumble through his still-shaky fork and knife skills in front of Dream’s family, would display his inadequacy for the whole world to see, but it was fine.  It was totally fine.

Because his comfort was what mattered most to them.

It made him want to cry, but he settled on enjoying the conversation instead, getting a feel for the family that treated George so well, that gave him the love he deserved.

They strayed back onto the conversation of family memories, of reviewing past and current hobbies.  Dream and George had met in boarding school when they were preteens, though for whatever reason, Drista hadn’t been sent off like her brother.

“It’s because I’ve already found my hoard,” she said proudly, as though Jack knew what that meant. “It’s a good academy, but you mostly go to network.  I’m not an heir and I don’t need to network, so I got to finish my training close to home, underneath my dad and brother.”

“We like it better, to be honest,” Dream’s mom said, wrapping a comforting arm around Drista’s shoulders. “It’s nice having all our babies in one place.”

“Definitely more defensible,” Dream’s dad added.

Comfort and defense seemed to be the priority of the Wastaken family, and while Jack didn’t really understand the fixation, he could say that he appreciated it.

“How about you, Jack?” Drista spoke up suddenly, practically vibrating in place. “What did you like to do when you were a kid?”

“Drista,” Dream chastised as Jack’s mind went blank, the bickering of the two Wastaken siblings seeming to drift into the background while Jack reminded himself how to breathe again.

He couldn’t just repress everything he’d gone through; he’d learned that from Ponk.  It was awful and unjust and unfair, but it’d happened.  It was part of who he was.  There wasn’t any running from that, even if he’d spent a lot of his life trying to forget where he’d come from.  Living from moment to moment.

He’d been a slave for as long as he could remember, but there had to be some good stuff in there, hadn’t there?  Was it really all terrible?

No, it wasn’t.

“There was this older slave,” Jack spoke up suddenly, interrupting whatever conversation they’d veered into while he gathered his thoughts.  The table fell into silence, but he barely paid attention to that. “When I was younger, I mean,” he elaborated, staring at the remnants of his meat pie. “He um- taught me how to read a little.  How to count, and when I did well, he’d pat me on the head sometimes.”

He pressed his lips together, thinking.  He couldn’t remember what the man’s face looked like.  He didn’t even know what happened to him – he’d simply been gone between one day and the next. 

Some of the guards said the hoglins had gotten him.

“And sometimes when I was collecting mushrooms in the warped forest I’d pretend I was doing it for my family instead of my owners.” Jack twisted his hands in his lap, thinking of those rare, peaceful moments where he could hide in the shade of the warped fungus. “I’d pretend that my family was waiting for me to come home and we were going to make soup or something, and then my mom would do whatever moms did at bedtime, I guess, and… it could be nice if there weren’t too many ghasts or hoglins around.” He found Drista’s gaze. “I’m not sure if that was what you meant, but if I had to pick, I think those memories were my favorite.”

“Oh,” Drista said, and for the first time since he’d met her she seemed withdrawn, perhaps even sorrowful.

“It’s okay, though,” Jack said, trying to soothe the pup’s unease. “Duke Quackity – everyone at the castle, George and Dream and even you guys – are helping me build new memories and find new things I like to do.  It’s scary and hard and I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes, but it is happening and I- I’m too tired to be mad about it.  Mad that I should have had it sooner.  I like being happy instead.” He offered her a smile. “It’s nice.”

She started blinking rapidly, then ducked her head so she could scrub at her eyes with the back of her hand. “You’re really too good for my brother.  I think you might be too good for all of us.”

“I don’t think that could ever be close to true,” Jack said, and this time when he smiled, it didn’t hurt as much.

George turned to face him properly, taking Jack’s hand in his and raising it so the panther hybrid could press his forehead against Jack’s knuckles.  It was a sign of comfort and respect – that was what Bad had told him, and it made Jack want to fall into George’s arms.  Want to burrow into him completely.

“Aw, Georgie,” Dream said, clearly trying to lessen some of the tension. “You’re so cute.”

“Georgie?” Jack asked before George could snap at him, letting the protector have his moment while they slowly moved on.

“It’s an old nickname,” Dream admitted, his cheeks flushing lilac again. “Because I’m very creative.” His smile stretched wide. “Would you like one too, Jackie?”

There was a wink that followed it, a broad grin and laughter from across the table and Jack knew it was fine, he was safe, but the world seemed to close in on him anyway, a strange ringing growing in his ears until he couldn’t hear anything else, ice rolling down his spine, leaving him in a cold sweat.

‘Come on, Jackie,’ a voice taunted from the back of his mind, vindictive and cruel. ‘Why don’t you be a good boy and part those legs for me?’

Oh fuck, oh no, oh no, he couldn’t do that again, he didn’t want to do that again-

Jack was stumbling out of his chair before he could think about it, trying to get some sort of space while noise rang out around him, but he only made it two steps.

Two steps and then he was vomiting on himself, terror clawing at his gut as he expelled the worst of the nausea.

He didn’t know what was happening, except that it was wrong, wrong, wrong.

Chapter Text

Dream knew he wasn’t the only one confused by Jack’s sudden retreat from the table.

It had been bad enough when Drista had started asking about Jack’s childhood – and Dream couldn’t be entirely mad at her, he knew what was going through her head, knew that her hybrid instincts were compounding with her protector instincts the happier and more relaxed Jack appeared.  It was easy to get lost in such things, especially in the heart of their territory – it was why they had to be careful with who was permitted entry to the estate grounds.  Dream had told his family to be cautious when it came to the matter of Jack’s past – he knew from the impromptu tea party he’d been fortunate enough to be included in at the castle that Jack had been a slave for a while, but Drista had gotten caught up in the moment, likely eager to learn more about Jack, more about the peacekeeper who would hopefully be joining their pack soon, so long as Duke Quackity and the royal flock allowed it.

That had been a heart attack in itself, and to have Jack overcome it so gracefully, demonstrating the depths of his kindness, his shining but unwavering hope, filled Dream with a sense of pride he could scarcely articulate.  This was the peacekeeper that had chosen George.  This strong, resilient individual who was so apologetic for things that weren’t his fault, that was the one who had chosen George, and of course he was.  George was claimed by the Wastakens, he only deserved the best.  Whether Jack knew it or not, that was how he qualified in the eyes of Dream’s family.

It had been good.  Jack had gotten them over that bump in the conversation with the same earnest hope that was making Dream wrapped around his little finger, and then George was openly doting in a way he rarely was, in a way Dream’s family had tried to coax out of him because he had so much affection to give, so much care if he would just let himself, and Dream just- he wanted to lighten the moment in case George needed it, anything to keep the panther hybrid from getting self-conscious, and maybe he was hoping Jack would smile again-

He never could have expected this.  Never could have anticipated Jack suddenly retching on himself, his legs collapsing out from under him all because Dream had unthinkingly thrown out a nickname that was clearly associated with terrible memories.

“Jack?” George was stumbling out of his chair almost as soon as Jack moved, his brows furrowed in concern and expression only worsening when he saw Jack collapse. “Jack!”

A whimper – likely blaze-derived since Dream didn’t understand it – spilled from Jack’s mouth, and then he was babbling, his hands scrambling to consolidate the mess that had fallen on the floor.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll clean it up,” Jack was murmuring, sounding frantic as he scooped the sick into his hands. “I’m sorry-”

He raised his palms, and it took Dream a moment to realize what Jack intended, his brain feeling painfully behind.  But he was- Jack was going to- why was he bringing it near his mouth?

“No, sweetheart,” George cut in, eyes watery but voice firm as he wrapped around Jack’s side, gripping the peacekeeper’s wrist in a gentle but unshaking hold. “It’s okay, you don’t have to do that.”

“I was bad, I’m sorry, I was bad-” Jack cut off with a sob, hands shaking as George slowly coaxed him to uncurl his fingers. “Please don’t- I don’t want to- please, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.”

“You are good,” George insisted, letting out a comforting rumble of support that Jack scarcely seemed to hear. “You’re so good, Jack, you didn’t do anything wrong.  This was an accident.”

He hadn’t meant to, none of them would blame him for this.  He seemed just as surprised as they were, even if he was substantially more devastated, but then-

“Don’t let them touch me,” Jack sobbed, shaking in George’s hold. “Don’t let them- I don’t want to- they said I wanted to but I don’t want to.”

Didn’t want what?  What was he talking about?  He had seemed fine earlier.

George looked shattered in a way he rarely was, clearly tense about his own close proximity to Jack, his protector instincts urging him not to do anything that would upset his peacekeeper while simultaneously demanding he take care of the one who claimed him and ultimately feeling lost – all of them were lost – because none of them knew what was wrong.

“It’s- it’s not happening,” George managed, sounding faint, uncertain. “You’re safe, I promise, you’re safe.  No one’s going to hurt you.”

“That’s what he said,” Jack crooned, tears spilling down his cheeks. “He lied.  They’re liars, it was always bad.”

Dream wished he knew what Jack was talking about – knew it must have been some form of awful punishment that left the blaze hybrid claimed by furious trembles, tears streaking down his cheeks and mouth parted to release constant streams of despairing yowls.

“I’m so sorry,” George said, sounding close to tears himself.  He let out some more rumbles, things that Jack countered with what seemed to be Blaze noises of despair.

Prime, how had it all gone so terribly wrong?  Dream felt frozen, like he could barely breathe, helpless under the weight of his failure while Jack fell apart in George’s arms.

And then there were firmer rumbles coming from the other side of the table – his mother stepping up like the expert peacekeeper she was.  She wasted no time crossing to the two fallen hybrids, emanating constant streams of reassurance and peace.

Protectors and peacekeepers – they tended to balance each other out.  Both had hybrid noises of comfort that tended to appeal to the other hybrid type.  There could be comradery between protectors, but a peacekeeper would sooth them in a different way, explicitly emitting a sense of harmony or serenity.  Protector rumbles were supposed to emphasize physical safety rather than emotional, but because peacekeepers could generally bring about their own emotional stability, they embraced the reassurances protectors had to offer and vice versa.  It was why George’s efforts should have been effective, but if Jack’s past trauma happened to feature protectors, it would make sense if it didn’t, and was likely why Dream’s mom had stepped up in the first place.

It hurt to see Jack look at his mom with wild eyes, a painful hope in his gaze, like he couldn’t dare believe that someone was actually trying to comfort him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay,” Dream’s mother soothed, running a gentle hand over the back of Jack’s head, “Good pup-sweet dear-comfort-comfort-we shall help.”

Jack released another blaze noise of what seemed to be objection, shaking his head as he glanced down at his mess, shame and humiliation battling with the fear in his gaze.

“Help-help-help is here,” Dream’s mom stubbornly insisted. “Come, dear one, let’s get you clean.” She started working with George to get Jack on his feet, the blaze hybrid confused and apologetic all the while, seeming entirely unaware of the tears still burning in his eyes. “Mate?” she said, shooting a look to Dream’s father.

“We’ll take care of it,” Dream’s father soothed, holding back an anxious Drista who clearly wanted to join their mother. “Dream.”

At that Dream startled, almost forgetting that he was a part of this.  No, that he had started this.

This was his handiwork.

“Dream,” his father repeated, voice firm but not harsh, nothing that would add to Jack’s distress. “I know it’s difficult right now, but I need you to focus.  Jack needs you.”

“H-How?” Dream croaked, slowly fumbling out of his chair while his mom and George more or less carried Jack away, bearing the majority of his weight.

“I need you to go outside and make contact with one of those crows I assume isn’t just for show,” his father stated, sounding unfairly composed and certain. “Prince Wilbur likely sent them, and they’ll be of good use to us.  We need to send a note to Jack’s first protector.”

“Right,” Dream said, and for all that he resented it, resented needing to call in yet another protector when there were three perfectly good ones right there, he didn’t argue, taking a moment to get his bearings before he sprinted into the garden, searching desperately for the birds he had caught sight of earlier that Jack had thankfully missed.

Of course Prince Wilbur had sent babysitters, this was their first time hosting the precious peacekeeper of Las Nevadas. Dream would have been more surprised if they’d sent Jack unattended.  The crows were smart enough to know something was wrong and the leader wasted no time landing on Dream’s shoulder, nodding his cooperation before Dream was pushing his way back inside.  He got there by the time his dad finished the note, and the older hybrid folded it into a deft rectangle before tying it to the crow’s leg.

“Go with all haste, please,” his father began. “We require Sir Connor’s presence as soon as possible.”

The crow nodded once more, then took off before Dream could even walk it back out to the garden, making Dream glad he’d left the sunroom doors open.  The servants would close the doors behind them, but for now, they had other things to worry about.

“Drista,” Dream’s father continued, snapping the teen out of her haze of agitation. “Fetch the servants so they can start cleaning things up, then go to the chefs and request that they make a light meal that will be easy on Jack’s stomach.  After that, go to the laundry room and fetch some of George’s clothing for Jack.”

“Got it.” Drista fired off a quick salute before she was up and running, likely grateful for the orders, for the opportunity to be productive.

“What about me?” Dream asked, twisting his hands together. “What should I do?” A new thought occurred to him. “Should I do anything?  Do I even have any right-”

“Dream,” his father’s voice was firm and allowed no room to indulge in Dream’s theatrics. “I know you feel guilty, but this is not your fault.  That might not help your instincts, but right now your hoard needs you, and you will be of no assistance to them if you give into despair.”

“I don’t think Jack wants to see me right now,” Dream admitted, and it hurt to say, burned him down to his very bones.

That afternoon had gone so well.  Jack had liked his scales, had gushed with a look of pride.  He’d been proud of Dream, had smiled so much.  Had never stared for a bad reason, had only ever been happy, and now it was all gone.

“Perhaps not now,” his father said, never one to pull punches. “But that doesn’t change the fact that George will need you.”

“George,” Dream said, and he could cry, he could wail to think of the position he’d put his hoard in, George looking so lost and desperate as he tried to sooth Jack.

“Go,” his father ordered and Dream went, keeping his head held high and shoulders back, maintaining the dignity of his position because it was what he owed his hoard.

When he caught up to the others Jack was entirely in his mother’s arms, crying against her collar while George trailed fretfully behind them, cutting their way back to Jack’s suite.

“Is it done?” his mother asked between purrs, nuzzling the top of Jack’s head, and part of Dream burned with furious jealousy and the other was relieved that Jack was getting comfort from somewhere, even if he wished he could be the one to give it.  At least it was happening.

“We sent a note,” Dream confirmed. “They should be here in an hour at the earliest.”

Three minutes later he was disproven as they approached the outside of Jack’s suite, Dream’s defensive instincts set off for all of a second and then Sir Connor was simply there, gasping for breath as he looked over the crumpled form of Jack with big eyes.

“How the fuck did you get here so fast?” George asked, recovering before the rest of them. “Were you hiding in the bushes?”

“I run fast,” Connor breathed, for once not seeming perfectly composed, seeming actually flustered, which didn’t look right on him at all. “What happened?”

Dream’s mom gave a quick, technical breakdown of the events and Connor nodded, letting out his own quiet rumbles until he had Jack’s attention.

“Hey, hotshot. Hey, angel,” he hummed, Jack’s focus drifting to him with a few week cries. “Can I help you get cleaned up, or do you want to do it yourself?”

Jack let out another sound of distress before reaching towards Connor with desperate hands, and with a look of muted sorrow, Connor collected him, taking Jack’s weight easily and striding towards his suite door as though he already knew the full breakdown of the place.

Since it was Connor, there was a good chance that was true.

He didn’t say anything as he pushed into the suite, his entire focus on Jack, and when the door closed behind them it was with an air of finality, leaving the hall in sudden silence.

“Fuck,” George said finally, raising a shaking hand towards his hair and flinching when he realized it was covered in vomit. “Fuck.”

“Dream, help him clean up,” Dream’s mom ordered, kind enough to offer some sort of guidance when Dream felt lost. “I’ll stand guard until Drista gets here.”

“I can’t leave,” George hissed, gaze furious.

“You also can’t help him like this,” Dream’s mother countered easily, not backing down an inch. “Clean up, get yourself together, then come back.  I’ll stand guard until Drista gets here.”

“Thanks, mom,” Dream said, cutting in before George could snarl at her.

And then, before George could object, Dream scooped the panther hybrid up, George hissing and growling all the while, fighting to get out of his hold.  Dream ignored him, knowing this battle was his due, that he deserved George’s ire, and with a heavy heart he retired to the other protector’s room, knowing George wouldn’t be able to help anyone until he helped himself.

Dream was likely the same but he could push it off, if only for a moment.  Push it off and pretend they were in a world where things could be okay again.

~:~

Jack felt heavy when he drifted back towards awareness, as though he’d spent hours upon hours scouring the basalt delta for blackstone and magma cream only to come up short of his ordered goal and received a punishment for it.  He didn’t feel as though he’d been beaten, but he was weary in a bone-deep sort of way, one that made him feel as though he’d risen too soon.  Now that he was awake though, he couldn’t possibly think of sleeping any further, which was confusing.  It had been a while since he’d had a rest that was this terrible.  His nightmares weren’t entirely gone now, but they’d certainly diminished over the course of his time in the castle.  Having a proper and secure nest had certainly helped, and it smelled like he was in one such nest now, even if the scents weren’t right.  They were newer, hadn’t had time to intermingle, because it-

It wasn’t his castle nest.  He was at the Wastaken estate with his new nest, in his new room by George. 

Had he spent the night?  He didn’t think they’d scheduled that.  Quackity would have worried, and yet the soft light of dawn seemed to illuminate the ceiling, that much was undeniable.  Maybe he’d stayed over on accident, gotten too excited and worn himself out-

All at once, the events of the previous evening came back to him. 

There were flashes after the initial breakdown – his desperate effort to clean up his mess the way his owners had always forced him to, all of them furious at the potential waste of food, as though Jack had ever meant to throw up.  He remembered Dream’s mom carrying him upstairs and then suddenly Connor was there, offering rumbles and holding him close, helping Jack as he sobbed his way through a bath.  There had been a simple meal of warm tea and bread that Connor had coaxed him to eat, and then Jack was bundled into bed where it was safe-safe-safe, because he’d never had a nest to violate back then – not a proper one.  The poor excuses he’d cobbled together were now a thing of the past.  Jack was a hybrid who deserved fancy mattresses and all the blankets he could want.

Or at least, he had been.

Now they truly knew how ugly he was, and it would likely go away.  Jack didn’t begrudge them that.  He would beg for their forgiveness – he genuinely had forgotten, had repressed even if he hadn’t meant to – but that didn’t make it better.  It’d been so nice to go untouched, and everyone in the castle, his friends – none of them touched him without his permission.  Connor had always been great about respecting his space.  Jack could seek out contact if he wanted, but none of them would ever force themselves upon him.

He wondered if that would change now that they truly knew what he was.

“Hey.” It was Connor’s voice, soft and careful in a way that meant he was highly invested, that he was afraid of messing up so much that he couldn’t hold onto his usual mask of apathy. “Angel?”

Jack turned slowly, and blinked when he realized Connor was stretched out beside him in the nest.  He wasn’t under any of the blankets, boots off but otherwise clothed, and his expression bore an open level of concern that Jack normally didn’t see.  It was there, he’d always known it was there, Connor just expressed it differently, provided a steadfastness that read as a flexible sort of protection, but now even that was gone.  

Perhaps the others hadn’t told him what had happened.  Maybe they could pretend they didn’t know.

“Hi, Connor,” Jack whispered, and were he any less tired, he might have started tearing up. “Is everyone okay?”

There was a beat, and then Connor was shaking his head.  It took a moment for Jack to realize he was clearing his mind rather than confirming the worst.

“They’re fine,” Connor assured a moment later. “It’s you everyone’s worried about.”

“I’m sorry.” Jack wanted to hide under his blankets, but he didn’t have the right.  Not here, and not back at the castle. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

“We know,” Connor soothed. “Trust me, we all know.  No one’s mad.”

“Right.” Jack didn’t really agree, but he knew better than to tell Connor that.  It went against their normal arrangement, but Jack- he didn’t know where his feet were anymore.  It all felt so complicated.  Nothing was the same. “What happened?”

“You were triggered,” Connor said, a familiar term from his meetings with Ponk, and while the doctor had said there could be extreme cases of such things, Jack hadn’t realized how terrible those were until having experienced it.  He’d stepped through an unseen mental tripwire, of course the fallout was terrible. “Violently.  You threw up and fell into your instincts, and then the Wastakens contacted the castle and had us come over.”

“Us?” Jack echoed, glad that his memory didn’t seem to have any gaps.

“Me and Duke Quackity,” Connor clarified. “He’s downstairs with Dream’s parents.  We came last night.”

“Oh no.” Jack dragged a hand across his face, despairing for his lack of composure.  He knew how much the royal flock preferred to keep Quackity in the castle.  To have him leave so late at night and then stay out in an unfamiliar territory – none of them had likely slept well yesterday.

And it was all Jack’s fault.

“It’s fine,” Connor assured him. “Quackity wanted to come, and none of them were going to stop him.”

Of course they wouldn’t, but that didn’t mean they were happy with the arrangement.

“Do you know how everyone else is?” Jack asked carefully, as though he had any right. “George?  Dream?”

“I’m not sure what they’re up to,” Connor admitted, running a shaky hand through his hair and quills. 

It was rare for Connor not to know things.  Collecting information was something he did as easily as breathing, but he’d been distracted by Jack.  On one hand, Jack was grateful for his protection, he always was, but on the other he worried, always worried.  He didn’t like catching his allies so off guard they couldn’t be their normal selves.

“We can find out though, if you’re up for it,” Connor continued. “Or you can go back to sleep.  The Wastakens have assured me you can have all the time you need.”

“No, I- I don’t think I could get back asleep,” Jack admitted, forcing himself to sit up.  His body was exhausted but his mind was racing with anticipation, because of what he knew he had to do.  He had to get this done now before he lost his nerve.  Then there’d be no going back.

Connor helped him sit up and Jack paused, instincts going a little hazy when he realized he was wearing what must be some of George’s clothing.  He’d never seen the protector in pajamas so he couldn’t know for sure, but the browns he tended to favor of House Davidson were rampant in Jack’s current garments, and the fit was just slightly too big for him. 

It made his instincts happy, made him feel connected, and then wondered if George even knew his clothes were being lent out to a- a thing like Jack.  Would he even want these back after Jack had said his piece? 

He probably wouldn’t.  Perhaps Jack could take them back to the castle with him, assuming Duke Quackity wasn’t done with him either.

“Even if you don’t want to sleep, you can still rest,” Connor advised even as he helped Jack out of bed.  “We could have breakfast delivered.  I could catch you up on all the latest crow gossip – you know they’re a very wily bunch, and-”

“I um- I appreciate it,” Jack said as he slid onto unsteady feet. “Please don’t think that I don’t, but I- I want to do this now.”

“Okay,” Connor said, helping him every step of the way without judgement. “But if you change your mind, say the word and I’ll get you out of there.”

He must not know then, if he was still being that generous and kind.  If he was still acting like things were normal.  They weren’t, and it hurt to think of how much he might lose, but Jack could admit he’d brought that on himself.

He didn’t expect to see Dream and George the moment he exited his room.  He’d thought they’d be- he didn’t know, downstairs with the others, maybe. 

Instead, he found them both huddled beside his door, curled in small lumps as they leaned against the wall, both looking like exhaustion incarnate.  Without question, Dream seemed to be the worse off of the two, wearing the same clothes from yesterday with his bottom lip red and swollen as though he’d been biting at it, bags under his eyes dark enough that they almost blended in with his scales.  George at the very least had fresh clothes on, though he also seemed frazzled, his hair a mess as though he’d been constantly running his fingers through it, his hands alternating between extending his claws and restraining them back into their default position.

Both of them startled when the door opened, and Jack was allowed a few moments of evaluation before they shifted, both of them rising– but only to their knees – both keeping themselves below him for some reason.

“Jack, I’m so sorry,” Dream gushed before Jack could fumble through any sort of apology of his own. “I didn’t know.  I never would have if I’d- and I’m sorry.  It was such a good day and I ruined that for you, and if you- if you don’t want to be friends anymore, I’d understand-”

“Dream,” Jack interrupted, mind reeling because this wasn’t how this was supposed to go.  It was supposed to be him begging for forgiveness, not this wonderful, strong protector who’d been nothing but kind to him.  It made him realize that Dream didn’t know either, that there was a chance that none of them might, and while Jack could fix that misconception right now, he decided to hold onto this for just a few seconds longer.  Dream might despise him for it in the end, but if Jack was going to be the recipient of his hatred either way, he could spend these last few moments pretending that he mattered.  “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“But I ruined it,” Dream repeated, his green eyes seeming extra shiny with the glint of unshed tears. “You were happy, and I was- I was so happy that we could- that you were comfortable here, and then it went bad.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Dream needed to understand that, needed to take it to heart. “And it doesn’t take away from the rest of the day.  You’re right, it was wonderful, and no matter how it ended, I will never forget that.  And I won’t- I refuse to let them take that too.  They don’t get to ruin everything.” He reached forward, hand hovering next to Dream’s cheek, and when the protector gave him a look rife with hope he dared to make contact, swiping away the few tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes. “And they certainly don’t get to make you cry, so please don’t feel bad.  The only thing you’ve given me was a wonderful afternoon, and a perfect place to rest my head.”

“Jack.” Dream didn’t seem capable of saying anything beyond that, leaning greedily into Jack’s hand and the blaze hybrid wouldn’t lie, it made him feel powerful, likely stronger than he should be, but he knew it wouldn’t last for long.

“Are you feeling better?” George asked, having watched the exchange with a quiet sort of concern. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I do,” Jack confirmed, making more than one of them startle. “But I’d like to tell you all at once if that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to push yourself,” Connor reminded him, his voice strained. “Remember what Ponk said.”

“I know what he said.” The doctor wouldn’t want Jack to force himself into things he wasn’t ready for, and if last night had proven anything it was that he still had a long way to go before he could be considered anywhere close to normal. 

Jack wondered if he’d still be allowed to see Ponk when this was over.

Greedy. He’d already gotten a lot as it was.

“Could I carry you?” Dream asked, brows furrowed like he didn’t expect any chances of success but his instincts had demanded he try anyway.

Jack thought about it, remembered how nice it’d felt to have Dream carry him through the market, how he’d felt safe and secure and precious.

He’d like to have that feeling one last time.

“Yes,” Jack said, holding his arms out to him. “Yes, please.”

A blink, and then Dream was beaming, he and George rising in perfect tandem.  It wasn’t hard for Dream to pick Jack up, but George and Connor critiqued him all the while regardless, fussing over the two of them relentlessly, all the way down to the main sitting room.  It was almost funny to see that sort of behavior from Connor, who’d previously seemed to be unflappable, and less funny to see it from George, who was prone to working himself into a proper tizzy about things he truly cared about, and Jack wanted to tell the panther hybrid that he shouldn’t bother, that Jack didn’t deserve it, but instead he held his silence, resting his head against Dream’s shoulder.

He wasn’t afraid of getting dropped.  He wasn’t afraid of being carried somewhere he didn’t want to be.  He was in Dream’s arms, and he was safe-safe-safe.

They got to the sitting room all too soon.  Connor had darted ahead to warn of their eminent arrival – efficient as always – and as such everyone had their eyes on the door when they entered.  That was when Jack realized it wasn’t just Duke Quackity that had come but Sir Technoblade as well (and of course his protector would come along – in hindsight that was obvious, Jack felt dumb for not thinking of it).  They were seated on a pair of couches with Dream’s parents, and while Drista was nowhere to be found, Jack didn’t doubt that she’d arrive shortly.

Jack regretted that he couldn’t wait for her.  He had to get this out before he lost his nerve.

“Down, please,” he whispered to Dream, trying to restrain the trembles that began wracking his body.

Dream hesitated for a moment, letting out a small noise of objection under his breath, but then he conceded, sliding Jack onto unsteady feet.

“Jack,” Duke Quackity began. “Sweetheart, how-”

“I um- I need to-” Jack interrupted, which was rude, but this was important.  Everyone else fell silent and he took advantage of that, walking forward a few steps before he lowered himself onto his knees. 

It wasn’t enough and he knew that, so he returned to the position he knew so well, the one that had been engrained into his bones when he tried to beg for the lives of his fellow slaves, when he tried to beg for his own safety.  He bent low, lowering his head enough that his forehead could be pressed against the ground, and kept his breathing even.

“I lied to you,” he said simply, fingers trembling against the expensive rug. “I- I kept information from you that I should not have, and I’m sorry.  There’s no excuse for it, no apology that will possibly make it better.  You have been nothing but kind and generous and understanding and I betrayed all of that, and while I have no hope of you accepting my apology, I wanted to convey it nonetheless.” He took another deep breath. “From the bottom of my heart, I apologize for withholding information from you, for not- for not telling you that I was unclean.” His eyes began to burn. “That I’m dirty.”

For a moment no one said anything, and then there was a strained cough.  Drista.

“I don’t understand,” Drista said, breathless, like she’d run the entire way to the sitting room. “Dirty how?”

He knew she wasn’t being cruel.  She was a pup – a sheltered, beloved pup who should never witness such ugliness.

“I’ve been used,” Jack elaborated, staring at the floor. “Sexually.”

It’d happened so often that he hadn’t realized there was anything amiss with it, had simply thought that was another function of slaves.  It wasn’t until Boomer’s estate that he learned to have shame over it, that they made him realize how utterly disgusting he was, how even as a tool or object he was still lower than all the other slaves, because even if they didn’t qualify as people, they were still clean in a way he’d never be.

A beat, and then Duke Quackity released a low sound of bearer distress – yet another sin for Jack to add to his list.  He’d burdened a bearer – a highly-valued, much loved one.  There would be no punishment harsh enough for him.

“Jack,” Quackity whispered, and then he was crossing the room.

Good, maybe he would punish Jack now.  Maybe he’d use his claws or maybe he’d just turn Jack over to Sir Technoblade, not wanting to dirty his hands with the blaze hybrid any longer.

He felt more than saw Quackity crouch down next to him, felt a gentle hand curl around his shoulder in a familiar reassuring hold. “You are not dirty,” Quackity urged, sounding so very certain. “The ones who hurt you, they are the dirty ones.  They are the ones I hate – but not you.  Never you, sweetheart.”

It didn’t- it didn’t make sense.  None of it added it, and in the rush of surprise Jack looked up, to search Quackity’s face to see if he was telling the truth or maybe it was just a sick joke, maybe he was going to laugh at Jack and hit him-

But there were tears in his eyes, an open sort of devastation Quackity had never faked, and he helped Jack sit up slowly, never once shying away from the contact.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Quackity whispered, drawing Jack into a hug, and how could Jack deny him?  He loved Quackity’s hugs, loved them even more when he wrapped his wings around Jack’s back, leaving him in a safe cocoon. “You never should have gone through that.  You’re so strong and brave.  I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” Jack couldn’t wrap his head around it.  It seemed all wrong.  He had told them one of his worst secrets, but Quackity – a proper bearer – was praising him.  Thought he was strong. “You don’t- you don’t understand, I’m disgusting.”

“You’re wonderful,” Dream’s mom spoke up, and then she was drawing close, kneeling down so that she was at their level, but keeping a few feet away so Jack wouldn’t feel crowded. “We don’t blame the victims in this house.  You were the victim of a terrible, terrible crime.  You had no control of your circumstances – they took advantage of someone who was already entirely powerless, and if anyone is disgusting, if anyone is scum because of that, it is the perpetrators, not you.” She locked gazes with him, pink eyes shining bright. “Leave the guilt to the guilty ones and know that here you are only celebrated for the things that matter.” She gave him a wide smile. “You, the one who overcame their fear of crowds just to procure pastries for someone you care about.  You, who shares his money with polite pups.  You, who can still find it in himself to smile after going through some truly awful things.  For that, we know your quality of character, and it could only ever leave us wanting more.  It could only ever make us your allies – so please, be at peace.  You deceived no one.  You did nothing wrong.”

“I…” Jack didn’t know what to do. “But I- I’ve been deflowered.  They said that makes me worthless.”

“Did you want it?” Sir Technoblade asked, drawing Jack’s attention towards him with a blink.

“What?”

“Did you ever want it?” Sir Technoblade pressed.

“No.” Of course he’d never wanted it.  Any of it.  He’d thought it was normal, but even then, he’d hated it.

“Then it doesn’t count.”

What.

“It doesn’t count,” Sir Technoblade repeated. “It can’t possibly qualify as sex if you weren’t interested – therefore, you have not been deflowered.”

“That’s- that’s not how it works,” Jack said, mind reeling at the possibility that it could be that simple.

“I think a lot of people here would disagree with that,” Techno said. “In fact – everyone who disagrees with that, raise your hand.”

At once, everyone raised their hand, even Quackity.

“If you think I’m right, keep your hand up,” Techno continued, and no one put it down.

No one, not even Dream or George or Drista.

“Alright then.” Techno put his hand down. “Congrats, you can now give your virginity to whoever you so please, and if anyone – and I mean anyone – ever tries to pressure you into something you don’t want…” He narrowed his eyes in thought. “We’ll get you a dagger so you can stab them.”

“Something with a hidden sheath,” Dream’s dad recommended.

“You should get him a wrist launcher,” Drista suggested. “So he could take them out at a distance.”

“These are all excellent suggestions,” Techno mused, nodding solemnly.

“We could incorporate weapon drills into your regular training,” Connor offered. “If you’d like.  Ideally, you’ll never need it – I’ll always be around to help you – but if it will make you feel better-”

“I feel like you guys have missed the point,” Jack said, bewildered. “I lied to you.”

“Regardless of whatever they told you,” Techno began, his voice solemn. “Your life story is your own.  You don’t owe it to any of us to share anything beyond what you’re comfortable with – therefore, you didn’t lie.”

“And you’re not dirty,” Dream repeated, crouching down next to their huddle. “You could never be dirty.  Never.”

“If anything, I find you even more amazing,” George added quietly – an open compliment, from George, and Jack just- he had no idea what was going on with this day.

He was so tired.

“It’s going to be okay,” Quackity said, hugging him close. “This here – our pack bond – that’s unbreakable, okay?  That will always be safe, so you don’t have to worry about being turned away or rejected because it’s not happening.” He nuzzled Jack’s hair. “You’re my baby and I’m keeping you.”

It was utterly, utterly bizarre.

In the wake of it, how could Jack do anything but cry?

Cry in relief, in pain, in catharsis.

But mostly, cry to lessen the burden.

He’d been carrying it for such a long time, he just wanted to be out from under the weight of it, whether it was deserved or not.

Chapter Text

Jack wasn’t sure how it happened, but he ended up cradled between Quackity and Technoblade while he cried, the large protector letting out a constant rumble of reassurance while Quackity cooed into his ear, petting a hand carefully through Jack’s hair.

“Good pup-my pup- sweet, sweet baby,” Quackity said, along with, “Strong-strong-strong-loved-loved-loved.”

“Strong-loved-good pup,” Technoblade agreed, and Jack didn’t entirely understand, even if it felt right.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d stayed at the castle before Quackity and Wilbur had him fill out some pack paperwork – for appearance’s sake according to Wilbur, just enough to validate his presence in the royal wing, to satisfy any objections that might be raised by the narrow-minded.  It wasn’t supposed to mean anything though, Connor had filled some out too – for both Technoblade and the royal flock – but he insisted it was unimportant, so Jack had followed his lead.  It was what had made the most sense at the time, but Quackity kept saying his pup and Jack liked that, loved the idea of finding parents he’d never had, but he also knew he wasn’t good enough for either of them and more than that, he couldn’t be Quackity’s son, not when-

Not when Tubbo was already claimed.  There wasn’t room for both of them.

So he just enjoyed what he had for the moment.  It felt fair.

When he finally ran out of tears – something that didn’t take long to do because he was exhausted – he was surprised to find that none of the others had left, that George, Dream, and Connor were all close within arm’s reach if Jack needed them, and perking up when they realized they had Jack’s attention.

“Do you want to go back to bed?” Connor asked, managing to cut in before George, who shot him an annoyed look. “Or are you hungry?  You didn’t eat much last night.”

As if on cue, Jack’s stomach growled – though thankfully it wasn’t excessive, just enough to give him away, which was embarrassing in its own right.

“Alright, food – we can do food,” Dream offered in a rush, smiling at the prospect of helping.  Even after all this, they were all- that Jack could keep it, just- “Do you want to eat in your room?  Or we could go to the dining room, or even the garden!  Or um- I mean, there’s plenty of places.”

There was, Jack was sure, but his stomach churned at the idea of having to sit at a table right now.  Even if he knew he was allowed to be on furniture, even if he’d used it for months, even after they’d reassured him, it was just one thing too many right now.

He shot Connor a helpless look, and thankfully, the hedgehog hybrid seemed to understand.

“Is today not a chair day?” he asked, and Jack nodded, trying to look slightly less ashamed than he felt. “That’s fine,” Connor said while the others froze in interest, likely trying to determine what he’d meant. “They’ve got a nice fireplace, you can sit in my lap while we chill next to it if you’d like.”

“But you don’t like those sorts of cuddles,” Jack sniffed, rubbing at his cheeks. “You don’t like being pinned down.”

“Then you can sit in my lap,” George cut in, sending Connor a haughty look for some reason.

Across the room, Dream’s father was motioning for the butler. “Please bring in a variety of sitting cushions, please.”

And Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he meant until all of them – and he meant all of them – were seated in a loose circle around the sitting room – the furniture pushed against the walls to make room, and before Jack could question it the servants were bringing in trays of baked goods and pots of tea, glasses of juice and water and bowls of fruit for them to snack on.  What Jack had anticipated as a humiliating retreat became a pack affair, all of them – from Duke Wastaken to Sir Technoblade to Lady Drista herself – looking perfectly content to take their meal on the floor, as though it was in any way normal.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, carefully cradling a blueberry scone to his chest that was just the right balance of satisfying without being overly sweet. “Sometimes furniture is hard.  I wasn’t supposed to use it.”

“It’s okay, dear one,” George murmured, nuzzling his shoulder as he added a few strawberries to Jack’s plate. “You don’t have to push yourself.  It’s okay to take it easy sometimes.  It’s hard to fight a lifetime of conditioning.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, because he had to do it every day and he wasn’t going to bring it up, but it was nice for someone to acknowledge it.

“Is ‘dear one’ an okay nickname?” Dream spoke up suddenly, making no effort to hide the way he shamelessly filled George’s plate with snacks. “Like angel and sweetheart?”

“Those are all good,” Jack confirmed, wincing as he remembered the conversation that had triggered this mess in the first place.  

“Then um- would it be okay if I used them?” Dream asked, head ducked and eyes averted, a light flush spilling across the bridge of his nose.  Was he embarrassed?  If he was, Jack wasn’t sure what that would be the cause, Jack was the embarrassing one for wanting such pretty nicknames. “I’m sorry if I overstepped-”

“You didn’t,” Jack interrupted, knowing Dream would set himself off on a useless ramble if he didn’t put a stop to things now. “You can if you want, but you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Dream said, looking painfully earnest, and he’d never lied to Jack before, was still supportive and helpful even after realizing what Jack had gone through, so the blaze hybrid didn’t have any reason to doubt him.

“I’d also like to,” George murmured, sounding petulant. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask before using dear one.”

“That’s- it’s really okay,” Jack said, surprised by the apology. “You were trying to make me feel nice and you succeeded.”

“Still, we’ll be more careful in the future,” George pledged. “Are there any other names we should avoid?  Aside from the one from last night.”

Jack was grateful he didn’t repeat it.  He was sure he’d hold up better now that he could brace for it, but that didn’t make him anymore eager to be exposed to those memories.

Still, they weren’t going to use it anymore, and he knew Connor would spread the news to everyone at the castle, that Jack would have peace, at least, from them.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t call me trash,” Jack said, a flare of sorrow going through his chest at their sudden tension. “Not that I think you’ll- but I don’t want to be called that again, ever.  Or um- worthless.” He started counting off on his fingers. “Garbage.  Slut.  Whore.  U-Ugly mutt.” He turned to hide his face against the side of George’s neck. “I really don’t like that one.”

“If anyone ever dares to insult you in such a way, I’ll claw their eyes out,” George warned, his voice low and deadly.

“You won’t,” Sir Technoblade drawled, his voice hard. “You’ll take note of who they are and bring that information back to us so we can destroy their lives properly.  Wounds are temporary; we need to make sure they suffer.”

“Okay,” George said, allowing himself to relax from the defensive snarl he’d been about to offer. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have to worry about us saying any of those kinds of things,” Connor said with a seriousness that let Jack know it would never be an issue. “Not even in jest.  It’s not going to happen.”

“Then I don’t think I have any other bad triggers,” Jack sniffed, taking a tentative bite of his scone. 

As expected, it was perfect.

“That’s good,” Dream said, looking so genuinely relieved it was hard to watch, so Jack tried to focus on his breakfast, tried to pull the scattered pieces of himself back together. 

Despite his reservations, it was a good meal.  It was difficult to believe that things could really go back to being that easy, that they could stumble into the normal, relaxed gathering they’d had before Jack’s breakdown, but the Wastaken family gladly did just that, as did Quackity, who easily coaxed Jack into conversations about how the previous day had gone.  What they’d done, if he liked his new room, what foods they’d eaten.  Even when Jack tried to address some of his own lingering concerns – assuring George that he didn’t have to stay his protector if the panther hybrid didn’t want to in light of the recent revelation (that earned him one of the most offended glares he’d ever seen on the protector before George took his hand and firmly asked Jack to never say such things to him again), or asking Dream if he wanted his bracelet back (unlike George, Dream seemed close to tears at that, and then Drista, who’d been shamelessly eavesdropping, started up some loud theatrics about it being removed over her dead body, which only had her father nodding along serenely behind her).

For every concern, Techno or Quackity would bring him back with kind smiles, until Jack found himself enthusiastically going on about the wonders of salad wraps, because they didn’t understand, they were amazing.  Salads had been the worst part of mealtime before and the Wastakens had made them not only bearable, but delicious.

“Sounds like we need to get that recipe for our chefs,” Quackity said, smiling wide. “Tubbo hates salads too.  Maybe this will make him like them.”

“Have I told you about Tubbo?” Jack asked Drista, and then he may or may not have recounted his gushing summary of the young goat hybrid – the same one he’d shared with Connor the first night he’d stayed over (Jack wasn’t even sure how the hedgehog hybrid had gotten him to lower his guard so much, but he was glad for it now).  He talked about how he was so hardworking and clever and bright, at least until Connor gave his knee a surreptitious squeeze, prompting Jack to start praising the other pups, because- right.  Right.

“You like kids?” Dream asked, seeming delighted with this information.

“Of course.” Jack felt his cheeks warm, and hoped they didn’t look as flushed as they felt. “They’re good, aren’t they?  They have so much energy and hope.”

For whatever reason, that seemed to dim Dream’s smile somewhat, though his gaze was still fond, still fixed to Jack. “Yeah, that is true,” he allowed, his voice a soft murmur.

“Jack,” Drista spoke up at some point, having slowly transitioned throughout the course of the meal so that she was squeezed in on Dream’s free side. “My birthday party’s next week and you have to come to it.  Your attendance is mandatory.  I mean- if you want to.  Just- I’d like you there because you’re cool.” She swiped lazily at Dream’s face. “You can hang out with this lug if you want, and George was already invited.  I’ll make sure Connor’s cleared on your invite too – could you please come?”

“Drista,” Dream huffed, and then they were treated to Wastaken sibling wrestling match number three that breakfast. “There’s a time and a place for these things, you menace.”

“If I don’t ask now I’ll have to send an invitation through you later, and you’ll probably just end up setting it on fire or something!”

“I will not.”

“Yeah?  And what happened to the first three invitations to tea I made for George, huh?”

Dream froze, his eyes going wide as he stared at George’s sudden look of interest. “Drista,” Dream whispered, as though that would change the fact that all of them could hear him. “You promised we wouldn’t talk about that.”

With a sniff, Drista turned to address George, still half-contorted around Dream’s body. “He was afraid of scaring you off or whatever, so he totally, totally burned them.”

“The fiend,” Geroge drawled, laughing into his hands. “And though I loath to defend him, that was probably a good choice on his part.”

“That doesn’t mean it is now though,” Drista whined before turning back towards Jack. “So, birthday?  What do you say?”

Jack, who’d been allowing himself to simply enjoy their sibling antics with a grin, paused as he properly thought things over. “I’ve never been to a party outside the royal wing before,” he admitted, thinking of the few get togethers Quackity had hosted for the royal flock or Bad had held in Jack and Connor’s suite to celebrate therapy milestones. “Bad said noble parties could be vicious, though.”

“Not my party,” Drista insisted. “Because I don’t bother with dumb people, but even if there were dumb people, Connor and George would protect you.” She furrowed her brows, thoughtful. “I could invite Duke Quackity and Sir Technoblade as well, if that would make you feel better.” She lowered her voice. “I don’t think anyone will mess with Sir Technoblade."

"I don’t think so either,” Jack said, feeling a rush of pride at the protector Quackity had acquired for himself.  A bearer of his standing should have someone so exceptional; he really did deserve it.

“And they definitely won’t mess with my parents!” Drista continued brightly. “So just think on it.”

“You can talk to Ponk about it,” Connor offered. “See if you’re ready for that kind of thing.”

“And you can always leave early if you need to,” Dream said.

“As the guest of honor, I wouldn’t be mad,” Drista swore.

It was too nice, too accommodating.  Even after they’d learned such awful things about him they were only supportive and loving.  It made Jack’s head spin, for all that he was grateful for it.

It was nice, but with food in his stomach and a second breakdown weathered so recently Jack found himself holding back yawns not long after, his eyelids desperate to fall shut even though the atmosphere was so comfortable and good.

“Hey,” Connor murmured when he found himself jerking awake once more. “Do you want to get some more rest?”

“I just got up,” Jack complained, rubbing at his eyes.

“It’s been an eventful morning for all of us,” George said, his voice soft. “No one would blame you for getting more sleep.”

“I can carry you back to your room, if you’d like,” Dream offered, perking up with interest once more.

Jack understood why Dream had offered the first few times, but now didn’t seem nearly as pressing, especially since the problems had been corrected. “It won’t be a bother?  I’ve made you carry me around a lot lately.”

For whatever reason, Dream’s face darkened in a flush, but before he could stumble for a response, Drista was cutting in.

“Please,” she huffed, rolling her eyes with a look of supreme judgement. “Dream just wants to show off.”

“He does?”

“It’s a big deal for protectors,” Drista informed him sagely. “To have a hybrid place that much trust in you, to rely on you so entirely.  Basically, anytime Dream carries you around he’s bragging to the world that he’s a reliable, dependable protector, and the happier and more comfortable you are, the better it makes his instincts feel.”

“Oh.” Jack hadn’t realized that Dream got something out of it too, but now that he knew that, it made him feel a lot better. “Is there any other way a protector could do that without picking someone up?”

Because George looked strong, but he probably couldn’t carry Jack around as easily as Dream, and he was Jack’s actual protector.  It didn’t seem right to keep indulging Dream if he couldn’t offer George the same demonstration of trust, especially when he’d worked so hard to earn it.

“Sure,” Drista said, smiling wide. “You could wear their clothes.”

Jack blinked, then looked down at his own outfit, smiling wide.  Yes, he already had that partially achieved, and sure, it hadn’t been on purpose, but he knew there was a reason it had felt so nice.

He turned to George eagerly, smiling wide. “Do you think I could have some of your old clothes?” he asked in a rush before he could catch up with himself, before he could remember that he was already pushing his luck. “I mean, sorry-”

“I’ll have some packed away for your return to the castle,” George cut in, his expression seeming as though this was of the utmost seriousness. “Now, would you like to sleep?”

“Could you come with me?” Jack asked tentatively. 

He could only say no.  That was what Jack had learned with Ponk.  He could only try.

And in light of George’s pleased smile, he was glad he had. “Of course,” he said, giving Jack’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Do you want me to guard the door?” Dream asked as they stood up.

“No, Connor can do that,” Jack said, knowing that the hedgehog hybrid was barely comfortable sharing the nest with Jack alone.  With George present, he would do much better outside the bed.

For whatever reason, Dream seemed to deflate a little. “Oh.”

Was something wrong?  He still picked Jack up easily, still offered him a smile.  Something didn’t seem right, though, and Jack couldn’t place what it was.

“Jack,” Connor spoke up just as they were about to leave the room. “Do you want Dream to nap with you and George?”

Oh. Oh, Jack had forgotten to ask, that was-

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Jack murmured, his cheeks heating with an embarrassed flush.  He’d gotten ahead of himself.  He’d pictured George and Dream as such an inseparable duo that he hadn’t thought- it was even Dream’s home, surely he could go wherever he wanted?

Except no, because they’d explicitly said he couldn’t.  Not when it was Jack’s room.  That was his safe space.

“It’s not!” Dream cheered, immediately smiling wide. “It’s not, it’s not, I promise it’s not.”

“Cool down, slick,” George drawled, giving Dream’s arm a few pats. “Don’t get too worked up before we go back to sleep.”

“Right-right, of course, you’re right, George,” Dream babbled, happily bouncing from foot to foot.

He was so silly.

It wasn’t until later, when Dream was cooing over how well he’d distributed the bedding, when George was clambering into the nest with feigned confidence (Connor had taught him how to look for that) and Dream with babbled appreciation that Jack would realize the immensity of what happened.  These were two protectors he was inviting into his private nest, and it might be expected from George, but Dream-

He wasn’t even Jack’s, not really, but he’d as good as claimed the man and no one – not his parents or Drista or even Connor – had said anything about it.

As adult hybrids, sharing a bed together was a big deal.

Maybe it didn’t count as much though.  Maybe Jack got a pass because of his breakdowns, or maybe it didn’t count because it wasn’t his nest nest.

At least, for them it wouldn’t count.  For him, the deed was done, but he’d suspected that had been the case for a while.

As Dream snuggled up to his back, looping an arm around his waist and easily wrapping around George’s hip, the panther hybrid grumbling while he nuzzled closer all the while – it felt the closest to right Jack had felt in a while.  Maybe it was something they could repeat again in the future.  Maybe it was something they could keep.

He couldn’t know, but he could hope.

~:~

If George had known what a whirlwind of emotions the visit to Dream’s estate would put him through, he would have done some meditation to better prepare himself.  Or had more conversations with Connor.  He’d thought he’d been doing pretty well on that front – at least for him, who preferred not to initiate socializations if he didn’t have to, but it was clear he still had a long way to go.

“There’s a chance things will go bad,” Connor had told him during their last status meeting before George had taken Jack to the Wastakens. “Jack’s come a long way since he’s gotten to the castle, but there’s still things that catch us off guard.  It isn’t intentional on his part, I’m pretty sure some of it was awful enough that he just repressed the hell out of it, and while we haven’t had any major setbacks lately, I want you to know that it’s still a possibility.” He’d placed a hand on George’s shoulder then, looking him carefully in the eye. “If that happens, you have to stay calm.  It’s hard to see him hurt like that, but if you get worked up, that will only feed into his agitation.  You have to be the strong one and understand that if he acts afraid of you that it’s because he’s seeing you as a protector rather than George.  Don’t take it personally.”

“I won’t,” George pledged, because he was mature enough to know that things were bigger than himself.  He wouldn’t take something like that to heart – if he had, he never would have survived working in the castle.

He’d felt confident in his abilities up to the point where things had gone bad, and then he’d violated his pledge to Connor by freaking the fuck out, because Jack was literally trying to shovel his vomit back into his mouth and George was qualified for very many things, but this did not feel like one of them.  He was woefully out of his depth, and for Dream’s mother to be forced to step in and take control – the lone peacekeeper in a sea of protectors who were supposed to be good at protecting – was a thorough ego check.  George wasn’t shamed, of course, he knew he wasn’t as weathered in emotional conflict resolution as Duchess Wastaken – she had far more experience than he did – but he did feel a sense of helplessness at having to be literally dragged away by Dream, the larger protector pinning him to the counter of his washroom, wrapped around George’s back and forcing his hands under the sink because George didn’t give a solitary shit about how clean his fingers were, he just wanted to guard Jack.  Jack was the only thing that mattered, and later – after the fact, he would know that if he’d just cooperated it would have gone so much faster, but he couldn’t hold onto such things in the heat of the moment, too lost to his instincts.  Dream had been forced to deal with his unsavory side instead, taking every scratch, growl, and snarl, George thrashing in his hold while Dream forcefully changed him into a set of clean clothes.  George didn’t feel settled again until he was out waiting next to Jack’s door.  Even though he couldn’t be helpful, he could keep other threats at bay, could offer Drista the shakiest of nods before he took his position with a low rumble.

He hadn’t thought much of Dream staying by his side, even if the other protector had been an irritation just moments before.  As furious as he was, he knew Dream was strong, could be trusted, and that was that.

Later, he might marvel at the comfort and trust he had in the Wastakens, that he could rely on them so greatly when he was deep in his instincts.  He hadn’t even snarled at Duke Wastaken when he came to collect Drista’s sleeping visage, the young protector losing the inevitable fight against sleep.

The duke had turned to regard them once, emanating a fierce level of power despite the slight daughter curled up in his arms.

“Good pups-good protectors,” the duke had rumbled, making George pause. “Proud-strength-resolution.  You are strong.  Be strong.”

“Thank you-thank you,” Dream had purred back to him, George too caught off-guard with the inclusion to manage a response.   

George tried to think back on the last time his own family had given him any amount of praise.  Had referred to him as a pup.

He came up with nothing.  All that comfort and support had always come from the Wastakens, starting when he befriended Dream in boarding school.

Prime, now was not the time to focus on his own family struggles.

Connor had warned him about certain things.  Things that might happen if Jack got too worked up, how he might not be able to use silverware (George hadn’t worried about that so much, knowing Dream would go above and beyond for Jack’s comfort), how if it was really bad, he might not be able to use furniture.  How in the instance of that, a bed would be safe since he’d never had one of those to be banished from back when he was a slave (and fuck, if that didn’t make George burn).  It was why George had supported Dream’s decision to set aside a room for Jack, knowing it could be important.

There were other things, like how Jack might feel better without shoes because he wasn’t used to having them, how he might go nonverbal because the slavers had conditioned them for silence.  It was likely why when Jack did fall into his instincts, he let out hybrid noises in specific.  If he’d presented as a slave, his owners might have beaten the use of secondary-sex vocalizations out of him.  It was why George had never pushed him on that front, why he wouldn’t let anyone else push Jack either.

And they’d prepared for those things – by Prime, had they prepared.  Dream had brainstormed with his mother over the menu, they had gallons of hot cocoa on standby because Connor had told them it was one of Jack’s comfort beverages.  They had slippers as a ready alternative to shoes, because Connor said those and sandals were easier on Jack.  The floor cushions Duke Wastaken had requested had been purchased for this such visit – the room, the bedding, they’d been ready.

Just not for this.  Never for this.  

It left George endlessly furious and amazed at the same time.  Amazed because Jack could have such a horrific breakdown and still allow them to offer him comfort, still permit Dream to carry him around, to want to wear George’s clothing.  He kept apologizing to them, as though it was in any way his fault, and while George was desperate to cuddle his peacekeeper at the end of the day, to reaffirm the fact that Jack was safe and whole and close, he hadn’t expected to be allowed such a thing after Jack’s breakdown.  Connor was an exception to many things – had been allowed to bathe Jack, to guard him when he was most vulnerable.  George didn’t begrudge this in the slightest – Connor had known Jack longer, had more than proven his worth as his packmate and protector.  If anyone was going to be allowed to cuddle Jack, he assumed it would be Connor.

But it had been George who had gotten to hold Jack in his lap and George who had been invited into his bed, and Dream- honestly, George wasn’t sure how he felt about that, wasn’t sure how Dream felt either.  Of course his friend wasn’t going to deny Jack if he asked – despite the fact that all of this was an accident, Dream was likely to carry the guilt of accidentally setting Jack off for a while.  Being able to comfort him in whatever capacity he needed was something that would be helpful to both Dream and Jack, so being allowed to guard the door, that would have been enough for Dream.

But Jack had wanted him closer, had looked happy when they cradled him between them, like he was at peace.  After being raped who knew how many times, Jack was comfortable sharing a bed with them – two protectors, one of which was substantially bigger than him. 

He felt happy, safe, in this most sacred space.

George knew that they would all likely see Dream’s inclusion in the bed as an exception to the rule.  No one was going to hold the weight of this decision against Jack, not when he’d just recovered from not one, but two breakdowns.  It was possible that Jack was still learning that side of hybrid dynamics as well, there was so much in his life that he hadn’t been allowed to learn – basic understandings that everyone else took for granted.  Using silverware and the basics of shopping were just some of them.  Ordinary experiences that had been stolen from him.

Prime, George was pissed.  He was pissed about all of it.  That there were any that would dare touch his peacekeeper, that there was anything that would make Jack sad.  Later, when they’d woken up from their nap and Drista had dragged Jack into the parlor to help her test cake samples for her party (there seemed to be some scheming going on between Duke Quackity and Dream’s parents that George’s frazzled instincts had been suspicious of for all of a second before Techno had shot him a subtle thumbs up), Connor had pulled him aside, his expression serious.

“I’m going to start training you,” he whispered, expression perfectly neutral and not nearly as hard as his voice. “You’re angry – you have every right to be, but you need an outlet for it.  A proper one.” He clapped George’s shoulder. “Funneling that energy into learning something that can help you protect Jack will make a large difference.”

Normally, George would object to such things.  He was a scholar, not a warrior.  He’d left the sword lessons to his brothers for a long time.  He didn’t want to bear their mockery for how awkward he was, for how much grace he lacked.

But this wasn’t for him, this was for Jack, and George knew Connor was right.  He did need an outlet, and if there were tools he could acquire that would help him with Jack, then George would be a fool not to take them.

“I’m in,” George murmured, and if Dream had a sword delivered to his office later that week – something light but sturdy, suited to his hand – then George sure as hell wasn’t going to comment on it.

Strange, to be offered something by another protector should be viewed as a criticism, but from Dream, George only felt bolstered. 

It wasn’t worth looking into, he knew that, but still, he couldn’t help but mark it as odd.

Sword training wasn’t the only thing that changed in the wake of the visit.  George had taken to heart Jack’s request for clothing – though he hadn’t been the only one.  Before Jack and the royal flock were scheduled to leave the estate that afternoon – Drista and Duchess Wastaken had pulled George aside to help him pack away a selection of clothes for Jack’s use.  By this point, George had a sizeable wardrobe at the Wastakens’, almost as much – if not more – than the amount of clothes he had at the Davidson estate.  Really, that was just a matter of practicality.  There were too many snakes at his own family estate, too many people plotting for the worst, trying to get ahead of one another, riffling through things that didn’t belong to them.  George had learned to keep all his truly valued items with the Wastakens long ago, so he had plenty of things to choose from.

While George had only intended to select a few outfits, Duchess Wastaken had been insistent on giving Jack a variety of options, something that totaled into about five sizeable packages that would easily take up the trunk space of the carriage.  George had been endlessly embarrassed by it, afraid that Jack would think that George considered himself so amazing that clearly Jack needed to be showered with his clothes or whatever, but the opposite seemed to be true.  Duchess Wastaken had, as always, been correct in her judgement, and Jack had been delighted at the selection of clothes at his disposal, beaming at George as he watched them carry the packages up to his suite.

The following week would be filled with the sweetest torture as Jack incorporated George’s clothing seamlessly into his wardrobe, some of the items perfectly tailored to fit Jack’s body – tunics worn under short robes decked in the colors of Las Nevadas or George’s own jerkin worn over a silk, long-sleeve shirt.  George had thought it would be comforting to see Jack in his clothing, but he hadn’t realized how terribly distracting it could be to see his peacekeeper so perfectly at ease, humming to himself as he went about his work dressed in George’s clothes.  It was such a small thing, but it made George’s instincts scream in satisfaction, dark rumbles of mine-perfect-good echoing in the back of his mind with certain ruthlessness.  More than once, Lord Eret had to clear his throat to get George’s attention, the Lord Consort wearing an amused smirk when he caught George’s flustered expression, because he knew he was supposed to be focused but it was hard to when Jack was right there wearing his shirt.

It got even worse a few days later when Jack strolled into work with pierced ears.

“Do you like them?” Jack asked, waving at the new accessories.  They were expensive but tasteful studs, a sapphire wrapped in a thin ring of aquamarine, and while George knew it was to represent Jack’s commitment to Las Nevadas and the Antarctic Empire, aqua happened to be one of George’s favorite colors, and George could delude himself into thinking the light blues was a nod towards him which just, really didn’t help. “Quackity and I got it done together!”

On Prince Wilbur’s recommendation, George later learned.  Because even if he didn’t say it, the prince – as well as the rest of the royal family, no doubt – wanted to have more opportunities to present the older hybrids of the Quackity family with even more jewelry.  Wilbur had done the same thing when Foolish had started coming around the castle, coaxing him to get his ears pierced and then immediately inundating him with new earrings, ear cuffs, and studs as soon as the doctors had cleared him.  It was utterly predictable, and yet George’s instincts were only pleased, because Jack was happy, but more than that, he looked even prettier than before, which-

Which was- that was something George hadn’t realized was going to be a thing.  He could of course objectively qualify the aesthetic appeal of someone.  He was logical enough to understand that much, but very rarely had he witnessed someone and had a visceral response to their looks, had he felt affected by them.

When it came to Jack, George was starting to be affected by it, and it worried him enough that he decided to shove that firmly to the back of his mind.  He had other priorities.  Protecting Jack.  Not getting horribly distracted by Jack.

Shopping for Drista’s birthday with Jack.

It had been a satisfying thing, when Jack had approached George specifically for this trip.  It seemed the peacekeeper felt guilty for taking his first excursion without either of his protectors (at least, officially speaking – Connor had been sure to keep himself at a safe distance, reliable as always), and wanted to make up for it by taking both George and Connor with him.  Normally, George would detest such a thing – especially in the upper markets, where the nobles tended to congregate.  Most of them tended to favor his brothers over George himself and as such, were insufferable.  Still, for Jack, it hadn’t even been a question, except for maybe ‘when?’. 

 “Sir Technoblade suggested I get her a dagger,” Jack explained as they walked down the well-kept street, the roads not terribly occupied at this time of day.  It was why Connor had specifically selected it. “He offered to make it himself, but he has so much to do, I thought it would be better to buy one.”

George chose not to mention the fact that Sir Technoblade likely would have been thrilled for an excuse to get behind a forge.  That was a conversation for Ponk and Technoblade to tackle themselves.  George could admit he was afraid of accidentally setting Jack off again, so he’d hold his silence for now, and directed Jack to the best weapons shop in the area according to Dream.

“Yep, this is good,” Connor murmured when they reached the place, offering his own approval as he coaxed Jack in the door.  It was just as Dream described it – a place built for knights, meaning that while it catered to nobles, it favored quality and functionality over design.  George could tell it wasn’t too overwhelming because Jack didn’t hunch in on himself as soon as he walked inside, instead inspecting all the weapons with enthusiastic interest.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the shopkeeper greeted from behind the main counter. “How may I be of service today?”

“I’m looking for a dagger for an apprentice knight,” Jack explained, striding forward with a smile. “Her birthday’s coming up, and I thought getting her a backup dagger would be a good gift.”

Considering it was Jack, the blaze hybrid could get Drista pretty much anything and she’d be ecstatic, but she’ll be even more so when she realized Jack went through the effort of picking out a weapon for her.

The shopkeeper’s smile widened – though it was a kind thing, not predatory. “Pardon my asking, but is this for Lady Dristeria Wastaken’s birthday?”

“It is!” Jack perked up, matching the smile with a wide grin of his own. “Drista just invited me, and I wanted to get her something long-lasting to go with the cookies I’m gonna make her.” He started looking under the clear glass of the protective display cases, and George could see the moment the shopkeeper recognized the different bracelets Jack was wearing. “Now um- I think Techno said that diamond was the strongest, unless you have netherite, but netherite’s so hard to come by…”

“As it so happens, I do have one netherite dagger in my inventory,” the shopkeep said.  Yes, he was a smart man. “Shall I get it out for you?”

“That would be perfect, thank you,” Jack gushed, looking delighted.

George and Connor shared a look with each other.  Both of them knew full well that netherite gear wasn’t easy to come by even for nobility of the Antarctic Empire.  It wasn’t simply a matter of having enough coinage for it – social rank played a lot into things too. Getting a hold of netherite itself was a challenge for any storekeeper, and as all weapons would come marked with the symbol of those who forged them, no master craftsmen would ever want to hand out such deadly gear to those they thought wouldn’t do justice to it.  As such, shopkeepers were extremely selective with who they sold their netherite gear to.  It could be a multi-year process to prove your worth to a store owner – to build up your reputation as a knight or warrior of great renown.  Purchasing netherite gear as a gift was not unheard of, but it generally required a lot of courting, so to speak.  Multiple visits and donations as well as a reputable background and the proven competency of whoever you were bestowing the gift towards needed to be made.

For Jack to simply walk in and purchase a netherite dagger the same day he met the store owner spoke to the wonder of his connections, and just how much those bracelets vouched for him.  He was claimed by not one, but two duchies, which likely would have been enough for him to get by, but wearing the emeralds of the royal family had safely sealed his fate if referring to Drista and Technoblade by their casual names hadn’t already done it for him.  No one would dare presume to be so casual without permission, and Jack had done so without second thought.

Because George’s peacekeeper was the best, obviously.  He tried not to be smug about it while Jack bounced happily on the balls of his feet, so excited for a soon-to-be successful purchase that he couldn’t hold still.

“She’ll love it,” George soothed, Connor giving him a meaningful look that indicated the panther hybrid could take lead on this one. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m more relieved than anything,” Jack admitted. “I would have been happy with diamond, to be honest.” Behind them, the shop bell chimed as the front door opened, admitting new customers. “Techno said we could always upgrade diamond gear with netherite ingots, but it’s nice that we won’t have to go through that step.  It’s lucky we were able to purchase the last dagger in stock.”

Between them, it was just light conversation, but with the added customers…

Well, George had been hoping that they’d mind their own business, but of course they wouldn’t have such luck.

There was an immediate noise of afront, something George had heard far too many times from his brothers. “Are you saying you got that old bastard to sell you that netherite dagger?” a voice drawled, dripping with derision. “I’ve been sweettalking that shopkeep for weeks, who are you to swoop in and steal my purchase?  Do you even know who I am?”

George managed to turn before Jack did and sighed.  Though he wasn’t entirely familiar with the noble’s name, he recognized that it was the son of some marquess or other.  Aside from the four dukedoms of the empire, marquess held the highest titles among the nobility, which would certainly explain his holier than thou attitude.

 Ugh.  This was going to be irritating.

“No?” Jack turned around with a confused blink. “You haven’t introduced yourself yet.”

The son of the marquess hadn’t come in alone.  He had two lackies – one that proved himself to be exceptionally more intelligent than the marquess’ son in under a few seconds.  George caught the moment the smart lackey noticed the bracelets around Jack’s wrists, and in short order he had his hand on the back of the marquess son’s collar, had him yanked down into a hasty bow that the other lackey followed on reflex.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” smart lackey said, not-so-subtly stomping on the marquess’ son’s foot when he looked about to protest. “My friend has just lost a dear pet and as such, has not been conducting himself with the most grace.  I hope you’ll forgive his lapse in etiquette; he is not normally so callous.”

Jack gasped, his eyes going wide. “Oh no,” he murmured, tone dripping with sweet sincerity. “I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.  I’m sure this must be a difficult time for you.  Um- please rise and be at ease.  It’s really okay.”

They straightened, and the marquess’ son looked confused and frustrated, at least until the other lackey gave his wrist a pointed squeeze and caught him onto the information the smart lackey had already recognized.  It was only then that the blood drained from his face, though thankfully Jack didn’t notice it, too busy digging through his bakery bag.

“Here,” Jack said, passing over a small bag of cookies. “I don’t have any flowers, but I hope these can similarly convey my condolences during this trying time.” He gave a small, respectful bow. “I sincerely hope things get better for you, sir.”

Oh fuck, George was so proud of him.  Look how eloquent and graceful he was.  How giving. 

George really had been claimed by the best peacekeeper in the world.

Depending on how the rest of conversation went, George might even let them get away with lying to Jack.  There was no need to give Jack any additional emotional turmoil, not when he was still recovering from the estate visit.  Frankly, George was surprised he’d felt okay enough for this outing, but with Connor and George by his side, the two protectors would ensure he was properly cared for.

“I…” The son’s bewildered gaze was split between the cookies and Jack. “Thank you, my lord, you’re very kind.”

“I’m just doing what’s right,” Jack insisted, a light flush spilling across the bridge of his nose. “Though about the dagger.  I’m fairly confident I can get access to another one, so if you’d like-”

“No, no-” The son interrupted, fully realizing the depths of his predicament.  Damn fucking right, he did – good survival instincts there. “You procured it fair and square.  Even with the uh- loss of my beloved pet-” That they had definitely made up. “It wouldn’t be right for me to take your purchase.” He bowed again of his own accord, deeper than George had thought his pride would allow. “I apologize again for my brash behavior.  I wasn’t thinking, and in doing so, reflected poorly on my house.”

“Please, it’s all good,” Jack assured him with a flutter of his hands. “We’re alright.”

A throat cleared behind them, and George turned to see that the shopkeeper had returned. “If you would like the matter to be appropriately settled, perhaps you should pay for this gentleman’s purchase.  As it is a present for the renowned Lady Dristeria herself, your family’s honor should be sufficiently restored.”

“Yes!” The son eagerly jumped on the suggestion, knowing better than to dawdle.  Having potentially insulted a friend of not only the royal flock, but half of the major duchies could spell disaster or even eradication for his own family, so he really had no choice but to make amends in whatever way possible, even if Jack wasn’t the kind to report these sorts of wrongdoings back to Quackity. “Yes, that is a brilliant idea, sir.” He turned to Jack, bowing once more. “Please, allow me the privilege to help with your birthday gift selection.”

“But isn’t netherite expensive?” Jack asked – Jack, who still had a limited understanding of his own net worth because the royal flock kept spoiling him gifts and allowances.  George was pretty sure Technoblade had set him off with a bag of platinum for this expedition.  Platinum.

Connor gifted Jack the sweetest smile, one that didn’t read in his eyes at all. “Which is why it would especially be an honor for him to help.  Trust me, this will put his mind at ease.”

“If you say so.” Jack seemed reluctant, but ultimately wasn’t going to hamper a noble’s attempt to reclaim his honor, and at once, the last opportunity the marquess’ son’s wallet had to escape the situation unscathed slipped down the drain.

“You know,” the shopkeeper spoke up as the son and Connor guided Jack back to the main case. “This dagger could be customized in House Wastaken colors.  I think a pearl handle and jade pommel stone would look extra dashing.”

“Oh, do you think you could add the house crest too?” Jack asked, perking up.  He held out his wrist, gesturing to the important part of the Wastaken friendship bracelet. “It looks like this.”

Behind them, the second lackey sputtered.

Yep, now he knew what they were messing with.

“I think that can be arranged,” the shopkeeper said brightly, and George took a calculated step back, leaving this Connor while more and more sweat began to bead on the marquess’ son’s forehead.

He’d get no pity from them; he’d brought this on himself.

With that taken care of, George locked eyes with the smart lackey, who further supported his intellect by silently following along with a nod of George’s head, the panther hybrid leading them both outside the shop while Connor distracted Jack by cooing over a potential custom leather sheath.

That bastard was going to end up paying so much money.  So much.  George wouldn’t be surprised if the shopkeeper charged him extra for being a shithead. 

They could be wonderfully spiteful like that.

He allowed these pleasant thoughts to keep him company as he exited the store.  The two of them didn’t say anything until they stepped into a nearby alley, away from the hustle and bustle of the street.

Then, it was on.

“Jack has seen many hardships,” George began without preamble, sure to keep his expression bored, haughty.  He himself might not be much of anything – merely the middle son of a viscount who’d never gotten much recognition, but Jack was important and because of this, George had to pretend he was important too. “As such, his first choice for conflict resolution will always be kindness.  He has seen too much cruelty in the world to add to it, which is why you earned his sympathy today.” George leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Know that his protectors do not feel the same.” He watched the smart lackey’s throat bob in a rough swallow and felt an immense wave of satisfaction as he straightened, his teeth feeling a little sharper as he smiled. “For Jack’s sake, we will give you one pass.  In return, you spread the word.  Jack is untouchable.  The allies he has in his corner are endless and will never abandon him.  Tell this to everyone you know, and know that if this happens again-”

“It won’t,” the lackey urged, breath coming a little faster. “We didn’t see those bracelets.  If we had, we never would have- he wouldn’t have…”

It seemed the majority of his smarts had been used earlier, and as such, he floundered under the weight of George’s ire.

“Word to the wise,” George drawled, eyes narrowed. “Go ahead and treat everyone as though they have those allies.  You shouldn’t have to look for a bracelet to treat people with decency.” He bared his teeth. “Now go spread the word.  I’ll let your friends know where you’ve gone.”

The lackey didn’t reply before he was gone, walking away as quickly as decorum would allow him to.

It felt satisfying to protect Jack in such a way, even if George was pissed it had happened in the first place.  Still, the warning should help at the very least.  Even if they didn’t know who Jack was, George and Connor were fairly well known by this point.  Any who saw a blaze hybrid with them would know better than to pick fights.

Know better, because the royal flock didn’t tolerate the pain of one of their own.

And George was fortunate enough to be allowed the privilege to protect them.

Yes, he’d done a good job today.

Chapter Text

Jack’s purchase from the weapons shop had turned out to be even more spectacular than George had anticipated, somehow managing to look both unquestionably expensive while remaining tasteful, unlike the pieces of weaponry some other high-ranking nobles might sport.  Even the sheath – designed for stealth as it was – featured swirled gold embelishments on the bottom side of it depicting Drista’s name in the formal language of the Old Antarctic Empire. 

For Jack, it had simply been a pretty dagger that had been completed in time, but for George it was a statement.  An indication that the shopkeeper understood the value of his client, that he was able to complete such quality custom work within a week’s time, had done so because he’d prioritized Jack’s needs, and damn right he had, because Jack was adorable.

Or rather, Jack was the best.

George’s own gifts to Drista – a package of expensive chocolates from a chocolatier so exclusive that he had to purchase them in Lord Eret’s name and a fairytale novel that was mostly action with just the smallest hints of romance (her favorite type, no matter how much she declared otherwise) – had been safely packaged and wrapped days before Drista’s party, the location for which had been relocated to the Royal Family’s private gardens for whatever reason.  At first, George had assumed it was simply a matter of security, of Emperor Philza extending the honor for the sake of being certain of Duke Quackity’s safety.  After all, the new Duke of Las Nevadas had only been to one formal gathering since he’d formally stepped into his title, and that had been under Duke Samuel’s care, who would likely fight the moon if it so much as looked at Quackity sideways. 

Like George, the emperor was probably worried about his charge.  Controlling the location was a good way to assuage his anxiety, and George appreciated the fact that Jack would be so close to his own suite, with servants he knew and trusted.

It had made sense, up until Connor had snuck into the workroom George had passed out in at the Davidson estate in the middle of the night once more.

“I assume you have a stockpile of gifts for Jack already?” was how he decided to reveal his presence, perched beside George in a casual sprawl, his head slumped against his hand. 

“Prime fucking shit, Connor,” George breathed, tucking the dagger Dream had gotten him for Yule years ago back into the holster hidden in his sleeve. “What the absolute fuck.”

“Presents,” Connor repeated, snapping his fingers. “I assume you have many, and by that I mean I know you have many because I already went through your room and office at the Wastakens.”

It went to show just how used to Connor’s particular brand of Connor-ness George had become that he met that statement with an annoyed glare.

“If you already know that, then why are you here?” George grumbled, rubbing at his eyes.

“Because you need to pick your favorites to give him for his birthday,” Connor said, making George freeze. “I would say just give him all of them, but Quackity and Wilbur decreed that both of us would have a five present limit.”

“…each?” George asked, narrowing his eyes in challenge.

Connor scoffed. “As though they could try to make it cumulative.”

Good, that was good.  That meant they wouldn’t have to do battle to determine who had the better gifts.  They could both shine in their own way.

George took a mental inventory of the presents he’d collected so far.  None of them seemed good enough.

“I’m going to have to go shopping,” he declared.

Connor offered him a vicious grin. “As it so happens, Lord Eret has blocked out a portion of your schedule this morning to do just that.  Now get up, we have a peacekeeper to wow.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” George huffed before doing exactly what Connor had told him to do.

The protest was a matter of principle, really.

Despite Eret’s numerous offers, George had always managed to avoid spending free time with the consort.  Mostly, it hadn’t felt appropriate.  George wasn’t of a high enough rank to presume to be allowed such an honor, even if the lord consort so graciously offered it.  Now though, George was eager, though even then he hadn’t expected Eret to be waiting in the carriage Connor had stealthily guided him off property towards.

“Glad you could make it,” Eret greeted, passing over a leatherbound folder. “Here’s a list of what I know the others are getting him so far.  As of right now, they’re on a three present limit per individual, but Philza’s making an admirable attempt to push that.”

George wanted to snarl in protest.  Instead, he went back to reading.

“I thought it would be prudent to press the angles in which you have the greatest advantage,” Eret continued. “As Jack seems to greatly favor your clothing nowadays, procuring some items that would coordinate well with them would be a comfort.  He doesn’t seem the most confident in arranging his own outfits, but to have someone put in the thought to do it for him will make him feel especially touched.”

George dwelled on this for a moment, a sudden thought occurring to him. 

He viewed the lord consort carefully. “I suppose an outfit could safely qualify as one present, right?  Since it’s not complete without every piece.”

Eret’s smile widened. “I think that is most reasonable logic.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

They made a quick stop at the Wastakens to pick up some more of George’s clothing and gained an additional member of their entourage by way of Duchess Wastaken.  From there, they went to her favored boutique, followed shortly by her favored cobbler and jeweler.  They made three new complete outfits while Connor custom designed a pair of slippers made of the softest materials the cobbler had.  More fancy chocolates were purchased along with a music box George couldn’t have passed up if he tried. 

Connor pulled him aside during lunch – an affair in a private room at one of the most upscale restaurants in the entire capital – to, with what seemed to be great pain, explain the perfect suggestion for George’s final gift.

“Dream dabbles in art, right?” Connor prompted, yet another question he already knew the answer to.

Still, for the sake of following their usual song and dance, George nodded.

“I’m going to arrange for the royal pups to meet him.  You know, under the pretense of getting to know some knights that aren’t their usual keepers.  From that, do you think he’d be able to sketch them?”

“Yes,” George said, intrigued. “He has a good memory.”

“Then have him make a picture of Jack playing with the pups,” Connor said. “And if he could make Tubbo be the one who’s closest… he’d really like that.” Connor gave him a meaningful look. “I know Jack would like that.”

It felt like George was being made privy to information he didn’t already have, and as such, he treated it with the respect it was due, offering a small nod in response. “I’ll see what he can do.”

What Dream could do turned out to be an entire canvas painting, something he spent every moment of his free time on, up until the afternoon of Drista’s birthday party.

Which just so happened to be Jack’s surprise party as well.

“We get to share a party!” Drista declared when Jack was still standing still in numb shock, staring at the flower petals that had acted as confetti and attempting to frantically catch up to what was happening. “Because our birthdays are so close together!”

Jack stared at Drista, then stared at Connor. “But I’ve already gotten presents.”

“Those were decoys!” Emperor Philza cheered, just as excited as Drista. “This is your real party.”

“They made the cakes we like the most!” Drista continued, adjusting her smiley face mask. “Small, bite-size ones.  We can have as many as we want! And look, over here they set up a maypole, and-”

At Drista’s request, they had set up all the staples one might experience at birthday parties over years of growing up.  Things that Jack would have missed out on.  They had group dances and games, they played catch and watched mock sword exhibitions.  There was plenty of food and drink and they were free to lounge in the grass, or in Jack’s case, lounge in George’s lap as he tried not to burst into overwhelmed tears of happiness.

“I don’t- It’s Drista’s birthday,” he said, lost. “It’s supposed to be about her.”

“It is about her,” Connor said softly. “It’s just about you too.  That’s how she wanted it to be.”

They watched as the birthday girl was tossed around easily by Sir Technoblade, Prince Tommy and the other pups cheering on the mess even as Duke Quackity sternly informed them that they would not be receiving the same treatment.  Or maybe not so stern, with the smile pulling at his lips.  Even Sapnap and Dream seemed to set aside their differences for the afternoon, keeping to their respective sides of the party – Dream with Drista and Sapnap with the pups.  George had held Jack while he opened package after package, had allowed him to hide when he became too overwhelmed, had been close to see each and every reaction, to know what Jack had loved the most.

As Connor had expected, the oil painting was a huge hit, something Jack seemed torn between cradling close to his chest and not touching at all for fear of ruining it.  They settled for letting Connor guard it before moving onto other notable presents.  There had been picture books from Captain Puffy, a picture of Quackity and Jack sketched by Lord Consort Foolish.  There had been clothes and socks and blankets, knitted scarves and small weapons with sheaths that could be hidden easily on his person.

By the end of it, George’s shoulder was soaked with Jack’s tears, and the blaze hybrid had gladly allowed Dream to carry him back up to his suite, dressed in George’s clothes, sporting the bracelets of three major families.

“Can you stay?” Jack had asked Dream when they’d gotten to his room. “Does Drista need you?”

“She knows where I need to be,” Dream had countered, stepping forward easily, and none of them said anything as they retreated to Jack’s room, the peacekeeper exhausted as he crawled into a bed that was just as eclectic as the one back at the Wastaken estate.

Just like before, the three of them napped together, and it felt right, felt good, until George loathed the thought of returning to his own home later that evening, of spending the night in a bed where he had to keep one hand on his dagger, where he was cold and alone.

But that was his own cross to bear.  For now, he'd be grateful for what he had.   

~:~

With the birthday party safely behind them, George had thought that it and all matters relating to it would have been safely put to rest, allowing them to focus on the next fire.  Lord Foolish was starting a new project in the castle gardens that George was handling the paperwork for, there were rumors of more construction to take place in the royal wing, and George had to reluctantly pull Dream aside for a negotiation because while the last visit to Dream’s estate seemed to ultimately be positive for Jack, George still had to balance his time between the Wastakens and Halos very carefully.  Dream could circumvent the entire system by asking Jack himself, and George knew that the taller protector would think he was dealing no harm by doing so – in fact, he might even think himself clever – but that didn’t change the fact that it would force George into an uncomfortable position, so he negotiated Dream down to twice a month invitations, because he knew Jack would always gladly accept them.  

That didn’t stop Duchess Wastaken from inviting Quackity and Jack to the occasional tea, but that was different.  George didn’t have to go with Techno safely accompanying them, and he was glad to hear the gossip and stories Jack built up in their time apart.  The blaze hybrid thought the Wastakens were amazing and gushed about them to anyone that would listen – except, of course, to Sapnap, whom Jack was still remarkably shy around for whatever reason. 

One day, George would get to the bottom of that, but for now he’d be happy for what he had.

He’d heard from Connor that Jack had started addressing the trauma he’d repressed in his sessions with Ponk, and while George couldn’t know the state of his progress without Jack explicitly telling him, the slight blaze hybrid did seem a bit lighter.  He wasn’t as hesitant to initiate contact anymore, and George loved it.  Loved knowing he could provide something for Jack, loved being able to support him.  Loved being trusted in such a way, and having that trust regularly demonstrated.  Jack was growing warmer all the time – which was great progress according to Bad, and it ended with George getting his own personal heater on many occasions. He could only hope he was as comfortable to Jack as the peacekeeper was to him in turn.

Ponk had also reached out to George himself, offering the panther hybrid the opportunity to make some therapy sessions with him if needed.

“Jack’s gone through some pretty intense stuff,” Ponk had explained in a calm, professional tone. “It’s reasonable for you to feel affected by it as well.  If you ever feel yourself getting overwhelmed or you just want a confidential person you can rant to, I’m here for you.  You have a position that can cause a lot of stress and pressure, and I know Jack wouldn’t want you to get hurt because you forgot to take care of yourself too.”

“You… might have a point,” George allowed, swallowing down the bitter memory of the few kind teachers that had given a damn about him back in school recommending he visit the school counselor.  George had considered it, he honestly had, but he knew if word got out to his father that there would be no saving him.  Better to suffer in silence than declare such a weakness before the whole world.  Social isolation was supposed to build character, supposedly.

Maybe George should take the opportunity to talk to Ponk about his familial problems.  Prime knew Dream had tried to arrange for him to meet a counselor in secret for years now.  Even Sapnap had tried to urge George to talk to Bad and he didn’t even specialize in therapy, even if he knew the basics.  Perhaps it was a sign if his two closest friends thought he needed an outlet, so George did hold the suggestions firmly in mind, even if he was almost immediately distracted by the ongoing chaos of real life.

Because the birthday party was supposed to be behind them.  Supposed being the key word. 

To be fair, the party itself wasn’t mentioned, it was the shopping that predated that which came back to bother George when he least expected it, mostly because he’d been in the company of none of the people who had actually been present for the transaction when it arose.

Family dinners were things George had taken to attending less and less nowadays, mostly for his own selfish reasons.  It had seemed trite and repetitive to go to his family’s estate to be regaled with tales of wonder of each of his siblings’ triumphs, to listen to their various partners (or partners of the week) titter and feed into their egos.  Most of the time George himself was ignored, to the point where they sometimes started without him, and after that had happened twice after he’d been claimed as Jack’s protector, well- he had other priorities now, didn’t he?  Why should he make time for an evening he hated – filled with not-so-subtle barbs and derisive laughs and self-absorbed idiots when he could have dinner with Jack instead?  Or when he could join Bad, Skeppy, and Sapnap at their house, or accept Dream’s invitation for dinner at the Wastaken estate?  Even dining alone would be preferable to eating with his family, so George had cut what had been his daily attendance down to once or twice a month, depending on how he felt on any chosen evening.  And since he wasn’t going to dinner, he’d started spending more nights at the castle in Jack’s suite – permission for which had been given to him by Lord Eret and Duke Quackity themselves when they realized George had been trekking all the way back to his home manor on the outskirts of the capital every time he stayed over for dinner.

“In truth, I thought you had lodgings nearby,” Lord Eret confessed as he casually ordered the servants to deliver a mess of bookcases into what had previously been an empty room in Jack’s suite. “An apartment of your own.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive apartments are in the capital?” George asked, then remembered who he was talking to – a member of one of the wealthiest families in all the empire, who probably had less of a concept of his net worth than Jack did. “It just seemed practical to use what was already available to me.”

“Even if you don’t like it,” Eret pointed out, and George wisely kept quiet, couldn’t really argue the point when Eret hadn’t said anything that was false.

Still, he had to protect the honor of his family.  Probably.

Not that they’d been doing much to help him, but still, without their name he would be far more harassed as a royal aide than he currently was.

It had been somewhat overwhelming to have one of the lord consorts themselves help decorate his room, and even more embarrassing when Jack pushed for more filing storage, more sheafs of paper, more places for George to store research since he’d caught a glimpse of the utter disaster that was George’s guestroom at the Wastakens.  But that wasn’t- it wasn’t an accurate portrayal of who he was, it was simply- it was liberating, the one place where he didn’t have to be perfectly orderly or neat.  It could be a chaotic mess and literally none of them cared or would move his stuff or would plant anything sinister.  It was his big, dumb mess and he sort of loved it, and the most he’d ever gotten for it was some light teasing from Dream.

Now he had Jack’s fretting because he wanted to ensure George had plenty of space to spread out, and then there was Duke Quackity making his bed, and that was just- that was- George was almost certain he’d die from embarrassment he was so overwhelmed, because that was a bearer making a nest for him and then Jack was helping him and George thought he was going to die and all Lord Eret could focus on was which of the two paintings made by his husband should be hung on George’s wall.

“I cannot- I cannot focus on that at a time like this,” George finally admitted, burying his face in his hands when he thought he could get no redder.

Eret released a hum that was far too amused. “You’re right, I’ll have him paint you a new one for this space.  Perhaps a candid shot of Jack and Dream.”

I hate you, George wanted to grumble, but he wasn’t so comfortable that he would commit light treason so he settled for glaring instead, trying to ignore the way Connor was gleefully filling up the bookshelves with all the extra textbooks and encyclopedias Lord Eret just happened to have on hand.

While they had made George a wonderful room, the panther hybrid found himself sleeping in Jack’s bed more often than not, but how could he resist when Jack aimed those big, hopeful eyes at him, luring George into his sitting room with mugs of cocoa or cups of tea sweetened with just the right amount of honey, and they would both pretend that was the reason why George followed when Jack could have come with nothing at all and George would have always come running.

It should terrify him, the amount of power Jack had over him. 

Instead, George was excited by it.  Excited because his claim wanted him around, because he got to protect, and in turn he had peace, peace, peace.

Which was pretty much the opposite of what he found at the Davidson Manor.  It made it no small surprise that he kept his visits rare, restricting them to the times he knew Connor could keep Jack company, because even if their peacekeeper could spend time alone, that didn’t mean he should.  George had spent enough sleepless nights alone and abandoned, he didn’t want to perpetuate that on anyone else, not if the space was unwanted.

So with a weary resignation, he prepared for a potential verbal battle of wits and girded himself against the passive aggressive commentary that would no doubt call attention to his absence.  They never paid attention to him when he was present, but Prime forbid if George went out and tried to have a life on his own.  It seemed that the moment he returned the snubbing favor, his family got defensive.  It was tedious and stupid, but so were they to a degree.

That dinner was no different, though fortunately George had arrived in time to begin eating with them rather than being forced through a walk of shame that would provide abundant opportunities to harass him if they should so chose.  As the middle child, George should sit higher up on the table, but he’d surrendered his position to his younger brothers and their companions years ago, taking the opportunity for a quick escape that the end of the table presented him.  This time he could feel their eyes on him as they attempted to stealthily evaluate him, not that they could ever manage the true subtleties of the upper elite like Lord Eret.  George had trained to deal with much more difficult adversaries, in the end it made his family more annoying than arduous to deal with.

It was nice that they weren’t immediately on the offensive.  They waited, either attempting to lure George into a sense of false security (which might have worked were it not for all the staring) or they were waiting for George to volunteer the information on his own, something they had trained out of him years ago.  Either way he took advantage of this and ignored the majority of their prattling – most of it was information which he was already privy to thanks to Lord Eret’s information network.  George’s brothers were relative stars among the Viscount circuit, though that wasn’t saying much in the grand scheme of nobility.  He knew their distorted version of events was elaborated compared to how the rest of the nobles perceived them, but such was the way of things when celebrating your successes, he supposed.

He'd assumed that the intention was to rile him up by demonstrating how far below their notice he was (something he’d already known), but it seemed to have the opposite effect.  George hadn’t even realized it until they’d gotten to the main course, so focused was he on getting through the meal.  His steak had been tampered with, so he could only cut it into small pieces and stealthily sneak them into the container he had in his pocket for future analysis.  One of the downsides of having a younger brother who was an alchemist meant that the chance of encountering unpleasant chemical cocktails increased exponentially.  On the bright side, it had helped George develop a resistance to most low-grade poisons on accident, so that was something.  He could only assume it was because his brother attempted to make him ill rather than dead outright – if his intentions ever changed, it might be a different story, but for now he hadn’t considered George worth such efforts.

Prime, why did George deal with these people anyway?  The more meals he had elsewhere the more he realized how grossly inappropriate his own family’s meals were, how uncomfortable and draining they felt.  Granted, George was nothing without his family name, he wouldn’t even qualify to work in the castle anymore and that- oh, right, that was why he put up with this.  It was worth it in the end if he got to keep his work.  If he was allowed to help the design and implementation of laws that kept people from abusing their power.  And of course, if he hadn’t had this position he likely wouldn’t have been selected as Jack’s protector, and the very thought of it made his heart twinge in an unbearable way.  Before, George wouldn’t have been able to picture himself as someone’s protector.  Now he couldn’t picture his life without Jack to defend and support, to be packmates with, proper packmates, and-

Oh, that was- that was a realization he’d have to dwell on later.

“George,” his father spoke up suddenly, dragging the panther hybrid’s attention lazily towards the head of the table. “There’s been an interesting rumor about you making the rounds through the empire’s nobility.”

“Oh?” George hummed, pretending to take a sip of the wine that was from what had originally been his youngest brother’s cup.  George had switched theirs out earlier, as his original glass had been tampered with a laxative that he’d learned to identify years ago.  Thanks, Gregory. “Regarding what?”

“It’s the most absurd thing, really,” Graham – George’s eldest brother and heir to their family – spoke up, sharing a cocky grin with his wife. “It’s said that you were seen accompanying a peacekeeper that bore visible ties to not only the Wastaken Duchy, but the Las Nevadas Duchy and the royal family as well.” As expected, the entire table broke into a ripple of haughty laughter, as though this was the most hilarious lie they’d ever bore witness to.  It covered up the thread of tension that had taken George by surprise, though he quickly stifled it, realizing belatedly that there had been some merit to Connor’s suggestion of wearing a disguise.  Of course he’d been right, and now the hedgehog hybrid was going to be insufferable because of it. “Of course I insisted otherwise, but the rumors have spread quite far as it is.” Graham’s eyes narrowed, his lips pulling into a grin that was ruthlessly predatory. “I can’t help wonder if you’ve had a hand in manufacturing this ridiculous charade.  I mean – it’s a pitiful attempt at gaining recognition, but if you truly pulled it off, I can say I am impressed.”

“As though he could manage such a thing,” Gunnar – George’s second youngest brother and supposedly a knight of great renown (George had never seen it, but he also spent most of his time in the royal offices) – cut in, setting off another burst of raucous laughter. “We all know they must have confused him for another cat hybrid.”

“As if such a peacekeeper exists,” Graham’s wife – whose name George honestly couldn’t be bothered to remember – sniffed. “There’s no one around with that many connections.”

“No, that’s actually true,” Garret’s fiancé – George’s second oldest brother and a promising business mogul – spoke up. “That peacekeeper does exist – I have friends that have seen him taking tea with Duke Quackity and Duchess Wastaken in the private rooms above the Diamond Gardens.  Apparently, he’s Duke Quackity’s assistant.”

“Part of the tale’s not a lie, so what?” Gunnar prompted with a snort. “How could George’s name have gotten caught up in things?”

Likely because he’d threatened that stupid lackey to spread the word that Jack was not to be messed with.  At the time George had been too focused on his anger to really dwell on the long-term effects of such a decision.  He hadn’t realized he should have downplayed his own connections.  He’d avoided broadcasting his regular associations with Lord Eret and Dream all these years for a reason.

“Good question,” George murmured, taking a prim bite of his broccoli, oversalted to the point of almost being inedible.  Good to know that Garret was still petty enough to either threaten or bribe the cook staff into ruining George’s food. Prime, what had he ever done to them? “I wish I had an answer for you.”

That he felt inclined to share, but he didn’t.

“There must be some reason for it,” his father said, staring George down with narrowed eyes. “You have been absent from the manor as of late.”

“I’ve been busy,” George said, and it wasn’t even a lie. 

He was busy living his own life.  Busy finding his own peace of mind.  It was wonderfully liberating.

“Have you been committing acts that would reflect poorly on the Davidson name?”

George grit his teeth.  For years, he’d been desperate for his family’s attention, and for what?  This nonsense? “Believe me,” he began, his voice low and reminiscent of Lord Eret’s. “None of my behavior has ever reflected poorly on our family.”

The same could not be said for the others – who threw out little slights here and there when they became too buoyed by their individual successes – and he made no effort to hide that implication from his tone, tired of his father’s useless probing.

As expected, the comment was met with snarls and raised hackles, his family and their partners taking the utmost offense.

His eldest brother, of course, was the most wounded by it, though why he was so insecure, George did not know.  He already had everything he wanted. “Now listen here, you little shit, I know we were laughing before, but this was a serious matter.  If it gets out that you’ve been spreading false rumors about having any sort of connection with that peacekeeper, it’s our heads that are on the chopping block.  No one’s believing our assurances otherwise, so who the hell did you piss off to get targeted in such a way?” He turned to glare at the rest of their brothers. “I know none of you would be stupid enough to risk dragging the rest of us into things, right?”

“Don’t look at me!” Gunnar snapped – defensive for while he was skilled in combat, his school smarts had always been somewhat lacking. “You know I don’t waste time with George.”

They spat his name out as though it was a curse, though George couldn’t honestly say he was any better.

Since when had he come to despise these people so much?

The answer felt like it was there, hovering on the edge of his awareness, the thread of adrenaline that surged him awake in the early hours of the morning, fighting off a memory he couldn’t remember.

“It wasn’t me,” Garret said, sharing a look with his fiancé. “Did you-”

“Ew, no,” she huffed. “Why would I waste time on him?”

George’s father growled. “It had to be somebody-”

“Would you all shut up?” George snapped, finally at his patience’s end.  Despite having more than earned his ire over the past few decades, George had never actually lashed out as his family before and as such, they all fell into a numb stupor, staring at him with wide eyes.  George pinched the bridge of his nose, tried to count to three.  Failed. “Has it occurred to you that the reason that this rumor is so pervasive is because it may be – shockingly enough – true?”

“Nonsense,” his father immediately countered, his scowl sliding back into position. “There is no way a son of mine would have made such a valuable social connection and not brought it before the family, not when you’ve spent years being a disappointment and blight to our name.”

There were many logical responses George could have used to counter that statement.  He could point out that the rumors had implied no deep connection.  If he’d been merely seen with Jack once George could say they met in passing, that things had gotten blown out of proportion.  He could say that he was busy and distracted and hadn’t noticed the bracelets, that he hadn’t known who Jack was and thus hadn’t made any effort to befriend him in a longstanding capacity. 

There was a bounty of lies he could choose from to get his family off his back, but those two words plagued him with a relentless fury.

Disappointment.

Blight.

He was the disappointment?

George had never had grand aspirations; he had never tried to hope beyond his means.  He had never boasted, never looked down on others for what they might lack in comparison to him.  He worked hard to be as good as he could be so could help bring positive change into the world.  It was all he wanted to do, it was all he’d ever needed to do, and to call him that-

He didn’t brag and shirk his responsibilities to chase after girls.  He didn’t bully others to do his work for him like his second youngest brother, he didn’t harass teachers and make a show of studying dying arts like his youngest brother just so he could become a master more easily.  He wasn’t a classicist, self-absorbed blowhard who didn’t understand the delicate interactions required of navigating the social elite, without which he’d never be able to advance the family name, and he wasn’t a businessman who wasted his riches bribing the staff in his own home to harass his family, as though that would somehow make him heir.

All their slights, all their glaring faults – how could they not know they’d gotten this far on luck?  That true nobles were kind and generous and considerate?  They didn’t wield their power like a hammer, beating down all those who so much glanced in their direction. 

And what had they done, really, to earn George’s loyalty?  Something that was supposed to be inherent in families, he supposed, but it wasn’t as though they had ever returned the favor.  So if they couldn’t be bothered, why should he?  He’d worked just as hard to get where he was and he’d never been a dick about it.  He’d never tried to hurt them, and he could have.  He should have. He’d learned from Lord Eret well, he could have, and they had the audacity to refer to him as a disappointment?

There was something growing in his chest, something angry and undefined, and George realized belatedly that he was the one who was disappointed.  He was the one who’d been shorted a decent family. 

Not this.  He didn’t deserve this.

George found himself rising slowly, pressing both hands against the wood of the table to stabilize himself, his claws digging into the polished surface on reflex. “You pompous, self-absorbed, overbearing blowhard.  You have the audacity to behave like an ignorant, overgrown child and then dare to wonder why I occupy myself elsewhere?  I have never done anything to bring shame to our name.  I’ve never harassed female peacekeepers while on duty-” He glared at Gunnar. “Or, I’m sorry, that was all just a misunderstanding, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Gunnar snapped, his cheeks flushed dark. “I was vouched for.”

George didn’t know the intricacies of that situation, he couldn’t uncover it no matter how he dug, but he knew something had occurred, something had been covered up – likely by their father.  Gunnar was an insatiable flirt as it was, George could only hope he had only harassed someone who was spoken for rather than initiate any kind of unwanted physical contact.

Prime, in light of what happened to Jack, if Gunnar had done that, George very well might kill him himself.

“And if he hadn’t, you would have been stripped of your rank and dishonorably discharged,” George snapped. “As you should have been.”

“You’ve always been jealous of us!” Gunnar was on his feet in an instant, the girl he was courting that week looking increasingly worried beside him.  He didn’t seem so glamorous now, did he?  Didn’t seem like the up-and-coming rising star when braced with a little confrontation. “Just because you’ll never amount to anything-”

“I’ll amount to plenty!” George snarled. “I have always been dutiful!  I don’t give a shit what the rest of you do, except when you start making asses of yourselves!  You’re so bloody self-absorbed you can’t even see how other nobles look at you.” He turned to glare at his father. “If anyone has made this family a disgrace, it is you.  You’re the one that allowed them to become like this.  They could have been better, but you coddled them.”

“Jealous wretch,” his father growled, claws properly extended now. “If you have any sort of connection with that peacekeeper-”

“He has a name,” George snapped, unable to hold himself back anymore. “He’s Master Jack of Las Nevadas.”

“Oh?” his father chuckled. “Feeling haughty since you’re on a first name basis?  Fine.  I’ll be willing to overlook this hissy fit of yours-”

“Hissy fit?” Gunnar snapped. “He sullied my name!”

“You did that yourself,” Gregory muttered, taking a low slip of his wine.

George hoped that laxative settled well with him later.

“I’ll overlook it,” their father repeated with a snarl. “If you’ll bring Master Jack of Las Nevadas to dinner here.  It’s unfortunate that he’s male but perhaps we could match him with Graham’s daughter-”

“No,” George murmured, and it went beyond objecting to the potential match between Jack and a fucking five-year-old. 

What the fuck. What the fuck. 

Their father froze. “What did you say?”

“I said, no,” George snarled. “There is no way I would ever willingly bring Jack into this Primeforsaken house.  He is an individual that deserves respect, and I could think of nothing worse than to sully even a second of his time with you ingrates.”

It was the protector in George ringing through and through.  He couldn’t stand the idea of bringing Jack here, of subjecting him to this.  They wouldn’t treat him the way the Wastakens had, they wouldn’t care about his trauma, they wouldn’t work to accommodate him.  They’d be the same bullying assholes they’d always been, and they’d probably laugh as he fumbled through using silverware and if they gave him a room, it’d probably be contingent upon a marriage contract.  They wouldn’t treat Jack right, and as his protector, it was George’s job to defend him from such horrific things.

“Insolent boy!” his father snarled, slamming his fist against the table. “You will bring that peacekeeper to dinner or you will be disowned from this family!”

It was, perhaps, the opportunity for which George had been waiting for so very long.

He hadn’t realized it until that moment, but once he was faced with it, he knew it was the only way out.

“Then let’s do that,” he said, expression guarded but chest ablaze with a sense of giddiness. “Let’s go to your office right now and fill out those forms.”

For a moment no one said anything, too many wide eyed, shocked to ever dare commit such an atrocious act.  To willingly leave the life of a noble was unthinkable to them, even if it presented the opportunity to escape petty, stupid little people.

“You think I won’t?” his father recovered shakily, narrowing his eyes.

“I’m counting on it,” George said, trying to keep from smiling too wide.

He held it back during the walk to his father’s office.  Ignored his brothers as they followed him.  Held it back as he filled out the form’s particulars for his father himself, before he passed it over with his father’s stamp, the course of his life hanging on a precarious balance, fated to change more drastically than he could ever hope to explain.

“There’s no going back from this, you little cretin,” his father said, his quill hovering above the signature line. “Once it’s done, you’re out of here.  You can never come crawling back.”

George had already moved everything of sentimental value out of this manor years ago.  Most of it hadn’t even made it into this manor at all – the bulk of it at Dream’s.  At a place that had a greater chance of acting like his real home than this ever could.

“I could put in a request to reverse it should you bring Master Jack to dinner,” his father continued. “A harmless paperwork error – or sabotage by another family, we can make it work.  When you’ve had a taste of the pitiful life of a commoner you are free to come back, so long as you bring that peacekeeper.”

What a load of garbage.

“Do us both a favor and sign that paper, Viscount,” George said, smiling wide. “Come on, if I could get close to Jack, you know any of the others could so in no time.”

It was a fight not to giggle.  They were never going to so much as glance in his direction.  George was going to file so many restraining orders once he got to the castle.

At that, his father straightened. “You’re right,” he said, and then with a glare that would have been detrimental to George when he was five years old, the classist bastard finally signed the document, setting George free.

Just like that, the chains were gone.  The shame, the resentment, the obligation.

“Thank you, Viscount,” George whispered, sliding the completed document into a free folder. “This is the kindest thing you’ve ever done from me.”

“Get out of our house,” the aging panther hybrid said, obviously off balance.

George simply offered him his sweetest smile. “Gladly.”

With that he left, simply pushing one foot in front of the other.  All the way out the door, out the gate, onto the street.

Fuck borrowing a carriage, he was done with those assholes.  He never had to do anything with them ever again.

He was free.

Chapter Text

George hadn’t been alone long enough to regret his decision of walking out into the night of the capital with absolutely no kind of plan before he received company – and while he would have immediately sprinted off the side of the road to better his odds of survival by hiding, it was the outfits they were wearing that had him hold his course.

Because that was the squadron tasked with guarding the royal flock.  Specifically, it was Eret’s team, in their familiar Antarctic blue highlighted in House Essempi’s colors.

“Master Davidson,” the squadron leader greeted, sliding down from her horse in a soundless, graceful movement. “Do you require a ride back to the castle?”

He did, but-

“Why are you here?” George asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.  Spending any amount of time with his family – his former family – tended to put him in an increasingly paranoid headspace, and thus, while Eret’s guards would normally be quite a welcome sight, George couldn’t help but be on edge.  The clear lack of their assigned charge was a large contribution to this unease.

While he’d expected some kind of runaround – who was he, after all, to demand answers from a group of elite guards now that he had nothing to his name – what he got instead was a prompt reply.

“We were assigned by Lord Consort Eret to guard and support from a distance on the evenings you return to the Davidson Estate,” she said simply. “We were assigned this duty once your room in the royal wing was completed.”

George – who’d been about to request that verification – closed his mouth, thinking.  He didn’t know what was going through Lord Eret’s mind, but he could admit that this particular intervention had come in handy.

“To answer your initial question,” George began, deciding he was simply too tired to dwell on this nonsense further. “Yes, I would like a ride if that wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” the knight said before passing him her reigns. 

She didn’t stop there, helping him up onto her horse in careful, practiced movements before she went and joined one of her partners on their horse, the small group of them falling into formation around George as though he were one of the royals they were supposed to protect.  Eret really must have thought he was enough of a workaholic that George would find his way back to the castle in the middle of the night.  Were he being honest, George supposed he couldn’t entirely deny the possibility, but still, it was a bit embarrassing to have elite guards waste their time on such endeavors.

With a horse beneath him – regardless of his total lack of familiarity – the trip to the castle was much faster, taking an hour where it may have taken the entire night, perhaps even longer if George was unable to access public transport.  The knights went so far as to escort him up to the royal wing despite his assurances that their aid was no longer needed, and where George would have turned to go to his office to begin properly filing the paperwork, he found himself herded in another direction instead, towards the royal family’s grand sitting room – the one not far from their private dining space.

He heard them before he saw them – giggling laughter and low chuckles – warmth and happiness and everything a family should be.  When he entered the room, the sight was just as he’d pictured it.  Despite being invited to the grand sitting room for post-dinner drinks more than once, George had always declined, even on the nights he had stayed over at the castle.  It was simply one privilege too many, and he always had other matters he could attend to that didn’t involve pushing himself further in where he wasn’t strictly allowed.  There had to be limits, there had to be restraint before he started wanting things, and he’d already done this song and dance with the Wastakens – he couldn’t do it again.  It was asking for trouble he didn’t need.

As boisterous and welcoming as things were with the Wastakens, they were even more so with the royal flock.  The adults were all gathered in a collection of armchairs, likely catching up for the day as they enjoyed their teas and after dinner wines.  Lord Eret and Sir Technoblade seemed to be in the midst of a cutthroat game of chess that Prince Wilbur was commentating, Emperor Philza looking on with open endearment while Duke Quackity and Lord Foolish shared one of the large armchairs likely intended for Sir Technoblade, the two of them trading whispers while eating from the same bowl of apple crumble.

The cubs were spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace, Sapnap seeming in the process of teaching them that addictive dice game of his.  Connor looked resigned, laid out on his stomach with Prince Tommy and Ranboo splayed out on his back, and Jack sat with Tubbo in his lap, looking perfectly at peace with a cup of cocoa resting by his knee.

It was everything George would have wanted while growing up.

He didn’t know why he couldn’t have it.  Why his family had to be so broken.

Of course they all looked up at his intrusion, though Lord Eret was on his feet first, his easy expression smoothing away into one of subdued concern.

“Is all well?” he asked, and even- even though he was one of the most powerful people in the entire empire, even though George was dirt beneath his feet, he still meant it.

It made George’s throat feel unbearably thick. “I um- have some paperwork to file,” he said, the words barely coming out in a whisper as he held up his file folder.

He’d expected that to be that, that the guards had been required to inform their keeper of their movements, but they didn’t move.  The only one who shifted was Eret, and he was coming closer, eyes on the folder and George- he just stood there, numb, while the lord consort relieved him of it.  And George didn’t know why, he wasn’t sure-

He’d been so relieved, so happy to be disowned, but all at once the weight of what he lost slammed into him.  None of it had anything to do with his family – being free of them wasn’t a curse, but without their name he no longer had the right to work under Eret.  He likely didn’t qualify to stay as Jack’s protector – even Connor, as ambivalent as he was to such things – had a connection to both the royal flock and the Blade Marquess under Sir Technoblade.  Even Sapnap was related to a barony because of Bad – the Nether Demon awarded the title due to his outstanding service to the royal family. 

George was well and truly nothing right now, and even though he was glad to be free, even though he held no affection for his former family, he couldn’t help but feel a wave of shame as Eret read over the disownment documents.  Because there, clearly stated once and for all, was the declaration that George wasn’t even fit for his own awful family.  He didn’t want to be with them, but to have his fears confirmed in such a way, written out so plainly so that Eret had no hope of denying it, made him feel small.

Why couldn’t he have had a family like this one?  Like Dream’s or Sapnap’s?  What had George done to deserve his shitty hand?

Nothing.  He’d done nothing, just like Jack had done nothing.

Jack.

“I…” George began, trying to work around the lump in his throat. “I’ll have to be demoted to the general aide department,” he said, keeping his gaze fixed to Lord Eret’s shoulder. “If you’ll permit me one last day I can write out proper guidelines for my junior- I mean, for my former junior-”

“George,” Eret cut through the babble softly, and yet, George couldn’t restrain his flinch.

“They already know what they need to do,” he whispered.  He’d trained them, after all. “Forgive my impertinence-”

“What happened?” That was Lord Consort Foolish – the small totem hybrid whom George only interacted with almost exclusively due to Eret’s prompting, George helping out with the architect’s paperwork when he had a handful of his own aides that were perfectly capable of managing such things. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing bad,” Lord Eret said, and George bit down on his bottom lip, the taste of copper tinging his mouth.  He’d known in the grand scheme of things that he was replaceable, but to have Eret confirm it so callously in front of him-

George was foolish, he knew that-

Suddenly, he found himself pulled into a hug, his face pressed against Eret’s shoulder, the tall peacekeeper holding him close.

George didn’t know what to do.  His arms stayed limp at his sides as he tried to process this, eyes feeling hot when Eret released low purrs of peace-peace-care-reassurance.

He’d never heard the Lord Consort make secondary sex sounds before. Not even towards Foolish.  It was simply something he didn’t do.

“Finally,” Eret murmured, nuzzling against the top of George’s head, and the panther hybrid felt entirely lost.

“Oh,” Lord Foolish said, coming to a stop beside them. “Did the thing happen?”

Eret simply hummed his confirmation, then pulled back, keeping an arm around George’s shoulders. “We have paperwork to file.”

“Hell yeah,” Lord Foolish cheered, pumping his fist.

“What’s happening?” Jack asked, approaching their huddle, wringing his hands. “Is everything okay?”

“Not right now,” Lord Eret said. “But it will be shortly.”

And George- as lost as he was – felt himself relax, the lump in his throat diminishing considerably.  He didn’t know what was going on but he trusted Lord Eret.  If he said everything was going to be okay, it was likely true.

“Wilbur, would you take over for Eret?” Foolish asked, calling back to the others. “You guys keep enjoying dessert, we’ll be back shortly.”

“With good news?” Quackity asked, his voice tentative.

“With the best news,” Foolish gushed, sending them a wink.

It was strange, but George found himself relaxing too, until it was easy to follow both Lord Consorts out of the sitting room, the knight escorts vanishing into the shadows now that their job was complete.  Jack, of course, came right along with them, his hand finding George’s with a gentle squeeze, and even if this might be the last time they were together – well, George could be grateful he’d been allowed this much.

“I’ll admit,” Lord Eret began when he led them into his office, wasting no time cutting to his desk and withdrawing his seal from the security enchanted drawer it was kept in. “I have been waiting for this day for quite some time.”

“Eret,” Foolish huffed, giving his husband’s ankle a light kick. “Context, Eret.  We don’t know how or why it happened yet.  That matters.”

“Oh.” It was strange to see Lord Eret blink in surprise, strange to think that he had not considered every angle available to him the way he seemed to inherently do with everything.  His gaze shifted back towards George. “Was this your choice, or did they force your hand?”

George honestly hadn’t expected to be asked about it.  George wasn’t used to people asking much after his personal life. “I took the opportunity when it presented itself,” he allowed. “I’m glad for it-”

“Good, I am too,” Lord Eret interrupted, and then he stamped and signed the document, formally finalizing George’s disownment. “We’ll have your properly stricken from the Davidson family records in short order.”

“What?” Jack, at least, seemed as frazzled as George felt.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Lord Foolish soothed, immediately releasing some Peacekeeping purrs of comfort. “George’s family didn’t treat him the way he should, so he got himself out of there.  We’re going to give him a better family now.”

“What.” It was deadpan when George said it, so overwhelmed was he by- everything.  Just- everything.

Foolish blinked at him, then gave an lopsided grin. “Whoops.  Sort of let the cat out of the bag there, didn’t I?”

“He would have found out shortly anyway,” Lord Eret said, putting George’s paperwork in his outgoing box before withdrawing another sheath of documents from his desk. “George, I will put it simply – I would like to adopt you.”

For a moment, George simply breathed, then waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And yet, Eret did not clarify.

What.

“Actually, we would both like to adopt you!” Foolish declared cheerfully. “But you’ll technically be an Essempi, so I’m just like, a bonus, really.”

That. 

That explained nothing.

“Admittedly,” Lord Eret began. “My family does not conduct themselves in a manner that is… particularly warm or welcoming.” That was an understatement from what George had seen.  The Essempi’s were a cool, calculating bunch, not that George would ever dare say as much aloud.  Part of the reasons he’d started working with Eret so closely was because the other aides were afraid of him.  Or rather, his family. “But I require an heir, and I could think of no one better than you.” He took a step forward, easing into a small but genuine smile. “I would like us to be the start of a new Essempi family, one that offers the love and support a pack should.” He didn’t stop until he could rest a hand on George’s shoulder, giving it a tentative squeeze. “I have admired your dedication, intelligence, and compassion for years.  I thought you were wasted on the Davidson name, but I didn’t want to pressure you into something you might not want.  And in truth, if this is not what you seek, there will be no ramifications to turning me down.  I’m sure the Wastakens would be more than thrilled to claim you as a packmate.” Eret’s expression radiated nothing but sincere kindness. “You would look good in their colors.”

“You… want me to be your heir,” George summarized, squeezing Jack’s hand a little tighter. “The heir to the Essempi Duchy.”

“You’d be perfect for it!” Foolish declared, pumping his fist once more. “We decided to take a page from Phil’s book.  While we might one day be fortunate enough to have a child of our own together, we think the position of heir should go to someone who holds the values of the Antarctic Empire at heart who’s ready for such a responsibility.  That’s you.”

“Though to clarify, we would consider you our son,” Eret said. “Or if that is uncomfortable, you could be my younger brother.” Eret’s smile widened. “I always wanted a sibling.”

He wanted- they wanted-

They wanted George in their pack.

They wanted George.

No one had ever done that.  Dream had pestered him as a challenge that had grown into a friendship and Sapnap had sort of exploded into George’s life by chance, but until Jack, no one had specifically picked George out of a crowd and declared you, you are the one I want.

But now it was happening again.  Happening with someone George greatly admired and respected, someone he genuinely cared for.

He didn’t know if he could do justice by Essempi, but he did know what he wanted and for once, he was going to take it.

“Yes,” George said, his voice coming in a choked whisper. “Yes, I would- I would like to be your family, please.”

“Huzzah!” Foolish cheered, actually cheered while Jack let out a laugh of what seemed to be relief, the blaze hybrid nuzzling George’s shoulder with a look of open affection.

They ended up in a sort of group hug – Eret and George a little awkward but Foolish enthusiastic enough for the rest of them, and in short order they had a new set of forms completed, with Jack signing as a witness to the exchange.

“Now we can finally treat you with the care you deserve,” Eret declared, seeming to revel in this prospect. “You’re more than welcome to keep splitting your time between the castle, the Wastakens, and the Halos, of course.” Eret let out a scoff. “I wouldn’t force anyone back to our home duchy if I didn’t have to.”

“I can keep my job?” George asked, breathless.

“As though they could pull you away,” Foolish huffed. “Eret would fight them himself.”

“I would,” Eret declared, sounding proud. “For now, we’ll settle for pampering you shamelessly.”

“We’re going to get you so many books,” Foolish whispered with a wink. “You need new clothes too.”

“In both our house colors,” Eret declared. “But before that, let’s have dessert.”

“This calls for celebratory cake!” Foolish cheered, and it was- it was easy, and more than that, it was his.

This got to be his.

And for once, George believed he fucking deserved it.

~:~

Sapnap didn’t know what was going on.

It had been a running theme for the past few months, a problem that had steadily been building higher and higher until he could no longer ignore it, the weight of his problems converging until they solidified into a mass that could block out the sun.  His metaphorical sun, which he guessed equated to his carefree nature?  He didn’t know.  Everything had changed the day the emperor had ordered him to keep Quackity company in his nest, and even though Sapnap knew Skeppy was right and he should just forget about it, he hadn’t, and because of that useless endeavor it seemed like there’d been a shit ton of developments that had occurred while he’d been focused on his pack crisis.

He knew something was going on with George.  The entire past month, things had felt off.  It was more than just a few missed lunches.  He seemed closer to Jack – which made sense, they worked together, but there seemed to be an inherent ease between them that put Sapnap on edge.  It didn’t help that even after all these months, Jack went out of his way to avoid Sapnap.  The protector had taken it to heart until Bad had pulled his head out of his ass.  While Sapnap didn’t know the specifics, he did know that Jack had gone through a lot of shit.  There was a good chance that the reason he was avoiding Sapnap had nothing to do with Sapnap at all and was the remnants of trauma he was dealing with.  That was- that was fine, Sapnap could accept that, he wasn’t a dick.

It was just slightly harder when George had been acting weird for weeks, only to suddenly show up in the royal wing on a night Sapnap knew for a fact he’d designated for the family dinners he hated, looking on the verge of tears. 

Which wasn’t a George thing.  George didn’t do that.  Shit had to be bad for him to get to that point, but before Sapnap could step in and help figure things out, Lord Eret was whisking George away with Lord Foolish and Jack.

Sapnap wasn’t jealous.  He wasn’t.  And he certainly wasn’t going to glare at the door every three seconds because Connor had already stomped on his foot the first time he’d done it, and that had fucking hurt.

Which just- rude.  Really fucking rude.  Sapnap knew Connor and Jack were close, but Sapnap was allowed to be interested in what was going on – that was his best friend who looked shaken up.  Except they’d all come back not fifteen minutes later, looking triumphant and overjoyed and bringing celebratory cake, and Sapnap officially didn’t know what the fuck was happening.  All he could do was fall into his usual routine of helping the pups, wiping off chins and sticky fingers and definitely not pinching himself because George was feeding Jack bites of cake from his own fork, which was definitely not a thing George ever did, with an arm curled around Jack’s waist, which was another thing he didn’t do, because George didn’t like cuddling. 

Sapnap would know this, he despaired over the fact fairly frequently.

But George was doing it now, acting as bewitched as those princes from the fairytales, so distinctly not George that Sapnap wanted to tear his hair out.  It was somewhat of a relief when Prince Wilbur – of all damn people – had thrown Sapnap a bone, inviting him to stay the night.

“There’s a guest suite down the hall,” the prince said as he and Duke Quackity got to work collecting sleepy pups. “I’m sure George could show you to it.”

“What?” George blinked out of the whispered conversation he’d been sharing with Jack, both of them flushing when they registered the others’ attention. “I mean- yes, I can- sure.”

“I’ll have a teacart sent to you,” Wilbur said cheerfully, thus subtly guaranteeing George’s presence for a solid chunk of time to allow them to talk, and Sapnap would ask who he was and what had he done with Prince Wilbur if he hadn’t been so relieved at the prospect of getting answers.

Of course, George still had to walk Jack and Connor back to their suite first since it was on the way, and then they were off, George firmly with his head in the clouds, humming quietly to himself the way he did when he’d overhauled some lazy ass’s poor excuse for a filing system and had made at least three incompetent people cry when he forcibly had it implemented. 

They had been gone fifteen minutes.  Fifteen minutes.

In Sapnap’s defense, he managed to get all the way into the guest suite until he said something. 

In Sapnap’s defense, that was pretty spectacular for him.

“George,” he began as the panther hybrid lazily shut the door behind them, an odd spring in his step. “What the fuck, George?”

“What?” George blinked at him, somehow having the audacity to be bewildered, and then- “Oh, I- My family disowned me.”

That.

That did not.

That helped with nothing.

“But it’s alright, because Eret adopted me,” George continued, flopping down on the closest couch. “Hence the cake.”

Okay, that was one last heart attack.  Sapnap may or may not have been fingering the necklace that may or may not have a ring of no specific value to help George reclaim his noble status, because even if Sapnap was only related to a barony, that was certainly enough to qualify George for the position he loved so much.

But hey, Eret had adopted him instead, so that was- yeah, Sapnap was just going to process that later.

“That’s good,” Sapnap allowed, settling himself on the couch across from George as he focused on the positives. “Your family was always kind of shitty.”

“Tell me about it,” George huffed, abandoning his usual propriety entirely to give into his panther instincts, turning in a few circles before he stretched out in a pleased sprawl.

“Have they been bothering you this whole month?” Sapnap asked, trying to get to the bottom of things. He was a little hurt that George hadn’t confided in him, but it was understandable if the issue had pertained to George’s family.  No matter how close they were the panther hybrid loathed to talk about them – always had, likely because they were giant assholes that were stupid enough to ignore what a badass George was.

George winced, a sliver guilt easing into his features that made Sapnap’s stomach fall. “No more so than usual,” he admitted, running a careful hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Pandas, I know I’ve been a little…”

“Secretive?” Sapnap offered. “Which is, you know, saying a lot since it’s you.”

And George always had a tendency to hold his cards close to his chest.  Sapnap didn’t begrudge it, but he thought they were closer than that.  Than this.  He just wanted to know what changed.  And he knew the whole nest thing was making him extra sensitive too.  It didn’t help that perfect Dream seemed to be so stupidly happy lately, likely consumed with showing off and throwing his money around, the way he was wont to do.

“I know,” George sighed, dragging a hand over his face. “I’ve been unfair to you.”

At least he could admit that.  It was a start.

“What happened?” Sapnap pressed and then, because he knew George would likely waste a good while trying to figure out where to start (he was terrible at these kinds of conversations), Sapnap went ahead and addressed one of his own concerns. “Does it have to do with Jack?”

Another wince.

Wow, for George to be that expressive – and not in an annoyed, apathetic way – spoke volumes.

“Alright, yes, it has to do with Jack,” George admitted, rolling himself upright so he could face Sapnap head on. “There’s a chance I neglected to tell you something important, but it was mostly because of how Dream responded-”

“Dream?” Sapnap couldn’t have stopped himself from interrupting if he tried. “What does Dream have to do with any of this?”

“I’m getting there.” George shot him an unimpressed look. “Just- I happened to tell him first, and then he was all him about it, you know, too much, and I didn’t want to overwhelm Jack and I was afraid you’d respond the same way so I just… didn’t tell you.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And before I knew it, four weeks had gone by.  I’m sorry, Sap, that was shitty of me, and I should have trusted you more.  Should have sat down and had a proper conversation with you.”

It was a proper apology, one that acknowledged what went wrong while making a strategy for how to do better in the future.

“We’re talking now,” Sapnap said, waving his acceptance. “So what’s the thing Dream knows?”

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed it,” George said, doing that thing where he gave Sapnap far too much credit again. “Jack claimed me as his second protector.”

“What?” Of all the things George could say, Sapnap never would have expected that.  Despite it being his designation, George didn’t really give off protector vibes unless he was arguing with someone.  He wasn’t sure what would have made Jack turn to him specifically, unless- “Are you two courting?”

“What?” George squawked, his cheeks flushing a dark crimson. “No.  What the fuck, Sapnap?  He just- he needed additional support, and- look, he’s gone through a lot of shit and he asked, and I didn’t expect to like it as much as I do, but I do, so…” He fell back against the couch with a slump. “Here we are.”

Sapnap reviewed what he knew.  The information provided context that he hadn’t seen before.  George must have let it slip to Dream first, likely downplaying it the same way he did with everything else, but Dream-

For once, Sapnap couldn’t blame him.  This was a big deal, and it wouldn’t be surprising if Dream responded to that accordingly.  It certainly explained the Wastaken bracelet that suddenly appeared on Jack’s wrist a few weeks ago.

That motherfucker.  That motherfucker.  He used Jack to get closer to George and it fucking worked, because Sapnap knew George was spending more time with Dream than he let on.  He probably didn’t consider the time that he spent accompanying Jack to Dream’s counted in the free time he graciously split between Dream and Sapnap, and damn, damn, damnit.

Sapnap wanted to support his friend too.  He could help too.  But fucking Dream had gotten there first and despite his anger, he knew he had to be cool about this.  Knew that if he wasn’t, he’d prove every one of George’s fears correct.

“I sincerely didn’t think Dream would reach out to him,” George continued. “But he did, and they’re pretty good friends now.  You know how shy Jack is, I just- I didn’t want to overwhelm him with too many protectors.” A sorrowful look crossed George’s features. “He gets set off sometimes, by things he doesn’t even expect.  It’s a delicate situation, and I just…” he trailed off with a sigh. “I didn’t want to fuck it up.  I’m his protector.”

One of them, Sapnap didn’t say, because he knew Jack had Connor, but he also knew Connor spent a majority of the day away from Jack.

Unlike George, who worked right alongside him.

In light of that, it was totally understandable for Jack to ask for George’s help.  He likely hadn’t expected to get as close as they had, it had simply been a matter of necessity.

Okay.  Okay, Sapnap could not be a dick about this.  It was clear that despite how calm and collected George pretended to be he’d worried over being a good protector. For Sapnap, it wasn’t surprising.  He’d always known that despite his snide and sarcastic disposition, George was secretly a softy.  Jack was just the one who’d been lucky enough to get the panther hybrid to act upon it first.

“It’s okay,” Sapnap said, able to see now the guilt that had likely been weighing on George, the guilt he’d probably been repressing like a champion. “I understand.”

“I’m still sorry, though,” George murmured. “I picked Jack over you, and that’s not- you’re one of my best friends, you deserve better than that.”

Especially since Dream already knew about it, but he didn’t have to say as much.  They both already knew the score.

“You could have told me,” Sapnap said quietly. “And told me to keep away.  I would have listened.”

“You would have been mad,” George pointed out. “Because of Dream.”

Well, no shit.

“I just- I can’t take away a good thing for Jack,” George continued. “And Dream-”

“Made himself that,” Sapnap finished, squashing his bitterness down to a manageable weight in his stomach. “Why can’t I be a good thing too?”

George tensed. “He’s shy around you.”

“I know, but I could fix that.” It hadn’t been a priority before, Sapnap had been content to give Jack his space because he’d clearly been through it, but if he was George’s peacekeeper then Sapnap was going to put in an effort. “Just let me have a conversation with the guy.  Just one.  Maybe I could clear up whatever’s between us and make it easier for him to breathe.” He bit at his bottom lip, trying to build up his argument. “He seems to like the kids, and he’s seen me with them.  Maybe that earned me some brownie points.”

“I don’t know,” George said, seeming reluctant.

“I’ll leave the moment it seems like too much,” Sapnap said. “But George, I’m not going anywhere.  We’re both going to see each other in the castle all the time, wouldn’t it be better for him if we had an amicable relationship?” He slid off his couch, scooting forward on his knees until he could rest his hand over George’s. “I want to help you too.  I want to be a pillar of support you can depend on. You’re my friend.”

“You’re so corny,” George muttered, stubbornly averting his gaze.

Still, his cheeks flushed pleasantly, which meant he took it to heart, and Sapnap let that carry him through.

“I’ll talk to him,” George continued, biting at his bottom lip.  Sapnap tried not to stare. “I make no promises.  He might need more time.”

“As long as you ask,” Sapnap said, hope sparking in his chest.

He could do this.  He could find out whatever it was about him that made Jack uneasy and fix it.  He’d just keep doing what he did with the pups, cuddling and loving on them and drawing Jack closer.  He seemed to especially like it when Sapnap was nice to Tubbo and that wasn’t hard, since he was just as chaotic and fun as the other pups.

He could do this.  For George, for their friendship, to beat fucking Dream, Sapnap could manage it.

He just had to play it cool.

Chapter Text

“You have to understand,” George began, eying Sapnap with a level of severity that he usually reserved for lazy aides who tried to bend rules or cut corners. “If you make him cry, I will have to throw you out the window.” He held his hand up, casually extending the claws Sapnap was rarely allowed to see. “I will dice you into tiny pieces and throw you out the window.”

“What did we say about physical violence, George?” Connor huffed, the hedgehog hybrid lingering just over his shoulder, a complete dichotomy to the unrelenting tension in George’s body.  At least, on the outside.  Connor seemed relaxed, loose, and bored, but Sapnap’s instincts knew better than to take that at face value.  Much as he had since he’d first met the other protector, he considered Connor with the respect he was due, knowing full well that if Sir Technoblade approved of him, he had the skills to back it up.

George sighed, but didn’t stop glaring at Sapnap. “That it’s too paltry a comeuppance for the potential violation at hand, and if we really want to make a lasting impression, we’ll cripple him emotionally.”

Yeah.  Yep.  It was teachings like that which made Connor terrifying.  The fact that George seemed to take them to heart even when braced with one of his best friends was just- well, Sapnap knew getting a peacekeeper would change George.  All the more reason for Sapnap to befriend Jack, get on the other side of that defensiveness with Connor.  Be an aid rather than a threat.

“And then we’ll resort to physical violence,” Connor finished with a bored drawl. “Just to make sure we cover all our bases.”

“We’d have to find a way to compensate Bad,” George mused.

“I’m sure we can think of something.”

“Guys.” Sapnap didn’t sigh, but it was close. “Give me some credit here.  We’re not going to have to resort to worse-case scenarios if I take care of Jack, and I will take care of Jack.”

While he wasn’t expecting that statement to make either of them relax, he could admit he hadn’t anticipated the immediate glares this earned him.

“We take care of Jack,” George said with a hiss, his pupils dilating in challenge. “You just- just-” He dragged a weary hand over his face, letting out a loud sigh. “Fucking- I know you won’t hurt him on purpose, Sap, it’s just-” He waved a vague hand near his head.

“Hey, I get it,” Sapnap soothed, glad to see his best friend George come back rather than George the protector. “I felt that way when Skeppy started hanging out with Bad.  Even though I thought he was my friend and a standup guy, Bad’s Bad, of course I was going to worry, even if I knew he could handle himself.” He offered George a small smile. “I’m sure that’s even harder to deal with when it comes to someone who isn’t as good at sticking up for themselves.”

Just like that, all the energy seemed to be sucked from George, his shoulders falling with an exaggerated slump as the weight of his stress seemed to hit him all at once.

“He’s really amazing, Sap,” George murmured, rubbing at his eyes in frustration. “And the amount of bullshit he’s been through makes me want to set things on fire.”

Considering George’s unfailing restraint, the level of composure he’d managed for years – weathering the waves of opportunistic politicians and his own awful family alike, that was saying a whole fucking lot.

“I know you guys don’t want him to hurt anymore,” Sapnap said, keeping his voice quiet. “I don’t want him to hurt either.  I’m only doing this because I think it might help.”

“You’re right,” George groaned – and that agonizing admittance was at least familiar, George feeling wounded down to his very soul at having to acknowledge such a thing.  He’d likely deny to his dying day that he’d ever said it, but Sapnap could live with that.  He’d settle for appreciating the moment. “And I know you’re good, and I know you won’t try to hurt him…”

“But if you do, you will be rectifying that wrong,” Connor offered simply, remarkably less sympathetic than George. “In whatever capacity is needed.”

“That’s fine with me,” Sapnap said, and finally, finally, the other two protectors gave ground.

That was what led to Sapnap sitting on the floor of Ponk’s office – his first visit to the eclectic space.  Jack was a few feet beside him, curled up in front of the couch, though the few times he caught Sapnap looking at him, he offered a small smile.  Sapnap didn’t really get the whole floor thing – he’d followed Jack’s lead on that, which had earned an approving smile from Ponk.  So far so good then, he guessed.

“Would you like to take off your shoes?” Ponk asked, straightening out his clipboard.

“We can do that?” Sapnap asked, already reaching for his laces.  Oh, fuck yeah.  He liked his boots, they’d gotten him through a lot, but the prospect of being in castle and doing something so grossly against basic knight etiquette was far too tempting to pass up on.  He was partway through untying his first boot when a sudden thought occurred to him.  With heat flushing to his cheeks, he turned to Jack. “Is that um- okay with you?”

The other blaze hybrid had yet to move since Ponk had made his comment, as though frozen still.  He gave one slow blink, but then he was nodding, reaching for his own shoes.

“Yeah,” Jack said, his voice soft as he started on his laces. “That’s fine with me.”

Sapnap wasn’t entirely sure why they were having this conversation in front of Ponk, but he doesn’t really mind it.  Floor pillows, no shoes, and there was a plate of the good cookies resting on the coffee table between them – like, the good good cookies the chefs usually reserved for the pups that the knights only got every once in a blue moon.  Not only was Sapnap on track to fix whatever the issue was between him and Jack, he might get to eat one of those cookies.

He was already winning.

“Okay,” Ponk began when they appeared to be settled, Sapnap wiggling his toes happily within the confines of his socks. “Today I’m here to facilitate a conversation between you two in a neutral, confidential space.  My intent is to act mostly as an observer, only to intervene as needed.” He nodded his head towards Jack. “Of course, I’ll be happy to chime in should you require an outside opinion, but otherwise I’ll leave this conversation to you two and safely hang back as a sort of safety net, if you will.”

Jack nodded, and Sapnap couldn’t help but wonder just how shitty his life had been that he would require the equivalent of a safety net they used in those traveling circuses just for a conversation.  Still, if that was what Jack needed, he certainly wasn’t going to complain.  Better for the peacekeeper to be comfortable than otherwise.

“You guys can start at any time,” Ponk continued. “But I’d also like to remind you that you’re free to take breaks whenever you need them.  We have plenty of time for this.”

Wow, Sapnap was beginning to fear for the intensity of this conversation, but he held strong.  Ponk was simply giving them options, preparing them for the worst the way any good knight commander would.  It would be irresponsible to do otherwise, and considering how many people cared about Jack, prioritizing his mental health and safety along with Sapnap’s would always be the best choice.

“Okay,” he began, having already weighed his odds.  Ideally, he would have allowed Jack to start the conversation so he would feel more comfortable and in control, but if past experience was anything to go by, there was a good chance they’d be sitting in awkward silence for a while if Sapnap waited for that, so he went ahead and took the initiative to move on. “So, I’ve uh- noticed that you’re a little shy around me,” he explained, hoping it didn’t come off as accusatory. “And I was wondering if there was anything I could do to make you feel more at ease.”

Jack’s cheeks dusted in a light flush, not that Sapnap was allowed to see it long before the other blaze hybrid was grabbing the collar of his shirt – one of George’s new ones – and raising it to safely hide the bottom of his face.  Still, he didn’t make any sounds of unease.  If he did, though, Sapnap would be ready.  Unlike everyone else Jack interacted with, Sapnap had an advantage in that they spoke the same blaze hybrid language.  It was a connection he could achieve with no one else (except Bad, but whatever, Sapnap was reveling in this victory).

“You didn’t do anything,” Jack murmured after a few beats of silence, staring resolutely at the table.  It confirmed was Sapnap already knew, but he could admit, it was a bit of a relief to know he hadn’t accidentally insulted one of the newest members of the royal flock. “I um- I guess…” He hunched in on himself, shrinking down against the couch. “I was afraid,” he admitted, proving Sapnap’s fear correct. “I like you, but I thought you wouldn’t like me since I’m not a proper blaze hybrid.”

At first, Sapnap was hit with elation – yes, confirmation straight from Jack’s mouth, Sapnap was liked, motherfuckers, but then it was overwhelmed with confusion, because he honestly didn’t know what Jack meant.  Whatever he was implying he seemed ashamed of it, his gaze straying anywhere but Sapnap as his hands curled tightly into George’s shirt, and on anyone else Sapnap might be jealous, but all he could think was hell yeah, Georgie, because of course George’s peacekeeper would want to be marked so obviously by him; George was great.

Wait, no, focus.  He had to focus here.

“Um.” Sapnap cleared his throat, contemplating one of the glasses of water Ponk had poured out for each of them.  The doctor really had prepared for everything. “I’m a little confused,” he admitted. “What do you mean by a proper blaze hybrid?  You’re as much a blaze hybrid as I am.”

As far as he could tell, assuming Sapnap wasn’t missing anything, and he very well might be. 

He wasn’t the best with this stuff.

Jack risked a tentative glance in his direction as though to confirm Sapnap’s befuddlement, and seemed to somewhat flounder himself.

“But we’re not?” Jack said, waving his hand. “You’re all, and I’m…” He motioned to his scales, which were, admittedly, a bit less plentiful and vibrant than Sapnap’s. “You manifested properly and I didn’t.”

Oh.  Oh, he meant-

Sapnap honestly hadn’t registered it.  Like, ever.  Mostly because his brother was a doctor who specialized in Nether hybrids, so Sapnap was privy to more information than the average hybrid.  He hadn’t realized Jack was self-conscious of his weak manifestation of physical blaze hybrid traits.  Sapnap had never thought to look for it because he had an intimate understanding for the biological motivations for such things.  There were two reasons why a blaze hybrid might have a weak manifestation of their physical traits.  One was due to a lack of nourishment of either the body or mind.  Long-term abuse, deprivation, and malnourishment could significantly dim a blaze hybrid’s inner flame.  The strength of this flame determined just how much their physical traits manifested.  A blaze hybrid might be born with horns and pointy ears or a tail, but their scales and skin, their ability for pyromancy, that wouldn’t begin until they reached six or seven.  It was supposed to grow from there, but if they weren’t adequately given the sustenance they needed, of course nothing was going to happen.  Flames needed fuel to burn, after all.

The second reason for a delayed manifestation occurred in blaze hybrid bearers, who by design didn’t properly manifest until they were mated as a sort of defense mechanism.  While it might make them a bit of a target to seemingly broadcast a lack of inner flame, it was better to be considered a weak peacekeeper than an unattached bearer, as a properly manifested bearer was very distinctive.  Of course, a bearer’s traits could come in without bonding in the event of an emergency, but there were only a few documented cases of such things, all from days long gone by.

With Jack, it was obvious which of these two things was affecting him, and as such, Sapnap had never given a shit, because why should he?  None of it had been Jack’s fault.  And it wasn’t like he wouldn’t ever manifest the same way Sapnap did – he just needed more time.

But maybe Jack didn’t know that.

“You didn’t manifest improperly,” Sapnap began, sure to keep his tone soft. “You were deprived of the things you needed to build up your flame.  That’s not your fault, and I’ve ] never held it against you.” Jack’s eyes went wide, the surprise seeming to hit so strong that he released the hold he had on George’s shirt, allowing Sapnap to see his full face once more. “I’m sure you’ll get to fully manifest one day.  It might take time for your body to recover but that doesn’t mean it won’t, and it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my respect in the meantime.  You’re Quackity’s aide and George’s peacekeeper – you make the pups happy, but more than that, you’re kind and thoughtful and work very hard – all of those are likeable qualities.”

“Oh.” Jack didn’t seem to know how to process that, seemed like he hadn’t hoped for that much (which was, in Sapnap’s opinion, remarkably little and only the truth, and it burned to think that Jack would be so amazed by it). “I hadn’t… I thought…”

“That I’d look down on you?” Sapnap asked, and while part of him was wounded that Jack might think so poorly of him, he knew not to jump to conclusions.  There was a good chance this had nothing to do with him at all.  Jack had spent most of his life likely in the company of other blaze hybrids.  There might be a precedence for this sort of thing when it came to him.

“Maybe?” Jack hazarded, twisting his hands together. “I didn’t know and I didn’t want to risk it, so I thought- I don’t know, as long as I didn’t confirm it one way or another, things would be okay.”

Sapnap took a moment to process this.  He was trying not to oversimply things, and yet, the one conclusion he came to couldn’t help but make his cheeks feel warm.

Because maybe Jack liked Sapnap so much that he avoided the protector because the mere thought of not being liked in return was worse for him than never talking to Sapnap at all.  Perhaps because he was a blaze hybrid that also wasn’t a slaver jackass.

The truth was, Sapnap wasn’t sure what he’d done to be put up on a pedestal by Jack, but he had a feeling that basic decency and their shared blaze heritage had something to do with it.  It used to be a common misconception that hybrids of the same type were more likely to fall together – and while that might be the case for some species like avians, it didn’t fit the majority of hybrids.  Still, there was an admitted comfort there, mostly because they shared a hybrid language, which was why Sapnap might have seemed more intimidating to approach than any of the others.  Sapnap, in Jack’s opinion, could very well be everything he expected himself to be but wasn’t, which was sort of horribly unfair to himself.  They didn’t have the same background at all, of course their bodies reflected that.

Sapnap decided to address what he did know and work from there. “I’m honored that you think of me so favorably,” he said, because that much was true. “But I promise I’m just like any of the others.  I see how hard you’ve been working, how much you want to make things better, and I respect that.  I’d um- also like to be your friend, if you’re comfortable with that.”

They fell into a strained silence where Jack thought this over, his bottom lip clenched between his teeth in what seemed to be a nervous tick.

When the silence dragged on for a few moments longer, Ponk delicately cleared his throat, reminding them that he was present.

“Sapnap,” Ponk began when he realized he had the protector’s attention. “How would you say Jack’s behavior towards you has made you feel these past few months?”

Oh.  Oh no, they were talking about feelings.  And it wasn’t like Sapnap was an alpha male, macho asshole – he could talk about feelings, it was just harder when his head was all mixed up about the nest-sharing thing with Quackity that obviously wasn’t a big deal but still felt like a big deal.

“Um,” Sapnap said in an awkward bid to buy time.  It didn’t help, and George and Ponk had already stressed the importance of him being honest. Everything they discussed here was supposed to be secret, so it wasn’t like he had to fear messing up too terribly much, but still, things had just gotten good. “I guess it didn’t make me feel the best,” he admitted, picking at his nails. “I felt like I had done something wrong, but I wasn’t sure what it was.”

He hated saying it, it felt a little selfish when he knew Jack hadn’t intended it that way.  When he glanced over towards the other blaze hybrid, he’d been braced for a minor hint of disappointment or something of the like, but instead Jack’s eyes were wide, his expression sorrowful, like it hadn’t occurred to him that Sapnap could care about his opinion.

Oh.  He suddenly realized why Ponk had asked that question.

“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispered, somewhat devastated. “I didn’t think I was important enough to- that it would matter, since I’m just…”

Okay.  Okay, Sapnap could work with this.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” Sapnap said, sure to keep his tone calm, level. “You’re Quackity’s packmate.” And Sapnap had shared a nest with him, had been in the emperor’s nest and it had been months and he’d never said anything, that alone indicated that Sapnap wasn’t anything more than he’d already been before, but that didn’t stop him from feeling that way. “You’re part of the pack I’m sworn to protect.  You’re George’s friend, and you seem nice.  You deserve consideration.  You’re just as important as anyone else, of course I’d care about your opinion.”

“I…” Jack didn’t seem to know what to say, his eyes welling up with moisture. “I think I need a minute.”

“Take all the time you need,” Ponk soothed, and that was all the permission Jack needed to pull out a handkerchief – and while Sapnap was less-than-pleased to see the Wastaken emblem embroidered on the expensive material, he wasn’t going to let that dampen the immense progress they’d made in this meeting.

The misconception had been clarified; Jack understood he had worth in Sapnap’s eyes.  Sapnap wasn’t an intimidating monster that reminded him of awful slavers from his past. 

Progress.

Eventually, Jack looked up with a sniff, his cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, sincerity dripping from every syllable.

“It’s okay,” Sapnap soothed, his protector instincts purring in satisfaction. “I know you’ve been going through a lot of stuff.  And the thing between us – it was probably easy to let it slide into the background in favor of focusing on other things.  I’m not upset about that, but if it’s okay with you, I would like to try being friends.  But only if you’re comfortable with it, and you don’t- you don’t have to be comfortable with it now.  Like I said, I understand that you have a lot on your plate.”

“It’s a lot,” Jack agreed, his voice quiet. “And every time I get a new good thing, it’s like- well, do I need more?  Because maybe there’s the risk of it jeopardizing the other good things, so I- I guess I’m just scared.”

“That’s okay,” Sapnap said. “I think you’ve got every right to be tentative.  This isn’t anything you need to rush, the offer’s there when you’re ready for it and only when you’re ready for it.”

The more he spoke, the more Jack’s shoulders seemed to relax, until the smile the other blaze hybrid offered him was small but painfully genuine. “I would like to try and be friends, but I have a lot of quirks, so if you get to the point where you don’t want to- where it’s too much to deal with them, I’d understand.  There’s a lot of stuff that’s hard for me, a lot of stuff I’m still struggling to do, but I would like to be your friend.”

For Sapnap, that was the only thing he needed.

“We all have our quirks,” he said. “You don’t have to feel self-conscious about those.  They’ll never be too much.” He grinned. “Friendship’s about supporting each other, and I’d like to be able to do that for you the same way my brother and George and Skeppy get to.”

“Oh.” There was another realization moment on Jack’s face, as though he recognized that Sapnap had felt left out. “I’d like to support you too, in whatever way I can, so um- let’s start over.” He stuck his hand out, and it was small and so very scarred, but it didn’t shake or tremble. “Hi, I’m Jack.  I used to be a slave and now I get to help Duke Quackity make the empire better.  I love pups, walking in the garden, and my friends, and I hate silverware.” He stared at his feet. “I’m still getting used to shoes, and crowds make me nervous, and I don’t know what to do with all the money Duke Quackity and Sir Technoblade keep giving me but I like buying presents for my friends and I’m learning how to bake and properly defend myself and um- I think I’m doing okay right now, and I’m proud of that.”

As he fucking should be.  Sapnap felt proud of him too, even if he didn’t have the right.

He really had gone through a lot, but he’d also come remarkably far in the past few months, and he should feel overjoyed with himself.

George really had picked a good one, but Sapnap wasn’t surprised.

“I’m Sapnap Halo,” he said, returning Jack’s handhold. “I’m a knight on the royal guard, and I was fortunate enough to get assigned to the royal pups.  My best friends are George and Skeppy, and I like swordsmanship and horseback riding.  Oh, and flying – flying’s pretty cool.” He shot Jack a wink. “You’ll get to do that one day too, I’m sure, and when you do, maybe I can help train you.  I had to figure it out on my own since our flames work differently than Bad’s wings-”

“Bad has wings?” Jack gasped, his eyes going wide.

Sapnap chuckled. “Yeah, but he doesn’t bring them out too often.  He says they get in the way since they’re proportional to his size.” Bad had always felt self-conscious of his height, feeling like he was too big for most spaces, but he deserved to take up that room, he deserved to stand tall and spread his wings a little. “He goes flying with Philza sometimes, though.”

“That’s so cool,” Jack whispered, seeming in awe. “I like your brother a lot.  He’s really nice, and he talks about you all the time.”

“Bad,” Sapnap groaned, dragging a hand across his face. “I swear, he’s the most embarrassing person ever.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Jack admitted. “You’re his baby, of course he’d gush about you.”

“Kind of like how Connor gushes about you,” Sapnap said, earning a surprised blink. “Not to me, of course, but to Sir Technoblade.  He’ll brag about how many files your organized that day, or how the new recipe you learned turned out – stuff like that.”

“That’s my little brother,” Connor would drawl, seeming overwhelming pleased with himself. “I’m pretty sure he’s the best little brother of all time.”

“Don’t forget that I vouched for you,” Prince Wilbur had chimed in, sounding unquestionably proud. “I got you that in, young’in.”

“Whatever,” Connor had huffed. “I would have gotten there eventually.”

“Let him have this, Will,” Sir Technoblade had laughed in that deep rumble of his. “He’s earned it.”

There was so much love in this castle for Jack, it made Sapnap feel honored that he might be able to actively join and contribute to it.

“That’s- wow,” Jack said, drawing Sapnap back to the present. “I didn’t- those aren’t even accomplishments.”

“Sure, they are,” Sapnap countered. “It doesn’t matter how big or small it is, when it comes to family, all accomplishments feel awesome.”

“I guess that’s true,” Jack said, his voice quiet. “I’m sorry, I interrupted you earlier.  You were talking about flying?”

“Talking about how one day, we’re gonna fly together,” Sapnap corrected. “I wonder how much George will be ripping his hair out when we get there.”

“Probably a lot,” Jack giggled, and this- this Sapnap could work with.

One conversation and the problem had been fixed.  He couldn’t afford to get cocky, of course, he didn’t want to mess things up for any of them by getting ahead of himself, but still, it was a comforting achievement.

~:~

When Jack came out of his meeting with Sapnap, bright eyed with wide smiles, the awful cocktail of nerves and anxiety finally stopped waging war in George’s stomach and melted away, making his shoulders relax ever so slightly as he straightened from where he’d been maintaining his vigil in the hall outside Ponk’s office.  Connor might be able to play it calm and cool by squirrelling himself away in the distance – hiding outside on window ledges or in the shadows of furniture or whatever so he could stay close without being called out for it, but George didn’t have that kind of patience. 

He wasn’t sure what about this meeting had his stomach twisting in such painful knots.  He liked Sapnap.  He might not have known him as long as he’d known Dream, the two of them having met when George had started his job at the castle, but he'd always liked the other protector.  Mostly, it was because Sapnap judged him on his capabilities alone rather than the name attached to him.  He forced no expectations on George and didn’t seem to care much for decorum at all.  He was everything in a hybrid George had been taught to avoid – a seemingly useless ally by his former family’s perspective, and maybe that was why George had been so attached to him.

The first time he had met Sapnap, the blaze hybrid had been wide eyed with a box of delicious smelling baked goods tucked under his arm, expression emanating nothing but the most earnest hope and desperation.

“I will give you all of these muffins if you please just show me how to fill out this form,” Sapnap had begged, seeming moments away from crying in frustration. “I don’t want you to fill it out for me, just show me how to do it once and I can take it from there, but I can’t have my forms rejected again and I don’t have money to bribe you, so could you just-” He waved the box of muffins at George. “Please?  My brother made them, and I’m biased but they’re super fucking delicious.”

While George had been offered many bribes in his short time at the castle, even as low-ranked as he was, this was the first such instance where he had been so beseechingly offered baked goods.

He could guess why Sapnap had been at his wits end.  He probably hadn’t even filled out his forms all that wrong beforehand.  George knew what the real problem was – he was a commoner knight and thus, a waste of time to every aide in the royal pool regardless of the approval he must have received from the head of the knight squadron to be granted his title.  Back then, Sapnap and Bad hadn’t been awarded their barony and as such were treated like garbage, with any small mistake used as an excuse to disregard his paperwork entirely.  If they wore Sapnap down enough maybe he’d quit, which would make room for some snot-nosed noble’s kid who was stuck on a waiting list.  Despite Emperor Philza’s numerous countermeasures, there were still plenty who abused the systems they had in place, and Sapnap had obviously been a victim of that.

It wasn’t fair, and George – who’d been viciously mocked the day before by his family for only getting approved for the general pool of royal aides rather than the elite team that worked exclusively with the royal flock, like all fucking newcomers did (that was just procedure, but damned if they wouldn’t listen when George tried to explain that to them) – related to that.

As such, he made a very uncharacteristic choice for him.

He wasn’t here to do anyone any favors, he wasn’t here to make any of the other stupid aides like him.  He was here to do his damn job, and part of his job involved helping knights with their paperwork.

If he could get some nice treats out of it though, he wasn’t going to turn away from it.

“I’ll show you how to fill out your form,” George sniffed, pulling it closer to him. “But you’ll split the muffins with me, and you have to tell me any interesting knight gossip while we do it.”

It hadn’t been a ploy for friendship, of course, George was merely trying to expand his well of knowledge.  There was no such thing as having too much information, and Sapnap could prove to be an unexpected ally.  After all, who better to collect information from than the knight all the noble knights likely dismissed?  It was genius.  And he had access to the group of knights that Dream didn’t work with – the ones whose duties were more castle-focused.

There was also the slightest chance George wanted to pick up information on how his second youngest brother was fairing during his last years of the knight program, but if that was the case, he never outright mentioned it.

Sapnap was kind enough to give him the goods anyway. “Yeah, there’s some good up and comers,” Sapnap had said around a mouthful of muffin, the two of them hiding on that one section of the roof Dream had told George about. “There’s also some, you know, dicks.” Another thing George liked about Sapnap was that he didn’t mince words.  He just said what he meant and that was that.  It was refreshing. “Actually, there’s this one panther hybrid – his family name starts with a D, I think.  Whatever, it doesn’t matter – bottom line, you should avoid him like the plague.  He seems like a real asswagon.”

George choked, and Sapnap had laughed at him before giving his back a few firm whacks, and that had been that. 

Friendship sealed.

It had taken months before George had mentioned his new friend to Dream, and the meeting he’d tried to arrange between them after the fact was-

The one fucking time George had been late.  The one time, and of course it’d been because of his stupid family, and by the time he’d shown up Sapnap and Dream were trapped in a stony, bitter silence that made it clear that there would be no beautiful friendship between the three of them.

It was okay, though.  Not everyone got along.  George wasn’t mad about that.  He was pleased to simply be able to have two friends of his own, and of course with Sapnap came Bad and Skeppy, and with Dream came Punz and Callahan.  He was doing just fine for himself, even if he had to keep portions of his life fairly separated.

The bottom line was, he knew Sapnap was good.  The knight had always been up front with his intentions, he’d never played mind games.  The times he tried to sneak around to arrange a surprise for George were always laughable because he was terrible at subtlety, and he wore his heart on his sleeve so vibrantly that George spent a fair deal of time terrified that he was going to get himself hurt.  Before Jack, Sapnap had been the one George had worried over endlessly, for all that he’d never expressed as much, so what was making him so uneasy?

Even now, when Jack was nothing but bright smiles as he eagerly latched onto George, nuzzling against his shoulder and emanating a steady warmth that made George feel grounded, there was a small pit of anxiety in George’s chest. 

For Jack though, he masked it.  He wasn’t going to dampen his peacekeeper’s good mood after something that had likely been difficult for him.

“How’d it go?” George asked, sure to keep his focus on Jack even as Sapnap strolled out the door after him, the other protector lingering behind to share a few words with Ponk, a handshake. 

“Well!” Jack cheered, and that was good.  That was what George had wanted with Sapnap and Dream and hadn’t gotten.  He had it now, so he should be happy. “We’re going to try being friends now.”

“That’s great.” George wished he could feel more sincere about it.  He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why the odd void in his stomach kept hollowing out, emanating an icy unease. “Do you want to celebrate?  I think Connor picked up some of those tarts you like.”

It was more like he knew Connor had gone out early that morning to ensure he got a couple dozen of the tarts Jack liked so much before they sold out, which had been intended as a surprise and Connor would likely get George back for spoiling that later, but at the moment it seemed imperative to get Jack away, to motivate him to want to come back to the safety of their den.

“Really?” Jack’s smile was blinding, which helped sooth some of the strange tension in George’s shoulders. “Can Sapnap come too?”

And the tension came right back.

George didn’t know what was going on.

“Of course,” George said, because Sapnap was his best friend and their den had been Jack’s first and Jack was allowed to invite whoever he wanted back to it and this was a good thing, and George would really like his mind to figure that out.

“Hey, I’m always up for sweets,” Sapnap cheered, strolling towards them with his hands in his pockets, looking substantially more relaxed than before.  It really had been wearing on him, this thing with Jack, and George was glad it’d gotten fixed, he was. “I have the entire afternoon off anyway, maybe we can play cards?”

“As long as we don’t have to do any of the lying games,” Jack said. “I’m bad at those.”

He was, mostly because he felt bad about lying to them, even though it was a component of the game.  They’d maybe made it through one round of poker before it became stressful for all of them involved – Jack worked up about lying and Connor and George worked up about Jack getting worked up.  It was a vicious cycle.

“That’s fine, George’s bad at them too,” Sapnap lied, likely trying to get a huff out of George or something, he was just being playful, but then he was reaching forward, to pat Jack’s shoulder or something, maybe squeeze his arm, and-

George snarled, an angry noise that spilled out of him before he could help it, his body moving to position himself between Jack and Sapnap as much as possible.

There was a loud, deafening silence, and then the immensity of what just happened dawned on George.

“Prime,” he hissed, dragging a hand over his face in an effort to block out Sapnap’s confused expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t- I don’t know why I did that.”

“George?” Jack didn’t sound scared, which was a relief, but he was worried. “Are your instincts acting weird?”

“I’m- I’m fine,” George said, even though that was a bold-faced lie, and then he caught Sapnap moving in his peripherals and snarled again, even though that time the blaze protector had been stepping away.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” George repeated, wanting the floor to swallow him whole.  What the fuck. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He couldn’t act like this.  Eret had literally just adopted him, just made him heir to one of the most powerful duchies in the entire empire.  George couldn’t go around snarling at people, lashing out like a toddler who couldn’t manage his emotions.  The rest of the Essempi family would gladly use this as ammunition against him – they weren’t exactly thrilled with Eret’s choice, for all that they couldn’t do anything about it.  He was the one that firmly had a hold of Essempi’s power – it was his call to make, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t make George’s life miserable if they so chose to.

“It’s okay,” Sapnap said, his hands raised in surrender because George was acting like a stupid, possessive animal. “It’s okay, instincts can be weird sometimes.”

But not George’s instincts.  He had a handle on himself, he was good about that kind of thing.  He was calm, in control.  It was one of the things he’d taken pride in.  If he lashed out like this, it was never supposed to be at his friend.  Not at Sapnap.

“Hey, George,” Ponk spoke up suddenly, his voice careful and soft, the way it was whenever he spoke to Jack.  It made George’s eyes feel hot. “Could you take a few deep breaths for me?  In for four, out for four?”

“I-” George tried, he did try, but then he caught Sapnap glancing at Jack again and- “Back-go-unwanted,” George growled in Protector, Jack now firmly behind him. “Go-go-g-” George cut off with a gasp, biting down hard on his bottom lip as he shook his head, trying to snap out of it. “I don’t- I don’t-”

“Hey.” And then Connor was in front of him, and George didn’t know where the hell he’d come from, but he was blocking George’s view of Sapnap.  It was something he would have growled about, but the hands Connor had on his shoulders made him feel closer to himself. “What’s Jack’s favorite color?”

“I- he doesn’t have one,” George stumbled, his head reeling. “He um- likes green, for Tubbo and Dream.”

“Awesome,” Connor drawled. “What’s his favorite blanket?”

“T-Technoblade’s cape,” George murmured. “I think.  I don’t- there’s that quilt Wilbur got him though, that the pups helped pick out.  He likes that too.”

“Yeah, he does,” Connor agreed.  It was getting easier to breathe. “What’s his favorite soup?”

“Trick question, he loves all soups,” George said, smiling at the thought of it.  If it was delivered in a mug, Jack loved it, and George loved watching him partake in each and every new flavor.  He suspected the Wastakens and the serving staff at the castle did too. “But potato’s up there because of Skeppy.”

“This is true,” Connor allowed, letting out supportive rumbles of good-good-strong-calm. “Can you breathe okay now?”

“Um- yes.” George wasn’t relaxed, but he was certainly better than he’d been before.  Part of him wanted to go back to glaring at Sapnap but if he did, he’d only get worked up again. “I don’t know what happened.”

“I think maybe one too many changes occurred at once,” Connor offered with a shrug, throwing it out as easily as he did anything else.

Jack let out a small gasp from behind him, and then George felt his slight peacekeeper wrap around his back in a hug. “I’m sorry, George, I didn’t even think of that.”

“I didn’t either,” George admitted, feeling bewildered.  This shouldn’t be a big deal, it barely had anything to do with him. “I didn’t… I don’t know why…”

“Maybe we could talk about it?” Ponk offered, approaching their bubble, but carefully keeping to the outskirts of it. “Your protector instincts were triggered pretty thoroughly.  We don’t have to talk about it now, but I do think I might be able to help.”

“No, I- we should do this now,” George said, realizing that he shouldn’t put whatever the fuck this was off.

Jack squeezed him tighter. “Don’t push yourself,” he murmured, nuzzling George’s shoulder. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

George’s heart clenched tight, so painfully it hurt.  He didn’t know what to say, it felt like he was choking on his words.

“No,” he whispered, embarrassed. “No, you go celebrate with um- Connor.  And Sapnap-”

He didn’t know why he was surprised to find the place where Sapnap had previously been standing empty.  George had been overbearing and aggressive towards him for no reason, but beyond that, if Sapnap had thought leaving would be the most helpful route, of course he was going to do it as unobtrusively as possible.  It made sense.

George’s chest hurt.

“I’ll talk to him later,” Connor said, and from the hedgehog hybrid, it was a promise. “You focus on you, okay?  We’ll be alright.”

“Love you,” Jack murmured quietly, his hands fidgeting with the hems of his overlong sleeves.  It was one of the new tunics Eret had procured for George, his wardrobe redone in Essempi’s colors – browns and burgundies and blacks with the occasional pop of gold and red.  Jack, of course, had kept all the old stuff George had that wasn’t in Davidson colors – his neutrals, but in this, he-

George was pretty sure the outfit helped him as much as it helped Jack.

“I love you too,” he replied, and it was easy with Jack, easy and terrifying, just like this lack of control was terrifying, and he didn’t know what to do.

Except for talk to Ponk.

Hopefully, it would help.

Chapter Text

“How are you feeling?” Ponk asked, and wasn’t that the damn question.  How was George feeling – like a fucking crazy person, that was how he was feeling.  Like he was balancing precariously on the edge of his control and veering closer towards the absolute loss of it rather than maintaining his usual composure.  It was terrifying, and he didn’t know where to go next.  He was at a loss for what to do, which didn’t happen to George.  Even when he encountered something new, he could usually formulate the bare bones of a plan to determine how to tackle it.  Now he was in completely uncharted waters and it left him panicky and lost.

George wanted Jack back, but he didn’t want to burden him.  He knew Jack wanted to contribute and support George just as much as the protector did in turn, but this felt different from other things.  Taboo.  Perverse. 

He didn’t know what was wrong.

“I don’t know,” George replied honestly, running a shaky hand through his hair. “Logically, I know Sapnap would hurt himself before he ever hurt Jack, I know that, but there was this-” He pressed a hand against his chest, fingers trembling with tension as he fought not to grip onto his new outfit.  It was expensive.  He couldn’t afford to ruin it, that would be a terrible way to repay Eret for such a lovely gift. “This feeling, this anxiety kept building, and Sapnap kept- kept looking at Jack and I didn’t want him to.  In that moment I didn’t want him to, even though before all this I always wanted my friends to get along.” He twisted some of his brown locks between his fingers and gave them a sharp tug, trying increase his awareness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Your life has gone through a lot of extreme changes lately,” Ponk began, his voice gentle. “It’s reasonable for your instincts to respond to those changes in not entirely logical ways.  I’d like to continue to discuss that, but before we do, could you please let go of your hair?”

“What?” George asked, blinking in confusion.

“Your hair.” Ponk pointed, and George belatedly realized his fingers were still curled at the nape of his neck, tugging away to keep him grounded.

“Shit.” George released his hold, flexing his hands again before shoving them hard against his lap, trying to keep them in place.  Prime, he was fortunate that these conversations were confidential, if it got out that the new heir to Essempi harmed himself like that – even if it was in a small, inconsequential manner – they’d have him declared unbalanced.  Unfit. 

He felt unfit.

“It’s okay,” Ponk soothed. “Here.” He passed over a small, stuffed ball – firm but malleable, as though it was filled with sand. “Focus on the weight and feel of that, okay?  The texture, the colors – when you need to take a break, try focusing on that instead.”

“Okay,” George said, because they were easy enough orders.  It was sort of dumb that he wasn’t able to get through this conversation without freaking out, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere if he couldn’t ground himself properly anyway, so he may as well embrace this and take comfort in the fact that no one would ever know about it. 

Weak-weak-stupid-weak his instincts purred in the back of his mind, disapproving, and he wondered how he could feel like he was still under the critical eye of the Davidsons when he was supposed to be free.  He wasn’t even wearing their colors anymore.  He’d been wanted.  Eret and Foolish had wanted him.

“How are you feeling?” Ponk asked again after George had messed around with the odd weighted ball for a few moments, passing it back and forth between his hands.

The panther hybrid swallowed hard.  He wished it was an easier question. “Frustrated.” It seemed like the safest of his current emotions to share. “This was what I wanted.  Good things are happening, but my instincts are…”

“They seem to be registering a threat,” Ponk offered, stepping in when George was incapable of even finishing his sentence.  He wasn’t good at emotional stuff, he never had been, but he’d fooled himself into thinking he was somewhat capable after all his time spent with Jack.  Of course, now when it counted most he had to be wrong, had to be useless, and that was a bitter, if expected, pill for him to swallow.  Disappointment-disappointment-stupid. “From Sapnap, specifically in regards to Jack.”

The mere mention of it had George baring his teeth again, claws extending and tearing into the soft material of the ball like it was paper.  As soon as it happened George was horrified, retracting his claws with a humiliated flush and scrambling to keep the ball from falling apart, though it was to no avail.  Sand was leaking everywhere, all over his lap, onto the floor, and the more he tried to stop it the more it fell to pieces. Threat-threat-threat rang loud in the back of his mind. Weak-weak-replacement, a softer call, and he didn’t know what it was aimed towards, but he had a strong feeling those instincts weren’t referring to Sapnap.

Replacement.  Replacement.

“I’m sorry,” George said, his voice wavering dangerously as he settled the mangled remnants of the ball on Ponk’s coffee table. “I’m so sorry, I can replace that.  I’ll call someone to clean it up-”

“It’s okay,” Ponk interrupted, his voice gentle. “I have dozens of others, George, it’s perfectly alright.  That’s not your fault.  I should have considered your claws when choosing a grounding tool.  That’s on me, not you.” He made it sound so reasonable even though it wasn’t, even though well-behaved panther hybrids didn’t have to worry about their claws extending without their permission because they were calm and composed and good. “Would you like to change seats?  Or we could move to a different part of the office if you don’t want to look at it.”

George’s throat felt tight.  If he stood up, all the sand in his lap would fall onto the floor, making a bigger mess.  If he stayed, he would be sitting, undignified, in a mess he’d created.  He had to get up, it wasn’t like he could live the rest of his life on Ponk’s couch, much less with a lapful of sand, but maybe he could minimize the fallout somehow.  If he just had a towel, or-

“George?” Ponk’s voice was still soft, but there was an obvious concern in his gaze when George looked up. “Is everything alright?”

George wanted to extend his claws again – he didn’t know why.  He wanted to tug on his hair.  None of it was appropriate.

“I made a mess,” George whispered, trapped with indecision. 

He couldn’t even figure out how to get out of a dumb situation like this, something of his own making, and he was supposed to be the heir to Essempi?  What was Eret thinking? 

He should have left George in the gutter.

“It was an accident,” Ponk said. “And even if it wasn’t, this is a space where we can explore those types of outlets if they’re needed.  You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yes I did, I made a mess.” George was getting angry now, frustrated that Ponk didn’t seem to understand.  His eyes felt hot. “What- what happens when I do this out there?  It’s safe in here but if I do it out there, I-”

He cut himself off with a jerk of his head, digging his knuckles angrily into his eyes in an effort to get himself in order.  He winced as some of the sand rubbed in, but he deserved that.

“What will happen?” Ponk asked, his voice careful. “What do you think will happen if you have an accident out there?”

“Stop making it sound reasonable!” George snapped, his cheeks flaring with an angry heat as he glared at the therapist.  “It’s not.  It’s not normal to wreck things like a toddler throwing a tantrum, and if I did it out there then Eret would see, they would all see and maybe- maybe they wouldn’t want me anymore.” The words made his chest hurt to say, for all that it had been an undeniable truth he’d been living with for days now. “I’m the heir to Essempi, I have to be perfect.  I can’t snarl at my best friends or make Jack scared or break things.  I never did any of that before, I don’t know why now, when it actually matters, it’s happening.”

Didn’t his instincts know how much he had to lose?  Everything was riding on this – his job, his partnership with Jack, protection from other noble houses.  He had a family again, a proper one, and it was all going to fade away in the blink of an eye all because his instincts decided to make him act like a big fucking idiot and he’d barely even gotten a chance to just- have it.  Have the dream life he’d always wanted. 

“You’ve also never been disowned before,” Ponk pointed out quietly, and that-

A terrible sound fell from George’s mouth – a yowl mixed with a sob, maybe, and he found himself crying, ugly fat tears he couldn’t stop if he wanted to, and he desperately, desperately wanted to.

“Oh, George,” Ponk said, sounding so genuinely caring over his feelings, but that was only because he was paid to, or because he cared about Jack, his actual patient.  None of it actually had to do with George, it wasn’t actually for George. “Would you like some comfort or do you want space?  I could also call in Jack or Eret-”

George shook his head, frantically scrambling back to get away from Ponk who hadn’t actually moved, but he might, and with a sharp exhale he found himself falling over the back of his couch, sand spreading everywhere as he curled up into a small ball, trying to make himself breathe.  He couldn’t though.  He couldn’t stop making those strained sounds.  He just knew he didn’t want to be touched.  He wasn’t supposed to cry like this.  He hadn’t since he was a child.  He’d trained such things out of himself – tears only earned him derision or scorn from his family, and if he wanted to actually count, he had to be professional and respectful and calm.  He hadn’t even teared up when he learned about Jack’s terrible trauma, he was used to getting mad or irritated, but sorrow was substantially more difficult, and he knew he wasn’t supposed to share this with anyone, to show this shameful side of himself.

“Help-help-sorry-help-sorry,” he found himself babbling, words he tried to stifle into the palms of his hands. “Sorry-sorry-sorry-bad-bad-bad-sorry.”

“Good-good-comfort,” came from the other side of the couch, and Ponk didn’t sound any closer, but his voice was sure now – loud and firm as he alternated between Peacekeeper speak and calming purrs and rumbles. “Good pup-comfort-comfort-support.”

It was a lie, it was all a lie and George was proving that at this very moment, for having a breakdown over what was genuinely nothing, for needing this appointment at all.  He should be eating tarts with Jack and Sapnap and Connor right now, they should be making fun of Dream together and playing cards.  Maybe they could invite Bad and Skeppy over for dinner, or they could go to their house for a visit.  Jack could build a nest there, it could be equal, it could be good, but George had stood in the way of all that, had sabotaged his own happiness.

“Sorry-sorry-sorry,” George cried into his knees. “Sorry.  Help.  Please help.  Scared-please help-sorry-bad.”

It drew on in a vicious pattern, George unable to hold back his cries for help or apology while Ponk attempted to sooth him.  Eventually George ran out of steam, his throat burning from the excess of vocalizations, his chest aching and eyes hot and itchy from the sheer volume of tears.  He spent a few moments trying to catch his breath and mostly failed, tempted with the prospect of crawling under the closest piece of furniture and hiding there until the world forgot about him.  Until he could make himself less embarrassing.

Ponk waited until his breathing was mostly settled before he spoke up. “Would you like some water?”

It wasn’t even a chastisement. 

George found himself flinching anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice raspy.  Had he wailed earlier?  He probably had, may as well entirely ruin his reputation since he was sabotaging himself anyway.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His voice was still so fucking gentle.  If George had more energy, he would have snarled at it. “You don’t have to be sorry for having emotions, or for needing to express those emotions.”

“I shouldn’t be like this,” George murmured, feeling defeated.

Ponk hummed. “I don’t know you very well yet, but I don’t think you’d hold it against Jack if he needed to break down like this.”

“Of course not,” George sniffed, a curl of confusion slipping into his pity party. “He’s been through so much.”

“As have you,” Ponk countered firmly, like he believed that with every part of his being.  Before George could object, he kept talking. “His trauma does not invalidate your own, George.  We all have our own struggles to bear and trying to dismiss them because they seem to pale in comparison to others isn’t healthy.”  He was quiet for a moment, as though collecting his thoughts. “As one of Jack’s protectors, I’ve read your files.  I wanted to get a better understanding of who you were, and in those records – your school files and employment paperwork – I saw a common theme of neglect from the Davidson family.”

It wasn’t anything George didn’t already know, and yet the words hit like a punch to his stomach, made his eyes burn with the effort to produce more tears even though he didn’t have anything else to offer.

“Despite being away at boarding school for six years, there were no records of any mail correspondences from the Davidson family, there were no sign-in registrations for visiting the campus as a guest, no appearances at parent-teacher conferences.  Even during the assigned scholastic breaks, you were scheduled to stay on campus.” He flipped through something on his clipboard. “Your emergency contact has never been a member of the Davidson family but a distant associate that worked under them, and then later, a member of the Wastaken house staff, which I assume was the work of Dream Wastaken.” The papers flipped again. “In the meantime, despite this outrageous lack of support your school records indicate nothing less than an outstanding student.  Top of your class every year, including law school, with a clear work ethic and intellect that translated to your job.  I mean, being recruited directly into the general pool of royal aides right out of school without utilizing any sort of connections is impressive in itself, not to mention how quickly you were promoted to the senior staff.  These records – they indicate a person working for validation that – until the very end – they never received, and I’m sorry for that, George.” 

He sounded like he meant it, was the thing.  Sounded like it hurt him too, even though George wasn’t one of his patients.  Was just a broken panther hybrid who’d made a mess in his office.

“No one should ever have to suffer that kind of neglect at the hands of their family,” Ponk continued. “No one should have to feel like they have to earn love.  Those things – they might seem small, you might have dismissed them or downplayed them in order to survive – but they are things that can cause a lot of harm, and it’s natural to be affected by them.  To have trauma that needs to be dealt with because of them.”

“They- they disowned me,” George managed to make himself say. “It doesn’t matter, I don’t have to deal with that anymore.”

“But you did deal with it,” Ponk said. “And even if you might be better off without them in your life, I think that the fact that they didn’t fight to keep you affected you in a very understandable way.”

“Why?” George gasped, eyes burning. “They’re assholes.  I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t want to be wanted by them.”

“Because they were your family,” Ponk said like it was simple. “Because we’ve been told all our lives that our families are supposed to look after and care for us and yours didn’t.  They should have, but they didn’t, and you’re allowed to be hurt by that.  Even if it doesn’t make sense, that doesn’t invalidate your feelings.  I think denying or repressing them is only making you more miserable.”

“So that’s it then?” George asked, swallowing hard. “This is all because of shit with my old family?”

“I think your current struggles derive from a number of factors,” Ponk said diplomatically. “I think your old family is a large contributing factor.  I think you didn’t take the time to properly grieve before you moved on, and I think how you moved on – while ultimately beneficial – needed to be handled with more care.”

“How so?” George sniffed, slowly making himself sit up. “It was perfectly timed, practically a fairytale.”

Cinderella getting whisked away to the castle, except instead of a prince charming he got a family that actually wanted him around.  He got to keep the life he’d worked hard to build up for himself.  It was more than he could have hoped for.

“I think, perhaps, that you and your new adoptive family have more to talk about than you anticipated,” Ponk said. “And in not addressing your concerns-”

“I don’t have concerns,” George huffed, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.  If he’d already broken decorum by allowing such a terrible lapse in composure, he may as well go the extra mile and ruin his fancy clothing with snot and tears.  Anything to help him feel less frazzled.

“You have many, many concerns, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Ponk countered, somehow managing to sound gentle while he was unimpressed.  “I think it would be beneficial to call in Eret and Foolish for a safe discussion, but if you’re not ready for that yet, we can tackle other things that will make it easier to manage your anxiety.”

“I don’t- I’m not anxious,” George sniffed, cheeks heating at the thought of being so weak.

“You’d be surprised to learn that anxiety manifests in a number of ways,” Ponk countered conversationally, not sounding at all annoyed by George’s denial. “Right now, you seem to be greatly concerned with Eret’s opinion of you, which is causing a lot of stress that is manifesting as anxiety.  It’s perfectly normal to be anxious in the wake of a large life change, especially one on such an intense scale.  Becoming heir to one of the most powerful families in all of the empire would be stressful for someone who’d been explicitly raised for it, let alone someone who was never expected to inherit a title and doesn’t have as much exposure to the social scene of the upper nobility.  There’s a lot of unknowns in that, and from that uncertainty devolves a sort of pressure that you’re placing on yourself.”

“What does any of this have to do with Sapnap?” George asked, his mind buzzing with the onslaught of information he didn’t want to process.  If he did- if Ponk was right- it’d prove that George was broken, but didn’t the breakdown and the shredded ball already prove that much?

“It’s likely that the development with Sir Sapnap was simply the final straw for you,” Ponk countered easily. “If you’re so greatly worried about losing your position, it would be natural for your instincts to want to defend everything you have outside of that.  In this case, Jack.” Ponk let out a small exhale. “I think the fact that Sir Sapnap happens to be a blaze protector also factored into things.  Your instincts might have been worried that he and Jack might be able to connect on a fundamental level that you can’t.”

“So I’m- I’m worried about losing Jack to him?” George asked, shame curling in his gut at how right it felt.

“Among other things,” Ponk said casually, as though they were discussing the weather and not the very foundation of George’s mental stability. “Change can be a very stressful thing in a hybrid’s life, and going through so many changes without truly addressing the causes that required them is bound to leave lasting effects on anyone.  There’s no shame in that.  It doesn’t in any way make you less – it simply means that you need time to heal.”

Tired of hiding away, George slowly pressed himself up onto shaky legs, using the back of the couch to haul himself up.  When he got there it was to meet Ponk’s gentle gaze, the doctor situated exactly where he’d been before, not a step closer.

“Let me ask you a question,” Ponk continued, a complete non-reaction to George’s current state, as sorry as it must be. “What was it that made you finally cut ties with your old family?  What was the breaking point?”

“Um- Jack,” George sniffed, surprised by the question.  Aside from Connor, no one had really asked for the details regarding the separation from his family.  He had the feeling Jack wanted to know but also wanted to give George his space and settled for showing his support in other ways. “My family wanted to meet him, and I couldn’t- they were never going to treat him well, so I…”

“You protected him,” Ponk finished gently. “You followed your instincts and you protected him.  You removed the threat from the equation by firmly separating yourself from them.” He tilted his head slightly, gaze fond. “By the looks of things, your family never treated you with the care and consideration you deserved, but you were able to tolerate that for yourself.  It was only when your packmate was threatened that you were able to move on, and I think that made you extra sensitive when it came to matters regarding Jack.  As terrible as they may have been, it was still a loss, which makes your instincts prioritize Jack’s safety all the more.  Because if he’s braced with something threatening enough to warrant such a loss then what’s to say there isn’t more danger just around the corner?  What’s to say that your best friend won’t hurt him?” Ponk held his clipboard closer to his chest. “You seem to be in a state of hypervigilance, something that is exacerbated by the general uncertainty surrounding your new position.  I think a conversation with Eret and Foolish could greatly help, much like how the conversation between your friend and Jack helped them.  It was something Jack was worried to approach, but simply having the opportunity for open, facilitated communication was able to put his mind at ease, and the same could be said for you.”

The issues just kept piling up, and George didn’t know what to do with them.  He was hypervigilant, he was mourning the neglect of his old family, he had anxiety, he was repressed.  He supposed at this rate it was only fair for Eret to know of this, it wasn’t like George would exactly be able to hide it, if this afternoon was any indication.  If he was going to lose this, he may as well do it now with Ponk present so the doctor could pick up the pieces.

“Okay,” George said, using the couch to make his way to a new armchair. “You can call them.”

Ponk’s brows furrowed. “It doesn’t have to be now.”

“I want it to be,” George lied, running a hand through his hair. 

If he had it his way they’d never have this conversation, but if he was already wading through the bullshit that was his psyche, he may as well do it now.

“If you’re sure,” Ponk said, holding his gaze.  “You can change your mind at any time.”

With that he got up, crossing towards the door while George tried not to stare at the mutilated ball sagging in a pathetic heap on the table.

“It will probably take a few hours for them to be free,” George sniffed, rubbing at his face again. “Should we keep talking in the meantime?”

“We could,” Ponk allowed when he arrived at the door. “But I think they may be available sooner than you think.” George wanted to scoff, but before he could Ponk was sticking his head out the door. “Ah,” he said, sounding amused. “Just as I thought.”

“Is he okay?”

That was Eret’s voice.  Eret, who as far as George knew, should be in a meeting right now.

“Stupid, he legally can’t tell you that.” That was Foolish, who was supposed to be on a build site across town.  Why was he in the castle? “Can we come see him, though?”

“I was about to send for you,” Ponk confirmed, stepping aside just in time to avoid getting trampled by a totem hybrid, Foolish bursting into the room with wide eyes and relaxing when he caught sight of George.  Only for a second though, before his expression fell into one of sorrow.   

Shame threatened to curdle in his gut once more, though before it could do so Foolish was upon him, wrapping himself around the parts of George he could reach with a comforting purr.

“Good pup-good pup-support-love-care,” Foolish murmured, nuzzling George’s hair.

It was something George had never received before.  The closest he’d ever gotten was from Dream’s parents, and he’d always been sure to keep a firm physical boundary between them to avoid being unbecoming, to not compromise himself, but now it was here and offered so generously-

He promptly burst into tears he didn’t realize he had, leaning towards the front of his chair so he could cuddle as close to Foolish as possible.

“Care-care-love-good pup,” came Eret’s deeper rumble, and then he was wrapping around George’s other side, easily encompassing him and Foolish both. “It’s okay, darling, let it out.  We’re here for you.”

“I’m sorry,” George rasped, eyes burning once more with tears.  He’d thought he was done by now.  He was so tired. “I’m so sorry, I can do better.  I can- I will do better.”

“You already do the best,” Foolish cooed, nuzzling his hair once more. “You’re exactly who you need to be.  We don’t want you any other way.”

George was startled by another sob, tried to hide his face against his shoulder and was halted by Eret’s hand – gentle and firm.

“What is it, dear one?” Eret asked, familiar shades missing, revealing the full weight of his concern to George. “What is it that plagues you?  Is there anything we can do to help?”

“J-Just- I need time,” George gasped, beseeching. “I won’t always- I won’t be this broken, I won’t embarrass you, just don’t- please don’t disown me.”

“Disown you?” Eret echoed, brows furrowed in confusion before a thunderous expression crossed his face. “Who would dare suggest such a thing?  Did some of my other family members reach out to you?”

“We can fuck them up politically if you give us names,” Foolish hummed, hugging him close. “They tried to scare me off when Eret and I started courting too.  It’s okay, we can take them on.  We know all their tricks.”

“I- what?” George was so confused. “No, they didn’t- no one said anything, just- I’ve been- I’m letting you down.”

“Who said that?” Foolish pressed. “I will punch them.”

Despite the unshakable tension gripping his core, George blustered through a laugh, wet and somewhat hysterical.

Somehow, it was enough to let him breathe easier. “No one,” he murmured, leaning into the totem hybrid’s hold. “No one said that, just…”

He didn’t know how to explain what should be inherent.  What he thought was obvious.

Strangely enough, it was Foolish who discovered how to put it into words. “Was it your brain, then?  Was your brain being mean to you?  Because I will figuratively punch it.” Before George could response, Foolish was raising a hand, lightly tapping his knuckles against George’s forehead. “Stop being mean to George.  We love him exactly as he is.  He’s allowed to be sad.  He’s allowed to hurt.  He doesn’t have to be perfect.  He just needs to be himself, and that self is not broken or an embarrassment.” He dropped his hand, then pressed a kiss to George’s crown. “We love him when he’s himself.”

“Oh, George,” Eret said, sorrow tinging his voice. “I’m so sorry, I should have clarified that sooner.  There’s not a thing you could do that could make us disown you, that could make me change my mind.  No matter what happens, if you lash out or if your instincts act up – that will not invalidate you from being a member of our family, much less invalidate you from our love.”

“But,” George gasped, tears burning in his eyes. “But I-”

“No buts,” Foolish hummed, releasing another purr of comfort. “Look, I’ve been there, okay?  I thought they were crazy to make me consort and I worried all the time about making a mistake so big they’d change their minds.  But we – at the very least our family – doesn’t work like that.  Yes, we have political positions and yes, they factor into things, but they will never outweigh the love we have for our family.  So please, please don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Just,” George began, struggling to find his words. “I didn’t- I can’t lose you guys.  I already lost my old family and I- I hated them, they never felt like a family, but they- they still…”

“Were big giant idiots, we know,” Foolish murmured.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eret continued. “They did.  You might be feeling at odds because you worked so hard for them and they turned you away-”

“I was the perfect son,” George interrupted, unable to hold himself back any longer. “I- I had good grades, I didn’t cause any scandals.  I worked hard.  Sure, I wouldn’t allow them to bargain me away for political power, but the rest of it should have- it should have been enough, and…”

“You were so good for them and they threw you out anyway,” Foolish finished. “You’re worried if you weren’t good enough for them that you might not be good enough for us.”

“Yes,” George gasped, shaking from a combination of fear and shame.

They spent a few moments holding him close, bombarding him with purrs and rumbles of good-loved-wanted.  It helped him on an instinctual level even if it was still hard to believe, part of George terrified they might change their minds at the drop of a hat.

“You didn’t do anything wrong with them,” Eret repeated, breaking back into Common. “They did plenty wrong by you, but you were a dutiful and hardworking son.  You didn’t fail them or do anything that warranted being cast out.  You are everything a good protector and son should be exactly as you are, and that was why we wanted to adopt you.” Eret pulled back so he could see his expression clearly. “There are no impossible standards you have to uphold – for us, you’ve already met them.”

“And even if you didn’t,” Foolish cut in. “Even if you fell to pieces and became a wreck that could never work in politics ever again we’d still want you, because you’re George, and that’s how family works.”

It didn’t make any sense.

George sobbed, then sobbed again, rocking from the effort of it. 

All the while, both of them held him close.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Eret murmured. “That’s what our adoption papers stated.  We will always be proud to have you as our packmate no matter how much you struggle.  For us you are strong, resilient, and kind.  You’re amazing, and you will never lose us.”

“Just like you’ll never lose Jack,” Foolish added. “I mean, you’ll have to ask him yourself, but I’m pretty sure he’d start biting people if they tried to take you away.”

It got another laugh from George. 

Somehow, he was able to breathe easier.

“You don’t have to hide your hurt from us,” Eret said. “We didn’t adopt you to fill a position, we just wanted you in our family.  Being heir is incidental.”

“And was never supposed to hurt you,” Foolish added. “It was supposed to be an acknowledgement, but if it makes your life harder, you don’t have to do it.  We just want you to be happy.  We want to add to your happiness.  We want to be part of your pack, same as all your other packmates.”

“I- you mean Jack?” George asked, feeling flushed.

“And the Wastakens,” Eret said. “The Halos.  Connor.” He let out a deep rumble that resonated with George perfectly. “There are so many who love you.  So many who are honored to receive your love in turn.  We will always respect the distance you need, but please, don’t put a wall between us.  We want to be there for you.  All of us, for all of you.”

Dream.  Sapnap.  Bad and Skeppy and the rest of the Wastakens.  Jack and Connor.  They’d been friends before, good ones, important ones, but in this moment-

Family.  George had always wanted them to be family, and the idea that he could actually have that was as terrifying as it was wonderful.

“If you let us in – any of us, all of us, we would move the world for you,” Foolish offered. “You don’t have to take it from us, though.  Hear it from them yourself.  They’d be glad to tell you.” His smile stretched wide, eyes sparkling in the warm light of the room. “Glad to tell you that’s there’s not a thing in this world you could do to get rid of us.”

Eret chuckled. “I’ve yet to see a Wastaken move once they set their mind on something.”

“Same with the Halos,” Foolish added. “And again, Jack would bite so many people for you.  He loves you.  We love you.” He switched to a Peacekeeper coo. “You are so loved, good pup.”

And that was- that was it.  That was all there was to it.

George was loved.  There were no mistakes he could make to lose that love, to lose that support.  It was just there for him.

“Pack,” George gasped, clinging onto them tighter. “Pack, pack, love pack.”

“Peacekeepers love pup,” Eret rumbled. “Love-love-good-wanted.”

“Wanted-wanted-wanted,” Foolish added, and that was it.  It was all George needed.

For the first time in years he felt grounded, like something was finally letting him put down roots instead of trying to lose him to fierce billows of wind.    

It was everything he wanted.

And perhaps a little bit more.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t like Sapnap enjoyed being an idiot, but it did happen with an unfortunate frequency, especially when it came to George.

“Sappy,” Bad sighed, kind enough to keep his focus on the medical supplies he was sorting instead of aiming a look of rampant sympathy at his younger brother. “I know you’ve been struggling lately, but I think your desperation to distract yourself with other matters might have led you to push for something that could really have used more time.  You know how George gets.”

“I know,” Sapnap whined, turning to bury his face in the pillow of the treatment bed he was forlornly sprawled across.

In hindsight it seemed obvious, and Sapnap knew that George wasn’t really upset with him.  Or at least, that was what he hoped.  But George had been so eager for Sapnap and Dream to get along way back then, and when Sapnap had caught the opportunity to make amends for that by solidifying a relationship with Jack, it seemed like the clear way to move forward.  Sapnap couldn’t make George more content by befriending Dream but he could fix this gap between himself and Jack, which would ultimately make George happier.  He might not say as much, but George wasn’t a person who held onto a multitude of friendships.  There were a select few in his inner circle and Sapnap was privileged enough to be one of them.  As such, when Sapnap had caught the opportunity to avoid the same mistakes he’d made with Dream, he’d taken it.

But there was, unfortunately, so much he hadn’t accounted for, and he didn’t know what all was going on with George, but the fear and desperation in the panther hybrid’s eyes when he’d instinctively lashed out at Sapnap was sure to haunt the blaze hybrid for many days to come.  He’d done that, or at least he’d set it off, and he could only hope that Ponk would be able to get George the help he needed while the knight bemoaned his own ineptitude.

Bad was right, Sapnap had been desperate to distract himself from the pack-not-pack thing with Emperor Philza.  Maybe he should schedule an appointment with Ponk as well to properly address that, put his mind to rest since it was obvious everyone else had forgotten about it.  If it motivated him to do stupid shit like this – well-intentioned, but terribly, terribly timed – it needed to be settled once and for all, though Sapnap wouldn’t be able to focus on it until he could talk to George again, and who knew when the fuck that might be.

He hoped George wasn’t done with him forever.  He probably wasn’t, but if there was a slight possibility of that happening Sapnap wasn’t actually sure what he’d do.  He’d respect it, of course, because this was a hole he’d dug for himself, but that wouldn’t make it hurt any less.

There was a sigh from the other side of the room. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry this happened,” Bad said, his words followed by a soothing rumble that had Sapnap relaxing against the bed immediately. “I think that things will ultimately be okay – you and George have been through a lot together, but I- well, he’s going through a lot of stuff right now.  What with the disownment and all-”

“Fucking shit,” Sapnap said, struck with the sudden urge to slam his head through a wall. “Bad, I’m so fucking stupid.”

George had just been disowned.  He’d just been disowned, and instead of properly comforting him through that, Sapnap had allowed George to dismiss it with a wave of his hand and then, like the brilliant friend he was, Sapnap had bugged him about something completely trivial and unrelated, something that focused on his needs rather than George’s.

“Well,” a voice drawled from the doorway, one that eradicated whatever looseness Sapnap had in his shoulders and brought his agitation back in full force. “It’s good of you to acknowledge as much.”

“Sir Dream,” Bad greeted before Sapnap could snarl, the blaze hybrid shifting into a more defensible position while the other protector silently eased into the private office. “I ask that you keep things professional and courteous while you’re in my treatment space.  If you’re seeking a medical consultation-”

“I’m here for him,” Dream said, pointing lazily towards Sapnap. “My apologies for the intrusion, Dr. Halo, but I felt this was a matter that could not be put off.”

Sapnap would have growled the other protector away if it wouldn’t just validate Dream’s low opinion of him.  As it was, he spent maybe a second being confused by the other protector’s presence before realization glinted in the back of his mind with an annoyed huff.

“The crows got you, didn’t they?” Sapnap murmured, rising to his feet in an easy motion.

As much as Sapnap respected and admired Emperor Philza’s connection to his hybrid traits, his army of crows could be a real nuisance when utilized by outside, substantially irritating sources like Dream.

“They pull my attention when they deem it necessary,” Dream dismissed, neither confirming nor denying Sapnap’s statement even though it was fucking obvious what had happened. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t come here first.”

“Jack,” Sapnap said, just his name, and while there was no reaction from Dream, that in itself was confirmation enough.

“My presence seemed to be more of an agitation than an aid,” Dream allowed. “He was concerned about George’s response towards an unclaimed protector interacting with him, and while I gladly respect his wishes, I cannot help but wonder what the hell happened to make him so afraid for George.”

“It wasn’t his fault, Dream,” Bad said, smoothly inserting himself between the two protectors. “This was likely inevitable and you know it.  Taking this as an opportunity to lash out at Sapnap isn’t going to help George any more than Sapnap’s guilt is.”

“I just want answers,” Dream countered evenly, one of the few that could confront Bad’s impressive stature and naturally intimidating disposition without wavering.

“No, you want a place to unleash your frustration,” Bad countered, just as unimpressed. “And you are not doing that here.  Neither of you are doing that here.  It will not help you, it will not help Jack, and it certainly will not help George, so if you want to find out what’s going on, you’re simply going to have to wait for George to tell you himself.  He will do so when he’s ready, and that might not sit well with you-”

There was a good chance that the completed chastisement would have made Dream growl, not that they were allowed to confirm that because in the next moment the door to the infirmary slammed open and there was a breathless George, his face red and splotchy and hair a wreck and looking every inch not the Georgie they knew, but when his gaze landed on Sapnap there was a palpable relief that seemed to wash over George, relief and sorrow and oh, Sapnap had been catastrophizing for nothing.

“Sapnap!” George sprinted across the room, and while Sapnap had been prepared for maybe a handshake or a shoulder bump because George wasn’t one who was much for contact, he was entirely unprepared to be wrapped in a hug so forceful it left them toppling back onto the closest bed in a graceless tangle of limbs. “Sapnap,” George cooed against his shoulder, the panther hybrid’s entire body gripped with trembles. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t mad at you.  It was- there was a lot of other stuff, but I wasn’t mad at you, I was-” He pulled back, seeming entirely unconcerned that he was more or less on top of Sapnap, his eyes shining with moisture. “We’re family, right?” he asked, tone so full of hope it made Sapnap’s heart ache. “You and me and Bad?  We’re family?”

“Of course, Georgie,” Bad said, reacting while Sapnap was still struck dumb with George’s sudden bout of emotions.  An hour ago, maybe less, George had been snarling him away, had made Sapnap’s instincts want to hide in a pit of despair, but now George was clinging and desperate and affectionate and it was amazing, but it was also hard to believe. “And Skeppy too.  We’re family.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap said, belatedly getting his shit together. “Couldn’t get rid of us if you tried.”

“I don’t want to,” George admitted, burying his face against Sapnap’s shoulder and releasing a fierce purr – the likes of which Sapnap rarely heard.  George had a strong sense of composure, he was very restrained with himself, and as such, kept hybrid sounds to a minimum.  That changed with Jack, but only in regards to the peacekeeper, as far as Sapnap had heard. “I want to be your family.  I’m glad to be your family, I-”

He tensed, then glanced over his shoulder, seeming to catch sight of Dream who was lingering off to the side and oh hey, while they were busy it seemed that Lord Eret and Lord Foolish had appeared, both of them looking on with expressions of open adoration.

“Dream!” George was untangled from Sapnap in under a second, scrambling in a clumsy manner he normally would have never allowed, but there was a smile on his face and a joyous laugh on his tongue, and Dream didn’t hesitate to meet him in the middle, soaking up his own hug and clinging to George with substantially more grace. “Up,” George said, bumping his forehead against Dream’s chest. “Up.  Pick me up.”

“Um- right.” Dream moved before George could change his mind, something even Sapnap could admittedly be impressed with because holy shit, George literally never allowed for that, but here he was, permitting Dream to hook an arm under his thighs and guide him upwards, nestled in the safety of his arms.

Stupid height.  If Sapnap were that tall he could pick George up too.  He still could do it technically as he was, but it wouldn’t make much of a difference, and Sapnap would burn with irritation over it if George didn’t look so happy.

George’s hands anchored on each of Dream’s shoulders, his expression one of the utmost seriousness. “Are we family?” he asked, somewhat more uncertain than he’d been with Bad and Sapnap which was crazy, because he’d known Bad and Sapnap for much less time than he’d known Dream. “Your family, are they- do they- Eret said- and he might be wrong-”

“He’s not wrong,” Dream said, using his free hand to take one of George’s hands in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’re family.  We’ve always been family.”

“Oh.” George’s face screwed tight like he was going to cry.  He thankfully didn’t, though that mostly seemed to be because he was exhausted. “Good.  I- Good, I want that.” He leaned forward, hiding his face against Dream’s shoulder. “I want that.”

“We do too,” Dream said, voice tinged with a fondness so open it made Sapnap feel a little flustered.  How could that protector be such a jackass one moment and then so awed and reverent the next? “Would you like to hear it from them themselves?”

“Yes,” George said, immediate and expressing a certain neediness that he normally wouldn’t entertain. “But I-” He looked over at Sapnap and Bad. “I-”

“It’s okay,” Dream said, and at first Sapnap thought he was simply earning brownie points until Dream finished with- “They can come too.”

George looked as dumbfounded as Sapnap felt, if not more so. “Dream.”

“You’re family, George,” Dream said simply. “Your family is always welcome at the Wastakens.”

“Sounds like we have a trip in order,” Lord Foolish declared before anyone else could react. “Eret-”

“They already know we’re taking the rest of the day off,” Eret said. “But I’ll send a runner to get leave for the rest of us.”

“We don’t have to do this now,” George sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. “We can’t all afford to miss work.”

“Sure we can,” Foolish said breezily. “We can make time for important things.  Besides, you don’t walk on a broken leg, and you shouldn’t force yourself immediately back into a normal routine.  You need to rest, and frankly, I wouldn’t say no to a family reunion.”

If George had tears, Sapnap strongly suspected he would have started crying again.  As it was he just sort of sniffled, ducking his head with a vulnerability that Sapnap had never witnessed, not once, and he was honored to be allowed that privilege.  To be permitted to see this side of George, the side that allowed Lord Eret to comfort him, his cheeks flushing dark when the lord consort had him blow into a handkerchief the way one might for a child, but George handled it so awkwardly, like he’d never done it before, and it made Sapnap hate the Davidsons all the more.

It was done now, though.  They were gone, denied entry to George’s life.

And the rest of them, thankfully, got to pick up the slack.  Got to dote and support and love the way they wanted to.

“I um- need to go see Jack,” George murmured, leaning against Dream’s shoulder. “See if he’s okay with this.”

“He will be,” Foolish soothed, and while George didn’t (thankfully) allow Dream to carry him up to the royal wing, he was comfortably squished between Foolish and Eret, the smaller peacekeeper maintaining an easy one-sided conversation that George listened to with open wonder.

Oh wow.  Sapnap had never expected this for George.  He’d hoped for it, of course.  He’d always hoped for it, but to see his friend finally get it made him grateful beyond words.

Jack must have been expecting them because he burst out the door to his suite before they’d even properly approached it, a bashful look crossing his face the moment he did so, as though unsure of his welcome.  It was then that George abandoned his adopted family, sprinting forward to offer Jack a hug, something the small blaze hybrid gladly returned.

“I’m sorry if I scared you; I scared myself,” George was murmuring by the time he approached. “It’s better now.  I don’t know if I’m perfect yet-”

“I do,” Jack interrupted with a small huff he must have learned from Tubbo. “And you are.  You’re George and you’re perfect.” He hugged the panther hybrid tighter. “Thank you for that.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Um.” George’s lashes fluttered, likely in a bid to hold back tears he no longer had.  A reflexive motion. “Would you and Connor be interested in visiting the Wastakens with us?  I’d um- like to have all my family in one place.”

When Jack looked up, it was with an expression of such genuine joy it made Sapnap fall a little in love with him. “Of course,” he said, nuzzling George’s shoulders. “Connor already has a bag packed.”

“I like to be prepared,” Connor offered dryly from where he was leaning against the open doorframe. “Just for the record, I’m not filling out any paperwork for you.”

“Yet,” Jack informed George with a grin. “He won’t do it yet; he wants to wait for some reason.”

George laughed. “It’s Connor, so I trust it’s important.”

“Stop being so mushy,” Connor complained, but he hugged George as well, even took the opportunity to ruffle his hair and George only laughed, and he was-

He was free.

He was happy and free.

It was all Sapnap had ever wanted for him.

~:~

The ride to the Wastaken estate was a bit surreal.  It was an exclusive place that Sapnap had long assumed he’d never be allowed access to, not that he’d wanted such things before this afternoon, but now he was in a carriage squished between Bad and Skeppy with George, Dream, and Jack sitting across from them, though Jack was mostly in Dream’s lap from his efforts to point out the landmarks he deemed notable, which was most of them. 

It made Sapnap wonder if that was why Lord Eret and Lord Foolish had given them space by riding in their own separate carriage, though he was distracted from perusing that in a substantial fashion with Jack’s newest exclamation.

“There’s so many trees!” Jack marveled, pointing emphatically at the forests surrounding the estate – a rare sight inside the walls of the capital, but such was the influence and power of the Wastakens.  Beneath him, Dream practically radiated a smug sort of pride. “They’re nicer than the ones outside warehouse.  Duke Wastaken even said they were mob proof, which makes them much less frightening.” The prospect that Jack might have once been in a forest that wasn’t mob proof sent an immediate ripple of alarm over their carriage, not that Jack seemed to notice. “I wonder if there’s any rabbits inside.  I like rabbits.”

“There are,” Dream said, shifting so that George could slink closer to his side, allowing the panther hybrid to cuddle up to his peacekeeper. “George and I used to chase them when we were younger.”

“Dream was trying to teach me how to hunt,” George huffed with a fond look of exasperation. “It didn’t take.”

“You didn’t want it to take,” Dream countered petulantly.

“And why should I?” George hummed. “When I can lounge in your hammock and let you do all the hard work while I enjoy the sun?”

“Is the hammock that nice?” Jack asked, turning to face his protector and in doing so, more firmly settling himself in Dream’s lap. “I’ve never tried one, but I’ve slept in a sack before.”

To George’s credit, his expression only went slightly stony, but it smoothed away in an instant. “It’s much nicer than that,” he soothed. “We can share it later.”

“As long as that’s what you want to do,” Jack said, painfully earnest, “This visit’s about you.”

“Yeah, George,” Skeppy laughed, nudging the other protector’s boot with his own. “You’re getting all the attention this time.  There’s no hiding from our love and affection.”

“Good,” George sniffed, flushed and wonderfully open in a way he never allowed himself to be. “That’s what I want.”

Fuck yeah, it was.  George deserved everything in the world and Sapnap was going to help give it to him. 

What a life.

When they finally reached the end of the long drive leading up to the mansion, they were met by a butler and a tall female piglin hybrid, her hair a pale gold that was woven into intricate braids.  Her outfit was in the Wastaken colors, though not overly ornate, and she didn’t hesitate to approach with a wide smile.

“This is a delightful surprise,” she greeted, seeming entirely unbothered by the sudden visit of so many outsiders. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Dream, who’d thrown an arm around George’s shoulders that hadn’t been immediately thrown off, puffed up with pride. “George wanted his family all in one place,” he declared, and then – it what seemed to be prolonged, slow motion – he removed his mask.

Sapnap was staring at the ground before he could even think about it.

What the fuck.  What the fuck.

“That’s excellent news,” the piglin hybrid rumbled.  There were sounds of her moving forward, George meeting her halfway with a solid umf. “Baby home.  Good baby, strong pup.  Love-love-love.”

“D-Duchess,” George gasped, making Sapnap realize that was Dream’s mom.  He’d seen- he’d seen her face without- holy shit, that was a big deal, perhaps equivalent to her openly doting on George and he’d known they were close, but to actually see- or rather hear it in action was- yeah.  Wow.

“We love you, dear heart,” she said in Common, sure to leave no room for misunderstanding. “As such, you can leave all formalities behind.” She let out another comforting rumble. “The same applies for all of you, of course, and- Oh, Sir Sapnap, you don’t have to avert your gaze.”

Sapnap felt his cheeks flush with a furious heat, his instincts causing an uneasy shift beneath his skin. “I um- I just don’t know if it’s appropriate.”

He might not like Dream, and he might even make fun of the stupid mask he wore, but Sapnap could respect his family traditions.  They were as sacred as the traditions he and Bad had brought with them from the nether, and to violate them implied a level of intimacy he knew he hadn’t earned.

“It’s alright,” the duchess said, her tone fond and gentle. “You’re dear to our son, of course you are trusted.”

That was what made Sapnap startle up in surprise, his face hot. “But we’re not actually that um- close with Dream.”

“I meant George,” she said, squeezing the panther hybrid close to her side, and George looked to be as much of a flushed mess as Sapnap felt, though he was substantially happier.

And hybrid families – their dynamics were different when it came to adopted members.  What could be a mate for one person could be a son for another, and Sapnap didn’t know if that made George Dream’s brother or not, and honestly, it didn’t ultimately matter.  What mattered was that George was happy and they got to contribute to that.

“We trust his judgement,” the duchess continued, pink eyes kind. “He would not have put his faith in you without good reason.”

“Skeppy was more of a reluctant tagalong,” George sniffed, looking off to the side in embarrassment.

“No he wasn’t,” the duchess hummed, unimpressed. “You wouldn’t talk about him as much if he was.”

“I- mum,” George hissed, earning amused laughter from Eret and Foolish as they departed from their own carriage, Connor a smug observer behind them.

“Come, let’s go inside,” the duchess said, her smile wide. “We have much to celebrate.”

The lord consorts took tea with the duchess in her sunroom while the rest of them were released into the garden, Jack dragging Skeppy around as he explained the different features Dream had showed him the last time he’d visited.  George pointed out the tree Dream had gotten stuck in once and Dream pointed out a pond George had fallen into-

“I was shoved,” George hissed with a furious flick of his tail, and then he proceeded with a round of roughhousing that led to a lot of squawking and flailing that went so strongly against Dream’s cool and collected image that Sapnap honestly didn’t know what to do with it.

“Drista said they both ate mud,” Jack offered in an effort to break up the scuffle, and then both of them started talking over each other in an effort to explain what was clearly a very misconstrued story.

This, Sapnap realized, was where George had spent his childhood.  Or the part of his childhood that had allowed him to be a child.  There were a lot of stories present and for once, George didn’t hesitate to share them as they toured, showing them all the good resting places – letting Jack try out the hammock or the bench swing or look at fish from the shelter of the gazebo.

It was really nice, but through it all Sapnap couldn’t help but feel off-balanced, mostly because Dream was maskless.

He could see Dream’s face. 

Dream had a face.

Logically, that was something Sapnap had always known.  Illogically, Sapnap had come to associate that infuriatingly minimal smiley face mask with everything Dream was, and as such, was not suddenly prepared for the range of expressions suddenly available to him. 

And boy, was Dream expressive.

And distracting.

Sapnap hadn’t been prepared for how green his eyes would be, or the scales.  The scales.  They were unlike any Sapnap had seen before, and while he considered himself a powerful hybrid, he knew those concentrated patches of scales indicated that Dream was not a force to be messed with.  Blacks and purples – all metallic, was he a snake hybrid?  Sapnap didn’t know, and he didn’t want to stare too much, even though it was weird.  He knew Dream adored George, but being able to see that fondness and adoration, those wide smiles, and then seeing it translated to Jack as well, who wasn’t viewed as an enemy or threat, but a welcome ally-

The three of them fit in a way that made Sapnap ache, but this moment wasn’t about him.  It was about George reclaiming his life, and the more Skeppy and Bad dragged Sapnap into things, the easier it was.

For the most part.

“Look, Sapnap!” Jack said, cradled easily in one of Dream’s arms so he could get a closer look at some flowers. “Look how many scales he has!”

I fucking know, Sapnap would have snarled at anyone else, but this was Jack.  Jack, who was overcoming his own trepidation and attempting to reach out a hand to Sapnap in friendship.

The blaze hybrid wasn’t going to fuck this up twice.

“It’s a lot, right?” Sapnap cheered, coming closer to appreciate the sight.  For Jack, not for Dream. “And they’re very pretty.”

“They are!” Jack agreed, looking delighted and missing the way Dream sputtered. “They protect him from the cold too.  Isn’t that cool?”

“The coolest,” Sapnap agreed. “Literally and figuratively.”

There was a beat before Jack made the mental connection, and then he laughed. “Yeah, that’s true,” he said before hopping down from Dream’s hold, and then he was dragging Sapnap off somewhere else, tentative but bright and his hand so very warm.

Sapnap made a pointed effort to ignore the weight of Dream’s stare against his back.  This was not about them.  They would not fuck this up.  If Dream didn’t get that message now, Sapnap would be happy to inform him of it later.

The duchess summoned them inside after maybe an hour or so of wandering, where they were joined by the maskless images of Duke Wastaken and Dream’s little sister, the terror of the knight training program (and secretly one of Sapnap’s favorite apprentices).

“We heard there was a celebration,” the duke explained by way of greeting, and then they were led into a dining room that was entirely devoid of furniture.  Instead, there was an explosion of floor pillows of various sizes, enough to sit on or lean against as they desired, all arranged in a loose circle. “Tonight,” the duke began as each of them were passed a glass. “We welcome home our son.” His smile was nothing but fond and loving. “We have been waiting for you for a while, George, and we would gladly wait longer if that was what you needed.  What matters is that you are here, with us.” He toasted his cup towards Lord Eret. “And of course, we offer nothing but our utmost respect towards you other parents.”

“And we respect the smaltz out of you in turn,” Lord Foolish said cheerfully. “Now let’s eat.”

Initially, Sapnap had been apprehensive about sharing a meal at a major duke’s house.  They could get away with casual dining back home, and the royal flock didn’t tend to care all that much about etiquette when they were in their private dining room, but visiting another family inferred a certain level of decorum.  Sapnap had been dreading the long table and the unspoken battle of seating arrangements, dreading a multitude of silverware that even with Bad’s teachings he couldn’t entirely remember how to use.  He’d do it for George, of course, he was family, but instead of any of that they were just chilling on the floor.

The food they were served didn’t even use silverware, it was all handheld and delicious and literally the best thing ever.

“Is this a family tradition?” Sapnap asked Drista, who’d made herself at home shouldering her way between Dream and George and had therefore forever earned Sapnap’s appreciation. “Eating like this?  And if it is, would it be offensive or flattering if our family did it too?”

“Sapnap,” Bad sighed, but he was still grinning, couldn’t not when Skeppy was feeding him personally like the mushy lovers they were.

“I’m just saying it’s awesome,” Sapnap huffed, taking a bite out of some kind of wrapped up salad thing that had all the flavors of a salad with none of the hassle.  It was served alongside a mug of soup.  This was literally the best meal ever. “Chairs and tables are dumb; we should do this all the time.”

Jack, who was cuddled happily between George and Connor, flushed dark, like maybe he agreed with Sapnap but was too embarrassed to say as much.

“It’s actually a new tradition,” Drista said with a pleased air of approval. “But you’re more than welcome to copy it.”

Hell yeah, Sapnap was going to use that when he argued this point with Bad.  It would be great.

Lunch wasn’t too heavy, and it was followed with a tour of the house, Duchess Wastaken leading the parade to what she deemed as the pup wing.

“Dream, Drista, George, and Jack already have rooms here,” the duchess explained, most of her focus on Lord Eret and Lord Foolish. “But I had the servants start preparing the free rooms when you arrived.” She looked over her shoulder. “Sir Connor, of course, is on the other side of Jack.”

“That was going to happen regardless,” Connor declared with a snap of his fingers. “But um- thanks for the consideration.”

“We wouldn’t expect less from a protector of your caliber,” Duke Wastaken said. “Across the hall, we set aside the rooms for Sir Sapnap, Sir Skeppy, and Doctor Halo.”

Bad cleared his throat. “Skeppy and I can um- actually share,” he said, sounding terribly bashful, as though they hadn’t already been sharing the master bedroom of their own estate for years now. “If that’s okay.”

“That’s perfectly fine,” the duchess soothed. “We thought that might be the case, but we wanted to have the option available, should you prefer it.” She nodded her head towards the lord consorts. “Of course, we have rooms set aside for both of you as well in the other wing.”

“Oh wow, thank you!” Lord Foolish said, the only one other than Sapnap who seemed surprised.

But just- “I don’t understand,” Sapnap spoke up, not wanting to shatter the peace, but beginning to feel a bit too lost not to. “Why are we getting rooms?”

Surprisingly enough, it was Jack who answered him. “It’s so you can have a personalized private space to retreat to should you need it whenever you visit,” he said, sounding as though he could scarcely believe this good fortune. “I used mine a lot the last time I came.  It was nice, and no one’s allowed to go in unless you give them permission to, or it’s an emergency.” He beamed, as though this was something to be cherished and not common decency, though for Jack, maybe it was entirely new. “Bad, do you want to come see my bed?  Skeppy can come too.”

Bad’s expression melted into one of utmost happiness. “Aw, I’d love to.  Thanks for inviting us.”

Jack’s cheeks flushed dark. “You’re welcome,” he murmured, almost too soft to be heard, but then he was dragging Sapnap’s siblings into his room, offering George and Connor a quick wave goodbye before they disappeared behind closed doors.

“Are they close?” Sapnap asked, feeling bad for not knowing this for certain.

“Outside of me, they were Jack’s first friends in the castle,” Connor explained, the smallest of smiles on his lips. “Don’t feel bad for not knowing, Jack asked them not to say anything.  He was very…”

“Yeah, I get it,” Sapnap said, thinking about how exhausted and shaken Jack had looked in those early days, cheeks sunken and gaze evaluating everyone with the utmost suspicion.

Honestly, Sapnap didn’t care if his brothers were the closest people ever to Jack – if they could help the guy’s life be even marginally better, that was a win in Sapnap’s book.

“Come on,” George said, suddenly poking Sapnap’s arm. “Let’s set up your room.”

‘Setting up’ apparently meant coordinating with a designer who Duchess Wastaken had on standby, who had Sapnap looking through catalogues upon catalogues of samples, reminding him of the work that was starting back at the castle in the bearer’s suite.  He thought he could escape it but no, he was back in the thick of things, but as awkward as he felt it was worth it to listen to George boldly chime in with his own opinions, until they were arguing over bedspreads just for the sake of it, Sapnap intending to go along with whatever George picked but riling him up just for the hell of it.  They found Jack with Bad and Skeppy in their room later, Jack already in the process of arranging their bed with the help of Skeppy, humming happily to himself while Bad watched on with a look of fondness.

Somehow, they managed to spend all their time until dinner working on their rooms, or better yet, getting a tour of the others’ spaces.  And George’s was- what the actual fuck, was what it was, and while George was entirely unrepentant, he did seem a bit flushed when Jack occupied himself with making the panther hybrid’s bed.  Connor had herded him that way after he’d intercepted the smaller blaze hybrid from trying to pick up books abandoned on the floor a handful of times.

Which was cute, up until Sapnap remembered that the reason he likely felt compelled to clean was because Jack used to be a slave.

Sort of put a lot of things in perspective.

They did eventually get to play cards – or, most of them played cards while George crashed in what was likely an inevitable nap – and thank fuck Dream and Sapnap collectively decided to put their natural competitive natures by the wayside in favor of watching Jack’s expression screw into a scrunched look of thoughtfulness, chewing on his bottom lip and grinning in triumph every time he remembered the rules correctly.  He cared more about that than winning the game, and in turn, that was what Sapnap decided to care about as well.

Dinnertime had them summoned out onto the back stone patio for an informal sit-down meal, though it was not without one last surprise.

“Georgie!” Prince Tommy cheered, the small avian leading the charge of eager pups where they happily stampeded in front of the rest of the royal flock, Prince Wilbur, Duke Quackity, Sir Technoblade, and the emperor himself, all looking on in fondness while the small pups acted like the hooligans they were. 

“Tubbo!” Jack cheered, bending low to catch the small goat hybrid with a pleased nuzzle, and this was- this was it, they were all here, all of them in one place.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Emperor Philza said, offering a polite nod of respect towards Dream’s parents. “I know we don’t quite qualify as immediate flock, but you extended this generosity nonetheless, and for that, we are grateful.”

“Extended flock is good enough for us,” the duchess hummed before waving them to their seats.  There wasn’t one big table, more like a dozen little ones between all the chairs, and once again, all of the food was handheld, allowing them to easily cuddle with each other, to feed and share food alike.

This time they were eating something called spring rolls, which seemed to be a salad all wrapped up in a little tube that they could then dip into sauce.  Against George’s side, Jack was running a fond hand through Tubbo’s hair, scratching at the base of his little horns while he took a bite out of his own spring roll, his eyes fluttering shut with contentment.

Despite the expression of extreme bliss, Sapnap hadn’t been expecting any more than that since Jack seemed to be a naturally quiet hybrid, but then-

“Happy-happy-happy,” Jack purred in Blaze speak, not seeming to register what he’d done until a few moments later.

His eyes went wide, and then he glanced around frantically, as though waiting for someone to shout at him, because that must have been trained out of him too.  It’d been trained out of him, but he’d given into the desire anyway, because his instincts had been so overcome there was no other way to express his joy.

In light of that, it was easy to know how to respond.

“Happy-happy-happy,” Sapnap rumbled right back, holding up his spring roll in a silent toast. “Happy meal, good pack.”

Jack stared at him as though waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the longer no one chastised him, the more he relaxed. “Best meal,” he agreed. “Best pack.”

Fuck yeah, it was.

Later, when Sapnap had volunteered to help setup the firepit, George would corner him with wide eyes, Dream half a step behind him.

“What did he say?” George hissed, his gaze darting over towards where Bad was guiding Jack in a gentle dance while Prince Wilbur played a guitar someone had summoned from somewhere. “Earlier, in blaze speak?”

“You want the literal translation?” Sapnap asked in a tease, George giving him a huffed glare because he knew full well what George wanted. “It was really cute.”

“Sapnap.”

“Happy-happy-happy,” Sapnap repeated, watching as George’s pupils dilated with pleasure. “He was literally so happy he couldn’t help but purr it out loud.”

“Oh,” George said, sounding breathless. “That’s… that’s how I feel too.”

“Me too,” Sapnap murmured, pointedly ignoring Dream. “I’m really happy for you, George.”

Normally, Sapnap wouldn’t dare to be this mushy with George, but it was a special occasion.  The gamble paid off when George simply flushed, the panther hybrid ducking his head with a flick of his tail. “I’m really happy for me too,” George admitted. “I’m so happy it terrifies me.”

“It’s okay, you can keep this,” Dream said, seeming to understand George’s concern. “We’ll always fight so you can have this.”

“Always,” Sapnap agreed, and this might be the one time they cooperated, but for George, for their pack, it was worth it.

For Sapnap, it wasn’t exactly right, his instincts still yearning for more, but for the moment, it was good enough.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Jack was glad that George was finally able to find the peace and acceptance he needed to stabilize him.  It had been a helpless feeling, thinking he was making progress, that he was finding a way to be closer to George, only to have the panther hybrid snarl and hide Jack away.  And on one hand it was comforting to know that George would fight for him, but on the other, it was harder when Jack himself didn’t register the threat, and he was hypervigilant when it came to such things.  He didn’t detect a problem but he’d contributed to one, and the fact that George didn’t want his company to help rectify it, even though George would gladly be there for Jack in turn should he need it – hurt a little bit.

“He’s not good at emotions,” Connor had reminded him when they’d retreated to their suite, substantially less triumphant than Jack had anticipated when he’d first left his appointment. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you or doesn’t want you around, this is a him-thing, and it’s a him-thing that Ponk’s going to help him with.” He reached over, ruffling Jack’s soft hair.  It was a fine mop now, and though it didn’t glow with highlights like Sapnap’s did, everyone insisted that he looked quite dapper. “It will probably take time.  Remember how long it took you to get traction with Ponk?”

Jack winced, remembering the early days of his appointments.  To be fair, he was still wrapping his mind around the whole being-a-person thing.  At least George had that going for him, but ultimately, Jack understood Connor’s point.

“He’ll come back,” Connor assured him. “He’ll come back and we’ll be even stronger than before.”

Since it was Connor, it came as no surprise when the hedgehog hybrid turned out to be right.  An anxiety-filled hour later led to one of Jack’s best days so far – where he was able to support George and have all the people he cared for in one place.  Even Niki – one of the royal knights that occasionally taught Jack how to bake – had been seen at a distance as part of the carriage escort, and it had been sort of overwhelming for Jack. 

He wasn’t used to this kind of contentment.  To be able to walk around without fear, to have people who wanted to listen to him, whose days he made better with his mere presence.  No one made a big deal about eating on the floor even if he probably could have managed a table, and Sapnap and Skeppy and Bad had all seemed excited about forgoing silverware, as had the pups when they’d come by later.  Jack had gotten to show off his nest, then was allowed to help build not one, but two beds for his friends and packmate, which satisfied a part of his bearer instincts he didn’t know he had. 

With that much building happiness sans setbacks he probably should have expected for it to manifest in some way, but still, he’d been entirely surprised when it actually did.

Just- dinner with everyone and Tubbo- Tubbo was right there and sitting by Jack and sharing food with Jack and the chefs had specifically invented spring rolls for Jack and George was happy and Connor was there and this place was safe and if Jack felt overwhelmed he could go back to his nest and maybe he could put the pups down in his nest to sleep later or just build a new one for them and that would be cool too and-

“Happy-happy-happy!” he’d purred, loud and unrepentant.

Which just- he didn’t do.

He’d trained himself out of Bearer sounds almost as soon as he’d manifested.  His owners had never wanted him to share them with anyone else and frankly, nothing good had ever come from him advertising that fact.  Blaze speak had been discouraged as much as regular talking had, though it hadn’t stopped Jack from utilizing it in his early days as a slave, before he had better control over himself.  Hybrid sounds, he’d learned from Ponk, were a reflexive action spurred by their instincts, they were as normal as anything else, but like most things in Jack’s life, he had a strained relationship with them.

And then he just- right at the table.

No one had cared, and in a way, Jack had known they wouldn’t.  It wasn’t like they could understand him anyway except Sir Sapnap, and he’d been nice about it.  It wasn’t a big deal, but the fact that he hadn’t done it consciously, it felt like a big deal.

And it kept happening.

Prince Wilbur gifted him a new piece of jewelry – an ear cuff that complimented his new earrings well – and Jack found a, “Happy, hooray!” spilling out of his mouth whether he intended it or not.

Prince Wilbur couldn’t understand him, but he seemed to interpret Jack’s tone and celebrated right along with him, nuzzling the top of his head. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Like-like-like,” Jack had whispered, his cheeks feeling hot.

He’d get to join the pups for playtime and grin whenever Tubbo would crash into his knees in a tight hug – Tommy always sure to follow close behind. 

“Hello, sweet ones!” Jack found himself saying. “Yay!  Yay!  Yay!”

“I can purr too!” Tommy would cheer by way of response, proceeding to then coo and chirp while Tubbo echoed with his own awkward brays, Ranboo and Fundy happily piling on until it was a wonderful cacophony that had Jack whispering “Happy-happy-happy,” under his breath.

He wasn’t controlling it.  It wasn’t intentional, and he couldn’t seem to stop it.

“I just don’t know why it’s happening,” he lamented to Ponk during his next appointment. “Just- they keep slipping out and I don’t intend for it at all.  And it’s so loud.”

He tried to hold himself back, but sometimes he couldn’t help it.  Especially at a dinner where he actually had to use silverware, when he completed a course successfully without any spills, when it had been tasty and not frustrating at all and George had been able to join them, he found himself more or less shouting out his happiness before wanting to disappear underneath the table because why.  Jack thought he was without shame by this point, but now he actually cared about what others thought of him because he liked those others, and at this rate they were going to think he was crazy.

“First of all, I’d like to assure you that expressing yourself in your hybrid language is a perfectly natural thing, and there is no one in this castle or in your friend group that would look on you negatively for doing so,” Ponk began, sounding reasonable as always. “Now, am I correct in assuming that this form of expression was discouraged during your time as a slave?”

“Talking in general was, yeah,” Jack allowed, and as time went by, it became easier to talk about his past.  Easier to know it was a then and not a now, because now was where he was and it was so much better. “They didn’t like us making noise.  It was a little more welcome in the Nether, where a lot of the owners were blaze hybrids themselves and could understand us, but in the Overworld that could be seen as plotting potential unrest even if there wasn’t another blaze hybrid around to understand me, so it just- it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“So you conditioned yourself to stick to Common,” Ponk summarized, earning a nod from Jack. “Okay, well as I said before, it is perfectly natural for a hybrid to speak in their own hybrid language.  It’s a reflex, a tool for expression.  It is, in essence, an extension of ourselves, and while it was very necessary for you to neglect that part of yourself before, now you’re in a safe space where you no longer have to.  Now that you feel secure and comfortable, your body’s likely taking the opportunity to act on the instincts it’d been forced to suppress for so very long.” Ponk jotted something down on his clipboard. “Normally this would happen through secondary-sex speak, but I’m guessing-”

“Yeah, I don’t use that,” Jack interrupted, his face feeling hot just at the thought of it.

It was too tempting.  It was too dangerous.  And he knew that one day he’d probably have to tell these people who’d been so lovely and nice to him what he actually was, but he wanted to wait until he could do a little more justice to the bearer name.  Duke Quackity was an amazing bearer – that was what Jack had to live up to, and he wasn’t there yet.  He still struggled with his reading if he worked for too many hours organizing papers.  He still got basic concepts confused, and while a lot of stuff was coming easier, there was still so much he needed to catch up on before he could be considered a halfway decent person, let alone a noble, which was what being a bearer would make him in the eyes of the empire.

He didn’t want to lessen Quackity’s greatness with his own ineptitude, so he had to keep this to himself.  At least for now.

“Then this is your normal,” Ponk said. “And you shouldn’t feel bad about it.  If anything, this is a sign of great progress.  The fact that you feel safe enough to freely articulate how you’re feeling on reflex is a show of great trust and security.  You should be proud.”

“But it’s embarrassing,” Jack groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I keep randomly cooing things out like a weirdo.”

“I’m sure your packmates don’t think you’re weird,” Ponk offered. “You should try asking how they feel about it.  You might be surprised.”

Ponk, like Connor and Bad and Skeppy, had gotten Jack pretty far, so he decided to trust the doctor, even if it tied his stomach in nervous knots.

“Happy!” he burst the next time Sir Technoblade picked him up in a tight hug, easily lifting him from the ground and months ago Jack would have been terrified by that, but here and now he only felt safe-safe-safe. “Um-” he said when he regained his composure somewhat, still dazed by Techno’s comforting rumbles. “Sorry.”

“Heh?” Sir Technoblade blinked, his satisfied expression melting into one of confusion as he set Jack gently back on the ground. “What for?”

“For shouting,” Jack murmured, his face feeling hot again. “I didn’t mean to.”

Technoblade just sort of looked at him.  Jack got the feeling he was waiting for elaboration, because that was the kind of person Sir Technoblade was.  He liked to have as much information as possible, it was why Connor liked him so much.

When he didn’t get any, he moved on, shifting somewhat awkwardly. “You did that because you were happy, right?” he asked, maybe a little tentative.  It was weird to see on Techno.

Jack nodded shakily. “Yeah.”

Just like that, all Sir Technoblade’s nerves seemed to melt away. “Then I’m glad,” he said. “Feel free to purr as much as you want.”

It was the running consensus.

“Yes!” George cheered, hugging Jack tight with a pleased purr when Jack had accidentally blurted out another one of his ‘happy-happy-happy!’s. “I’m happy too!” He nuzzled Jack close, and when he caught the bearer’s look of confusion, he beamed with pride. “Sapnap told me what it meant.”

Before Jack could reply, Skeppy was shoving his head through the door to the office. “Did I hear someone be happy in here?”

“We are!” George laughed, and then Skeppy laughed, and they-

None of them cared.  Not the royal flock, not Dream’s family, not Ponk or the Halos.  No one cared.

And that made Jack happy-happy-happy.

~:~

Of course while things seemed to be going well for him – Jack slowly but surely befriending Sapnap while splitting his time between George and Dream, visits with the rest of the Wastakens and good pup cuddle time – that didn’t seem to be the case for everyone.  While Jack didn’t know the specifics, he could tell that something had happened between the emperor and Wilbur, something that seemed to affect Lord Eret and Lord Foolish as well, even if they seemed substantially more settled.  For the latter two, whatever happened seemed to draw them closer to the emperor, but for Wilbur it seemed to do the exact opposite.  Jack likely wouldn’t have noticed had Wilbur not been one of his first allies at the castle, but it was hard to ignore Wilbur’s sudden absence from meals he had always reliably attended.

He still came to lunch and breakfast of course, still arranged to spend time with Jack outside their duties, but anything that had Emperor Philza’s attendance almost guaranteed that Wilbur would not be there, which made Jack worry.  Even he, with his limited frame of reference and understanding, knew just how much Wilbur cared for the emperor.  To go from eagerly soaking up his attention – savoring every moment their busy schedules allowed – to suddenly avoiding him like the plague was disconcerting to say the least.  And Wilbur, he was smart.  If he was avoiding the emperor, did that mean Jack should be too?  Was Wilbur picking up something he hadn’t?

Connor looked thoughtful when Jack had raised this concern to him, listening patiently until the force of Jack’s anxiety had run its course.

“You could try asking him,” Connor offered, which just- yes, he could, but did Jack even have the right?  Were they close enough to allow such a thing?  Could Jack even be entitled to a portion of Wilbur’s burdens, or was he merely an ally? “Wilbur worries after you because he likes you,” Connor continued. “You’re allowed to act on that in turn.  That’s how friendships work.”

“We’re friends?” Jack asked, because even though he’d guaranteed friendships with at least Bad, Connor, George, and Dream at the blackberry tea party that seemed so long ago, he hadn’t hoped to achieve more beyond that.

Despite the fact that Connor wouldn’t have said as much if he didn’t believe it, the hedgehog hybrid’s smile was kind when he replied. “You could ask him that too,” he said, sounding so very certain. “I promise everything will be okay.”

Connor didn’t make promises lightly, and with that pushing him forward Jack moved on, tentatively approaching Wilbur in his office when he knew the prince was close to wrapping up his work for the day, most of the runners and assistants already released to either attend to their other duties or go home, depending on their shift.

He came bearing two cups of tea that he’d already prepared to Wilbur’s preference – the prince not always one to waste time on the beverage due to the preparation it required, the sugar and the cream and the honey, if he was feeling so inclined.  Fixing it ahead of time was a surefire way to earn a relieved smile, and Jack was honored to know he was one of the few that could get away with making something for a member of the royal flock without them watching and have it trusted as safely untampered with.

“Jack,” Wilbur greeted with a smile that only widened when he caught sight of the offerings in Jack’s hands. “You have the best timing.  I was just thinking about how I needed a break before I hurled these half-assed reports out the window.”

“Happy to be of service,” Jack said, his instincts buzzing with pleasure and the contentment of being able to help someone he cared about. 

“Is everything going well?” Wilbur asked, enjoying the scent of his tea for a beat before taking in a happy mouthful.

“I’m good.” Jack felt his cheeks warm with gratitude and perhaps just the slightest hint of embarrassment.  He didn’t mean to turn to Wilbur with his problems so often, and knew he had a tendency to avoid approaching the prince independently unless motivated by an issue he felt grossly unqualified to tackle.  He would have to fix that if they were actually friends. “I wanted to check in with you, actually,” he admitted, keeping his gaze safely averted. “Is everything alright?  With you and the emperor, I mean.”

Wilbur let out a gusty exhale, and even in his peripherals Jack could see his head fall back with a sigh. “It must seem really bad if you’re feeling uncomfortable about it.  You’re normally too uneasy to deal with matters that involve Philza.”

“There are more qualified people for such things,” Jack murmured, feeling his shoulders hunch slightly.

“I don’t quite agree with you on that, but that’s a matter for another day,” Wilbur decided. “I’m sorry if our bullshit’s been making you uncomfortable.  It really isn’t your fault, nor have you done anything to exacerbate it.”

“I didn’t think I had, but I appreciate the clarification,” Jack said, chest warm at the prince’s thoughtfulness.  That’d he’d offered that much without prompting just for Jack’s benefit resonated strongly with the sense of pack he still struggled to grapple with sometimes. “I wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help.”

He chanced a look at Wilbur and was met with one of his smaller smiles.  It was just as heartfelt as any of his others though – sometimes it felt even more genuine and earnest, and it forced Jack to look away, taking a sip of his own tea as a form of distraction.

“Thank you,” Wilbur said, his voice soft. “I appreciate it, but this is… it’s something Phil and I have to fix.  Or rather, it’s something Phil has to fix.”

“Oh.” Jack’s shoulders slumped.  He could admit, part of him had been hoping to give back to Wilbur the way the prince had so frequently done with him, to return aid and prove himself useful beyond not embarrassing Quackity. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Wilbur reminded him. “I really do appreciate you checking in with me, though.  Thanks, Jack.”

“It’s… I wanted to,” Jack said, floundering.  This was why he didn’t do emotional conversations if he could avoid it.  He was so awkward. “Connor- Connor said that we were um- friends, and I- if that’s true, I want- I’d like to help you the way you help me.”

“Aw, dear heart,” Wilbur murmured, his voice rife with fondness. “Of course we’re friends.  May I hug you?”

One of the things Jack most like about Wilbur was that he always asked.  The others asked too, but a lot of times it was nonverbal. 

Wilbur though, he always said it out loud. 

“Yes,” Jack murmured, and they set their cups aside for a hug that was warm-warm-warm, Jack perfectly safe in the confines of Wilbur’s arms.

Had he been more confident in the beginning, maybe he would have asked Wilbur to be his protector.  As it was, Jack was happy with what they had now, and he thought that Wilbur might be happy too.

“You know,” Wilbur hummed when he pulled back, ruffling Jack’s hair. “I think I’m done with work for the day.  Why don’t we shove off and go bother one of the others, yeah?  Quackity’s out with the pups right now, but we could go check on Techno.”

Jack paused, halfway through finishing his cup of tea. “I thought you didn’t like Techno.”

It was the feeling he’d always sort of had.  Wilbur was nice and radiated warmth and care with a lot of individuals, but when it was just him and Techno- well, it was rarely just him and Techno, and that seemed to speak for a lot.

Wilbur made a face. “He is not, admittedly, my most favorite individual, but Jack-” He made sure to hold the blaze hybrid’s eye contact, meaning what he was about to say was very important. “You don’t have to feel conflicted about that.  I know Techno means a lot to you, I know you like him, and I’m glad for that.  I’m glad he makes you happy, and you never have to feel guilty for that.  You liking Techno doesn’t lessen the friendship between us, savvy?”

“I- I think so,” Jack said, all at once feeling an immense weight lift from his chest.  He hadn’t realized how bad it was until Wilbur relieved him of it. “Thank you for clarifying.”

“Anything for my packmate and friend,” Wilbur said, offering his arm out cheerily. “May I escort you to the training grounds?  We can watch Techno get all flustered as he shows off for you.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?” Jack asked, feeling flustered himself at the thought of it.

“For you?” Wilbur asked, grin widening when he hooked his arm through the prince’s elbow. “Unquestionably.  You mean a lot to him too, and he’d want you to know how safe you are in his hands.”

Jack had already thought he was plenty safe, but he would admit that later, when he watched Techno take out five guards easily, only to look towards the resting area Jack and Wilbur were safely tucked away under with a wide, hopeful smile, that maybe he was safe in more ways than one.  Maybe his heart was as safe as his body, his mind and his peace resting carefully in this pack’s hands.

What a terrifying thing.

“Wow!” Jack cooed in Blaze on reflex when Techno neatly cleaved a training dummy in half.

“Yeah,” Wilbur chuckled, companionably bumping his shoulder with Jack’s. “I think it’s pretty cool too.”

~:~

Just when things seemed to be going well for him emotionally, Jack’s physical health took a turn for the worst.

Kind of.

Sort of.

It wasn’t constant, was the thing.  It came and went with a strange infrequency, which made it difficult for Jack to determine the underlying cause, or at least a potential point of exacerbation, though he did eventually find a trigger, even if it didn’t make much sense.  Still, that combined with the anxiety he couldn’t quite hide was enough for Connor to gently prod him into an appointment with Bad, who listened as Jack slowly babbled and meandered around the issue for a few minutes before he eventually got to the root of his issue.

“My heart’s been hurting,” Jack explained, something that made Bad’s eyes widen in concern.

“Okay,” Bad said, holding his clipboard close. “Could you describe the pain?”

“It’s more like an ache,” Jack said, rubbing one hand against his chest thoughtfully, experiencing phantom memories of the pain. “Sometimes, I mean.  And other times, it gets all fluttery and fast, and my stomach feels weird too, like I’m nauseous.”

Bad opened his mouth.  Closed it with a thoughtful look. “When do you experience this p-ache,” he said, watching Jack carefully. “Does it happen after you eat, or maybe after defense training?”

“No,” Jack said, his cheeks feeling hot when he thought of those early days of training when he couldn’t run ten laps around the training yard, his body too weak from malnourishment and unused to such exercise even if he’d been technically capable of such things. “It’s um- it’s odd,” he said, wanting to hide his face in his hands, struck with the odd urge to hide behind the treatment table, a desire he hadn’t felt in weeks. “It only ever happens when I look at George.”

While it was a conclusion he’d long since surrendered to, he hadn’t realized how foolish it sounded until he finally voiced the concern aloud.

After that, it was natural for him to fall into a rush to explain himself. “Not all the time though, is the thing,” he continued, wringing his hands together as he stared at his lap. He pressed his lips together, tucking the bottom one between his teeth. “Do you think this is an instincts thing?  Like a physical reflex?” 

It had started over the past week, after George had his session with Ponk and allowed himself to properly welcome and celebrate his true pack.  George had become so happy, and Jack was happy too – how could he not be?  And then sometimes when he was feeling so very happy his heart would just- it would ache, like maybe it was too full or something.  This was only exacerbated by George’s easy acceptance of Jack’s new Blaze speak exclamations of happiness.  Jack would blurt out something he’d meant to keep inside, a ‘happy-happy-happy!’ and George would just grin at him, his eyes seeming to glimmer in the warm light of the castle.  Sometimes it happened when he wasn’t interacting with Jack at all – instead he’d watch his protector play fighting with Dream in the Wastaken garden, Dream allowing him to get the upper hand and George ruthlessly taking advantage of this in his effort to mess up Dream’s hair as much as possible.  They’d always break out of their wrestling matches looking wild, cheeks flushed and hair sticking up every which way, and though Jack would be smiling, his heart still gave a definite throb.

It was especially bad when George played with Tubbo.  It was so bad that Jack felt like he’d never be able to catch his breath, his pulse beating too fast and butterflies in his stomach, and Jack wanted to join them too, thought that if he moved forward things could be perfect, and that was intimidating.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him, why his body was reacting this way.  Perhaps his life as a slave had made him so unaccustomed to getting good things that it was incapable of processing so much good fortune and as such was making himself sick, hurting to provide something he was used to.

“Oh,” Bad said, his expression neutral as he processed Jack’s statement. “I think we need to see Ponk.”

Alarm shot through Jack’s chest. “No, this isn’t- it’s not a head thing.  It’s my heart that hurts.”

“I know, I know,” Bad soothed, releasing a comforting purr that had Jack relaxing in his seat. “I’m not saying I doubt you.  Hybrid bodies – they’re complicated, and emotions even more so.  Sometimes our emotions can get so strong that they prompt a physical reaction.  Like crying when you’re sad.”

“Oh.” It was Jack’s turn to blink in surprise. “So this is like that?  There’s not a potion that can fix it?”

“I don’t think so,” Bad said, sympathetic. “But we can talk to Ponk to find out for sure.”

“You’ll come with me?” Jack asked, hopeful, and that was how they ended up in Ponk’s office shortly after the fact, Jack giving him the same rundown he’d offered Bad.

“Ah,” Ponk said, nodding to himself slightly as he wrote something down on his clipboard. “First of all, I’d like to say that I’m fairly certain this is a good thing, which I hope offers some comfort.”

“It does,” Jack allowed, his shoulders slumping with relief with the doctor’s prognosis.

“Bad’s correct in that some emotional conditions can manifest strong physical responses,” Ponk continued. “Based on what you’ve described to me, I think it’s time for us to discuss the different types of love, if you’re comfortable with it.”

Jack blinked, completely taken by surprise. “Love is what’s making my chest hurt?” he asked, feeling lightheaded, breathless.

“I believe so,” Ponk said, offering him a kind smile.

“Oh.” He’d never thought- he’d hoped, but he hadn’t known he was capable of such things.  It seemed like a big step for someone who hadn’t been a person for very long. “I’m um- I’m comfortable with it.”

“Let me know if that changes,” Ponk said, and he waited for Jack to take Bad’s hand in his own, to ground himself and get properly settled because this was a lesson session, and as much as Jack loved those, they just about always left him exhausted. “This can be a complicated topic, but for the sake of simplicity I’ll say there’s three major types of love – familial, platonic, and romantic.  Platonic love is something experienced between friends, it’s a deeply-rooted connection of affection and support for someone who might be outside your pack.  For example, you and I could hold platonic affection for each other.”

“That’s- wow.” Jack hadn’t even known that was an option.  He liked the thought of it, though.

“Wow, indeed,” Ponk agreed, the fabric over his mouth pulling taunt as he grinned. “Familial love is experienced between packmates.  For blood family, it is perhaps an inherent thing, and for adopted packmates, it’s a natural evolution of platonic love.  It indicates that your love and support run so deep that it is only natural to declare this individual as your packmate, that they are yours for life and you are theirs in turn, as family.  That’s like you and Connor, or Bad and Sapnap.”

One by adoption, one by blood.  Both family, both good.

It didn’t feel exactly right for George though.  Or maybe it did.  Jack was pretty sure what he felt for George went beyond platonic, but it didn’t feel the same as what Jack had with Connor.

“The last type of love is romantic,” Ponk continued. “Romantic love can be difficult to explain.  For a lot of hybrids the distinction between it and platonic affection stems from the desire for physical intimacy.  Aesthetic appreciation and sexual attraction play a large hand in things, though that is not the deciding factor for all hybrids.”

Jack felt his cheeks flood with an embarrassed heat, the tips of his ears burning with a warmth that had nothing to do with his internal flame. “Sex stuff,” he managed to summarize, pressing his hands to his lips to calm himself. “Romantic attraction is when you want to do sex stuff with someone.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Ponk said, which was a relief. “It’s a desire for emotional intimacy as well.  There are many who could register physical attraction for another hybrid that might not want anything to do with them in a romantic, long-term capacity.  Just as there are different types of love, there are also different types of attraction, and they don’t always mix together.”

“This is so confusing,” Jack muttered, taking the opportunity to bury his face against the side of Bad’s arm.

The tall peacekeeper let out a few sympathetic rumbles, his large hand a comforting presence on the back of Jack’s head.

“I know,” Ponk said. “But I promise it gets easier the more you’re exposed to it.  This is new, so of course it might seem overwhelming.  Would you like to take a break?”

“No,” Jack decided, shaking his head and forcing himself to sit upright. “I’ll only keep thinking about it and work myself up.  We may as well continue now.”

“Alright,” Ponk said, respecting Jack’s choice. “To clarify – the desire for physical intimacy is used as an indicator for romantic love generally when two hybrids already possess a strong emotional connection.  That can be an indication that the platonic affection they hold for each other may be ready to evolve into romantic love, like what Lord Eret and Lord Foolish have.  They were friends first, but the attraction they felt for each other encouraged the desire to be more than that, and more than family.  They wanted to be proper partners, to cherish each other before all others.” Ponk let out a nervous laugh, scratching at the back of his head. “Sorry, I’m not entirely sure if I’m explaining it the best.  I’m aromantic, so this sort of thing is all theoretical to me.  Bad might be able to explain it better.”

“I think you did a pretty decent job myself,” Bad offered, smiling wide before he turned his attention onto Jack. “What he said pretty much sums it up.  Romantic love – with or without the desire for physical intimacy – is the result of a connection to an individual that is stronger than any other you possess – outside your family, I mean.  Your parents or siblings, any you wouldn’t consider in a romantic light.  So while you might feel a strong connection with Connor or Quackity or Techno, that’s different than the close connection you might possess for someone who isn’t strictly in your pack.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Jack said, rubbing at his chest again.  All this talking about connections was making it feel funny once more.

“Right, so,” Bad continued, clapping his hands together. “The reason we bring this up is because sometimes, romantic love can prompt certain physical responses.  The things you described with George – your heart started aching when you were really happy, right?”

“Right,” Jack said, brows furrowing as he tried to follow along. “Sometimes it gets all fluttery and wild, like it wants to beat out of my chest.”

“That’s a result of excitement,” Bad said. “You were happy George was around, exhilarated by it, which made your breath come faster.  And sometimes… I don’t know if it fits your exact experience, but I know back before Skeppy and I officially started courting, I would look at him and my heart would feel so full it was hard to breathe sometimes, and that was for a multitude of reasons.  I was torn, because I wasn’t sure if he actually liked me or not and that made me nervous, and even though I didn’t think we had a chance, I still wanted him around because he made me happy.  Back then, Sapnap and I had spent the majority of our lives fighting for stability and security.  It didn’t really leave a lot of room for superfluous things and romantic love, as grand as it is, is not a necessity in life.  It’s an addition, it can enhance things so wonderfully, but you can easily survive without it, and that’s what I was doing.  I was surviving.” His smile melted into something fond, his eyes going distant, like he was lost in a memory. “Skeppy, I think, taught me and Sapnap how to live.  We fought, we maintained, we survived, but we weren’t really living.  We didn’t give ourselves time to just- have nice things.  We weren’t used to it, but Skeppy – well, you know how he is.” He shot Jack a wink. “He makes his opinions known.”

“And he wanted you?” Jack asked, breathless at the thought of it. “He wanted you above all others?  He wanted to um-” Jack dropped his voice low. “To sex you?”

“That- um- well, yes,” Bad said, giving another nervous laugh. “He did want to do that, and he wanted to put me above all others.  He wanted to stand by my side for the rest of his life, so he asked me to court him.  And when I turned him down because I thought it was too good to be true, he fought to prove himself, and then asked me again.”

“I can’t believe you turned him down,” Jack whispered, because even if he wasn’t the closest to Skeppy, he was pretty sure he’d be over the moon if the protector had wanted to court him.

Though that was- that was a whole other thing.  Courting.  Jack had never even dreamed of being functional, the idea he could engage in such a free, being-a-person type of thing was a bit overwhelming.

“Ant couldn’t either,” Bad chuckled. “He gave me a lot of flack for it.  Was insufferably smug when Skeppy simply worked to prove himself in response.”

“That’s- that’s really cool,” Jack said, his cheeks feeling warm. “That Skeppy loved you that much.  Romantically loved you.”

“Yeah, it can be a pretty great feeling,” Bad said. “Romantic love – it’s a very powerful thing.  It can give you a lot of lows and a lot of highs.  It’s powerful, and because of that it can drastically alter the course of our lives, the course of our behavior, our choices.  It affects literally every aspect of your existence, for all that it is something you can, technically speaking, live without.  That in itself can make it intimidating.” He offered his hand and Jack gladly took it, grateful for the grounding opportunity. “But it can also be exhilarating too.  My point is that no matter what happens, you shouldn’t let it stop you from being you.  Stop you from doing what makes you happy, no matter how scary it is.”

“Do you…” Jack began, tongue feeling clumsy as he worked through things. “Are we- are we talking about this because you think I… with George…” He swallowed hard.  His throat felt painfully dry. “Do you think I want to romance George?”

“I think it’s a strong possibility,” Bad allowed, his voice gentle. “But love – much like us – grows and changes with time.  Platonic love can grow into romantic love, but in turn, romantic love can also fade into a comforting platonic love.  It’s malleable, but acknowledging these feelings – it’s not a certainty.  This isn’t an unshakable designation, it’s simply something you are feeling in the moment, and that’s okay.  It’s natural.” He gave Jack’s hand a soft squeeze. “George is very important to you.  He makes you happy, gives you comfort, support, and security.” The Nether demon winked. “He’s also not hard on the eyes.”

“Bad,” Jack whined, because that was- Jack was still working on registering that, how people looked versus how he felt about how they looked and it was always hard, especially when it came to his friends.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bad soothed. “What I mean is that this is a perfectly natural, perhaps even expected development.  Many peacekeepers feel a romantic attraction towards their non-familial protectors.  The constant exposure and outpour of love makes it a natural development.”

“So this is normal,” Jack said. “I’m not being weird.”

“Not at all,” Ponk assured. “And now that we have a solid idea of what you might be feeling, the real question is – what would you like to do about it?” His eyes crinkled slightly, indicative of a smile. “Because you don’t have to do anything about this if you don’t want to.  You can just enjoy the experience or sit on it, see if it will change, if it will stay the same.  You could also tell George if you like, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that until you’re comfortable sharing your status with him.  Trust and communication are major components in any relationship, but especially romantic ones.”

“Don’t push yourself though,” Bad advised. “If you’re not a hundred percent comfortable with it, then just wait.  Romance isn’t a necessity in life, just an enhancement.”

“If you do ever want to talk to him, we can plan from there,” Ponk said. “Fine tune a plan of attack that you’re entirely comfortable with.”

“I… I like George,” Jack said, feeling the idea out. “Romantic-like him, maybe.”

“The more time you think on it, the more it might change to a ‘definitely’,” Bad said. “Or maybe it will fade into a strong platonic connection.  Neither is bad or wrong.”

“But can I make my heart stop hurting?”

“Probably not,” Bad allowed with a wince. “That’s your body trying to throw you hints about your attraction.  Even if you’ve acknowledged it now it’s unlikely to stop, at least not until you talk about it with George or your feelings change into something else.”

“This is so complicated,” Jack bemoaned once more. “I didn’t even know I was capable of love.”

“I did,” Bad said easily. “Just about anyone’s capable of love if they want it, Jack, and you’ve got so much in you to share that this is only a natural development.  You’re coming into your own, adding value to relationships the way you want to.”

“That’s a sign of remarkable progress,” Ponk offered. “You’ve come so far, Jack.  I’m really proud of you.  You should be proud of yourself too.” 

 “I’ll- I’ll try to be,” Jack said, because it seemed odd to be proud of something that had made him so worried, but they both seemed so sure and Jack, he wanted to believe them.

So maybe he’d just pretend to.  Pretend, and then eventually it would be real.

Just like the love he apparently felt.

Chapter Text

Now that Jack had a name for what he was feeling, it wasn’t nearly so daunting and scary.

Yes, it was intimidating, to think that the thing that permeated so many fairytales had somehow managed to afflict him, but he took comfort in Ponk and Bad’s advice.  He didn’t have to act on these feelings if he didn’t want to.  He didn’t have to share them with George or anyone else.  They could be his own special secret, and with that knowledge he started to welcome the fluttery feeling he got in his chest when it arose, his cheeks flooding with warmth far more frequently than they used to, but if they did, everyone was kind enough to ignore it, for which Jack was grateful.

Unlike the rest of his packmates, when Jack read for leisure, it wasn’t at a particularly high level.  Spending all day organizing reports and files made his head spin, so if he was doing something for fun, he tended to stick to easier books – ones intended for young teens that sported frequent illustrations.  He used to consume solely picture books, and both Quackity and Connor had said there was nothing wrong with that.  He was catching up on experiences he hadn’t been allowed to have before, and they always encouraged his need to explore fictional worlds, filling up his bookcases with a variety of options no matter how easy to read they must seem.

They weren’t complicated tales, and that was what Jack liked about them.  Things were straightforward and usually ended happily.  Even as he got to books that had more words than pictures, there were the same running themes.  If there was conflict, it was overcome in the end, and more often than not, most happily ever afters came hand-in-hand with confessions of romance.  Before, they’d been interesting, if otherworldly considerations.  A fun dabble into things Jack considered solely for other people.  He thought that was the closest he was ever going to get, but in light of his recent appointment with Ponk, sometimes he’d replace the characters he was reading about with himself and George, just for fun.  Just to see if it felt right.

It didn’t, not really, but that was mostly because he doubted any conversations they had about love would ever be that straightforward – but the connection and affection the characters felt for each other- that felt real.  He was pretty sure George would search the entire kingdom for him, even if the only clue Jack left behind was a really cool shoe.  And George might not save him from a dragon-guarded tower, but Jack was almost certain that George would delegate, would recruit Dream and Sapnap and work tirelessly until he was sure Jack was safe, and Jack was pretty sure he’d do the same in turn.

He wasn’t sure if that was romantic love but it was fun to consider, and since his little fantasies didn’t hurt anyone, it to indulge.  To dream.  He suspected Connor knew something was up but the hedgehog hybrid respected Jack’s privacy, making Jack feel a rush of familial love towards him.  It was nice that he’d gotten to a point where his meetings with Ponk were something he looked forward to rather than dreaded.  When he went to Ponk, he learned new concepts he could apply to the world around him, providing a new frame of context.  Wilbur often said that knowledge was power, and Jack couldn’t help but agree. 

It made him feel strong.  Secure.

“You’ve been in a good mood lately,” Dream noted, his voice sounding fond behind the shelter of his smiley face mask.

I learned about the different kinds of love, Jack didn’t say. I’m capable of feeling them and sharing them and they make me happy.

“Yes, I have,” Jack agreed. “It’s really nice.” He paused, cheeks filling with warmth. “You’ve been happy lately too, right?”

He felt bad that he didn’t know this for certain, but he had to be kind to himself.  He was understandably distracted with the romantic-love-thing with George. 

George, who he maybe wanted to value above all others.  Jack really needed to ask Bad more about it.  Or maybe Skeppy.  Even if he didn’t share it, he didn’t want to do it wrong.  Love was, after all, powerful.

Dream paused a beat, as though surprised by the question, then let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I have.”

“Happy-happy,” Jack offered him, no longer flushing with embarrassment as he gave into his instincts.  He found that he wasn’t as loud if he simply went with the flow of expressing himself.

“Aw, thanks,” Dream said, leaning forward to present the opportunity for a headbutt. 

And.  Well.  Jack certainly wasn’t going to pass up on one of those.

He bumped their foreheads together, Dream’s mask feeling smooth and cool.

Happy-happy.  

Dream cleared his throat. “Is it um- because of Sapnap?” he asked, sounding nervous for some reason. “Or because of George’s stuff?  Or- I mean, you don’t have to tell me.  I’m sorry.”

“You asked because you’re interested,” Jack offered, giving Dream’s arm a few comforting pats. “Because you care.  I’m not offended, and I know I don’t have to answer if I don’t want to.”

“Good,” Dream said, soft and relieved.

“But to answer your question, I’m not sure,” Jack sort of lied but also didn’t, because he wasn’t entirely sure. “Maybe all of the above?  Everyone seems pretty happy right now and I’m happy and work has been getting easier and it’s just- it’s all good, but in a way that doesn’t make me scared.” He pressed his lips together. “At least, not yet.” He tilted his head to the side. “Does that make sense?”

“It does,” Dream said, seeming totally relaxed now, his tone warm. “If you do ever get scared though, I’m here for you.  Or my family if you prefer them.  We’re all here for you.”

“And I’m grateful for that,” Jack said, smiling wide. “Thanks, Dream.”

“It’s our honor,” Dream said, so openly expressive it made Jack feel a little bashful. “May I carry you to your next destination?”

“Yes, please,” Jack said, because he was getting used to that now – both Dream and Technoblade seeming content to cart Jack around wherever he wanted.  Even Prince Wilbur did it when his schedule allowed, grumbling about how the other protectors were hogging Jack.

Him.  Jack.  As though he were that desirable.

“Hey, Dream,” Jack spoke up, a new thought occurring to him. “We have a strong platonic love, right?”

Dream jolted, not seeming to expect the question, though he recovered almost immediately, releasing a few wheezing sputters. “I um- what makes you ask that?”

“Ponk taught me about the different kinds of love in our last session,” Jack explained. “He said it can grow and shift like we do, but what we have right now, that’s platonic love, right?  Not familial?”

“That’s… right,” Dream allowed slowly.  He probably hadn’t thought about it.  It was probably inherent for him to sort people into categories, and having to actually think about it tripped him up. “Of those two options, that’s what we are.”

“Cool!” Oh wow, Jack had gotten that right.  That was good. “Ponk says platonic love can grow into romantic love too.” He was struck by a sudden thought. “Do you romantic love anyone, Dream?”

“Um.” The protector got real squeaky then.

And then Jack remembered the talk he had with Connor about boundaries.  How other people had them just as much as Jack did.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack rushed to say. “Sorry. Ponk also said it was fair to keep that stuff private.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Dream soothed, nuzzling his head. “And I um- that’s- it’s complicated.”

“Yeah, I feel you,” Jack said, offering his shoulder a few sympathetic pats.

Dream let out another wheeze. “How do you feel about um- romance?”

“I…” Jack felt his face get hot. “I’m still working my head around it.  But I think it would be nice.”

He let his head flop against Dream’s shoulder, and the protector did nothing but hold him closer, letting out a rumble that made Jack feel perfectly safe.

“I think so too,” Dream murmured. “I hope you find whatever love you want in whatever form you want it.”

“Dream,” Jack whined, hiding his face again. “I hope you do too.  I hope you get all the good things.”

A pause, and then Dream let out an unfamiliar rumble, one so low only Jack could hear it.

“That was my hybrid language,” Dream explained in a whisper. “That made me happy-happy-happy.”

“Oh.” Dream’s hybrid stuff was a big deal, much like Jack’s secondary sex.  He wasn’t supposed to give any hints to it in public – as was tradition for the Wastakens.

But he’d done that for Jack.

“Happy-happy-happy,” Jack purred back, and then Dream started walking again and it was easy.  Nice.

He hoped he could keep it forever.

~:~

The project Lord Foolish had been working on not-so-secretly finally debuted and they spent half a day in the gardens, watching the pups traipse and explore their new private play place.  There were platforms for Tubbo to jump on and posts for him to knock his horns against, and while Jack will never not be glad to watch the expressions of happiness and exuberance cross the pup’s features, he could admit he was somewhat terrified when the fearless little goat hybrid climbed up onto one of the highest roofs, a place he probably wasn’t supposed to be able to access.

“Whoops,” Lord Foolish had said, jotting something furiously down in his notebook. “I will- I’ll get the guys to fix that overnight.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Connor said before saving Jack’s composure by collecting Tubbo with little effort and redirecting his seemingly endless abundance of energy elsewhere.

It was a good evening.  Jack was a little sad that George and Dream had missed it – there was some rite of Wastaken passage they had to observe for Drista, but George had requested that Jack memorize any and every little detail so he could give the panther hybrid a thorough summary after the fact.  Because they were his family too.  And Jack was- he could admit he was looking forward to that, his heart fluttery instead of full of anxious excitement.  George might not be there, but the rest of the pack was, and there was Sapnap, happily keeping up with any of the pups and there was Prince Wilbur, who gladly let Prince Tommy order him around and there was Fundy sneaking snacks and Ranboo purring happily from his private nap nook and it was good, it was so good.  Jack hoped things could stay like this forever.

And then Emperor Philza had gone into a rut.

It was the thing Jack had learned about first, though it certainly wasn’t the most negatively impactful development to occur.  Because going hand-in-hand with that sudden announcement – with Lord Foolish and Duke Quackity retreating from the world with him – was the fact that Technoblade had suddenly gone out on a mission. 

There was no explanation.  No one would say why, only that he was on a mission and it was important, and he hadn’t said goodbye or left a note or anything.  Jack had a feeling Connor knew what was going on and for once, the hedgehog hybrid seemed conflicted, like he wasn’t entirely sure how best to proceed.  It put Jack even more on edge because that wasn’t like Connor at all.  He always seemed to make up his mind in less than a second and then entirely commit to it with the utmost confidence, so certain it was the right way to go.  But this time he wasn’t, and that combined with both Quackity and Techno’s absence had them fitting in an emergency meeting with Ponk, at least when they found a break in their duties.  With Quackity gone, Jack found himself stepping up to manage all the affairs for Las Nevadas.  It was intimidating to be faced with such a thing from out of the blue, but George, Eret, and Wilbur all had faith in him, and Jack didn’t want to disappoint anyone.  They were all covering additional areas, taking on extra weight for their packmates, and it was important for them to keep everything going while the others were indisposed.  They were relying on them.

But there was also so much fewer of them.  And yet more of them?  Jack learned at dinner that Emperor Philza had decided to adopt Bad and Sapnap, and while Jack didn’t entirely understand the motivations for that decision, he could say that he was glad that the two Halos were being valued so highly, to the point where they were on track to be coronated.  That intention alone was enough to qualify them for new duties, so Jack saw Bad and Sapnap in the royal wing far more often than he usually did, and even Skeppy too. 

He would have probably seen them at dinner too, he wanted to see them and the pups and the pack, but the absence of Quackity and Techno along with his new workload left Jack feeling empty by the end of the work day.  On Ponk’s recommendation, he and Connor had taken to eating privately in their suite, George joining them whenever he wasn’t visiting the Wastaken estate.  Which he also did frequently, because-

Because Dream was gone too.

He was out on a mission, another secret, private thing they weren’t allowed to know about, and even if Jack was happy for Bad and Sapnap it couldn’t quite counter the exhaustion and anxiety that stemmed from all the other rapid and concerning changes in his life.  With Connor’s shiftiness.

Now more than ever, he needed Ponk.

“Here’s the um- thing,” Connor began, waiting for Jack to be properly settled and comfortable in their private session before he launched into his explanation. “I know what happened, I know why Techno is gone and I know why Dream was sent out shortly after him.  It’s confidential information, but my duty as your protector comes before my duty as a knight of the Antarctic Empire.  At least for me.  So I would gladly tell you, but I think this is information that will deeply upset you, and I know you’re already struggling right now.  That’s not your fault, a lot of shit’s been thrown our way recently, of course it’s stressful.  So I- I’m in a position where I want to comfort your anxiety of the unknown with the information I have but my protector instincts also really, really don’t want to add to any discomfort, which is why I've been all-" He motioned to himself with an exasperated hand. “I don’t want to betray you, Jack.  I don’t want you to ever feel like you were betrayed because I didn’t do my job.  I take my duties to you seriously, because you’re my brother.” The words made Jack pause, heat filling in his chest, but Connor’s gaze was sincere. “You’re my little brother and I love you, and I want to do as right by you as I can.”

There was a lot in his explanation, but Jack decided to hold onto the part that mattered most to him.

“I love you too,” he murmured, offering his arms out in a hug, and Connor gladly accepted him, holding him close with a sniff he’d likely deny to the end of his days.

“Love-love-love,” Connor rumbled in Protector. “Brother-pack-love.”

“Brother-pack-love,” Jack purred back in Bearer.  It was strange and awkward in his mouth, utterly foreign, but it was worth it for the way Connor’s body relaxed.

Ponk gave them as much time as they wanted to celebrate this solidified connection, and when they were ready (and Jack snuggled closer to Connor’s side, because he wanted to savor the warmth of his brother), he moved on.

“That was some excellent communication,” Ponk began, and even though he hadn’t done it, Jack still flooded with pride over his brother’s efforts. “This is a complicated issue.  It affects both of your mental health and stability, so approaching it with caution and patience is entirely understandable.  I’m glad that you guys came to me.”

“I am too,” Jack said, letting his head rest against Connor’s shoulder.

Ponk offered him a small smile, then hoisted his clipboard higher. “Jack, I’m going to let you take lead on this.  We can talk things out, but ultimately, you’re the one who’s going to be able to best judge what will be healthiest for you.”

“Okay,” Jack said, brows furrowed in consideration before he looked up at his brother. “Could I ask questions?  And you can answer what you’re comfortable with and ignore what you’re not, and then we’ll go from there.”

“I can do that,” Connor said, giving him a small, exhausted grin.

Okay.  Okay, they could do this.  They were family, and they were communicating.

“Um.” Jack pressed his lips together, lost in thought. “Is Technoblade in danger?”

“I don’t think he is,” Connor allowed. “But I can’t say no for sure.”

That was slightly concerning, but Connor was being honest.  He didn’t hand out promises or assurances he wasn’t a hundred percent confident in.  It was one of the things Jack liked about him, and he wouldn’t hold it against the protector now.

“The thing I can’t know about,” Jack began, chewing on his bottom lip. “Does it have to do with Tubbo?”

Connor tensed, then slowly exhaled through his nose. “Sort of,” he allowed. “In the way it has to do with you and Quackity too.”

It wasn’t hard to put the pieces together, and Jack felt his stomach fill with ice.

“Schlatt,” he said, the name foreign on his lips after all these months, all but erased from his vocabulary as the royal flock tended to treat it like a curse best to be avoided. “Is he- did they find a way to reverse his charges? Is he going free?”

“No, no,” Connor said, letting out a fierce rumble of protection.  It wasn’t until then that Jack realized he’d started to shake. “No, the charges are solid, he will face justice.” He nuzzled the top of Jack’s head. “The refugees are safe, you guys are safe, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it stays that way.”

“But something happened and Techno had to go,” Jack said. “Something that could potentially upset me a lot.”

“It did,” Connor said, sounding regretful.

Okay.  Jack liked to think he was realistic with the expectations he had for himself.  Understanding his limitation and when he could and could not push them was what had allowed him to survive for so long.  As a slave, the push option became an unfortunate necessity more often than not, less of a choice and more of a requirement, but since he’d come to the castle he’d learned when he had to take things slowly for the sake of his mental health.  The fact was, he was missing a lot of his support structure right now.  He still had Connor, he still had George and Wilbur, but Quackity and Techno missing was affecting him more than he anticipated.  Combine that with the stress of his additional workload, the fact that there was a very powerful protector in the midst of a rut not all the far from where he normally resided was just the icing on a very terrible cake.

He wasn’t in the best headspace, he knew that and Connor knew that, it was why he hadn’t outright explained what was going on with Schlatt and Techno.  Part of Jack would always want to know what was going on – Schlatt was one of the worst boogeymen of his life, had altered the course of it irrefutably.  There was a part of Jack that would likely always be scared of him.

But.  But.  Connor had said he thought Techno was fine, and Schlatt hadn’t escaped the charges placed against him.  The refugees were fine, he was fine, Tubbo was fine. 

He had to ration out his mental energy where he could.

“I trust you,” Jack said to Connor, perhaps the first time he had said such a thing out loud, for all that it had always been true. “Whatever’s going on – do you think it will be settled soon?”

“With Technoblade behind the helm?  Most certainly,” Connor said, the slightest upturn of his lips indicating an immense pride in the piglin protector that he normally wouldn’t voice aloud.

“But the lack of resolution in the moment – you’re afraid I’ll worry about it.”

“Yes.” Connor nodded solemnly. “It would be understandable.”

So there was a problem but Connor thought Techno could handle it, even if he didn’t know it for sure, and would handle it soon.

That was enough for Jack.

“Then you can tell me when he fixes it,” Jack decided. “And if that isn’t as soon as you expect, we’ll come back and reevaluate.”

“Thank you,” Connor whispered, his eyes shining with moisture as he nuzzled the top of Jack’s head. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“Thanks for protecting me,” Jack countered, knowing neither one of them had to welcome the other, because it would always be their honor and privilege.

“I’m glad we could get that settled for the moment,” Ponk said, nudging his supply of emergency handkerchiefs their way with not-so-subtle probes. “If you’re comfortable with it, I’d like to revisit the issue of Emperor Philza’s rut.” He turned to address Jack specifically. “As of right now, do you still feel safe and comfortable? It would be understandable if you don’t.  This is a very unique situation.  It’s almost unheard of for an unbonded protector to go into a rut, and I’m sure that could cause a very reasonable sense of anxiety.”

“Um.” Jack twisted the handkerchief in his hand, considering. “Strangely enough, I’m more bothered by Quackity’s absence than I am by the fact that he’s helping Emperor Philza through a rut.  Conceptually, it’s scary, but I- well, they’re so far away, and the emperor already has two people taking care of him.  He hasn’t even attacked any of the servants that have dropped food off for them, so I- I don’t know, it’s like I’ve got so much on my plate that I’m not really worried about it?  Besides, I have Connor, and he’s way faster than Emperor Philza.  He’d at least buy me enough time to get away if I needed it.”

“I’m glad you feel confident in your protector,” Ponk said. “It sounds like you have so many new challenges to contend with that you don’t have the mental energy to devote to Philza’s rut.  To me, that seems more like you’re overwhelmed than strictly comfortable.”

“Maybe it’s a bit of both,” Jack allowed. “If I wasn’t comfortable I wouldn’t be able to sleep, but I can.”

Sometimes it was with George, and sometimes, sometimes it was with the pups.  That was mostly for naptime though, but Connor was good about forcing Jack to take breaks and nothing recharged him like getting to snuggle with Tubbo and the others, so if anything the emperor’s rut seemed like a tiny blessing in disguise.  Maybe Jack could ask for more sleepovers with them when it was over.  At least, so long as they were comfortable with it.

“I don’t need to relocate,” Jack decided.  It had been one of the proposed alternatives when they learned the news, and as much as Jack enjoyed staying with the Wastakens, the time he’d lose in the commute to and from the castle stressed him out far more than the protector going through a rut at the far end of the hall.  He needed as much time in the office as he could get, but when this was all over, when Dream had come back, it would be nice to visit them.  He wouldn’t have to hold out for that long. “And I know I can change my mind at any time.”

“Good, good – as long as we’re all on the same page,” Ponk said, offering them a smile.  Even though his mask, Jack could see exhaustion gathering in the corners of his eyes.  In light of Bad’s imminent coronation Ponk had taken over a portion of his medical duties, so even he was juggling extra tasks in addition to the therapy appointments he already maintained with the higher ranked members of the castle. 

“Same book, same page, same sentence,” Connor vowed, squeezing Jack a bit closer.

“I love you guys,” Jack declared, because he could say that now, say it and mean it, and it was nice to see the blushes he earned in turn, how flustered but happy they would get.

So things were a little hard, but they was light in the darkness, and that was what Jack held onto.

~:~

Paperwork was stupid, and Jack hated it.

Or, he didn’t hate it.  He knew it was a necessity, he knew these forms and reports and graphs were created for a reason, needed his approval for a reason, and needed to be filed for a reason.  He knew that.  Logically, he knew that.

In practice, it had been almost four days since Jack had taken over Quackity’s duties and he really, really wanted to go take a nap with the pups but he’d never be able to rest easy unless he did this first and the other assistants Quackity had were looking on him with suspicion and judgement they were hiding less and less nowadays and Jack got it, in terms of seniority he should be at the bottom of the barrel but Quackity had left instructions that he was to be put in charge in the bearer’s absence for whatever reason, and no one was happy about it (including Jack, for all that he did it) but he wished they’d muster through it a bit better.  Maybe this was something he should talk to Ponk about, but that would cut into his naptime and Jack really wanted a nap.

Focus.  Focus.  If he finished this he got to take a break that kept him from having to see these people’s faces for at least an hour.  A beautiful, beautiful hour they’d expect him to eat during but he wouldn’t so he’d do it later while he was working and then they would judge him and Ponk and Connor and George would say to ignore them because they didn’t know his life story or his needs like he did, but now Jack reflected back on Quackity and he didn’t want these people to think poorly of the small avian and why was this so hard.

Dumb, dumb paperwork.  It was so dumb.  It was so, so dumb.

With a sigh, Jack found himself idly scratching at his chest, a low burning in his throat.  Acid reflux was a relatively new thing for him, and a dumb one at that.  No matter how mild they made his meals or what side he slept on or how much ginger or mint tea he consumed, he seemed to be plagued by acid reflux – something he’d assumed was yet another emotional manifestation from love because of the whole heart thing.  But no, this problem was superbly more mundane in origin which was good, up until all the remedies for it didn’t seem to work.

It was utterly unfair, but he knew Ponk and Bad were doing their best.  And it wasn’t even that bad – it didn’t hurt, not exactly, it was just weird.  Different.  He wasn’t used to that heat, so it caught him off guard. 

After a day of it, though, he maybe liked it.  Perhaps his blaze instincts were resonating with the heat or something, he didn’t know.  He was glad it didn’t hurt, but it was distracting even if his instincts welcomed it, and that was the part that was bothering Jack.  He would just like one thing to be straightforward right now.  He didn’t have time for acid reflux, he just wanted to deal with these forms and sleep.

It was better, he found, when he was exhausted.  It didn’t bother him as much then.  When he was awake and full of energy though, not worn down by his work, he felt it more pointedly, and he shouldn’t be feeling it now but dwelling on his agitation with the paperwork seemed to be working him up again.  It probably didn’t help that he would get to properly interact with Wilbur for the first time since the rut thing started today after the prince’s meeting.  Not that Jack didn’t enjoy spending time with Wilbur, quite the opposite, but if word of Jack’s less-than-stellar performance got back to the prince- what if he was disappointed?  He could undermine Quackity’s decision by assigning someone else to take over – and it might be justified, but Jack would still feel terrible, and maybe he was a little scared-unsure to go along with his annoyed-tired, and it made his throat burn-burn-burn.

Ugh.  He couldn’t wait for everyone to be back home.  Things had been so good and now they were hard again.  But this, at least, was temporary.  He could take comfort in that.  This was temporary, and-

Jack’s nose itched, and that was all the warning he had before he let out a sneeze, turning to the side because he couldn’t get his elbow up in time, his hands both full of paperwork he couldn’t afford to misplace.

“What the fuck,” one of the other aides – Connor called him Terry but Jack was pretty sure that wasn’t his name but he was at the point where he didn’t feel comfortable asking his actual name so Terry it was – exclaimed, seeming more surprised than hurt. “Did you just sneeze fire?”

Jack paused, ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth.

It was feeling pretty warm.

Oh wow.  Oh wow.

Without thinking, Jack set his papers down, cupping his hands up against his mouth and blowing into them.  Where this morning there would have been nothing now there was steam, actual steam, and his flame- his internal flame- it had gotten stronger.

Just like that, all thoughts of exhaustion and irritation were abandoned, replaced with an elation that burned bright in his chest.  Wow, they hadn’t thought this would happen for months now, but his flame was strong, he’d sneezed fire, and he needed- they needed-

“Please finish this, I have to go!” Jack declared, setting down his papers and more or less sprinting down the hall.  He didn’t care how unprofessional it might seem, it didn’t matter, he needed- Connor was training with the pups right now, but George- George was- he could- George-

Jack more or less exploded into Eret’s office, George startling up from his own paperwork with wide eyes, likely trying to catch up on Essempi issues while Eret was busy at the Council Meeting. 

“George!” Jack cheered, smiling so wide his cheeks ached. “George- George look, I-”

He didn’t know how he knew, instinct seemed to be a strong indicator, but he held his hand out, focusing all his joy and warmth and love into the palm of it, every strong emotion, the entirety of his power, he focused that heat into the palm of his hand.  And there- there was the smallest, tiniest flame that blossomed on top of it, burning a white so hot it was almost tinged blue, the very tip of it a bright, unrepentant red.

It was his flame.  His internal flame.  He could project it now.

For a moment, George was gobsmacked.

But then he was charging forward with a whoop, pulling Jack into his arms and spinning him in happy circles while he cheered, the flame sputtering out with a laugh.

“Jack, Jack, you did it, Jack!” George laughed, sounding so very proud of him. “Look at you!  Sapnap didn’t think it would happen for months, but you did it!  That’s your flame.  And it-” He set Jack down, bumping their foreheads together. “It’s so pretty, Jack.”

Oh.  That was not- that was so not fair, Jack’s heart wasn’t- it fluttered and twisted and his face felt so hot, though luckily he could play that off as exertion, from all the running, George wouldn’t know, but in that moment, all the hard stuff, it just- it faded away.

Because it wasn’t always going to be difficult. Not everything was a battle.  Life was a journey, and Jack’s might be harder than others, but there were highlights – rest stops like this – along the way that made it worth it.  Here and now, he would take his break early with George and they would go around the castle to all their friends and packmates that weren’t busy, showing off Jack’s flame for as long as he could make it, then fumble their way into bed when exhaustion finally won out.

Curling up with the pups – George a comforting presence behind his back, Connor guarding the door – Jack thought it would be difficult to get any happier than he already was.  After a long few days, it really was the perfect afternoon.

Which made it all the more bitter that evening when Prince Wilbur was poisoned, and the fate of the Antarctic Empire changed yet again.

Chapter Text

It had been a rough few days at the castle.

The chaos was understandable, it was an unprecedented attack and despite having prepared himself for such things, George still struggled under the same emotional turmoil as all the others, even though he’d spent years training himself to box his feelings away, to be practical and logical instead of ruminating in hurt he had no control over.  That was before he had a family though, a proper one that cared about him.  Before he gave into the whims of acknowledging the interpersonal connections that meant so much in his life and clearly demonstrating and acting on them.  Relationships enhanced one’s life experiences, but they were also vulnerabilities, and George was feeling that now more than ever as he watched Eret fall to pieces in painstaking, drawn out process. 

Prince Wilbur had been poisoned – his life now hanging in a precarious balance, and no one was happy about it.  Worse than that, it seemed that the people George cared about most – the ones he at least still had access to – were some of the most greatly affected.  It was perhaps inevitable for Eret to be so distraught – though he made a valiant effort to hide it (something entirely mitigated by the fact that he wouldn’t leave his spot by Wilbur’s bedroom door) – the attack had been intended for him after all, and he’d always been hard on himself when it came to maintaining the empire, especially in Phil’s absence.

George felt like a bit of a failure that he couldn’t prompt the tall peacekeeper into taking better care of himself, or allowing for breaks- or anything.  They’d managed the emergency coronation for Bad and that helped as far as handling the workload went (when Bad wasn’t treating Wilbur), but after that Eret was determined to maintain his vigil, and in absence of firm leadership his mess of assistants had turned to George.  The panther hybrid was already familiar with managing them, even without Philza being in the picture, but this was the first time he’d had to do it with both Wilbur and Foolish down for the count as well. 

Skizz helped, of course.  He was a godsend – making piles of paperwork vanish from George’s desk, only for them to reappear later accurately completed and filed exactly where they needed to go.  The older aide could not help George manage the other personnel, but he was the one that did most of Eret’s paperwork – the documents that the lord consort couldn’t spare his attention to, and George was endlessly grateful for it.  Was grateful to Grand Marquess Pete and Duchess Wastaken, who helped keep Eret grounded when George himself felt so utterly incapable and lost.

It was stressful, especially with his best friends almost entirely inaccessible.  Dream was out on a mission who even knew where and Sapnap was splitting his time between nanny duties as Puffy stepped back into her old military role, helping tighten up the castle’s security as the investigation ran its course.

At the very least George should have Jack, but his small peacekeeper had taken the news of Wilbur’s poisoning almost as badly as Prince Tommy, to the point where he and the pups had to be relocated to the Wastaken estate to keep Jack from worrying right along with Eret, though with substantially more tears.  Giving Jack temporary management of the pups seemed to help, or at the very least distracted him, though he’d come back to the castle the next day with Duke Wastaken – alternating between helping Sapnap with the pups and fumbling through his own administrative duties, at least when he wasn’t crying in his room (and not Ponk’s office, because Ponk wasn’t in his office; he was trying to keep Wilbur alive).

It was shit.  It was utter shit and George had to focus on that rather than the looming reality that Wilbur could very well die, and that would be- they weren’t the closest, but George liked Wilbur.  Everyone in the royal flock loved him, and George had no idea if Eret or Jack would ever be able to recover if he actually did succumb to this poison that should have never made its way into the castle to begin with.   

Things got slightly better when Phil’s rut ended.  Foolish was able to work magic that no one else could and dragged Eret back to their suite for what might be his first proper break since the attack occurred.  Quackity went to look after the pups, which would hopefully do wonders for both Sapnap and Jack, and Phil was present to lead again, to give Bad and Skeppy a break, and George didn’t take a catnap so much as finally succumb to exhaustion, slumping gracelessly across his desk, but at least the other assistants were kind enough to leave him be.  Much like Eret, he’d been going non-stop, though unlike Eret, he had Bad to drug his tea via Skeppy – the beautiful, asshole-ish, schemers.  It'd only worked once, but that was enough to keep George going, at least until the whole desk-passing-out thing.  Still, he could admit it had likely been necessary, and after the nap he was ready to go again.  He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but surely there couldn’t have been developments that were that extreme.

He probably should have known better when he wandered back into his office (after preparing his own cup of tea) and found Duke Wastaken waiting for him, hands tucked behind his back and disposition radiating a reluctant but necessary professionalism.  No, the reluctance was from something else, though George wouldn’t have been able to see it had he not spent as many years with the Wastakens as he had. 

Something had happened.  In the middle of the night – or early in the morning now, he supposed – something had occurred, and while it might be necessary, the duke was not satisfied with the part George had to play in it.

This was not a status meeting.  It was not a request for an opinion.  This was a commander about to lay out a mission objective for one of his subordinates – a vital, if displeasing task.

The worst was confirmed a moment later.

“Emperor Philza has declared war on Manburg,” the duke said, his voice measured, even, but holding a thread of tension that indicated a certain level of fear for those about which he most cared. “Organization for the march begins immediately, with a projected leave time landing somewhere around tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will Dream be going?” George asked, clutching his mug of tea more tightly.  The beverage, once invigorating, no longer held any appeal.

He could not ask specifics about Dream’s current occupations as it was a confidential endeavor.  The duke wouldn’t be able to answer him, and George would be insulting the honor and integrity of both Dream’s family and his own by doing so. 

Still, that didn’t mean he could not ask about the future, nor did it mean the duke could not reveal his best estimate.

“Dream returned to the castle late last night,” the duke said, making a rough exhale escape from George’s lungs as relief swamped over him like a warm blanket. “He’s home now, resting while he can before he has to leave tomorrow.”

Good.  Good, that was- George would have liked to see him first, but it was understandable why he hadn’t.  That was fine. 

At least Dream was back. Was safe.

That didn’t explain the duke’s presence though.  He wouldn’t have sought George out for something that could have been delivered in a note.  While this visit could potentially have been to draw George back to the Wastaken estate himself, to get in what time with Dream that he could, there was too much tension in the elder Wastkaken’s shoulders for it to be the sole reason.  There was something else.

Did he need George’s help with march preparations?  George generally didn’t dabble with military affairs, but it wasn’t unheard of for the army to recruit assistants from other departments in extenuating and emergency situations regardless of their rank or status.  The duke might need George for that, though it would not explain why he was so grave.

“I will cut straight to the point,” the duke began, making George’s heart stutter in his chest. “I am not here as a packmate nor as a duke, but as an advisor for the Antarctic Army.  As you full well know in the event of war, a coder is dispatched with the main army camp with the express purpose of securing high-level communications between the camp and the castle.”

George nodded to show his understanding.  It was an elite, highly secretive and small pool of individuals that were gifted with the knowledge of the empire’s coding processes.  They were secret, complex languages and coding algorithms that changed as needed, and as such there were very few that were made privy to such knowledge, and even fewer that had entirely mastered it.

“As of right now, the Antarctic Empire has three official coders,” Duke Wastaken continued. “Lord Consort Eret, Tapl, and myself.”

There had been another a few months back, but he’d been forced to retire due to health complications – memory issues that made it impossible for him to retain the necessary information.  He’d retired with full honors having put in his work and suitably done his duty for the empire, but they’d yet to fill his vacancy yet.  It was a tricky thing, and required an individual of not only high intellect, but outstanding character.

“It also has one unofficial coder,” the duke continued, before somehow – even with his mask in place – managing to give George a meaningful look.

The panther hybrid did not flush.  Did not apologize.  It wasn’t a skill he had intentionally acquired, but a matter of happenstance.  Eret had been a bit overwhelmed during the planning of his wedding with Foolish and as such, had mixed up some of his paperwork for George to sort.  Some of it happened to include coded messages that – at the time – George had taken as a test of his abilities.  He’d gotten about a third of the way through teaching himself the sacred, classified coding methods of the empire before Eret pulled him aside and taught him properly.  With this knowledge, there was no part way.  You either knew or you didn’t, and once George was in the know, he was forced to be committed.

“Why are we talking about this?” George asked, his voice sounding somewhat distant. 

He was too tired for this.  Too stressed.  He wanted to find Jack and cuddle, wanted to hug Dream as tight as he could.

“A few days ago, Tapl broke his legs,” the duke said, making George pause, ice seeming to run the length of his spine. “In normal circumstances, he would have been the coder sent out with the army.”

“But he can’t.”

“He’d be a liability,” the duke agreed. “Had we no other options, we could send him, but he’d be a liability.”

George knew what he wasn’t saying.  He could do the math.

Eret obviously couldn’t go.  That was the way the empire worked.  Either Philza or Eret had to be in the capital at all times, and if Philza was leaving, then Eret had to stay.

That left two.

“By order of the Wastaken Loyalty Pact to the Antarctic Empire, two leaders of the Wastaken family cannot participate in an active war zone at the same time,” Duke Wastaken explained, even though George already knew this. “One has to remain behind to guard the homestead, and with Dream being Commander of the Knight Legion, his attendance is mandatory.”

“And you are required to stay here,” George finished, feeling faint. “You need me to go to war.”

“It is not something I want to do,” the duke clarified, even though George already knew that too. “As your packmate, you must understand that this is the last thing I want for you, but Dream and I cannot both occupy the war camp.  Drista is not yet of age, and my wife – brilliant as she is – does not have Wastaken blood.  I must stay behind to guarantee the security of the Wastakens.”

“Okay,” George said, because even if he didn’t know all the secrets of Dream’s family, he knew enough.  They were a rare and valuable hybrid type, so rare that they were forced to wear masks to maintain their secrecy, to stop them from becoming targets.  They had to guarantee the perpetuation of their blood.

Comparatively speaking, George was nothing.  Just another feline hybrid among dozens of other unremarkable feline hybrids.

“You will never go into combat,” the duke said. “I’ll have a guard team assigned to you, and the emperor should fortify the camp enough so that even if it is attacked, you should be safe.” He sighed, the only crack in his façade of calm, and sounded as weary as George felt. “I do not want this for you,” he repeated, voice low and fierce. “I hate the very thought of it.  You should be here, where you are safe, but our duty to the empire must come first.”

“You don’t have to explain it; I understand,” George said.  He wasn’t angry, wasn’t frustrated with injustice.  It was what it was – an unfortunate matter of circumstance.  Tapl couldn’t have known when he’d broken his legs that a war would soon be on the horizon, just like Dream couldn’t have known when he’d accepted his promotion.

“You’re always so logical,” the duke said, pride leaking into his voice. “I don’t want to keep you from your preparations.  Just know that our family is, as always, ever at your disposal.”

“I know,” George said, and then, while he was feeling bold- “Could I have a hug?”

“Always, dear one,” the duke said, and it didn’t make it better, but it certainly didn’t make things worse.

It was a hard thing to process.  George, who had intended to spend the entirety of his life in administration, whose only connection to battle tactics was through his friends and packmates – was going to war.  He needed to pack, he needed to say his goodbyes.  He needed to organize his workload for the Essempi duchy, for Eret, for the empire, and he had to do it all by tomorrow afternoon.

Good thing he’d gotten that nap in.

“I have to- I need to speak with Jack,” George said, trying to pull himself together. “I um- I-”

“I’ll send someone over with a pack for you,” the duke said. “I’ll get your paperwork and identification in order too, introduce you to the military aides you’ll be working with tomorrow.  I can take care of that; you go look after the rest of your family.”

“Thank you,” George murmured, and though he couldn’t see the duke’s face, he knew there’d be pity and regret in his gaze – sorrow and frustration because for this, he felt he should not be thanked.

It wasn’t his fault.  It wasn’t anyone’s fault; it was simply the way things had turned out.

George was going to war.

~:~

Dream returned to the capital just in time to leave it, after spending a useless week chasing Technoblade’s trail and coming up with nothing. 

Nothing, and he was supposed to be the best tracker in the Antarctic army, he was honed for such things, his hybrid traits especially should have been able to help him track the enchantments in Sir Technoblade’s armor, but instead Dream had come up empty-handed and useless, and worse than that was the knowledge that he hadn’t been there for his friends and packmates when they could have vitally used his support.

As though anticipating his frustration, his father had intercepted him as soon as he arrived, assuring Dream that it was far too late in the evening to go see any of the others, that he should rest up at home before visiting tomorrow, that his mother could fill him in on all he’d missed.  Dream wondered if he knew the emperor was going to declare war.  Wondered if his father knew they’d be leaving so quickly, that the only way Dream would have ever rested back home – getting recharged by the hoard and his family – was if his father had neglected to share those tidbits.  Dream never would have left the castle had he known Prince Wilbur was poisoned, because Jack and George- they were there and they probably needed him but Dream wasn’t officially either of their protectors so he couldn’t just barge in even if he really wanted to and that was why his mother had to drug his tea, because even with all that knowledge Dream had tried to storm back to the castle, only making it a few feet down the hall before he passed out.

He needed that time with the hoard.  He needed that time with his mom and his sister, he needed to pack some personal effects to go with his gear back at the castle – those were all things he needed, but that didn’t make his protector instincts burn any less.

He got to the castle early, but not until he’d had the last decent meal he’d likely get for a while, his mother insistent and both her and Drista practiced at ignoring his snarls.  Only the promise of putting together a food basket for Jack and George had kept him at the table, his mother only conceding to move on when she was satisfied he’d ingested a reasonable amount, and then he got to pour all his love and affection into creating two breakfast sandwiches, and scone sandwiches, and who didn’t need a package of cookies, and the strawberries were fresh, and a thermos of tea – who wouldn’t want that?  It was things they likely didn’t need, things they could get fresher at the castle, but it helped Dream to think that he could contribute this much to the people he cared about. 

And if he could do that much, why couldn’t he offer a little more?  Struck with a sudden well of inspiration, he ran back to his room, throwing a few more items into his rucksack before he was on the move, heart pounding in his chest as he approached the castle.  He wouldn’t get as much time with them as he liked, he knew that.  He needed to organize the knights, check supplies, delegate which squadrons would stay to defend the castle and which would go onto the war front, to Manburg.

It should be an utterly terrifying thing, but really, Dream didn’t fear his demise so much as the affect it might leave on those left behind.

The castle was a mess of organized chaos when he arrived, as was to be expected.  Knights from all shifts had arrived to begin their preparations, and hopefully his father had already sent out messages via the emperor’s crows to recruit knight squadrons from all the major families.  They would either join them in the capital for the march out or make their own way through the Nether travelways to join them at the empire’s border.  Dream really should throw himself into his work, he should save all personal visits for later, but for him, this was a necessity.  A call he couldn’t ignore.  He needed to see them, and it was a relief to be herded into the royal wing almost as soon as he entered the castle, which was abuzz with far more activity than normal, but he couldn’t- he couldn’t pay attention to that.

George.  Jack.  He needed to go there first.

Even nearing their suite was enough to imbue a sense of completion, and Dream knew from that alone that he’d need to have a very serious discussion with the two of them when he returned, needed to explain his hybrid instincts and what they meant to him because of that, because of how wonderful they were in general, but he simply didn’t have time for it now.  He knocked on the door and waited, practically vibrating with excess energy pack-pack-close-hoard ringing in the back of his mind.

When he didn’t get an immediate answer, he didn’t panic.  It was early in the morning, perhaps he should knock louder-

“Hey,” Connor greeted, looking more exhausted than Dream had ever seen him as he seemed to appear from out of nowhere. “Proceed with caution, Jack is not in the best place right now.”

If that didn’t set off every protector instinct he had, Dream didn’t know what would. 

He nodded solemnly, was grateful that Connor’s evaluation of him seemed to deem Dream acceptable as the hedgehog hybrid stepped aside, motioning him in with a soft wave of his hand.

“I’m only allowing this because I think Jack will feel worse if it doesn’t happen,” Connor murmured, motioning towards the hall that led to George’s room. “It’s still not going to be good though.  I warn you of that now – it will not be good, and you cannot make it worse.”

“Okay,” Dream said, because he wasn’t going to disrespect Jack by doubting the first protector he’d ever claimed.  He and Connor were connected for a reason, and Dream would gladly defer to his logic if it would help.

Still, it hurt.  The idea that no matter what he did, things were going to be hard.

And they were.  They were hard.  Dream realized that the moment he approached the open door to George’s room and found Jack hovering just inside of it, his hands twisting together furiously.  It seemed to be a subconscious action, further supported by the nails that accidentally dug into his weathered skin, leaving scrapes and trails behind and George usually didn’t allow that to happen, George was better than that, but instead of putting a stop to it George was across the room at his dresser, rummaging through the drawers while Jack watched him with an open, teary gaze.

“Hey,” Dream greeted gently, getting Jack’s attention with a start. “Hi, Jack.  Sorry for the early morning intrusion, but I wanted to drop off some things.”

He held his bags up for Jack’s perusal, and the blaze hybrid spared them a glance before his wet gaze was on Dream’s mask.  His mouth wavered, as though he was torn between asking a question and keeping to himself, and eventually his expression crumbled with a sob, the peacekeeper reaching out to him with desperate hands.

Oh.  Oh wow, Connor had not been joking. This was bad.

Dream hurriedly set down his bags and picked the blaze hybrid up, Jack immediately burying his face in Dream’s chest while he let out a few weak cries.

“It’s okay, I’m going to be okay, I promise,” Dream murmured, running a hand up and down Jack’s back, loosing a few rumbles of comfort. “We’re all going to be okay.  Philza’s one of the best fighters I know, and I won’t let him rush into anything without a solid plan.  I know this seems scary, but we’ve trained for this.”

“I- it’s not-” Jack gasped, shuddering as his hands clutched desperately at the fabric of Dream’s tunic. “I- I know you- but it’s not just-” He sobbed again, and Dream cursed to himself for forgetting the thing that had started this all, Wilbur – one of Jack’s closest supporters – getting poisoned.  The war was just the cherry on top of a horrific cake, to be sure. “It’s George,” the blaze hybrid said, tone so full of grief that he scarcely managed to articulate himself, trailing into a whine in Blaze speak so mournful it made Dream ache.  It distracted him for sure, enough that he didn’t truly process what Jack said until later, and even then it didn’t make any sense. 

George had done this?  But George would do anything to keep Jack happy – except cuddle him, apparently, because he was still on the other side of the room doing who knew what.  It was a fight not to glare – even if George couldn’t see it, he’d know – but when Dream gave the panther hybrid a proper evaluation, his breath seemed to catch in his chest.

There was a rucksack on George’s bed.  Open and already partially filled, a smaller component to a larger bag not unlike the ones his father prepared for the Wastaken knights.

No.  No.

“He has to- he has to go,” Jack whimpered against Dream’s shoulder, his tears beginning to soak through the fabric. “He d-doesn’t want to, I know that, I know he’d- if he could- he’d stay, but he-” Jack sobbed, pulling back to stare at Dream’s face and crying again when he was met with the mask.

Oh, fuck it.  Fuck it.  Decorum said Dream could only remove his mask in the presence of his hoard, but part of his hoard was here.  He knew that now.

He pulled the mask off, hooking it onto his belt so he could nuzzle Jack properly.  He couldn’t process the fact that George was going to war right now, he didn’t have that luxury, but later, he would rage out about it.

For now, he’d focus on Jack.

“It’s okay, baby, let it all out,” Dream murmured, the pet name slipping on reflex.  He could only hope Jack would forgive it for him later, that Connor and George wouldn’t gut him in the meantime. “Cry as much as you need to, I’m here for you.”

Jack whined, whimpering and crying and shaking with the force of his grief and Dream held him throughout all of it, kept up a steady stream of rumbles and didn’t pay attention to the way George finished filling his bag with jerked motions, blinking frantically to restrain his own tears.  Jack wasn’t the only one hurting here, and later – because there would be a later – Dream would find a way to comfort George.  To make this as good as he could.

He waited for Jack’s tears to die down before he continued, waiting until he thought the blaze hybrid might be in a place where he could listen.

“I know this is scary,” Dream began, his hand pressed firmly between Jack’s shoulder blades, grounding him. “War is a terrifying thing, but I promise I’ll keep an eye on George.  He isn’t going to be anywhere near the action – he’ll be in the administrative tents with the other workers in the heart of the camp where he’ll be most defended.”

It was the only place Dream could conceive for George, even without a full briefing of the situation.  George was going to fulfill some key administrative task that couldn’t be delegated elsewise, because if they could, they would.  He was the heir to the Essempi estate, that alone should have kept him in the capital, and even if this was a ploy by the Essempis themselves to get rid of Eret’s chosen heir while the Lord Consort was compromised, Dream’s father would have never allowed it to gain traction.  That meant George was selected as a last-ditch option, and he was as unhappy about it as Dream was.

“I- I know it will probably be okay,” Jack whispered, seeming utterly exhausted. “But he’ll be alone out there.  I won’t- I can’t watch him, or help, and Philza will be too busy, and it… I…”

“I’ll be out there,” Dream reminded him gently, bumping their foreheads together.

Jack sniffed. “But you’ll be doing knight stuff.  What if you can’t make time to see him?”

“Then we’ll just have to room in the same tent,” Dream declared, the idea coming upon him suddenly but this was- yes, this would be perfect for all of them, for his instincts especially, and the risk of George’s ire was worth it for the way Jack lit up.

“You can do that?” Jack asked, somewhat breathless. “He’ll be by your side?”

“If he’s comfortable with it, I can make it happen,” Dream said, offering Jack a soft grin.

It wasn’t a fair tactic, he knew that.  Knew it wasn’t really a choice for George, not when a tearful peacekeeper glanced at George with wide, hopeful eyes.

In light of that, the panther hybrid didn’t put up the pretense of consideration, merely surrendered with a tight smile. “I’m okay with that.”

Jack slumped with relief, managing a small grin. “T-Thanks.  That- it makes me feel better, knowing that you’ll have someone with you.” He ducked his head, scrubbing a frantic hand across his face. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry, I know I didn’t make this easier.  You have- you both likely have a lot to do.”

That was enough to break George from where he stood, to get him moving in fast strides until he could cup Jack’s face between his hands, something the peacekeeper leaned into greedily.

“You don’t have to apologize for your feelings,” George said, his words just barely above a whisper. “This is- it’s hard.  It’s just hard.  If I could- I’d cry more too.  I’d- I want to cry too, because I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want to leave you, but I swore an oath to this empire and I have to uphold my duty.” He leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together. “But I will never forget my duties to you.  I will always fight to come back to you and there won’t be a single day where you are not on my mind.” He opened his eyes, the two of them exchanging a look so tender it made Dream’s heart race. “I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too,” Jack whispered immediately, like they’d done it before, and that was- that was an image Dream was going to savor for a long time, the rush of affection and care he had for these two, Prime, he couldn’t describe it.

“I- good,” George said, pulling back with an awkward flush, as though just remembering Dream was present. “Great, I-” He cleared his throats, redirecting his attention to Dream. “You said something about presents?”

“Yes!” Dream took the need for distraction for what it was, reluctantly putting Jack back on the ground before turning his attention back to his bags. “I made some breakfast for you two in case you hadn’t eaten,” he said, motioning towards the basket. “But in here, I- well-” He felt his cheeks warm and mourned the loss of his mask for the first time, but he pushed through it, grabbing the top item. “Here,” he said, offering it to Jack. “I know how much you like blankets, so I thought while I was gone – and beyond that, if you want – you could hold onto this blanket of mine.  So you’d have a piece of me, and know I was coming back.”

As flushed as Dream felt, Jack seemed even more so to accept the soft blanket from Dream, eyes wide and cheeks painted crimson as he clutched it to his chest. 

Prime, it was almost as though Dream had given him lingerie or something, which was just something he probably shouldn’t think about.

“Thank you,” Jack whispered, hugging it close to himself. “I um- I’ll put this in my- I’ll be right back.” 

With that he darted off before either of them could object, needing to squirrel it away to his bedroom immediately and maybe that was a bit of an ego boost, but also- well, now Dream and George were finally alone together, and while it wouldn’t be for long, he just-

There were questions that he knew he couldn’t ask.  Because as much as he objected to this, after that scene, he knew George wouldn’t be doing this if he could help it.

“I have something for you too,” Dream offered, feeling off balance. “That was before I knew you were going too, but I think it could still- it’ll survive.” He dug into his pocket, because this was smaller, and removed a small chain bracelet.  The bracelet of the Wastaken family, the one he’d offered to George for years, was turned down for years, the one he hadn’t gotten around to offering a final time.  His parents had been kind enough to defer to Dream for the presentation, and he’d intended to do something much bigger, much grander, but this- it would have to do. “To remember that you’re stuck with me,” he said brightly, which had seemed like such a good joke earlier, but in light of the tent arrangement, was now unquestionably true.

“Just happened to have this lying around, huh?” George huffed, but he allowed Dream to put it on him nonetheless, wearing the colors of Wastaken – gold, jade, and pearl links enchanted for durability, the family crest dangling on a small charm, the only real embellishment it had.

“Pretty fortunate, huh?” Dream asked, and they could laugh at that, but it seemed to be more sobering.

Because Dream should be handing these out under different circumstances, but he wasn’t.  Couldn’t. 

Instead he had to do it now, because this afternoon, they were going to war.

And come what may, he would ensure George came home to Jack in one piece.  If Dream could do that much, he’d consider his protector duties sufficiently honored.

Chapter Text

Sapnap didn’t need a reply from Phil’s crows to know that Foolish was going to war.

Which was just- it was ludicrous, but the information added up.  He’d passed off nannying duties to Niki for an afternoon while he’d surreptitiously scoured the entirety of the castle for Foolish and then, when that reaped no rewards, the various build sites around town that the peacekeeper was either managing or had managed in the past few weeks.  He found nothing, and there was even less in Foolish’s office at the Builder’s Guild Hall, mostly because he did the majority of his work in the castle nowadays. 

For better or worse, Foolish was nowhere to be found.

The moment Sapnap had left the castle he’d coordinated searches with the crows, all of them favoring the smallest consort and just as concerned for his wellbeing.  Perhaps Foolish had slipped into the city to run some errands, but all of the royal guard squadrons were accounted for, and no one had seen Foolish at his usual haunts (I.E., his string of favorite bakeries) for weeks.

This brought Sapnap down to one irrefutable fact.  Either Foolish had been kidnapped – which was impossible, considering how tightly they had locked everything down after the attack on Wilbur – or Foolish had gone to war with Phil, and literally no one had left any notes on the matter.  Of course, the only reason Foolish would have gone would be at Philza’s request, the one person who wouldn’t need or think to fill out the excessive number of forms necessary to take a noncombatant into enemy territory.  It could very well be that the emperor had gotten so caught up in his own preparations that he hadn’t thought to inform anyone of his decision, and if Foolish was particularly flustered – well, he’d always given Philza far too much credit.  It would be easy for the totem hybrid to assume that Phil had taken care of things, informed the necessary parties, when he obviously hadn’t.

There were no notes.  No clues.  Nothing beyond Foolish’s clothes abandoned in Phil’s bathroom.

At least until the crow came in.  Late in the day, faintly tinged with soot, bearing information of not one, but two wayward pack members.  Foolish and Techno were safe. 

They were also going to war.

With that information weighing heavily on his mind, it was a no brainer for Sapnap to eventually corner Duke Wastaken for a private meeting, who looked just as tired as Sapnap felt, if not more.  After all he, unlike Sapnap, hadn’t slept through the meeting where they had declared war.

“Thanks for sparing a moment,” Sapnap offered by way of greeting as he slid into the man’s office, sure to shut the door behind him.  It was still strange interacting with the Wastakens, especially after he’d been permitted to see them without their masks.  He knew they tolerated him purely for George’s benefit, but it left him feeling slightly awkward.  Still, in times like this it was easy to fall back on their default professionalism, both of them putting aside their personal contemplations in favor of focusing on the bigger picture.

The duke offered him a nod before motioning Sapnap to one of his visitors’ chairs. “I assume you wouldn’t request this meeting were it not important.”

Because Sapnap tended to avoid anything Wastaken-related like the plague if he was able to.  He didn’t wince about it, if the duke didn’t know how shittily Dream had treated Sapnap over the years, Sapnap sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up.

“It is,” Sapnap confirmed, settling on the edge of the seat, knowing that if he fully relaxed into it there was a chance that he wouldn’t be able to get back up. “It’s regarding Lord Consort Foolish.”

The duke stilled, one hand holding open a thick folder file. “You haven’t been able to locate him?”

Sapnap didn’t bother asking how the duke knew about his search efforts.  Wastakens, much like Essempis, were prolific for their ability to gather information. “None of the search parties have found anything.”

Granted, a majority of the search parties consisted of Phil’s birds, but it could be easily said that they were more highly motivated than anyone else in the castle with their fierce love of Foolish. 

Sapnap shifted his weight, running his tongue along his top lip and wincing at their chapped state, the sweat permeated his undertunic beginning to cool and cling uncomfortably to his back. “Do you know if his majesty elected to take Lord Consort Foolish with him on the campaign?”

Sapnap would have checked in with Duke Wastaken earlier but this was his last resort.  Taking one of the non-combatant lord consorts to war with him was one of the least logical decisions ever, and it seemed to go directly against the strong protective instincts Philza was emanating – at least when Sapnap had seen him at a distance.  The only other option was that Foolish had been kidnapped, but somehow Sapnap knew in his soul, in his instincts, that wasn’t the case.  The sacred protection of the royal wing hadn’t been violated – his instincts knew that much – and Foolish hadn’t gone beyond its boundaries in over a week now.

Though they didn’t discuss it aloud, he could see that Duke Wastaken had come to the same conclusion as him.

“If he did, he did not inform me of it,” the duke allowed. “Given the current circumstances, it is entirely plausible, but-”

“We should prepare for the worst-case scenario,” Sapnap interrupted, which was – technically he didn’t fall under the duke’s purview, the royal guard and the knight legion were two separate entities, for all that they were both composed of knights. 

Still, even if he was riddled with anxiety, that was no reason to be rude.

“That is my thought,” the duke said, offering a solemn nod.

“I’ve um- I’ve thought about it,” Sapnap said, and while he couldn’t see the duke’s face, the way he tilted his head in mild incredulity was something Sapnap had witnessed on Dream (with not nearly as much subtlety) many a time. “I know you can handle calling the Inspectors Office to initiate an investigation on the downlow, I don’t mean to interfere with that, but we have two options here.  One of them is-” Terrible.  Horrible.  Potentially devastating. “-something you can handle,” Sapnap settled on. “But the other, with the distraction of war and potentially compromised mental faculties, is entirely plausible.  Both should be given proper consideration.”

“I’m aware that you’ve already sent crows after the army,” the duke said, tone even, measured.  It was an evaluation.

“They’ll take three days to get to the border,” Sapnap said. “And three days to get back.  There’s a faster way to deal with things.”

To the duke’s credit, even with his exhaustion, it didn’t take him long to get what Sapnap was inferring.

“Absolutely not,” he said, a light chastisement in his voice. “Even if we were to send a member of the royal guard to verify the situation, it would not be you.”

“Begging your pardon, Duke Wastaken, but there’s a handful of reasons I’m the best candidate for this.  Aside from being one of the highest-ranking royal guards-”

“You’re a prince,” the duke interrupted, and were they interacting in a political engagement rather than a militaristic one, that would have been an offence grand enough to warrant some form of social shaming. 

Oh.  Sapnap hadn’t thought of that, Dream literally couldn’t be a dick to him anymore.  Or at the very least, he shouldn’t be.

But that wasn’t- focus.

“Exactly,” Sapnap said. “In the span of a few weeks, the empire went from having two princes to seven.  In light of that, you and I both know how it’s going to look if we don’t send at least one of us to help with the war efforts.”

It didn’t matter if a majority of those princes were toddlers – history didn’t look at context.  Other kingdoms could use this as reason to critique the empire for decades, even centuries.  And granted, no one could match the power of the empire now, but Sapnap wouldn’t be doing his duty if he didn’t consider future circumstances and give his homeland and people the best possible odds for success.

“I can go,” Sapnap continued, taking advantage of the duke’s silence. “Out of all of us, I’m the most qualified, and I already have a reason to go other than satisfying my princely duties. It’s my job to see to the protection of the royal family, and if Foolish is out there, he needs a proper guard.”

That Sapnap knew for a fact he did not actually have.

Of course if Foolish wasn’t there, if Foolish had been kidnapped-

There wasn’t anything Sapnap could do for him here.  But he could help out there.  He could do his part.  Bad and Skeppy would be pissed, but he could do his part.  

He loved the pups, but he was more than just a babysitter.  He was a knight, and more than that, he was a knight who wanted to protect his family name.  He was a Halo but he was also a Craft, and he wouldn’t give other kingdoms the slightest opportunity to critique his pack, not when it’d taken him so long to get it.

The duke considered this for a moment, his posture giving away nothing. 

Sapnap didn’t shake.  He had enough years staring at Dream’s dumb mask to build up an immunity to what some might consider an intimidation factor.

When the duke did speak again, his voice was just as restrained as before. “And this has nothing to do with my son’s forced participation in the war efforts?”

Sapnap’s heart twisted painfully in his chest but he didn’t back down, didn’t let the pain show on his face.  He’d been expecting this since the moment he learned George was leaving, a brief update he’d received during his search for Foolish.  And he’d wanted to devote more time to his friend – no, to George, who was so much more than that, but there simply hadn’t been the opportunity for either of them.  They both had their duties to attend to, and in addition to that George had Jack, who was taking a grand total of none of this well.  Sapnap hadn’t even had the chance to focus on what hot and utter bullshit that was his best friend being forced into a situation he never should have faced with everything else going on, and if he did so now, he would likely start setting things on fire.

The best he could do was damage control, but his logic was sound.  If Foolish had gone, he needed a guard.  The princes’ needed a representative.  If Sapnap also got to look after George for the foreseeable future as a result of this decision, that was his business and no one else’s.

“I won’t pretend it’s not a factor,” Sapnap said, both of them knowing full well the duke wasn’t talking about Dream. “But it’s not my main focus.  Like anyone else, I want to do my duty.”

With Phil already out and on the move, with the majority of the major commanding officers moving towards the borders, there was only one person Sapnap could put in this request to.  They both knew, however, that this was more of a courtesy visit than anything else, that as prince Sapnap could order his own squadron to follow the army’s heels and no one could stop him, not when Phil hadn’t given explicit orders for him to stay.

Really, he was just being polite.

And maybe, just maybe, he was trying to salvage what little reputation he had with the Wastakens because George cared about them so much.  They might not like Sapnap, but Sapnap wasn’t going to give them any ammunition to completely dismiss him from their lives.

The duke sighed.  It was bizarrely normal.

“Go get packed,” he said, pulling out a new stack of forms. “I’ll handpick your team myself.  You leave in two hours.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sapnap fired off a quick salute and went on with his work, wondering how he was ever going to break this news to Bad, especially when his brother was still likely monitoring Wilbur’s recovery now that the antidote had been processed.  And Eret, Quackity – would they still be busy? 

There was just so much going on.

Sapnap sighed, then arranged his thoughts.  Skeppy and Puffy were going to have to forgive him, but they were his best messengers at the moment, and aside from that, well, perhaps it would be a bit presumptuous, but Sapnap should probably say goodbye to Connor and Jack too, then move onto the pups.

So much to do and so little time, but he only had two hours.  He couldn’t waste them dallying.

~:~

A lot of things were happening, and Jack wasn’t okay with most of them.

The poisoning with Wilbur had been bad enough, had left his heart twisting painfully in his chest, his nerves on edge, his instincts torn to pieces.  He wanted to be by Wilbur’s side, he wanted to help, to hug and cuddle the protector, anything, but he’d been banished (and he knew it was for his own safety, he knew it was a strict quarantine that even Lord Consort Eret couldn’t get around, but his instincts didn’t understand that, only felt unwanted-useless-abandoned and it hurt so much).  That first day at the Wastaken Estate he’d held on by the skin of his teeth, taking flagrant advantage of the duchess’s generosity as she carried the brunt of distracting and consoling the pups, and Jack wanted to help but he wanted to be with Wilbur and he wanted Techno and Quackity back and he didn’t know why he was being like this when he’d survived with so much less as a slave, and he couldn’t talk about it with Ponk because Ponk was helping treat Wilbur.

Part of him wanted to cuddle Tubbo to his chest, to hide the rest of the pups away in his nest and be done with it, but all of them were as distraught and listless as he was, and he couldn’t stifle them no matter how much he wanted.  He’d felt slightly better returning to the castle but not by much, his instincts still feeling horribly scorned.  Now as much as he wanted to approach Wilbur’s half of the bearer suite he couldn’t, because he was overwhelmed with flares of shame and embarrassment for daring to think he was important enough to stay.  He tried to work, though he got frustratingly little done and he knew the other aides were growing more irritated with him.  They couldn’t order him to leave but he knew they wanted him to, and no one wanted him anywhere – even George had supported his relocation to the Wastaken Estate – and it was all just- hard.  It was all hard.

And then Quackity, Foolish, and Emperor Philza came back and it was better, at least for a little bit.

Because Eret got help, because Quackity was able to comfort the pups better than Jack had been able to.  Because they mitigated the opportunity for Jack to mess up anything else.

It was good.  It was hard. 

It lasted for a day.

And then they were going to war, and Jack’s world was turned on its head once more. 

The emperor was leaving, Technoblade was still gone.  As Commander of the Knight Legion Dream was obviously leaving to help manage the army, but George-

He was supposed to stay.  He wasn’t- he shouldn’t have gone, there was no reason for him to.  Sure, Connor and Skeppy had been training him, but that didn’t make him a fighter.  He was George.  He liked puzzles and playing chess, his favorite activities included napping in the garden and collecting ancient maps.  George was many things, all of them wonderful, but he wasn’t a warrior.  He wasn’t a knight.  He shouldn’t be going to war.

“I don’t understand,” Jack whispered when Connor informed him of this – because George hadn’t said much of anything when he’d shaken Jack awake early this morning, cuddling with him in his nest for only a short period before George was off and away, an apology for the disruption lingering behind him, as though Jack would ever begrudge cuddles from the guy he might want to romance.

“There’s a lot more to war than most people expect,” Connor explained, his expression rife with exhausted sorrow. “An army needs more than just soldiers.  They need cooks, medics, runners, and laundry managers.  They need vets and handlers for the animals, facility personnel in charge of camp set up and take down, and above all that, they need someone to be in charge of it all.”

“And that’s where George comes in?” Jack asked, twisting his hands together. 

It was becoming more and more of an effort to remind himself not to dig his nails in, even if he never did it on purpose.

“That’s my guess,” Connor sighed, running a hand through his hair, blue quills bending under the gentle contact. “They have administrative guys like George to keep an eye on all the little things so the generals and army personnel can focus on the battle.  It’s just delegating, but this particular delegation just um- isn’t conveniently timed for us.”

And by ‘us’, he meant Jack, because Jack was the one acting like a gigantic mess.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Jack asked, feeling somewhat helpless.

“I don’t know,” Connor offered honestly, and it was a sign of how terrible things were when Connor didn’t have a confident direction on where to go. “You could send a small keepsake with him to remember you by – something that’s okay to lose.  Maybe write him a letter or send a care package with him for the ride.  Cookies or something.”

They were all such small, inconsequential things, but Jack did them anyway.  He wanted to give George his dagger but Connor said he’d likely be outfitted with something better, so instead Jack gave him one of the reject bracelets he wove together with Tubbo during craft time, which he might not particularly want George to lose but he couldn’t think of anything else – they all seemed too big or not special enough, not him.  He managed to fumble through making one of the easier cookie recipes and it was fine up until he needed to deliver the goods to George and then it was just- there was nothing he could do.  He couldn’t really help.  George was grateful for the presents but he needed to pack, and Jack should get out of his way but he couldn’t, he couldn’t make himself leave, he couldn’t- maybe he should join the army but how could he ever hope to help when he was barely useful at the castle, when he was in the lap of luxury and comfort?

It helped a little when Dream came.  Sort of.  At least it gave George more time to pack while Jack was just- unhelpful. 

(He didn’t like thinking about Dream leaving, he didn’t like the fact that there would be no more surprise lunches or spontaneous carries through the castle or sleepovers or snuggles, he didn’t like that he wouldn’t get to see him and George playfight anymore or poke fun at each other, and they weren’t marching to their deaths but it certainly felt that way for all that Jack’s instincts were concerned).  

And then Dream had given him a blanket and Jack had just been- he was flustered, he could admit that, it was an understandably fluster-inducing thing because Jack could put this in his nest and it smelled like Dream and it was big and soft and lime green and if Jack rolled up in it he could pretend Dream was cuddling around his back and- and- and-

He’d lost five minutes arranging and integrating the blanket into his bed, desperately close to falling into his bearer instincts completely before Connor pulled him away, back to Dream and George for one last goodbye.  And that was it- that was- even though they weren’t leaving until later they didn’t have time for Jack, not in a malicious way, they were both just so important, had so much to do, and Jack could get in as many hugs and rumbles as he wanted, could get a nuzzle and a forehead bump but at the end of it they still had to leave, and Jack still had to stay behind.

“How are you doing?” Connor asked when Jack had wasted five minutes staring at the door they had just closed behind them in an exhausted daze, the bearer far too tired to start crying again, body feeling as though every inch of it was laden with stone, making every response slow and terribly delayed.

“I um…” Jack pressed his lips together, thinking.  Connor did so much for him – went above and beyond as far as Jack’s needs went, going so far as to vet all potential points of interaction, to follow Jack and Dream when they went to the bakery, to get between him and any that might make Jack feel threatened.  He did so much and all he asked for in return was honesty, so he could do his job as best as possible.  Because that was what his protector instincts required of him. “I feel really bad.”

Connor’s shoulders slumped, for all that he seemed to have expected this. “Is there anything I can do to help?  Do you want to go see Ponk?”

“He’s busy,” Jack murmured, ducking his head and scrubbing at his eyes one last time.  Connor had gotten him to wash his face when he’d put Dream’s blanket up, but he could still feel the phantom itchiness that came from crying too much. “And I don’t know what he could do anyway.  I want everything to be good again.  I want us to all be here.”

I want to feel useful again – and that was something Ponk could address, Jack knew that, knew it was something Connor would want to know, but he was so tired, tired and on edge and he wanted to bury himself in his nest and never come up again.  It seemed like a fair desire, but he still technically had work to do.  Quackity was counting on him.

He took a step forward, hand reaching for the doorknob.

There was a grip on his shoulder. “Where are we going?” Connor asked – not accusatory, simply searching for a plan because he was tired too, because he couldn’t always read Jack’s mind regardless of how much he might infer otherwise.

“Office,” Jack murmured, rubbing at his eyes again.  Beneath his shirt, he had one of George’s handkerchiefs tucked close to his heart.  It didn’t help as much as he hoped it would.

Connor’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Did you forget something?”

“No, I um- my shift is- Quackity needs me.”

His first protector stared at him for a long time. “Maybe you should rest instead,” he offered quietly. “Quackity would understand.”

Maybe.  Jack doubted he’d be particularly useful in his current state but he thought- even if he could do a little bit, that would still be something. 

That should count maybe, for at least a little bit.

Connor wasn’t going to stop him, but he would try to steer Jack in healthier directions.  This probe was for Jack’s benefit more than anything else.  If he went and made things worse somehow, Connor knew how devastating Jack would find that.  

“Okay.” Jack couldn’t really argue with him.  It wasn’t like he really wanted to go out there.  He didn’t really want to do much of anything.

With a heavy heart, he turned to head deeper into the suite, his nest calling him with a sense of security he knew was entirely false.  It wasn’t enough to have their scents, it wasn’t enough to have all the pillows and blankets he could possibly need.  Now he had something to lose, and he couldn’t even protect what little was left, he couldn’t even help with Tubbo, he just felt empty.  Like a failure.

Maybe it would get better after he rested.

It certainly couldn’t get worse.

At least, those were his thoughts.  They’d lounged in the nest for an unspecified amount of time, Jack unable to keep track of such things even if his life depended on it.  It could have been minutes or hours, but whatever it was, it didn’t seem enough.  Maybe Connor knew that when he cleared his throat carefully, his back to Jack’s headboard and gaze fixed to the distance, the only connections between them the way Jack’s forehead butted against his thigh, and the gentle hand Connor kept on the back of his head.

“Jack,” Connor spoke up suddenly, his voice shaky.  Were Jack not so wrecked, he would have been agitated by it, but he had no energy left for such endeavors. “I um- I got a message this morning.”

Jack knew the exact moment he got it too, could remember it now even if he couldn’t process it at the time, Connor disappearing sometime during cookie baking and returning with a heavy set to his brow, something Jack might have been able to discern on a good day, but at the time he’d been too lost to his own grief to register Connor’s.

And it was grief on his features, now that Jack knew to look for it.  Connor was grieving, which meant the message was about nothing good.

He was kind enough not to make Jack wait, not to give him the opportunity to catastrophize. “They want me to try my hand at tracking down Technoblade,” Connor continued, his hand rubbing idle circles on Jack’s scalp. “Since he trained me.  They think I’ll have better luck than Dream, and they want me to go… they want me to leave soon,” he settled on. “I can’t deny that I agree with them.  I know Techno can handle himself, that he’s faced worse odds just fine, but with the whole war thing – I’m worried."

And wow, he must be truly out of his mind with concern if he would clearly express as much, something that Connor was often reluctant to do when it came to his own private matters.

“I’m fast,” Connor continued. “You know I’m fast, I will work as fast as I can to wrap this up but I- Jack.” He shifted, sliding down so he could stretch out beside Jack, wrapping an arm around the blaze hybrid’s shoulders so he could bump their foreheads together. “I really, really don’t want to leave you.  I don’t like the thought of it, especially with George and Dream gone, and I mean- there’s Sapnap-”

“Go.” The word was softly spoken, but it cut through Connor’s speech like a knife, dragging him to an abrupt halt. “I’m worried about him too,” Jack admitted. “I want him back here.  Want him safe, and I know you can make it happen.”

Connor could do so many amazing things.  He made the impossible possible, a world changer from the one that would be least likely to expect.

Jack desperately, desperately wanted him to stay, but if he could be helpful in this one way, if assuaging Connor’s guilt could be his contribution to this horrible mess of a war, then Jack was going to take it – greedily, and with both hands.

Connor let out a rough exhale, his eyes shining with restrained moisture.  He was really broken up over this. “If I’m leaving, there’s going to be rules I need you to follow while I’m gone,” he said. “I’ll send notes for Sapnap and Drista to look after you, and I want you to move in with Bad and Skeppy, or let them move in with you.  I don’t want you alone.  I don’t know if I can do this if you’re alone, and you have to keep going to your sessions with Ponk – no using the war as an excuse, or thinking his efforts are better used elsewhere.  This is literally what he’s paid for, and you- you matter just as much as this stupid war.  No, you matter substantially more than that.” He threw caution to the wind and dragged Jack into a hug – and while Connor was a wonderful protector, he wasn’t the best when it came to cuddling, so this was- Jack leaned into it eagerly, soaking up what he could and swallowing down distressed cries that he only achieved such a thing due to war. “Promise me you’ll do those things,” Connor whispered against his hair. “Promise and I’ll go in peace, and in turn I’ll promise to get back here as fast as I can.  That I’ll find Technoblade and inform you of his status as soon as possible.”

“I promise,” Jack whispered, his throat thick.

This was hard, but it was a comfort to see how much Connor cared for him, loved him in his own way.  They were brothers, family, and Jack ached to lose him, but he wouldn’t chain Connor down – not with guilt or obligation, not when he was needed elsewhere.

“Then I promise too,” Connor said. “I um- I actually have to leave soon, but I- just a few more minutes.”

Yes.  Yes, give them this at least.  Let them have these few minutes to treasure and hoard to themselves.  Jack knew, at least, that he would desperately need it, knew that it likely wouldn’t be enough.

But injustice was a common theme in his life, so Jack didn’t comment on it, savoring what he could and preparing for the worst.

War took and took and took.  He could only hope that it wouldn’t take permanently.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, Sapnap wasn’t able to see Jack and Connor before he had to leave.  He left letters in their suite, but calming Bad into a better state of mind had taken up more time than he expected, time Sapnap didn’t rightly have, not that it ultimately mattered.  Sapnap would give his brother anything he wanted – be it time to yell or seethe or any material good.  Were he a better brother he could content himself with staying in the capital, but the idea of leaving George out there unprotected – George and Foolish – they were pack, Sapnap couldn’t leave their protection to the hands of others.  Bad had to understand that, and deep down Sapnap knew he did, just as much as he knew Bad needed that time to yell at him.

“I never would have accepted this crown if I had known you’d use it as an excuse to risk your life!” Bad had snarled, Skeppy watching with an expression of exhaustion Sapnap never would have been able to articulate, the golem hybrid seemingly worn to the bone in his efforts to help manage the empire. “That’s not okay, Sapnap!  You should be here, safe, not out there because of this petty competition you have with Dream!” He’d hidden his face in his hands then, trembles wracking through his body. “I don’t want the last conversation we have before you leave to be a fight, but I can’t- why would you be this selfish?  Things are already so hard right now.  Having you here with us was the one light in this awful tunnel.”

Sapnap swallowed hard, guilt conflicting with a resolution he had long since come to embrace. “You would have done it for Skeppy.  It wouldn’t even be a question.”

“Skeppy can protect himself.”

“And George can’t,” Sapnap countered, his voice hard. “He has some training, but that’s not enough.”

They all knew it.  They all loved George.  They were all worried for his safety, none of them wanted him out on the warfront.

“He’s pack,” Sapnap continued. “I can’t leave him out there.”

Bad tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as though it could afford him some sort of answer.  It didn’t. “You better come back in one piece,” he said finally. “Or I’ll never forgive you, Sapnap.  We will give up these crowns and leave – damn the Crafts, damn the Essempis, damn the Wastakens.  We will leave and we will start a new pack – I do not care if that isn’t fair.”

“It’s not,” Sapnap whispered, but it wasn’t an argument.  The fact that Bad was letting him go at all was enough of a concession, he didn’t need more.  It was a fair price for Bad to demand considering that he’d been the sole reason for Sapnap’s survival for so long.  He’d raised and taught him during their childhood in the Nether, and when they were fumbling through learning the ways of the Overworld, Bad had taken point on that one as well, had been the protector while Sapnap slowly found his way.

It was his turn to fight for something, to stand on his own two feet to protect their pack.

Bad sighed again, then wordlessly held out his arms.  Sapnap fell into the hug without further prompted. “Be careful, Firestar,” Bad murmured into his ear, squeezing Sapnap close. “You carry my heart with you.”

“And mine too, asshole,” Skeppy muttered, choosing that moment to infringe upon the conversation as he thrust himself into their hug, stubbornly wrapping himself around both of them, and it was good, it was familiar, but it wasn’t perfect, wasn’t quite right because George wasn’t there, because he’d left for war.

Hours later, Sapnap followed on his heels.

The war camp was in the process of being completed by the time he arrived with the squadron Duke Wastaken had personally selected.  As little as they’d had to utilize these skills, the lower ranking soldiers were well trained in the basics of establishing a camp.  Putting up tents and barriers, guard towers, establishing temporary paths, lighting – all of it was covered in basic training and was completed with the utmost efficiency.  Even small jobs like that were vital when it came to war, and while most were either anxious at engaging in something so momentous for the very first time or resigned to a battle they had long anticipated, all of them acted with the pride of the empire resting on their shoulders, making sure everything was absolutely perfect.  It was a comforting sight, the reaffirmation of their strength and competence in the wake of new situations – years of training and planning all culminating in a perfectly efficient army – though Sapnap could admit to a slight sense of unease as he proceeded through the camp, making his way towards what he knew would be the commanders’ area based on the blueprints that had been drilled into his brain.  Even if Philza was one of the most accomplished warriors in the entire empire, he needed a guard, and as such all knights part of the royal guards’ fleet were subject to the same type of war training as everyone else.

While it was satisfying to have his theoretical knowledge work in practice, the glances he garnered were less so, though that, at least, he knew the reason for.  While it was unwise for members of the royal family to wear unique uniforms that would make it easier for the enemy to identify them, it was still expected for them to have some sort of distinction to mark them apart from the rest of the army.  For Philza it was a bit of a moot point – his wings making it all but impossible for him to blend in, but Sapnap himself likely would have had a better shot at it.

Might have, maybe, were it not for the last piece of equipment Duke Wastaken and Eret had presented to him just before he left.

The battle diadem, as Eret so called it, was a deceptively simple thing.  It took the place of Sapnap’s usual headband, and while he might miss the familiar material, he wasn’t going to turn such a gift away.  It was simple metal, elegant and strong and somehow perfectly tailored to fit him, sliding easily over his horns. 

“I had hoped I would not have to give you this for a long time,” Eret had admitted before passing it over – metal reinforced with enchantments, which would have been staggering enough, but then the thing had to go and be comprised of netherite. 

Netherite.

It weighed practically nothing, Sapnap would have barely remembered it was there if not for all the staring, but that combined with the deference of the soldiers, the salutes and bows he wouldn’t have earned a month ago, made the reality of his situation sink it with stark ruthlessness.  He was a prince of the Antarctic Empire now.  He no longer acted for himself alone, he reflected on a pack of individuals so outstanding he could scarcely beg to stay in their presence.  He could not be the one that made them look bad.  He couldn’t hurt his brothers with a poor performance.  He was more than himself now. 

He couldn’t forget that.

Still, with the weight and pressure also came advantages, such as being allowed to enter the emperor’s command tent without awaiting approval.  Sapnap’s heart was beating fiercely in his chest when the guard announced him, and while he was prepared for many things when he entered, there was one in particular he hadn’t even realized he’d been hoping for until he saw it with his own eyes.

There, bent over a portable planning table with the emperor himself, was Technoblade, looking as solid as ever.  And there, across the tent from them, perched on what was likely Philza’s travel nest was Foolish, a spare soldier’s uniform clasped in one hand and a sewing kit resting open beside his knee, like he was doing some emergency repairs for Phil or something.

Oh fuck, they were all there.  They were safe and they were here, and Sapnap could breathe again.

“Runt,” Technoblade greeted, seeming to recover first before he strode his way across the room in large, even steps. “What are you doing here?”

It was a reasonable, neutrally-presented question.

It also had substantially more tactful than Philza’s following – “You should be at home.” Sapnap blinked, but there was – yeah, Philza had followed on Techno’s heels and now he was staring at Sapnap with an intense gaze, eyes narrowed as he looked over the blaze hybrid’s uniform. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Techno sighed. “I was getting there, Phil.”

“He shouldn’t be here,” Philza continued, pupils narrowing, like he was close to falling into his instincts. “He should be home, near the nest, safe.”

Thank fuck Sapnap had come in here alone.  On one hand he was grateful for Philza’s care, it fed into a part of him that felt wanted-loved-cherished, but the other part of him, the protector and warrior both, couldn’t help but feel that this was some kind of bullshit.

“You brought Foolish,” Sapnap said, tone hard as he motioned towards the lord consort who was brilliant at very many things but literally none of them had to do with war or battle management. “An additional guard squadron had to be sent, and as both a knight and a representative of the royal family, I-”

“Should be home,” Phil hissed, his wings flapping in irritation.  “Nestling-baby-home-home-safe-go.”

“Alright,” Techno sighed, gripping Phil by the back of his collar and ignoring the way the avian thrashed when he picked him up with one hand, turning Phil towards Foolish and giving him a gentle shove towards the small peacekeeper. “I’m going to take over the conversation now.”

“Mate-mate-baby-danger,” Phil cooed, more or less collapsing on his knees before Foolish and splaying his head in the totem hybrid’s lap.

“Yes, I know he’s our baby,” Techno said aloud, and it was- it was definitely embarrassing to have it offered so frankly.  Because Sapnap wasn’t actually- he was their son, yes, but a baby was just- yeah, so- “But he’s also a very competent warrior and you need to stop undermining that.”

Phil considered this with a flick of his wings before promptly burying his face in Foolish’s stomach with a moan. “Baby.  Baaaby.”

“Okay, so he’s going to be a little instinct stupid for the unforeseen future,” Techno sighed, running a hand over the back of his head. “We’ll deal with that later.  For now, I’d like to circle back to my first question.”

“I already answered it,” Sapnap huffed, doing a remarkable job of being patient if he did say so himself, because if anyone should be explaining where the hell they’d been it was Techno, but he didn’t see Sapnap making a big deal of things, did he?  Even if Sapnap really wanted to, though nothing could compare to the show Phil was putting on with his whines and bemoaning in mixed Protector and Avian, enough that Sapnap sincerely hoped the guards couldn’t hear him through the fabric of the tent. 

“No, you answered why an additional squadron needed to be sent,” Techno said, his gaze unimpressed. “You did not explain why you – one of the most precious individuals in the entire kingdom – is present.”

Sapnap grit his jaw, tried to count to ten.

“My baby,” Phil crooned, voice muffled against Foolish’s shirt, and Sapnap felt the fragile thread of his patience entirely shatter.

“Because I’m one of the most competent warriors across the knight legions and there’s no reason to sideline me,” Sapnap snapped. “Because if this had happened a few weeks ago, none of you would have thought twice about marching me off to war.”

“I um- would have,” Foolish offered quietly, running a tentative hand through Phil’s hair between comforting Peacekeeper coos. “I’m pretty sure Quackity would have too.”

“As would I,” Techno said. “Because unlike them, I always knew you were one of ours, and you should not-”

“Do not- don’t say I shouldn’t be here,” Sapnap growled. “Not when I can be of more help here than back home.  Not when this is where our empire’s focus should be.”

“Sapnap,” Techno sighed, his gaze briefly flitting over Philza. “I know you want to help, but your presence-”

“They sent George,” Sapnap interrupted, his face flooding with an uneasy heat. “They sent- they ordered George to come with the administrative team, and I can’t just-” He swallowed hard, looking up at Techno with hot eyes. “Don’t order me to go back.  Don’t do that to me, not when I can be here, guarding him and Foolish.”

“They- they sent George?” Philza asked, clearly struggling to get through his instincts, Common seeming clumsy on his tongue. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Sapnap admitted, allowing his frustration to read through. “But it happened, and I need to be here for him.”

He could feel the weight of Techno’s assessing gaze, knew that there wasn’t much he could do but muster through it.  It was like the piglin hybrid was staring into his soul, trying to deem him worthy, and Sapnap could do nothing but stand tall and hope he passed muster, hoped his father-packmate-protector would understand where he was coming from.

Strangely enough, it was Philza that spoke up first. 

Philza, who rose onto shaky legs with a shake of his head, as though gathering his wits back about him. “I understand what you’re going through,” he admitted, voice quiet as he made his way back over, seeming a bit sheepish but mostly tired. “It’s difficult to separate from someone you hold so dearly when you know they’re being exposed to danger they should otherwise not be.” He ran a hand through his hair, made it seem more wayward. “I do not begrudge you that, and so long as you stay in the camp, I can- I’m not happy about it, but I understand and respect your need to be here.”

“I can stay?” Sapnap perked up, not realizing that had been a concern of his until now. He’d been so certain that he’d put his foot down come hell or high water, but the fact that his pack was willing to accept him as he was – that was a gift, one that certainly made it easier to breathe. 

“Stay,” Philza agreed, offering him a small smile. “You’ll be in charge of camp security – organize guard rotations, run patrols, stuff like that.  Given your past experience, it’s a job that makes sense for you, but I will require check ins,” he declared, clearing his throat. “You’re going to be a sort of stand in for all our pups for the duration of this thing – it’ll be important, for both you and us, if we can see each other regularly.”

Tension could grow in stressful situations, Sapnap knew that.  It could be worse between packmates who were painfully close yet didn’t make time for each other.  It added to the strain, and with war looming overheard, Sapnap understood the concern, and might have had it himself.

“I can do that,” Sapnap said, relief and comfort sliding over him at once. “Thank you.”

Phil made a face. “Please don’t- I’m torn between sending you back home and bundling you in the nest with Foolish as it is.” His expression softened. “Maybe later, when my instincts are more settled, I’ll be able to hear it.”

“I can wait,” Sapnap promised. “I’m glad to see you’re okay.  All of you.”

“Oh shit,” Technoblade said, as though just remembering the fact that he’d been MIA for a solid week.  With that he rushed to explain things to Sapnap, Phil and Foolish chiming in as needed and confirming that they’d already sent a crow back to the capital to account for Foolish, and Sapnap left that tent feeling so much better than he’d been that morning, better because he had both a purpose and approval from his pack.

It was a solid start – better than he’d certainly hoped for – and he used that momentum to carry him onwards, towards George.  He could admit, as awkward as the diadem made him feel, it did come in handy, and thanks to it, it didn’t take much effort to track down George’s tent.  Sapnap knew he should probably be checking in with the head of defense first, but he couldn’t help himself.  Just a quick visit and then he’d move on, he’d do his duty, but he needed to see what this trip had been partially for, especially since he’d just seen Foolish.

The tent was located not too far from Philza’s tent, meaning it was with the upper officers.  It was one of the nicer tents, which was good – Sapnap had been afraid that George would be thrown in with all the admins somewhere in the middle area, but this at least meant his Essempi adoption was given the consideration it was due.  In this area he would receive more protection too, which was also a comfort.  Now Sapnap just needed to stroll in, leave a note or something, let George know he was there.  It would be fine, and after the success of the matter he’d previously considered to be substantially more intimidating, Sapnap was riding pretty high.  It was justified, even.

Until he actually pushed into the tent, of course.

Because who else was there but Dream fucking Wastaken, organizing what seemed to be his own portable worktable.

The other protector scowled at him, something Sapnap could see because he wasn’t wearing his mask – at least for a moment, and then Dream was sliding it properly into place. “You’re supposed to announce yourself before you enter someone’s tent, Craft, and what the fuck-”

“What are you doing in George’s tent?” Sapnap finished for him, because two people could play at this game. 

It wasn’t like he’d gone out specifically looking for Dream.  If anything, the other protector should know that the opposite was true.

The other knight huffed in annoyance, a small exhale of air. “It’s my tent,” he explained, which just went to show that not every soldier was as informed as Sapnap would like, so maybe George was- “George is sharing it with me.”

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, fuck no, was that happening.

Sapnap’s expression hadn’t changed, but Dream’s tone became a bit more boastful when he carried on. “Jack asked for it,” he said, the incarnate of smug. “Of course George agreed.” His head tilted to the side, like a dumb motherfucker. “That explains me, now what are you doing here?”

“Your highness,” Sapnap said, voice light, and it was worth it for the way Dream obviously startled.

“Um- what?”

Sapnap tapped his diadem and gave Dream a meaningful look. “I think you meant, what are you doing here, your highness.”

Because he was a motherfucking prince now, and if he was going to get saddled with the focus and responsibility he may as well get the benefit of annoying the ever-living shit out of Dream.

“Right,” Dream said, voice tense.  Not so high and might now, huh? “Please forgive my lapse in etiquette, your highness.”

“It’s alright, Dream, I know that’s not everyone’s specialty,” Sapnap said brightly, and even though this was awful, even though he had to worry his brother and worry about Foolish and worry about George, at least he got this, got to savor the growls under Dream’s breath but not preen too much because he was a prince and that would be unbecoming. “As for why I’m here-”

“Sapnap!” a voice greeted from behind him, and that was all the warning he got before an angry George stormed into view, the panther hybrid more or less elbowing his way around Sapnap just so he could properly glare at him. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“They sent me to head the additional squadron for Lord Foolish,” Sapnap explained, his instincts practically purring with happiness and relief because there was George, and he was safe and whole and okay, if stressed. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s classified,” George sniffed, though his shoulders relaxed somewhat, making it clear that he was holding onto the mask of annoyance out of obligation more than anything else. “Fucking hell, Sapnap, you should have let them send someone else, you dumb loser.  What the fuck were you thinking?”

“That one of my dads needed me?” Sapnap countered, feeling a rush of warmth at George’s concern, as communicated with his usual level of Georgeness. “I’ve already had this runaround with Phil and Techno.  Trust me, they wouldn’t let me stay if they didn’t have to.”

“I suppose that’s true,” George muttered, his lips twisted in an unhappy line. “Do you know where you’re staying?”

“Not yet,” Sapnap said, before getting hit with a sudden stroke of inspiration. “I’m hoping I can find somewhere close to Foolish, but with most of the camp already set up, we’ll probably be closer to the mid-ranked soldiers.”

“Fuck that,” George huffed, his tail flicking in irritation. “Stay here with me and Dream.  We’ve got plenty of space, and I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on your dumb face.”

“Are you sure?” Sapnap asked, pointedly not looking at Dream, who he hoped was seething.

“Of course, you idiot, now have them send your shit here,” George declared, fluttering around him in a nervous evaluation. “You don’t mind, do you, Dream?  I mean, I know you two are stupid together, but this is- you really wouldn’t mind this, right?”

And just like that, whatever objection Dream might have had seemed to die then and there.  Sapnap knows his would have.

“I don’t mind,” Dream said, voice soft in a way he reserved for George and Jack. “Like you said, we’ve got plenty of space.”

“Good, this is great.  Awesome,” George said, running a distracted hand through his hair. “Actually it’s shit, because I’d rather you not be here at all, but it’s as good as it can be.”

“I’m glad for that much,” Sapnap said, trying not to be too mushy.  It was the best case in the worst circumstances, and he would appreciate it for what it was while he had it.  He knew in a way he was setting himself up for partial failure by forcing himself to be exposed to so much of Dream, but as a counter he got George, which was all that really mattered.

“Yeah,” George said, gaze softening. “Me too.”

It was, at the end of the day, all about the little victories.  And with his pack leader’s approval, with George here and in sight and range of his protection, things were really looking up.

“Me three!” Dream offered with a forced cheer, and that was-

Less than ideal, but he’d take the good with the bad.

Ultimately, this was a win.  That’s what mattered.

Sapnap directed his things to be delivered to George’s (not Dream’s, never Dream’s) tent, then checked in with the present royal guard squadron that had originally gone with Phil and helped plan out the upcoming schedule with the new additions he’d brought with him from the capital.  He talked to his own men, sent a crow back home, and was on his way back to George (and unfortunately Dream, but mostly George) before he was ambushed, more or less dragged into a nearby empty tent before Sapnap could so much as pull out his sword.

It was something he would have been pissed about were the deed not apparently committed by Connor, who stared at him with wide, somewhat crazed eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Connor hissed, something that was becoming a bit of a recurring theme for Sapnap that day.  He would despair for the nosiness of others, but this was Connor – invasion of personal privacy and maintained omnipotence was sort of his thing.

“Working,” Sapnap huffed, figuring if the hedgehog hybrid was that interested, he could work his usual magic and get the full story by himself. “Better question – what the fuck are you doing here?”

If anyone should be at the castle – doing the job he was actually hired for, which was looking after the pups and Jack by extension, it should be Connor.  And yet somehow, someway, he was in the army camp, and Sapnap couldn’t even find it in himself to be surprised because the only thing he could reliably expect from Connor was the impossible or unexpected.  From anyone else it would have been surprising, but with Connor, it just sort of seemed inevitable.

“They sent me to track down Techno,” Connor hissed, his gaze filled with a muted frustration. “Which was easy by the way, I’m not sure why Dream was having issues-”

“Please be sure to tell him that,” Sapnap said, barely managing to restrain a pleading edge to his tone. “Loudly.  Repeatedly.”

Connor ignored him. “I traced him through the Nether, tracked him here which you’d think – great.  Job done, the mystery was solved.”

“It was,” Sapnap agreed. “Job very well done.”

“You’d think,” Connor snarled. “Only now that I’m here I have to stay, apparently to ‘make a showing for the Blade family’ or whatever, since Techno technically adopted me, when I wouldn’t even be here if Dream was good at his job.”

“Wait.” The pieces were not adding up in a way Sapnap liked. “If you’re here and George is here and Dream’s here, who’s with Jack?”

“It was going to be you,” Connor hissed and now, now Sapnap understood why he was so angry. “He moved in with Skeppy and Bad but we both know how busy those two are, and Drista’s probably not going to be much better, especially if they have the apprentices step up and take guard rotations – which wouldn’t be an issue if they were only looking after him temporarily, but now they want me to stay.”

“They who?” Sapnap pressed. “Because if it’s not Phil, does it matter?”

“It matters to Techno’s reputation, apparently,” Connor snapped. “Since he’s a fiancé as well as a consort candidate, the officers have already let me know that if word gets out that I was here and left – damned if I was assigned to this place or not – that might give the nobles enough ammunition to ask for Techno’s consort status to be stripped.”

“They can’t do that,” Sapnap said, gaze wide. “He’s Quackity’s.  They wouldn’t risk losing a bearer in the royal flock.”

“Oh yes they fucking would,” Connor huffed, running an irritated hand through his hair. “You think there’s not a lot of jealous and resenting assholes out there?  You think they wouldn’t milk this opportunity for all it’s worth?  Wasn’t that little attack against Wilbur enough of an indication of how turbulent the political waters are getting in the capital?  Change makes people uncomfortable and there were a lot of bottomfeeders that depended on Schlatt.  No matter how justified his arrest and removal were there are plenty that aren’t happy about it, and we can’t give them even the slightest hint of weakness.”

“Oh,” Sapnap said, feeling somewhat numb.  He’d always understood that the power dynamics of the noble houses were what ultimately dictated the fate of the empire, but to think that their reach was that expansive was a bit overwhelming, especially when staring down the frustration of a distinctly unhappy Connor.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Connor said, looking off into the distance distractedly, his mind elsewhere. “Fuck, I never should have accepted this mission.  I never should have left Jack.”

“They’ll take care of him,” Sapnap said, his heart twisting in his chest.  He might not have been allowed the privilege of interacting with the blaze peacekeeper until recently, but he understood how delicate Jack was, and more than that, Bad and Skeppy knew it too, and wouldn’t let him fall through the cracks.

“It’s not enough though,” Connor said, voice shaky and sounding as vulnerable as he ever was.  It was even more disconcerting than the announcement of war, than the feeling Sapnap had when he’d learned of Wilbur’s attack.  Because even then it hadn’t felt real, but this- this was unquestionably true, and to have one of the most competent and composed individuals visibly floundering before him was difficult to witness. “It’s so bad back there, and losing me-” He cut himself off with an angry shake of his head, as though he dare not finish that sentence. “I better end this thing quickly,” he declared, and with that he was gone, storming back into the public paths of the war camp, moving as silently as he’d arrived, an imposing figure there and gone in an instant.

Jack.  It was hard to think about him, the small blaze peacekeeper put into the same category as his brother and Skeppy, as Quackity and Prince Tommy – individuals who were immeasurably cherished that Sapnap definitely couldn’t dwell on for fear of succumbing to tears and unease, reluctance – so they had to stay safe and protected and far, subjects that couldn’t be touched on.

While Sapnap was somewhat sorrowful that he wouldn’t be able to help George’s peacekeeper in a more substantial manner, he couldn’t help but be grateful for the path he’d ultimately chosen, knowing it was the best for him.

Like Connor said, they should work to end this thing quickly.  For the family they left behind and those present in the heart of danger.

It was the only way.

~:~

Jack pressed his lips together, trying hard to wrap his head around what Bad had said, the peacekeeper who was normally so cool and collected seeming just as harried and worn out as the rest of the members of the royal pack nowadays.  Even Quackity – who was usually hardworking to a fault – seemed distracted, his mind half in the clouds even as he attended to his duties, leaving the aides to quietly compensate.  It likely had something to do with the forced separation between himself and Wilbur – something about scent rejection?  Jack didn’t know, no one would tell him anything and he still wasn’t allowed to see Wilbur, but now Quackity wasn’t either so he had to get all his updates from Lord Eret, which he would drop just about anything else in favor of when the opportunity presented itself.

The point was they were all a little frazzled – Jack perhaps the most so.  He hated that so many of his friends and packmates were gone, hated that both of his protectors were missing.  He wanted to know where Connor was, he wanted to know for certain that George was in a safe part of the war camp, and while he didn’t know him as well, he knew Bad was aching at the loss of Sapnap, so Jack wished he was home too.  Everyone was distracted and overworked and afraid, so when Bad had coaxed Jack to sit down, wrapped in his favorite blanket from the basket they kept in their sitting room, Jack knew things were going to be rough.

“I don’t understand,” he said, gaze shifting between the envelope in Bad’s hands and the peacekeeper himself. “What do you mean Connor’s not coming back?  He promised he’d be fast.”

Jack was glad to know that Techno was okay, that he’d joined the war efforts in perfect stride.  He was confused as to why Lord Foolish was there, but maybe they needed him for engineering things.  Jack didn’t know, he assumed smarter people like Duke Wastaken and Lord Eret had made the suggestion (not that Lord Eret was particularly happy about anything nowadays, especially when he’d learned that George had been forced to march out with the army as well – that hadn’t been the best night).

If Techno was found and Connor’s job was done, Jack could see no reason why the protector wouldn’t come home.  It wasn’t that Skeppy and Bad weren’t good company, they were just busy, really busy, and even more tired than Jack who felt overwhelmed almost all the time.  It wasn’t their fault and Ponk let Jack know that it wasn’t his fault that he needed so much additional support during this turbulent period, but he had been looking forward to Connor’s grounding and stalwart presence coming back to his side.  Jack missed his brother.

Skeppy and Bad shared a look with each other, the golem hybrid going so far as to wince.

“He had planned on coming right back,” Bad began, settling on the couch next to Jack, but not too close as to crowd him, Skeppy circumventing the issue altogether by simply sitting on the floor and resting his head against Bad’s knee. “But with politics…”

Bad explained it and it didn’t make sense, which in a way made perfect sense, because Connor always said that politics were needlessly complicated.

“In the eyes of the nobility, Connor is essentially Techno’s heir and ward, the future of the Blade family,” Bad explained. “If word got out that he was present in the army camp and voluntarily left it before the war ended – regardless of the reason why he was there in the first place – it would allow an opportunity for them to strike at Quackity, which in turn would reflect on Philza, since he’s one of his protectors.”

It all seemed so needlessly intricate, but Bad seemed earnest when he said it, like it hurt his head just as much to spell it out as it hurt Jack’s trying to understand it.

Bottom line – it didn’t matter if Connor’s task was done and he should be home safe and sound with Jack in his nest, he had to stay and help with the war.  And be in danger.  At the war.  And not with Jack.

That was not- that was not good.  That wasn’t good at all.

Drista and Skeppy had been acting as Jack’s temporary aides in the absence of his official protectors, but both of them were busy with their own duties – too much to babysit Jack’s increasingly agitated and anxious self on the regular.  It seemed that being the fiancé to a prince was enough to qualify Skeppy to help with much needed political paperwork and public appearances, and Drista was drafted into guard duty more often than not, and that was in addition to her usual training.  It left Jack helplessly bereft on the protector front, and while he’d lived comfortably without any before, in light of his freedom and the expectation thrust upon him to actually act like a person, he found himself desperately needing that support.

He wasn’t sure what else to do.  The only other protector he was close to was Wilbur and Jack still wasn’t allowed to see him.  There was Duke Wastaken as well, but he was just as busy as Quackity and the princes, and Jack just- he just- just-

“Hey, match my breathing,” a voice said, taking a gentle hold of his hand and pressing it against a warm chest. “Just like this- just like this.”

Because Jack had been breathing too fast and now he had to force himself to slow down but it was hard, he didn’t want to, he wanted Connor and George to be back and no one to be in danger and he wanted Wilbur to be okay but all of that was entirely out of his hands and it felt grossly unfair and he didn’t know why he cared because most of his life had been unfair, but now he was in a position where that was supposed to be mitigated or whatever and it wasn’t.  It really wasn’t.

“I- I want George,” Jack managed to get out when his breaths were mostly even. “Can I go to George?  I can help with army things.”

“Jack…” Bad didn’t get out much more than his name, the peacekeeper’s expression one rife with muted sorrow. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you have to stay here.”

“But I- I need them.” Bad didn’t understand, Jack needed them.  They were safe and they’d promised to care and now they were gone, so who was supposed to make him feel safe and important and cared for?  “We can tell them I’m a bearer, then they’d have to send one of them back.”

“That’s a possibility,” Bad said. “But it’s not a choice you should rush.  I don’t think any of your protectors would want that for you.  It’s a decision you should make regardless of the war, not because of it.”

“But I-” Jack didn’t know what to say, so he cut himself off with a ruthless shake of his head, heat burning in his cheeks.  Right. Right, the reason he hadn’t told everyone else about his status was because he wasn’t impressive yet.  He had to become a worthwhile bearer like Quackity, live up to the bar the avian had established before Jack could think of telling everyone, and right now he was just a sad mess, and he didn’t know if he was in a strong enough mental space to be better.

Probably not.  It’d been difficult to improve even when his pack had been in one place – safe and unharmed.  Now that he didn’t even have that much-

His vision blurred, hot tears spilling down his cheeks that he couldn’t stop and didn’t bother trying to, because he was too used to it now.  Ponk said it was better for him to let it out than hold it in, and Jack had held to that adage too tightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Skeppy said, his tone edged in a comforting rumble as he coaxed Jack against his side, letting the blaze hybrid cling to him. “I’ll talk to Eret – get them to assign me less duties so I can spend more time with you.  It’ll be okay.”

“But won’t that- that make a um- weakness too?” Jack gasped between cries. “Since you’re not doing your job?  Because I- I’m too- because I need-” A distressed whine fell from his mouth. “It’s because of me.  I make things complicated.”

“No.  No, Jack,” Skeppy shushed, rubbing his upper arm. “There’s nothing wrong with needing a little extra support.  No one would be upset with you, and if someone tries to use this as an excuse to critique us-”

“I don’t want them to do that, though,” Jack moaned. “I just want- I need to be normal.” He sucked in sharp breath, scrubbing at his eyes. “Q-Quackity can do it.  He can do it and his job and look after the babies.  He can do it all.”

“You’re not Quackity,” Bad reminded him gently. “You had different experiences, you’re different hybrids, you have different needs.”

Jack just cried, exhausted and tired.  It felt like nothing was ever going to be okay again, even if they were all safe for now.  He’d had it so much worse, and yet, he couldn’t make his feelings register that much.

“Maybe we should have a meeting with Ponk,” Bad offered quietly. “Do you want us to come with you?”

But Jack just cried, curling in on himself in an effort to stifle the noise.  He wasn’t sure what Ponk could do for him unless he had a secret weapon that would end the war in a second.  If he could do that, Jack would be willing to do whatever he wanted. Anything to get his pack safe and back home.

“Okay,” Skeppy said, rumbling and giving Jack’s arm a few comforting rubs while he gently rocked the blaze hybrid in place. “We’ll just do this for a bit.  We’ve got time – just let it all out, okay?  We’re here for you.”

He did, because he couldn’t do anything else.  He had no words, nothing new to say.  They were upset and he was upset and it wasn’t going to get fixed until the war was over and Jack couldn’t magically make that happen.  He could contribute nothing to his packmate’s survival.  He was, once again, useless.

And he hated it.

Right now, Quackity was invaluable – taking up the duties Emperor Philza and Lord Foolish had left behind, picking up slack so Lord Eret didn’t have to do everything.  Even though he couldn’t see Wilbur and both his protectors were missing, he wasn’t a weeping mess.  He kept focused on what he could achieve, but what could Jack possibly do?  He was only an aide.  He wasn’t even that good of one.

As the tears died down, he tried to prioritize.  Alright, he’d let it out, he’d done what Ponk said, and now he needed to be better.  Right now he wasn’t helping anyone so he needed to fix that, obviously.  One of the things Ponk said was important was to focus on the controllables and to not waste time worrying about what was out of reach.  The fact was that there were a lot of things Jack couldn’t control right now, so for the moment he needed to dismiss them from his mind.  He couldn’t stop the war, he couldn’t go to the army camp, he wasn’t a warrior who could protect Connor and Dream and Sapnap on the battlefield.  Those were not controllables.  Fretting over them was natural, but dwelling on them was an exercise in misery, and Jack had enough on his plate as it was.

So the question then was what could he control? 

He could help Quackity, of course, even if it was harder without his usual protectors around, harder when the individuals he was staying with were so harried and distracted themselves.  So um- maybe he could put in a request to get Bad and Skeppy assistants.  They had one each, Jack thought, but it was clear they needed more, so Jack could talk to Lord Eret about that.  The peacekeeper was intimidating, but since Jack was George’s bearer, the elder Essempi had let Jack know that his door was always open to him.  Jack had never taken advantage of that offer because things were sort of awful right now, and he didn’t want to cause any more stress, but this could help Bad and Skeppy.  It could be a good thing.  And even if he didn’t talk to Lord Eret, he could always ask Skizz.  That was a less-scary option.

So that was one thing on his list.  It might not make Bad and Skeppy more available to him, but Jack – well, he needed to learn how to stand on his own two feet anyway.  That was another controllable he could work on.  And while George and Connor weren’t here, Tubbo still was, and that was- yeah, Jack could just focus on the pups.  He was sure that would be a help to both Quackity and his own bearer instincts.

Okay, so solid plans all around.  Get Bad and Skeppy help.  Learn to be more independent.  Help with the pups. 

What else could he do?

Oh, he could- if he was better he could come out as a bearer, and if he came out as a bearer, he could get one of his protectors back.  So clearly in addition to that other stuff, Jack should work on improving himself.  That was in his realm of control.  He couldn’t write policy, couldn’t make speeches, couldn’t sooth the public, but he could become better.  The only problem was that his main etiquette teacher was Bad, and there was no way the Nether Demon could help him right now, not when he had so many other substantially more important duties.

So that was another on the list too.

He finished crying with a few weak sniffs, feeling exhausted but somewhat hopeful, because even if so many things were bad, at least Jack could cling to these few small offerings that might make things better.  They certainly couldn’t make them worse.

“I um- need a new etiquette teacher,” Jack sniffed, using Bad’s handkerchief to rub at his eyes and pointedly not touching George’s handkerchief which was still tucked against his chest, where it would likely stay until the panther hybrid returned.

There was a pause where they likely looked at each other again, and then Skeppy cleared his throat. “What?”

“Bad’s busy,” Jack continued, blotting at his cheeks. “So I need a new etiquette teacher.”

Noble etiquette had taken a dive on the list of Jack’s priorities over the last few weeks in favor of focusing on his mental health, but even if it was dumb and complicated, it was something that George and Dream were good at, that they expected and even Connor, who never used it, at least knew about it.  If Jack didn’t want to make them look bad, he’d learn about it too.  And maybe he’d take some first aid classes or something, he didn’t know. He’d have to ask Ponk what kind of stuff he might need to know to help a soldier that was returning from war.

Things were likely hard enough for them out there as it was.  Could he really expect them to survive a war – something comprised entirely of stress and problem solving – and then have them come home to more problems? 

No, that’d be awful.  Jack needed to do right by them, so he had to use this time to surpass expectations, to be the kind of packmate they wouldn’t be ashamed of.

“I need to talk to Eret too,” Jack said, standing up on shaky legs.  It probably wasn’t proper to walk around clothed in a blanket, but this was the royal wing and if he couldn’t do what he wanted here then he may as well start screaming, because Ponk said even the royal flock needed a safe space – everyone needed a safe space where they could escape the expectations of the world – and this was Jack’s.

So the blanket cape was staying.  He’d talk, create a small spike of work for Lord Eret (but it was a one-time thing, not an ongoing issue, so that was- it would be fine, it was necessary) and then crawl back into the nest he’d made in Bad and Skeppy’s suite and take a nap.  While it would be more efficient to get to work now, he knew he wouldn’t be any kind of productive unless he was rested.

So here he went, stepping into the future.

Ready to take on the world.

Chapter Text

George missed Jack.

He missed the others too, of course.  He missed Bad’s gentle presence and Callahan’s sarcasm, the ruthless tone he’d somehow managed to perfect through his own silent language.  He missed the Wastakens, missed having tea with Dream’s mother and talking shit with Drista and playing chess with the duke.  He missed talking policy with Eret and the small grins of pride and support he was capable of recognizing now that he knew to look for it.  George missed Duke Quackity’s optimism and fierce work ethic, he missed the frank discussion of strategy and social domination he had with Wilbur.  At this point, he sort of missed the people that were here, out on the war front with him.  Despite camping with Dream and Sapnap, he rarely saw them.  Their schedules were simply too different, and while he occasionally saw them in status meetings, they were all too focused on their work to exchange banal pleasantries.  George was fortunate enough to see Foolish from time to time when he dropped paperwork off in the royal flock’s tent, and it hurt to see how starved for contact his adoptive father was, how hard he was trying to put on a brave face.  He always asked for stories or anything George might want to pass along to Jack, to any of the others as Foolish had become the unofficial point of contact for their family back home.  George wished he had more to share, but for him war was a tedious thing, and honestly, he was a little afraid of what Eret’s responses might be. 

Still, he always offered notes for Jack in specific, and Foolish was always kind enough to passed them along, sending George off with a tight hug and murmured praises of pride and support.

George even missed Connor, as much as he was partially terrified of the man.  He missed the comradery, their frank conversations, he even missed the hedgehog hybrid’s ability to somehow know everything without ever explaining how. 

It was hard, but of course it was- it was war, but George- he missed Jack.

Their time together may have been brief, but it was enough to leave a lasting impact on George, to make it so that he never wanted to be parted again.  He didn’t want to be out here attending to his duties as the future Duke Essempi, he wanted to be back in the castle, curled around Jack in his cozy bed, soaking up Jack’s warmth and affection.  Sometimes, the light would shine through the windows and hit his cheekbones just right, making his smattering of blaze scales gleam and glimmer, and perhaps that simply appealed to George’s feline instincts, but he couldn’t help but think there was not a picture that was more alluring than that.

Just the image of Jack sprawled out on his back, sleepy but relaxed, content because he trusted George in his personal space was perfect.  He’d try to stifle a yawn, rubbing at his eyes before he smiled up at George, as though nothing could make him happier than the panther hybrid’s presence, nothing could make him more delighted, and he’d look so- so perfect, dressed in Dream’s sleeping clothes that swallowed his small body, making him look even daintier and delicate.  Cushioned in pillows and blankets and utterly content, that was the version of Jack George loved the most.  The one that was comfortable and happy and pleased.  The only way he’d look better was with a mating bite on his shoulder-

Prime damnit.

George sighed, letting out a frustrated huff as he turned on his cot – trying and failing to get some sleep while he could.  He didn’t have time to be plagued by useless thoughts.  This recent fascination with Jack was wildly inappropriate, though George was certain it was merely a result of the isolation war placed on him.  He wasn’t particularly driven by carnal desires in normal circumstances after all, so this was a coping mechanism of war that he need not feel guilty about.  He was allowed to have thoughts, have whims, the important thing was not to act on them.  He hadn’t been claimed by Jack for all that long, of course they’d never discussed pursuing those aspects of a relationship – after everything Jack had been through, George would be surprised if he wanted anything that wasn’t strictly platonic.

That didn’t stop George from finding appeal in Jack’s beauty, or inevitably reacting to that in a physical manner.  While George wasn’t entirely pleased with the slew of wet dreams plaguing his sleep that featured Jack in the starring role, he understood that it was stupid to get upset with his subconscious.  Yes, he thought Jack was attractive – that was an objective fact.  And yes, he missed Jack, he was one of the most important people in George’s life.  He’d made an immense commitment to Jack that he couldn’t currently honor, it made sense for the blaze hybrid to be on his mind, and when they finally ended this war and went home there was a good chance that all these strange feelings would fade away.  It wasn’t anything George should truly worry about, especially when he had so much else balanced on his plate.

These were the arguments George made with himself when he was horny and alone in the middle of the night, his body itching to take care of the problem the old-fashioned way and his morals begging for something else, because there was no way he was going to be able to avoid thinking of Jack if he did that sort of thing, but was that a crime?  As long as he never tried to actually act on it with Jack-

Ugh, this was horrible.  He just wanted to jerk off and be done with it.  But no, he shared this tent with two other people, and even if he wouldn’t see them tonight-

Wait.

He wouldn’t see them tonight. 

While he could get out of the safe comfort of his cot to check the schedule on the table across the tent, both of the other protectors had come back late the past few nights.  Dream, he knew, was busy with status meetings with the different knight legions in addition to a few private meetings with Technoblade, and Sapnap was out late catching up with Foolish – at least until the emperor kicked him out of their tent.  Dream had even mentioned something about a night mission at some point, which George had strategically not paid too much attention to, because if he actively knew how much danger his best friends were constantly in, he would probably have a breakdown.

Those facts alone guaranteed that George would have privacy for a while yet, and while he’d previously bemoaned his lack of company, Eret had always taught him to make the most of any given situation.

Currently, George was very aroused.  He would like not to be, so just-

Prime, he hadn’t felt this clumsy and out of place since sharing a dorm with Dream back in boarding school.  He knew for a fact that the other young hybrid had likely seen to his own physical needs in the room he inhabited in George’s suite, but still, the panther hybrid had felt awkward taking care of himself, even if it had been a desperate necessity of his hormones.  He would have shoved his desk in front of his door to guarantee additional safety were he not afraid that would have made Dream even more suspicious, that was how paranoid he’d been.  He’d learned to be fast and efficient, and George could do that now.

With a sigh, George loosened the laces of his breeches and spat into his hand, too lazy to search for an alternative lubricant before reaching into his smallclothes and getting a hold of himself.  His fingers were cold, but there was still a flare of satisfaction that curled in his gut when he started to feel himself out.  Yeah, he was decently sized, wasn’t he?  A good handful.  He was sure Jack would like- if Jack was into that kind of thing, he might-

Unbidden, George’s mind drifted to what Jack’s own dick might look like, how the blaze hybrid would look all flushed and wanting, his chest heaving and legs spread invitingly.  Like most things they did, he’d follow George’s lead, purring out his own quiet approval.  Maybe George would earn some of those cute happy-happy-happy’s he’d grown to love so much. 

He shuddered, dragging his hand up and down in vicious movement to spread his precum like a proper lubricant, another rush of wetness leaving him when he thought of how Jack might cling to his shoulders, his hips eagerly rutting into George’s hand.  Fuck, George could grind them together, see how they compared, and if Jack was smaller he’d likely feel bashful, but George would treat him good, treat him right, would kiss his way down that panting chest and get his mouth on him and wasn’t that a lewd thought, for his mouth to be there.  George had briefly entertained such whims when he’d initially gone through puberty, though he’d ultimately abandoned them as a matter of necessity.  Even as a third son he’d had a duty to his family to provide an heir.  Being with anyone who might prevent that would only place a target on his back.  As such, he’d never entertained dalliances with the same sex, but right now, he just- he wanted. 

He wanted Jack, soft and sweet in his arms. He wanted that trust, he wanted to make him feel good.  George wanted to give him the world, wanted him to never have any negative sexual experiences ever again.  Only the best for his peacekeeper, and if George could be considered the best, he’d have no words to consider his good fortune.

“Happy-happy-happy,” he could hear Jack coo underneath him, smile on his lips blissful as he allowed George the privilege of stripping him out of his clothes. “I love you,” he’d purr, and George sped his hand up faster, sure he’d fall to pieces in a second. “I love you, George. I miss you-”

“I thought you were supposed to be able to see through that dumb fucking mask of yours,” Sapnap’s voice hissed, his harsh whisper shattering George’s fantasies with a ruthlessness that made him shudder, the panther hybrid choking on spit as his worst fears were confirmed because yes, that was tweedle dee and tweedled asshat lumbering through the entrance of their tent – trying and failing to have any sort of stealth.

“It’s not dumb, and I can,” Dream huffed back at the blaze hybrid, stomping over towards the equipment area of the tent.

“Then why do you keep stepping on my cape?” Sapnap snapped, and this was- this was a nightmare, George’s hand was in his pants and he was hard and these two lumbering idiots had ruined the only orgasm he’d had in weeks due to their stupid fucking arguing.

He didn’t even know why he was surprised.  Of course they would come at the worse possible moment, it was their gift.

“You think that was an accident?” Dream chuckled, prompting another hiss from Sapnap, which prompted a growl from Dream as they cling-ed and clang-ed their way out of their armor – shushing each other all the while so as not to disturb George, as though he could have ever possibly slept through this bullshit.

That was it – he hated them; he hated them the most.

His erection wilted with a pitiful sputter, George sending out one and only thanks to the gods for allowing neither of the two idiots to have an enhanced sense of smell before he pulled his clothes back in place, wiping his hand on his underclothes and trying to remember where he’d placed his stash of handkerchiefs.  If he could clean up soon that would be ideal, but otherwise he was going to have tacky undergarments for who even knew how long and fucking fuck, could he not pass these clothes on to whatever apprentices were on wash duty, they had the Essempri crest embroidered on them and everything.  While he knew they were likely used to seeing such things, the idea of it coming from him, from them knowing it came from him, made him want to die.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Sapnap huffed, hopping around on one foot to get his boot off despite the fact that his cot was literally right there. “At this rate, you’re going to wake George.”

“Nothing can get him up when he’s sleeping,” Dream huffed, far too smug and all-knowing for George’s liking. “You would know that if you’d ever slept over with him.  Except wait-”

“He’s totally stayed at our house before, you prick,” Sapnap muttered. “You know that.”

“But did you share a bed?” Dream taunted. “Because I-”

“That was because of Jack, not you, idiot – don’t pretend otherwise.”

“But it happened.”

“My fist is about to happen to your face in a minute.”

That was it.  George was done.  George had just overcome a moral conundrum for the sake of finding some damn relief for the first time since this war started and of course it had been ruined by his two best friends and he missed Jack and he wanted to be home and-

“Will you two shut the fuck up?” George snapped, sitting upright with a snarl.

Any other day it would have been satisfying to watch the other two jump, as though they had genuinely thought he was capable of sleeping through this bullshit.

“That’s it.” George struggled out of his blankets, mourning everything in his life that had brought him to this point. “I’m done with this.  I’m done.”

“George?” Dream spoke up first, tentative and a little uncertain. “I’m sorry we woke you-”

“If you were actually sorry, this wouldn’t have fucking happened,” George snapped. “All you two do is argue.  I thought it’d be different with the war, but no, you just- you just-” He snarled, then stopped over to Sapnap’s cot. “Dream, help me move this.”

As expected, Dream was remarkably malleable when George was pissed, and as such didn’t hesitate to follow his orders, even if he didn’t know what was going on.

“Pick that end up,” George ordered.

Sapnap watched in dumb silence while they moved his cot, Dream a little awkward because he didn’t know where they were going.  By the time they’d relocated the cot between Dream’s and George’s, the taller protector’s shoulders had gone tense.

“What um- what are we doing, Georgie?” Dream asked, always one to push his luck.

George aimed a sickly-sweet smile at him. “Since sharing a bed is so important to you-” He started tugging Sapnap’s cot into place, shoving it over until it was flush alongside Dream’s. “This should make you fuckers happy.” With a flourish, he turned to address the other protectors. “This is your get-along cot.  You will sleep here and you will get along, and you will leave me the fuck out of it.”

With that, he started dragging his cot to the far side of the tent, occupying the space where Sapnap’s used to be before he climbed back into the blankets that hadn’t been lovingly arranged by Jack and didn’t cry, because that wouldn’t be befitting of his station, and he really needed to get some sleep.

The other two didn’t move.

“Um- George?” Sapnap spoke up with a nervous giggle. “You don’t actually want us to- hey, George.”

“I am ignoring you now,” George announced as he curled up on his side, facing away from them.

“What if he gets morning wood?” Sapnap continued, unperturbed. “What if I get morning wood?”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

Dream sighed. “Georgie-”

George let out another hiss of warning. “I.  Will.  Murder.  You.  You will be murdered, and then I will be arrested and Jack will cry.  Do you want Jack to cry?  No?  Then get in the fucking get along bed, you overgrown babies.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Dream sighed. “Dibs on the right side.”

Sapnap growled. “You can’t actually be- Dream!”

The startled squawk was enough to make George look over his shoulder, and he was glad he did, for he was greeted with an image of a flailing Sapnap held in Dream’s arms, the taller hybrid carrying him over to the get-along cot with a look of resignation on his face before he more or less dumped him on it.  George turned away just as Dream shifted to see if he was looking, and he didn’t- he didn’t care, he hoped they suffered like they made him suffer and he really, really didn’t care.

“Oh my god, why are your hands so cold?” Sapnap lamented to the sounds of shifting blankets.

“Why are you so hot?”

“These looks come naturally, baby,” Sapnap cackled, amused by his own joke.

“I don’t know what anyone sees in you.”

“I don’t know what anyone sees in you.”

“Murder,” George hissed. “Cruel and vicious murder.  Jack crying.  You’re going to make Jack cry.”

There was a moment of silence, and then some bashful- “Sorry, George”s which was good enough for him.

He hoped they were as uncomfortable as hell. 

Because he certainly was.

~:~

Stupid Dream.  Stupid argument.  Stupid get along cot.

Sapnap couldn’t actually get mad at George because all things considered, he’d been remarkably patient with them.  He was already out of his element in a war camp, throwing in the additional strain of not getting any sort of lasting peace in the one private space they were allotted in the entire camp was always going to wear on his nerves.  George was made for offices and libraries and council halls; he wasn’t made for tents and battlefields and makeshift field hospitals.  That was not his world, and frankly, he never should have been exposed to it.  Were it not for his pride and determination to make Eret proud (which was stupid, Eret was already proud, literally everyone but George could see that), George would have likely sent another aide in his stead.  He should have sent another aide – preferably one with combat experience like a retired knight, but George had always been one to lead by example, so while Sapnap was happy to not be as brutally separated from his best friend as he was most of his family, there was still the constant fear for George’s safety, because George should not be here.

He knew Dream was dealing with the same anxiety.  He knew it was why they were at each other’s throats so often.  War was hard enough on its own, forget the additional stresses their responsibilities placed on them – Dream busy managing all the knight legions while Sapnap organized the royal guard, representing the princes for the royal family and proving that the royal flock’s spontaneous decision to adopt him and Bad hadn’t been unwarranted.  There was a lot riding on this beyond simply managing a war, and adding the constant fear and worry for George’s safety made them a bit well… dumb.

Just- in public, Sapnap was a symbol.  He was no longer Sir Sapnap, he was Prince Sapnap, one of the highest-ranking individuals in the entire camp.  He couldn’t throw out casual jokes or trade easy conversation, literally everything he did reflected on the royal family and established the mood for the camp.  If he ever seemed nervous, the soldiers would feel nervous, which was why it wasn’t an option.  He knew Dream was likely facing the same issues – this was his first war too – and the only place they could unwind, where they could truly be themselves, was in the comfort of their tent.

All that stress and anxiety had to go somewhere, and for Sapnap and Dream it seemed to just- it went towards each other.  It wasn’t intentional, it wasn’t a decision they’d discussed together, it had simply fallen into place by way of unspoken agreement, and seeing as George was rarely in the tent anyway, it hadn’t seemed like the worst thing in the world.  If anything, it was comforting.  Sapnap could call Dream out on his shit and Dream would be his usual asshole self and it was familiar, made Sapnap feel like they were back home, and it worked too.  At least in terms of helping them relax enough to go to bed.

It probably would have worked that night too had they not made the terrible miscalculation of assuming George would sleep through anything.

Sapnap reiterated – stupid Dream.  He was the one who’d been so sure they’d be fine, and now Sapnap was stuck way too close to the overgrown lummox, trying not to stare pitifully at George’s back that seemed way too far away.  Sapnap would reach out towards him were he not in such a warm cocoon of blankets.  He’d gotten them just right after stealing the spot from Dream (there had been a fair deal of wiggling involved, perhaps a few bites, but let it not be said that Sapnap was afraid to fight dirty).  Dream thought dibs had any weight here – they were at war, literally everything was free game.

Sapnap might be stuck with Dream, but he was the one with the unobstructed view of George, and with all the stress they were under, he’d take that win for what it was.  Looking after his mental health was important now more than ever, and Sapnap had been sent off with enough lectures from Bad to know that he needed to do whatever he could to keep going, to not judge himself for coping mechanisms that might seem odd – like staring at George while he slept. 

He was well and truly out now.  Sapnap had watched him until his breaths had evened into something slow and deep, and while he wished that he could see it up close (the way Dream had gotten to – stupid weekend estate visits; when they got back from war, Sapnap was going to invite George and Jack to so many things), he could live with this much.

Or, he could have lived with that much until Dream started shifting behind him. 

Which wasn’t normally a problem, except he was moving closer.

Sapnap swallowed down a snarl. “Asshole,” he whispered when he felt Dream get closer to his back. “Stay on your own damn cot.”

“Fuck off,” Dream huffed. “I want to see Georgie too.”

Sapnap couldn’t begrudge that, not really, not when he himself was desperate for this dumb, inconsequential thing, but- “Sucks to suck, then,” he muttered, burrowing deeper into his blankets. “If you hadn’t- hey-”

Sapnap normally ran hot, but he swore a relentless swell of heat flashed through the entirety of his body when he felt Dream slide perfectly in place behind him, leaving no gaps between their bodies as they more or less shared one cot together.

“This is both our faults and you know it,” Dream murmured, throwing an arm around Sapnap’s waist.  The only reason the blaze hybrid permitted it was because he was so damn befuddled by the audacity that he’d been frozen still, and yeah- that was- that wasn’t going anywhere, he guessed.  Should he bite him again? “If this is what George wants us to do then I’m gonna do it, but if you’re watching his back, I am too.”

“What are we, twelve?” Sapnap lamented, holding onto his sarcasm to ignore the fact that he now knew what it felt like to be spooned by Dream Wastaken. 

Wait, he was a prince now, wasn’t this against a law or something?  Like a no-violating-the-royal-family’s-personal-bubble-without-their-permission kind of law?  If that wasn’t a law, they should make it one.  And then Dream could get back onto his stupid cot.

“Says the guy who bit me,” Dream rumbled, the vibrations of which Sapnap felt echo against his spine. “This isn’t a big deal.”

“You’re spooning me.”

“It’s not like I want to,” Dream hissed, his tone defensive. “You think I like this?  I don’t, but this is what needs to be done, so…”

Yeah, Sapnap wouldn’t know how to finish that sentence either.

What did I do to make you hate me so much, Sapnap wanted to ask, but he already knew the answer.  It was the same reason he hated Dream in turn.

There were both individuals who were strongly attached to George, and it had been fairly evident since their first meeting how far each of them desired to go.  The odds hadn’t been good for one, but for two?

With George as private as it was, it seemed impossible, and that was that.

Dream had wanted Sapnap to fuck off to distant pastures, having claimed that he’d found George first, and Sapnap had called bullshit because hey, if he’d known the guy for so long, how come they weren’t courting yet?  It obviously wasn’t going to happen.  George obviously didn’t see Dream as more than a friend-

Realistically, George didn’t see either of them as more than a friend, but protectors were stubborn in nature.  They both wanted to hope, but they couldn’t push the boundaries of reason.  There was only ever going to be room for one of them.  They were destined to be rivals from the start.

And now they were rivals that spooned together.

Fuck. 

“I’m only allowing this because I’m tired,” Sapnap said with a sniff, pointedly ignoring the small well of comfort that grew in his chest by receiving this casual affection.  Sapnap was a cuddly guy, he liked when he got to guard the pups at night, or when Bad and Skeppy let him share a bed with them.  He liked having company, and while he may detest Dream, well-

Coping mechanisms were coping mechanisms.  War was war, and if this made it more tolerable, then he guessed he could live with this.

“Sure,” Dream laughed, his warm breath ruffling through Sapnap’s hair. “For the record, if you ever mention this outside the tent-”

“If you ever mention this outside the tent, I’ll stab you,” Sapnap interrupted, his face flooding with an unwarranted level of heat. “And then have you arrested for treason or something.”

“Yes, that’s it, abuse your power,” Dream muttered. “That will make the royal flock look good.”

“Keep your mouth shut if you’re so worried about them,” Sapnap hissed, and that put an end to that.

So- yes, this was his new normal now.  Cuddling with Dream so they could both watch George’s back.

There were probably worse things. 

~:~

Fuck yeah, this was the life.

Dream wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn Jack cuddles, but whatever it was, he was grateful – didn’t have the words to ever possibly express his relief.  Things had been stressful lately, though with the fog of sleep it was difficult to remember why.  He had the distinct feeling that Jack cuddles should be impossible, but that was clearly untrue because there was no mistaking the pleasant heat source emanating from the body in front of him, firm and relentless enough to only come from a blaze hybrid.

Granted, Jack did feel a bit more muscular than the last time Dream had been allowed to do this, but that was more of a source of pride than confusion.  He knew Jack had been training hard under Connor and Skeppy’s practiced eyes, trying to learn how to defend himself.  He’d even had a few training sessions with Drista and Dream’s father to learn how to use the concealed weapons the Wastakens had gifted him after learning about the extent of his past abuse (and fuck, if Dream ever got his hands on any of the idiots that dared to violate their peacekeeper he would be sure to keep the deaths slow and painful, until they didn’t have a concept for what life without pain was, much less who they were).  Obviously, he would become slightly more toned due to his exercises – and he was working so hard but he still trusted Dream and George this much.  Dream, who wasn’t even officially one of his protectors, who was allowed to guard his back like this when he’d gone through so much and Dream was so lucky, he really was.

He shouldn’t push his luck, but Dream’s hybrid nature was an insatiable thing.  As such, he didn’t think much of coaxing Jack a bit closer towards him, until they could properly tangle their legs together, Dream burying his nose in Jack’s hair before releasing a comforting rumble.  Oh wow, those tonics Bad had been giving him must be really working, Jack’s hair seemed way fluffier than usual.  Yay Jack.  He was so good; he was the best.

In front of him the small peacekeeper stirred slightly, and for a moment Dream was afraid he’d wakened George’s peacekeeper which was just the absolute worst of him, he was terrible, he should throw himself on the floor and beg for forgiveness-

An answering purr – a sleepy greeting tinged with contentment and happiness and Dream had done that, he’d earned it, and when he felt Jack start to turn he resolutely did not panic.  No, nope, no panicking here, he was just-

Going to get used as Jack’s teddy bear, the blaze hybrid burrowing his face into Dream’s chest and clinging to him like a limpet, releasing another sound that vibrated through Dream’s chest and oh boy, oh wow, oh boy-oh wow-oh boy.

Dream wished George was here.  He knew the panther hybrid wasn’t there for some reason even though he should be, even though he never neglected his protector duties.  And he wasn’t now, he’d left Jack with Dream because he trusted Dream, because he knew Dream would do anything for Jack, and that was an impressive thing.  With that vote of confidence, it was easy to wrap an arm around Jack’s waist once more and drag him close, helping nullify the few inches of space Jack had left between them.

He earned a pleased rumble in reply.  Fuck, Jack was so cute.  How could he possibly be this cute?

Dream nuzzled the top of his head again, inhaling the spice that came from those fluffy locks as he went to adjust their blankets, a frown pulling at his lips when he realized how few there were.  That wasn’t right, he’d gotten Jack a ton of blankets – mostly because he hadn’t known exactly what the peacekeeper might want, and every time he tried to narrow down his selections he’d been terrified of not providing what Jack needed so he went overboard, because hey, he could always donate the rest, right?  Except Jack had used most of it and that had wowed Dream’s mind, he hadn’t been prepared for that at all, and the bed was a mess but Jack looked so happy and treated all the extra bedding with reverence and looked slightly teary eyed the one time Dream’s mom asked if they wanted him to get it out of the way, but no, he just wanted it and apparently his bed at the castle was like that too and Dream couldn’t possibly fathom why this bed wouldn’t be the same.  Jack loved dozens of blankets, why didn’t he have dozens of blankets?  And an explosion of pillows, those were missing too.

In fact, this mattress was kind of shit.  George wouldn’t let Jack sleep on something like this, he deserved so much better.  How had they been brought to the point where someone as precious as Jack slept on something that felt like a travel cot?  Granted, it was a nice travel cot, the kind that Dream got to use as a high-ranking officer, but it was still a cot and Jack should never be in a position where he wanted to use one.  It wasn’t like Jack would ever visit an army camp.  Why would he be in an army camp?  It didn’t make any sense.  This didn’t make any sense.

It didn’t make any sense, and it was that lack of reasoning that brought Dream to full coherence, which was frustrating because hey, he was enjoying his sleepy Jack cuddles, they were awesome.  Granted, being awake didn’t stop him from enjoying them – if anything, he could enjoy them better now, and maybe memorize Jack’s expression so he could sketch it later, but now he had to process why Jack was in what was definitely a military tent – Dream’s military tent, for that matter, the one he now had to share with George and-

Sapnap.

George and Sapnap, and he could spot George’s empty cot across the room, where the panther hybrid had dragged it the night before in a fit of frustration, leaving Dream not with Jack, but-

Despite very much not wanting to, Dream looked down.

A bundle of familiar black hair greeted him, two pale horns that Jack definitely didn’t possess sticking out of the mess in a vicious mockery.

Of course.  Of course.  Of course this had happened, Dream’s life couldn’t be that easy – they were at war.  They were at war and George was mad at him, and the blissful sleep he’d just exited out of was now tainted with the reality that he’d been cuddling and rumbling at Sapnap.

Sapnap, who hated him.

Yeah, that figured.

Sighing, Dream tried to untangle himself from the blaze hybrid, grateful that Jack at least was safe back in the capital, where he should be.  That was the only victory he achieved, however, as every attempt he made to back away from Sapnap was met with fierce and furious protests.

“Stay,” Sapnap rumbled, sounding like a giant petulant baby. “Stay, stay, please.  No go.”

“Fuck off,” Dream huffed, cheeks flooding with heat for some reason as he poked the top of Sapnap’s head.  Looked like exiting with grace wasn’t an option anymore.  Well, if he had to be aware of this, Sapnap did too. “Halo.  Halo, wake up.”

“Noooo,” Sapnap whined, clinging onto him tighter.  He released a disgruntled rumble against Dream’s chest, reminding the taller knight just how thin his under tunic was, the heat of Sapnap’s breath piercing it like nothing, leaving Dream terribly conscious of the feel of Sapnap’s lips and he had not needed that knowledge.

Fuck.  Who would have thought Sapnap was a clinger.

“Stay, more, need cuddles,” Sapnap whined in objection when Dream tried to pry his fingers out of the fabric of his tunic.  If anything, the other protector held on tighter. “Mean,” Sapnap rumbled, and then he was arching forward, head falling back so he could bury it promptly in the base of Dream’s throat, nosing at the skin there.

And that- that generally, that was generally an area Dream covered and no one really touched there and no one was supposed to touch there unless it was for very special pack stuff but now fucking Sapnap’s mouth was right there and Dream was actually going to die, he was going to die and it wasn’t even going to be the war that killed him.

“Smell good,” Sapnap noted with a pleasant note to his voice. “Smell… different.”

Dream felt the moment Sapnap stumbled closer to coherence, when he went from sleepy instincts to semi-awake-soldier to holy-fuck-why-did-this-happen.

Sapnap’s body went deadly still. “You’re not Bad.”

That.  That explained a few things. 

The whining.  The clinging.

“No shit,” Dream ground out, his face feeling unbearably hot. “Get the fuck off me.”

Sapnap had pulled away before he even finished the sentence, rolling back and right off his cot until he collapsed on the floor of the tent with an undignified yelp.

Great.  Perfect.  Just the start to a morning he’d always wanted.

Sapnap ratcheted up into the sitting position with a glare, a dark flush spilling across the bridge of his nose. “If you tell anyone about this-”

“Who the fuck would I tell about this?” Dream snarled, likely with more venom than he normally would have, anything to return their usual air of antagonistic normality.

“No one, because you have no friends,” Sapnap declared before untangling himself from his blankets and stomping behind the room divider to get dressed and ooh, look at Prince Sapnap, he’s so thoughtful for giving up his tent effects so Lord Foolish could be more comfortable – what a crock of lies.

No.  Nope, Dream had to be calm, had to be cool.  He was going to exit the tent shortly and he didn’t have time for his own petty problems.  His duty came first.

And if he used that to forget the feel of Sapnap Halo-Craft stubbornly clinging to him, that was his business and no one else’s.

Chapter Text

They didn’t have time to dwell on the whole sleep cuddle thing – because why would they have time to dwell on that?  They were in the middle of war, they were fighting for the honor of their country, they had dozens of other more pressing objectives, of course they didn’t have time to ruminate on that.  Sapnap didn’t even spare the energy to marvel on how little he was fixating, mostly because Dream Wastaken did not deserve that sort of effort – never had, never would.  Sapnap wasn’t one of the Wastaken’s mindless fans, no matter how safe and warm and content he’d felt this morning.  At least, until he’d realized where he was.

Dream.  He’d cuddled Dream.  Ugh.

He didn’t have time to focus on it beyond that, immediately overcome with the tasks of his job – training and patrols and guard rotations – a quick visit with Foolish and a check in with Connor when he was actually in camp instead of leading raids of his own.  Sapnap was busy and it felt great, felt amazing, felt right, especially when he’d walk by the administrative area and see George in his element, competent and safe and whole, within range of his protection, and better yet, Sapnap was actively adding to the camp’s defense, therefore adding to the protection of his family, and he felt so much better.  Bad and Skeppy were safe in the capital – would be now with the new security measures, and he could keep an eye on everyone else.  It was more than he could ever hope for.

Of course, when he returned to the tent that night, Dream already halfway through removing his armor and George nowhere in sight, Sapnap actually remembered the odd situation they’d been in that morning, Sapnap feeling unfortunately comfortable and right in a way he rarely did when he was apart from Bad, likely because he’d subconsciously been treating Dream like a stand in for his brother.

For a moment they just stared at each other, Sapnap frozen just inside the tent flaps while Dream scowled at him, likely for not announcing himself.

Well, it was Sapnap’s tent too.  If anything, it was his tent more than Dream’s at this rate, if their ranks factored into things in any capacity.

“Hey,” Sapnap said, deciding to get things over with. “We’re not going to let things get weird, are we?”

Dream immediately scoffed. “I don’t have time for that,” he declared, and then he went back to his own preparations.

Sapnap took a page from his book and attended to his own nightly ritual, reluctantly climbing into the get along cot with Dream when he was finished, both of them staring forlornly at the empty cot across the room.  It took another hour for George to arrive, though both of them pretended to be sleeping because they were actually alike in very unfortunate ways.  Neither one of them relaxed until George was safely in his own cot, and then it was okay, it was safe, they were complete, and that was that. There was no reason to be as on edge as they were before, they had everything they needed right in sight.

It seemed that such knowledge made them far more relaxed than they could have anticipated because the next morning, Sapnap found himself clinging to Dream once more.  Embarrassing, but at least he’d woken up first that time, that was a win. 

And a fluke, because clearly the cuddling wouldn’t happen again.

The next day, Sapnap woke up with Dream clinging to his back like the overgrown lummox he was, and no matter how he hissed and wiggled, he couldn’t get the gigantic idiot to let him go.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sapnap snapped, grateful that George had gotten up before them once more. “And don’t just say everything, even if that’s true, you idiot.  How the fuck can you be this heavy a sleeper?  How the fuck-”

“Jack,” Dream rumbled into his ear, and that was such hot ass bullshit, it really was, and Dream sounded so fond, too fond, and-

Maybe elbowing Dream in the face wasn’t the best way to wake him up seeing as it activated the man’s latent survival instincts, but at least being pinned to the bed with a scowling Dream looming over him was better than being slowly crushed to death in his dumb octopus hold.

This wasn’t weird.

It wasn’t weird.

It wasn’t.

“I want to get up,” Sapnap huffed, hoping he didn’t sound as petty as he felt.

Dream, confused and blinking, shifted into a familiar default of annoyance, openly scowling down at Sapnap. “By all means, your highness.”

To the day he died, Sapnap would swear off the full body shudder that ran through his body, his instincts purring in a manner he knew then and there he would never need to properly examine.

“Move,” Sapnap huffed, batting Dream away and he wasn’t blushing, he didn’t have time to blush, they were at war.

They did have time for cuddles though, apparently.  Because they kept happening every night, and Sapnap resolutely didn’t have the mental focus to dwell on them.  Sometimes it was him that clung to Dream, sometimes it was Dream that would hold onto him like a comfort object or teddy bear.  It was always weird and uncomfortable, at least until they startled into movement, each burdened with their own responsibilities.  It had been hard enough sharing a space with Dream before, but this added complication was only making Sapnap more stressed, and as time went on, he could see that Dream was being affected too.

In the end, he decided to break the awkwardness before the awkwardness took the choice from him.

“Let’s level with each other,” Sapnap said, taking initiative as would be expected of him as someone of higher-ranking status. “Obviously, this cuddling thing is helping us in some capacity.  If we didn’t need it we’d stop doing it, but we do need it, so it’s happening.” He clapped his hands tighter, aiming his most thoughtful look at Dream. “I think we may as well embrace it.” Literally.  Figuratively.  Whatever. “I want to call a truce.  War is hard enough as it is, we don’t need to keep snapping at each other.  We should get along like George says, at least for the duration of this thing.”

Dream watched him carefully, as though searching Sapnap for ulterior motivations, but Sapnap knew he saw the same issues Sapnap did. They were fighting too many battles right now, and Sapnap couldn’t afford to break here when he was needed so much in camp, he didn’t think Bad would forgive him if that happened.

“For the duration,” Dream said, holding out a hand. “We acknowledge our needs and attend to them without being…”

“Idiots?” Sapnap offered, earning a generous roll of Dream’s eyes. “What?  It’s a good description.”

“It’s not particularly professional, but whatever, it works,” Dream allowed. “Alright, we attend to our needs and stop being idiots.  No more picking unnecessary fights.”

“If we look after George, we do it together.”

It wasn’t a condition that settled perfectly well with Sapnap, but he knew it was important.  Knew that as much as it granted Dream extra opportunities to get close to George, it also kept Sapnap from falling behind.  It was worth the risk.

“Fine,” Dream said, sighing.

They shook on it. 

It felt a lot more intimidating than it should.

“Hurry up and get clean, please,” Dream said, his voice softer than before as he stared down at his lap, hands flushed pink, as though they’d been scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed. “I’d like- I need cuddles.”

Oh, that was- yeah, Sapnap needed cuddles too.  He could admit that.

“Okay,” he said, and this wouldn’t be weird.  They were being responsible, and there was nothing weird about that.  Nothing.

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, but it didn’t matter at the end of the day.  So long as someone knew, he’d be fine. 

~:~

The peace they’d established with each other was tentative at best, but Dream could admit he was glad for it.  His body, touch-starved as it was, couldn’t seem to help but register Sapnap as a Jack-substitute, and as Dream’s inner-protector was remarkably fond of the small blaze hybrid – had grand dreams and aspirations for what they might one day be – it was natural for him to want to be as close to Jack as possible, which unfortunately meant being as close to Sapnap as possible.  It was nothing he would do intentionally, but with George way too far away and his only private space in the wake of war now shared with someone who didn’t like him, Dream had to give himself what breaks he could.  Sapnap might be many things, but he wasn’t a sneak.  Even if he might feel high and mighty with his new title as prince, he wasn’t going to make a long play to trick Dream into some sort of social trap that would destroy his reputation for good.  What they had in here was private, and it might not be ideal for either of them, but it was what they had.

“Could you be less tense, please?” Sapnap huffed as he cuddled close to Dream’s chest – and never would Dream have pictured Sapnap as a cuddler but there he was, short and unrepentant in his determination to achieve snuggles. “It’s doing nothing for my instincts.”

“Well, since it’s such an inconvenience…” Dream muttered, making an effort to forcibly relax himself.  This was a lot easier to do when Sapnap was asleep, when it wasn’t a conscious choice.  Taking control of it allowed them a measure of power in the fallout, but Dream hadn’t anticipated how awkward the setup might be, how many defensive instincts he had ready to spring into place when Sapnap was around.  It was a matter of self-preservation, and lowering that guard, even on a temporary basis, was difficult.

“Prime,” Sapnap huffed, dissatisfied. “Do I have to pretend to be George and order you around?  Will that work?”

Dream felt his face flooding with a heat that had nothing to do with objection or embarrassment. “He does not order me around.”

“He totally does, like, all the time,” Sapnap muttered, as though he were not guilty of the exact same thing. Dream bet Sapnap let George order him around all the time.  He was just- the panther hybrid had a strong force of will, and it was nice catering to him, nice to see him happy, even if he could be a bit of a brat.

“He doesn’t, and if he did, it wouldn’t work for you,” Dream declared with a sniff. “So just-”

A strong grip wrapped around his wrist that dragged his hand upwards, and Dream – too stunned by the sudden action – did nothing to dissuade it, watching with wide eyes.

“Pet me,” Sapnap ordered, irritated and insufferably as he threaded Dream’s fingers through his hair. “I want scalp rubs.”

“Then fucking-”

“Pet me,” Sapnap repeated, bumping his forehead against Dream’s chest.

Like this, with a wild mop of dark hair, Dream could almost pretend it was George in his arms.  Were it not for the horns, he could pretend it was Jack.

He started petting.

Sapnap let out a low rumble of appreciation. “Thank you-thank you.”

Dream paused, a sudden thought striking him as his breath caught in his throat, almost dizzy with anticipation and excitement.  Could he-

“I’ll pet your scalp,” he began, doing his best to keep his voice as level as possible. “But you have to do something for me.”

Sapnap sighed, loud and bemoaning, his head falling back with a narrowed-eyed glare. “What is it?”

This wasn’t a big deal.  It wasn’t weird, but-

“Do that- do the thing Jack does,” Dream said, grateful that the darkness of the room hid their expressions. “You know, in Blaze.  The happy thing.”

There was a moment where he could feel Sapnap stare at him with unyielding incredulity, but Dream didn’t allow himself to tense.  If Sapnap thought he could order Dream around there was going to be a tradeoff, they were going to be even, because even if Sapnap was a prince, that didn’t give him a right to boss Dream around in private.

Sapnap sighed again.  Louder, likely for the sake of dramatics. “Fine,” he declared, letting his head fall forward with a thump as he wiggled closer. “I can do that for you, but I want head rubs.”

“Done,” Dream said, and he waited, breathless, something easing in his chest when Sapnap released a familiar set of Blaze purrs – happy-happy-happy – and it was so good, it was so perfect, it was- it wasn’t Jack, but it was close to him, a promise of what might come.

Dream needed to remember to write a letter to him later, let the blaze hybrid know Dream still held him in his mind, that he was looking after George.

“We good?” Sapnap asked, sounding unfairly hopeful.

Right, the- right.

Dream swallowed hard, coaxing his hand into action. “Yeah,” he said, the feel of Sapnap’s dark locks unfairly soft against his hand. “We’re good.”

And somehow, it was that easy.

If they were both getting something out of the deal, it was easier to allow the other into their personal space.  War was hard on all of them, but especially for them – both high ranking officers from powerful noble families.  They couldn’t afford many mistakes, which meant they had to allow for some form of weakness on their own time.  For them, this was that.  They had their vulnerabilities – and sure, they were shared with the last person they ever would have expected, but it worked.

Pretty soon, Sapnap was speaking to him exclusively in Blaze when they were cuddled together, and he wasn’t Jack and he’d never be Jack but having him close by fed into the protector instincts Dream couldn’t stifle if he tried.  The things he wanted to do with George, for George, and couldn’t because their schedules were so stupidly different, he released them elsewhere in an effort to keep himself from being horrifically distracted.   And that was why he’d rub Sapnap’s shoulders or massage his feet, or feed him a cookie he’d snuck from the mess tent.  And Sapnap would scowl and roll his eyes but who the fuck could say no to pampering?  Least of all him, who had apparently been somewhat spoiled by Bad and Skeppy for being the baby of the family.

“How do you get crumbs everywhere?” Dream despaired, thumbing at the corners of Sapnap’s mouth because he couldn’t even eat a cookie right. “Is it a special talent?”

“Fuck off,” Sapnap muttered, and then he wouldn’t give Dream his sweet happy-happy-happy’s until the taller protector had massaged his feet and turned him into a pile of goo. “Ugh, fine, you win,” he’d moan, all while giving his foot a pointed shake, and Dream’s protector instincts would buzz because see?  Even Sapnap deferred to him.  He was doing such a good job; he really was the best.

Sort of.

Not really.

Because George was still irritated with them even though they weren’t fighting as much and he wouldn’t let them pull the cots apart and it was getting to the point where Dream maybe didn’t want to pull the cots apart but that was just because he was desperate and nothing else.  Absolutely nothing else.

They didn’t have time for personal problems, so things were fine.  It was fine.

He and Sapnap were just fine.

~:~

George fucking hated those two idiots.  He did.  He did.  They were morons and he hated them.  There was not an ounce of affection to be found in his heart for either of them – fuck years of friendship and commiseration and support through trials and tribulations.  They were stupid and dumb and he never should have bothered interacting with them at all, should have kept to his damn self like he’d always had and carried on his life in relative peace and seclusion.

He blatantly ignored the fact that doing such things would have also mitigated a majority of the small happinesses George had found in life.  Perhaps he would have still gotten adopted by Eret, perhaps he might even still be Jack’s protector (and Jack, Jack – George missed him like nothing else) – but there’d be no Skeppy and Bad he could perpetually depend on, no Yules spent with family or a mother figure who was actually proud of him or a little sister who looked up to him for some Prime-forsaken reason.  His school years would have been empty and dreadful and he never would have made any friends at the castle. 

He knew life would be bad, he knew things were better with Sapnap and Dream present.

He just also really wanted to wring their damn necks.

How was it that they – every time, without fail – walked in on him when he wanted to tend to his own personal needs?  How did they do it?  Did they wait?  Did they have a sixth sense?  How did they know?

And on one hand, George knew it was unfair of him to be upset by this.  He didn’t have the privacy he needed, but neither did most of the soldiers in the camp.  Neither did Sapnap and Dream.  In fact, Sapnap and Dream seemed to visit the tent almost exclusively together, meaning that they never had the opportunities George did.  At least he had the valiant hope to attend to himself, not that it ever panned out, because the moment he got even close to achieving some sort of traction the two of them would barge in with all the grace of a stampede of elephants and George would will himself to be consumed by the very earth itself, certain that this would be the time they realized what he was doing.  It was bad enough that he was fantasizing about Jack like this, but the constant edging and failure to find completion was only making him more frustrated.  It got to the point where he tried to stop all together to mitigate the problem once and for all, but he couldn’t quite seem to hold out.  He needed that connection to Jack, whose letter replies were sparse at best.  It seemed like the peacekeeper had no idea what to talk about.  He always shared an update on Bad and Skeppy and would eagerly recount any of the things the pups were getting up to, but when it came to himself his answers were always vague, even when George asked specific questions.

Prime, he got more from Bad than he did Jack himself, though the Nether Demon was so busy that he could only say that Jack seemed tired and stressed – that sometimes he’d have nightmares that he was entirely apologetic about.  Jack had tried moving back to his old room, but Bad and Skeppy had managed to dissuade him so far, and that was all Bad had, all delivered in an apologetic tone because he was so busy with his new crown prince duties. 

That was what happened when you were decreed fit to be the next emperor, people simply didn’t leave you alone.

George wanted more, and even if this wasn’t real intimacy, it was an itch he felt needed to be scratched.  Perhaps it was because he had so little contact that wasn’t explicitly business or mission related in-camp.  Aside from Sapnap and Dream who he rarely saw, there were only his brief visits with Foolish to act as relieving buffers to his work ethic.  Other than that, George was the heir to Essempi and as such naturally intimidated all the other aides and runners he worked with.  The fact that he was regularly summoned to code letters and memos for Philza and Techno likely didn’t help.  No one wanted to catch the attention of someone who was so close to the royal flock, not when a mistake could cost them everything (as though George would give a damn about small mistakes when they were at war, but logic didn’t always apply in stressful situations, so George was alone more often than not).

At least until it came to the moments that he really needed it.  Then he didn’t seem capable of achieving it if his damn life depended on it.

And it didn’t.  It was just his libido that was aching.  His self-respect and sense of decorum slowly slipping down the drain.

It was like they didn’t have any idea how much of a moral conundrum this matter was proving to be to him, and of course they didn’t, he barely saw them nowadays.  They had different jobs, different schedules, and worked different parts of the camp.  Dream would go out on raids and return with information that George was tasked with breaking down, reporting, and then coding for message delivery.  As the only coder in the camp he was constantly busy, and oftentimes he would find himself passing out in his work tent, working until he could no longer stay conscious.  It was fortunate that his underlings didn’t report him to Phil or Techno, who would have likely given him an earful before doing something horrific, like carrying him back to his own tent.  At most, George would wake with a blanket draped across him.  It was a comforting but almost-hollow thing as it imitated the real, deep connections of friendship he’d built over the years.  Things he sorely missed.

As mad as he was at the two protectors he unfortunately declared as his best friends, he was beginning to miss them.  He didn’t miss their fights, but he missed Dream’s stupid well of awkward support and he missed Sapnap’s snarkiness.  He missed having people that saw him as he was rather than as his position, who treated him the same as always.  At this point, he had no idea how they were doing.  All he could say was that as per his absurd request, they were still sleeping with their cots pushed together and had somehow, someway, managed to not kill each other over it, which he hadn’t expected.  He thought they would have given up on his directive delivered on impulse to distract from his irritation and humiliation, but they both seemed determined to be the one who followed along with George’s demand the best, which proved that even in this, they could be competitive idiots.  At least, that was what he assumed was happening. He could think of no better explanation for this nonsense to have perpetuated other than the fact that they perhaps liked it, but as that was never going to be a possibility, George dismissed it almost as soon as it was thought as the utterly ridiculous notion that it was.

And it was- it was- it was nonsense.

George realized they weren’t getting the kind of relief his body apparently desired, but they were still getting more substantial cuddling contact than he was, and they didn’t even like each other.  Inadvertently, George had created an environment where those two idiots could emotionally thrive, where they had the physical support and reassurance they obviously needed to counteract the stresses of war, and George had nothing.

It wasn’t like he could join them.  Couldn’t shove his cot up beside theirs.  Because one, they’d probably fight over who was next to him – which could be solved by putting him in the middle but that led to two, he rarely slept at the same time they did anyway, so in the end George was just frustrated and perhaps, just maybe, the tiniest bit jealous.

Just- he should be there, was all.  He actually liked those two numbskulls, at least when they weren’t fighting with each other.  Despite the lack of privacy, part of him was thrilled to share a space with them, to get that constant reassurance that they were present and fine, and now he got that, but it was confirmed by stumbling into the tent in the middle of the night to find them passed out on top of each other, Sapnap literally sprawled across Dream’s chest so they both had a clear view of George’s cot, and they were- they were so very dumb, but mostly George couldn’t help but feel hit with a wave of fondness. 

They were idiots, but they were his idiots.

It was a nice, buoying feeling of happiness that George wanted to cling to for as long as possible, but like most good things it inevitably faded, replaced instead with his usual anxieties and stresses.  His worry over Jack.  His desperation for comfort.  His desire to throw himself into their cuddle pile and never let go, to bury himself in deep and bap Sapnap’s nose, nuzzle Dream’s shoulder, purring and cuddling because this was how it was supposed to be – or almost, because it wouldn’t be perfect without Jack – but him and his two idiots, that’d be nice, and maybe he could pamper them too, or discipline them as needed-

That was-

That.

Fuck.

With steadfast determination, George stiffly turned and walked to his side of the tent, slipping out of his uniform and into more relaxed sleeping clothes as he tried to get a handle on the new beast growing inside him.

He felt like he was going crazy, but once he had the thought, it didn’t stop.  He already disciplined them once and they’d been so good, doing what he asked, but he wanted to do it again.  They’d have to earn it, obviously, he wasn’t a monster.  They had to do something that would warrant such responses.  As of right now, he only wanted to reward them for being so good.  For playing so well together, all because he’d asked them to. 

He wondered what sort of gifts he could bestow upon them – perhaps a little massage?  He’d have to constantly rumble his reassurance, sooth the one he wasn’t attending to, assure them that he had every intention of taking care of them as well.  He knew they’d get jealous and fussy, they always did – he’d have to draw straws just to see which one he took care of first and the other would pout when he rubbed at their shoulders, their back, their legs.  The best way to keep them from becoming a nuisance would be to give them a job of their own.  A task to distract them.  Perhaps George could have them jerk off-

What.

No. No.

It’d been bad enough when it was just Jack – Jack, who wasn’t even here, who probably didn’t want that sort of thing, but to add his best friends to the mix?  George’s instincts were being proper fucks at this point, was what they were.  He didn’t need the image of Dream stretched across his bed, one hand working lazily between his legs as he watched George massage Sapnap, the blaze hybrid twitching and writhing underneath George’s hands.  And maybe George would make it better, remove the towel and part Sapnap’s cheeks – he’d be so bashful, he always seemed so cocky and overconfident but in bed he’d be shy and wonderfully submissive – George knew it in his bones – and he’d gladly lie there and allow George to finger him open the way he’d only ever attempted to do on himself after procuring one of those illicit texts that all young nobles had to learn that sort of thing from, because Prime knew their parents weren’t going to be any help.

He'd do it and then Dream would- Dream fucking Sapnap-

What was wrong with him?

Besides everything.  Everything being wrong seemed to be a fair summation of where George was right now.

Prime, he didn’t need this.  He knew he shouldn’t feel ashamed for random thoughts he held in the privacy of his mind, especially during these stressful times.  Ponk would likely say that his mind was finding alternative positives it could cling to in order to counteract the immensity and danger of his current work, that he shouldn’t judge himself for what were, at the end of the day, harmless daydreams, but they didn’t feel harmless.  They were impossible, they’d never happen, but once he dwelled on them, the thoughts remained.  Sapnap straddling Dream’s lap, his head thrown back as the taller protector effortlessly lifted him up and down, fucking into his tight heat with a single-minded focus, determined to make Sapnap lose his mind with pleasure.  Sapnap trying to get the upper hand later with a blowjob that made Dream writhe, one coy hand sneaking between Dream’s cheeks but George would bat him away, would offer him only a loose fist to chase his pleasure in, nothing that would be nearly satisfying enough for him until he was whining and desperate and begging, and George would ask Dream if he should help Sapnap and of course the Wastaken would say no, and a sharp cry would fall from Sapnap’s mouth, and it wasn’t until he was out of overwhelmed tears, until he’d been held on edge for far too long that George would take pity on him, would let Sapnap fuck Dream’s mouth in exchange for a cute dance, and if George had panties-

Wow. 

Damnit. 

They were private thoughts, and yet he couldn’t help but feel shame, couldn’t help but dwell on how Jack would perceive him if he ever heard any of these rambles, if he knew George – the protector he trusted so much – was that- that horny.

It was natural.  It was a natural thing, but when those he held closest were the focus of these fantasies, it just felt wrong.

Yet right.

Because of course.  Why would life be easy, he was only at war.  He only had to deal with every other damn thing in the world right now.

With a sigh, George buried his face against his pillow and tried to think of meeting notes and coding.  It wasn’t nearly as appealing as the image of Dream waking up to Sapnap’s morning wood pressed against his thigh – so clearly, he had to do something about it until Sapnap a cooing, whining mess, and Dream might threaten to reveal that facet of Sapnap to the rest of the camp but the words would never hold any weight because Dream was a greedy thing – he’d hoard those sounds to himself until the day he died – fully dressed while he stripped Sapnap out of all his clothes until he was even more flustered-

Right, so- time to mentally review the coding alphabet.

The boring, boring coding alphabet.

George could only handle one crisis at a time.

Chapter Text

Dream liked pampering him, which just figured.

Not that- obviously, Sapnap was not the ideal target of Dream’s fussiness, he was just a stand in who was allowed to benefit from the Wastaken’s protector preferences, but that aside, it lined up with what Sapnap had observed of Dream’s behavior.  The taller protector was a control freak, clearly he’d welcome the opportunity to have some measure of power over Sapnap, thus placing him in a more dominant position, but the problem was…

Well, Sapnap enjoyed being pampered. 

Were Dream weird or gross about it, he wouldn’t have allowed it to slide, but it was clear that there was a part of Dream’s instincts that were deeply satisfied whenever he was allowed to take care of Sapnap, and in return he was much more relaxed and cuddly, which benefited the blaze hybrid.  Sapnap was familiar with basic hybrid relationship dynamics, especially between protectors.  Because they tended to be the default ‘leaders’ in a relationship, so to speak (but not really, as relationships could only thrive when they were on equal footing – but on an instinct-basis, they were leaders in exploring those dynamics), when more than one protector congregated in a more emotionally or physically intimate fashion, one of them tended to default to being the alpha, or the prime protector.  Establishing a firm hierarchy for if or when the hybrids were at risk of falling into their instincts was a natural development.  It wasn’t something they did by choice, it just happened.  If both hybrids got lost to their instincts, one would naturally become a sort of leader. 

There were rare exceptions to this, of course.  Philza and Technoblade were prime examples.  It was very clear that they were equals, and as such it was likely that in the instance both of them fell into their instincts at the same time, they would trade off who was the leader based on what the situation required.  It didn’t happen often, mostly because there were so many factors that played a part in establishing a pack hierarchy.  It wasn’t just physical strength or battle prowess, it also had to do with subconscious tendencies, personalities, and conscious relationship conditions.  Protectors – like all other hybrids – grew as time went on.  Their needs and preferences changed.  As such, the dynamic between two protectors could also change, as was the case with all relationships.

With Dream, it was clear to Sapnap that he was the second protector and Dream was the alpha.  They might be equals on the battlefield, but at the end of the day Sapnap’s personality was more laidback, and when his instincts started to take over, he naturally deferred to Dream.  It was frustrating, and he’d been afraid that the other protector would mock him for this inclination, but unfortunately (or fortunately, he guessed in this case) Dream was a solid protector through and through.  He was responsible and reliable and as such, didn’t take advantage of the power Sapnap gave him.  Instead he seemed to revel in a job well done and used that to push him forward into continuing to do just as well, making a dedicated effort not to make Sapnap uneasy or unsatisfied with his care.

It was a familiar thing, though Sapnap was used to receiving it from Skeppy.  Again, while they too were equals on the battlefield (if anything, Sapnap was a bit better), Skeppy was older than him, and even if he was just as laidback, his connection to Bad – Sapnap’s older brother and pack leader – made Sapnap perceive him in a leadership position as well.  Sapnap had never once thought about fighting Skeppy to change their dynamic.  Why would he want to?  Skeppy was a good protector, and good protectors didn’t take advantage of their position as the alpha.  They treated and spoiled and cared for those under their charge, and Sapnap liked all those things.  Perhaps it primed him to fall into the dynamic he now had with Dream, one he would have expected himself to be too tense to accept, but once they leveled with each other, it was difficult to hold back.  How could he when he also enjoyed shoulder rubs and head pats and surprise treats?  The first time Dream had presented him with a cookie from out of the blue it had been a fight not to tackle him right then and there in a hug, Sapnap’s instincts abuzz with delight as he may or may not have gotten to lunch late enough to miss out on any potential dessert, and he wasn’t going to be a dick and throw his weight around because he was a prince (unless it was Dream).  But Dream had somehow known, or he hadn’t but it didn’t matter because Sapnap got sweet, sweet treats and Dream got to stare at him or whatever, and-

Okay, so Sapnap understood what Dream got out of it.  He did, because it was the same stuff Sapnap got out of it when he was allowed to look after Bad, or when he did something for Jack or the pups.  Looking after packmates was a natural inclination for a protector.  It was what they did, which was what made it especially nice when they got the opportunity to pass off the reins and allow someone else to take control, if only for a little bit.

So that was what he had with Dream, he guessed.  Dream, who in a fit of desperation had gladly and enthusiastically turned towards Sapnap.  It was fine, just weird, but it wasn’t like Sapnap could dwell on it when it became the highlight to his life in the war camp.  He didn’t get to see George or the rest of his pack enough to make a difference, but like it or not, Dream would always be there for him when they were in the tent at the same time, so Sapnap decided not to stress over it too much.  He was just going to enjoy what he had while he had it, and that would be that.

It didn’t mean he wouldn’t pretend to grumble, though.  He did have a reputation to protect, after all.

“You always baby me,” Sapap muttered, scowling and grateful for his naturally elevated body temperature that safely masked the flush that wanted to spill across his cheeks while Dream had a hold of his chin, the other protector scraping crumbs away because he was so anal or whatever. “I can do it.”

“If you could, you would have – now hold still,” Dream ordered, brows furrowed in concentration as he cleaned Sapnap off. “If you weren’t squirming, I’d be done by now.”

“Why are you like this?” It wasn’t that Sapnap didn’t enjoy getting doted on, even if it was by Dream, but it felt like the other protector had gotten slowly but surely more particular about it as time went on.  To the point where Sapnap was no longer allowed to feed himself when Dream snuck him treats – which should be infantilizing and irritating at the constant criticism, but Sapnap’s instincts only registered the attention as good-my due-mine-mine-mine.

“I thought we agreed not to ask questions,” Dream muttered as he finished cleaning off Sapnap’s bottom lip.  Having someone subject his mouth to such intense focus for the first time should leave Sapnap unquestionably flustered, but Dream was clinical about his efforts, precise rather than hungry, which made it hard to feel awkward, strange as it was. “You want relaxed cuddles, let me feed you.”

“Fine,” Sapnap groaned, holding his mouth open appropriately so Dream could spoon him another mouthful of bread pudding.  Sapnap had no idea where the other protector kept getting these desserts from.  He’d fear they were poisoned were Dream not so dedicated to his job and the empire. He wouldn’t risk completely unbalancing Philza and Technoblade just to get a step up on their rivalry.

For a thrown-together dessert in the middle of a war camp it was fucking good, and Sapnap allowed himself to express his appreciation with a few happy purrs, letting the flavors settle on his tongue while he chewed happily.  The last time he’d had bread pudding had been when Bad had tried to branch out from his usual muffins – one of the few baked pastries he’d entirely mastered.  Despite his vast intellect, Bad’s efforts in baking had always been somewhat haphazard, making it hit or miss whenever he tried out a new dessert.  Bread pudding had been one of the things that had come out alright, mostly because they used preexisting bread.  Skeppy interjecting himself into the process to correct and assist might have also had something to do with it, until the modest but comfortable Halo kitchen had been filled with laughter, custard smears adorning Bad’s cheeks as he smiled down on them with an expression of intense pride because he’d done it – or better yet, they’d done it, and that made it taste all the sweeter.

Sapnap hadn’t realized his expression had fallen until Dream let out a small rumble of concern, his brows furrowed with uncharacteristic interest (at least, uncharacteristic when aimed at Sapnap) as he set the last of the bread pudding aside.

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, fidgeting with the handkerchief he’d been using as a napkin. “Am I really that irritating?”

“No, you’re fine,” Sapnap said, letting out a stream of – “Good protector-good care-support-support-comfort” in Blaze that he really hadn’t meant to set loose.  He cleared his throat awkwardly, smoothing back his hair. “It’s not you, I was just thinking about Bad and Skeppy.  I miss them.”

“Oh.” Dream blinked, surprised by the admission and then – of all strange things – his expression settled into one of sympathy. “I’m sorry,” he said, probably the first time he’d offered those words to Sapnap with any sort of sincerity. “I know this is hard.  I really miss my family too.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Sapnap admitted, fidgeting with his fingers. “With both Drista and your parents…”

At least Sapnap had half of his pack’s parental figures available to him in this camp.  And sure, that came with extra pressure not to fail them, but if he did, he knew he could turn to them and still be welcomed with open arms.  They loved him.

“Yeah,” Dream said, somewhat tense as his gaze drifted off to the side.

There was a moment of awkward silence.

Ah fuck, were they agreeing on something?  Were they bonding?

Best to change the subject.

“Anyway.” Sapnap cleared his throat, scrubbing at his mouth with the back of his hands before Dream could swoop in, earning a startled noise of protest from the other protector. “You’re really into this babying thing.  I bet you’d help me get dressed if you could.”

He’d thrown it out with the intention of earning an immediate objection that would grant them plenty of opportunity to bicker and propel themselves away from the topic of family, but instead of an annoyed huff, he was met with Dream staring pointedly off to the side, a lilac flush spilling across his cheeks.

Wait.

“You can’t be serious,” Sapnap said, feeling his own face flood with a bashful heat. “What the fuck, Dream?”

“There’s a lot of things we can’t control right now,” Dream explained with a sputter, waving his hand. “Reclaiming what little I can in private helps me feel productive and grounded.  It’s not weird.  It’s a totally valid coping mechanism.”

It was, was the thing. Sapnap both knew and agreed with it, it was just strange to be the focus of said coping mechanism when it came from Dream Wastaken. Normally Sapnap would give him substantially more shit for it, but he understood where Dream was coming from.  Even if Sapnap wasn’t engaging with the enemy as much as Dream was, he still came across enemy combatants when he ran his patrols.  He was still stressed even though his job primarily revolved around the camp.  He couldn’t imagine how Dream must feel with so many more lives depending on him in such a substantial fashion.

“Okay,” Sapnap said, the closest he could get to throwing Dream a bone. “That’s fair.”

Not that Dream either wanted or required his approval, but there it fucking was if he needed it.

This earned him a predictable look of surprise, and then Dream’s eyes narrowed – though instead of his usual expression of distain, there was interest here, a careful evaluation.

“Would you let me do it?” Dream asked, sounding unfairly serious considering the superfluous nature of the request. “Let me help you get ready in the morning?  Get ready for bed at night?”

There was a distinct line between understanding something in theory and agreeing to it being implemented in practice, a grand line, and while Sapnap wasn’t surprised that Dream in his excessive need for control and power pushed for it when the opportunity presented itself, he expected his own initial response to be substantially more surprised or annoyed than it was.

Instead, while his brain was very much running in useless circles, numb with shock and surprise, his mouth seemed to be firmly in his default little shit rival mindset, and countered with, “What do I get out of it?”

It earned him an immediate huff from Dream, but at least things weren’t weird.  Goal achieved. “You realize this is me doing something for you, don’t you?”

“This is you inconveniencing me with someone I can do much faster,” Sapnap countered, even if his instincts somewhat objected to his casual dismissal.  Curse his inherent inclination to be pampered.  He couldn’t allow Dream to make him weak though, not when it was Dream. “So I repeat – what do I get out of it?”

“What do you want from it?” Dream asked, his lips pressed together in a firm, displeased line that Sapnap didn’t entirely like for reasons he was not going to dwell on. “I can get you more desserts.”

“That’s good,” Sapnap said casually, and yes, see?  Take that, instincts, it was important to hold out for the good stuff. “But I was thinking something more army related.”

Dream’s expression fell into something critical. “I’m not advocating for you to go on missions.”

“That wasn’t what I was aiming for,” Sapnap hissed, his cheeks heating in embarrassment.  Yes, he wanted to do his part to help too, but he thought he’d done an admirable job hiding that, in focusing on his own duties, because to dismiss them would be a disservice to them. “I need your help with Phil and Techno.”

Dream paused – clearly preparing for another denial – then blinked in interest, confused. “How so?”

“They mostly see me as their pup,” Sapnap muttered, and granted, Techno was better about it than Phil, most of the time he remembered that Sapnap was perfectly capable, but like Dream, both of Sapnap’s parental figures seemed to be crumbling somewhat under the stress of the situation in private, which got Sapnap a lot of fussing.  Which would be fine if they kept it in their private tent.

But they didn’t, and while Sapnap hadn’t lost much face yet, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to.

“I need them to remember I’m a capable knight too,” Sapnap continued. “And I need the rest of the army to remember that as well.  I figured if you and I could be seen – I don’t know, talking mission stuff in the command tent – like professional coworkers who respect each other – that might help, that’s all.”

Dream considered this. “You want to save face.”

“I’m representing the royal guard right now,” Sapnap huffed. “As one of their most notable members, the army’s opinion of me will reflect back on them.  I don’t want my presence to be a reason for their morale to drop, so could you just do this for me?  We can pretend to put our differences aside and work together to end this.  If we do that, you can dress and undress me as much as you want.”

“In a protector fashion,” Dream hissed, his cheeks flushing dark again. “Don’t make it sound weird.”

“I literally just said what you wanted to do.”

“Context matters,” Dream huffed, looking like he’d bit into a lemon. “Alright, fine, I agree that would be beneficial to the army in the long run.”

Sapnap perked up.  Success.

“But-” Dream continued, looking smug. “You have to let me wash your hair too.”

“What?” Sapnap hissed, and he wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but he was almost certain it was reminiscent of a tomato. “Like, when I bathe?”

“Yep,” Dream said, unrepentant.

“But that’s-”

“You’re asking for a lot from me.”

“A lot that will benefit the army!”

“And this will benefit both of us,” Dream hummed, looking smug. “Don’t pretend you don’t like my scalp rubs, you brat.”

“I’m not a brat,” Sapnap muttered, the only part of that statement he could really defend.

“You are,” Dream countered, but if anything, he sounded fond. “And right now you’re my brat, and if you let me help you get ready and wash your hair on bath day, I’ll get you extra desserts and help raise the army’s opinion of you – deal?”

Sapnap swallowed hard, wishing his mind hadn’t veered terribly astray the moment Dream had said ‘my brat’.

His.  His brat.  And Sapnap wasn’t- he wasn’t- but he did like the idea of being claimed.

Fuck, he really was just a stand in for George, wasn’t he?  He bet Dream called George a brat all the time.

Sapnap swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, voice a little rough. “Deal.”

“Good boy,” Dream said, voice rife with approval, and when Sapnap tried to growl at him Dream simply started rubbing his shoulders, and since it wasn’t the worst thing in the world-

Well, better to appreciate it while it was there.

Better to ignore the small voice that warned that he might not be able to get it from anywhere else.

It was a stupid thing anyway. 

~:~

“You are the fussiest individual in the world,” Dream commented idly while he slowly helped Sapnap out of his uniform, and no matter how he looked at it, there was no way for it not to be weird with Dream knelt before him, the larger protector working with deft and efficient fingers to unlace Sapnap’s boots.  It should be empowering – Sapnap had the high ground – but instead he was all twitchy.

Because again, it was weird.

“That’s rich coming from you,” Sapnap huffed, fingers itching to help Dream and speed along the process out of habit.  The last time he’d been undressed like this was probably when he’d gotten sick a few years back.  He’d been mostly out of it at that point so he didn’t remember how it went, too consumed with his exhaustion and the ache that hounded every waking moment.  Here and now though he was perfectly conscious and incapable of missing any little action even if he tried.  And he did try. “I’m doing my best.”

“I feel like that’s not true,” Dream said, neatly setting Sapnap’s boots to the side in a neat line, one hand firm on Sapnap’s ankle – grounding rather than restrictive, his thumb rubbing small circles against the knobbed side. “Quit squirming.”

“I’m trying,” Sapnap muttered, and even though it wasn’t a big deal, even though it was basically nothing, he still felt his cheeks flood with warmth when Dream began to slowly peel his socks off – and part of Sapnap wanted to apologize for the smell but mostly he was distracted by the fingers that gently brushed along territory he mostly neglected, that no one other than himself had touched in the last few years.  He didn’t think much of it when he messed with his own feet, but apparently when they were attended by someone else he couldn’t help but shiver, his foot jerking back on reflex when Dream’s fingers lingered on the curve of his arch.

“Oh?” Dream cocked his head to the side, a small smirk pulling at his lips.  He finished with the socks but didn’t move past Sapnap’s feet, grabbing a firm hold of his ankle and-

“Fucker,” Sapnap hissed in Common, the sound bubbling into a laugh when Dream lightly tickled just beneath the ball of his foot. “You giant fucker.  S-Stop.”

“Okay,” Dream hummed, immediately halting his efforts with a chuckle before bending low to- to- it looked like he was going to-

He pressed a kiss to the top of Sapnap’s foot.

They both went still.

“That wasn’t weird,” Dream declared, and in any other circumstance Sapnap would give him shit for it, but it was clear that the other protector was just as surprised by whatever the fuck that was as Sapnap so they unanimously decided to move on, Sapnap pointedly not dwelling on that small point of coolness lingering on the top of his foot.

“The epitome of not weird,” Sapnap said to prove this, which earned him a generous roll of Dream’s eyes before he was reaching up, slowly but surely working off Sapnap’s diadem and setting it in the protective carrying case Duke Wastaken had given him for it.

Sapnap managed to hold still while his armor was removed – his gauntlets, his tunic and under armor, his storage belt and gloves.  He held his hands up accordingly when Dream stripped his torso’s final layer from his body – the undershirt – leaving Sapnap to shiver slightly while Dream got to work untying his breaches.

Which was- yeah, that was happening.  That was a thing that was happening.  What a life.

Sapnap had always expected this to happen with someone he considerably cared about – like George, for instance – but instead his first time was being used on Dream, whose brows were furrowed in such fierce concentration that it was a battle not to get flushed, because Sapnap knew Dream wasn’t focusing on his dick but it sure as hell looked like he was.  Those stupid, sure hands took their time smoothing the leggings off, thumbs seeming to burn a path down the blaze hybrid’s inner thighs as they were coaxed to Sapnap’s ankles, leaving him in nothing but his small clothes. 

This wasn’t how he’d intended for his life to go, but this was important.  He needed to save his reputation.  He needed the army – and therefore George – to consider him as a competent, dedicated – and therefor worthy – protector.  And Dream was right, it wasn’t as though he hated this.  It was just really, really strange, and really, really unfair that Dream could carry on like this as though it was entirely normal.  Perhaps he was simply better at compartmentalizing than Sapnap.  He knew he needed this to stay sane and Sapnap was the best he could get.  He wasn’t going to be a giant dick about that, so he may as well pretend it was all normal.  It made the most sense, but Sapnap sure as hell wasn’t going to ask for clarification he truly didn’t need anyway.  Sometimes it was better for things to remain mysteries.

“Okay,” Dream said, motioning him on with a wave of his hand, looking steadily off towards the side as he gestured to the divider they had in the back of their tent. “Let me know when you’re in the tub.”

“Sure thing, Mister epitome-of-normalcy,” Sapnap said, throwing out one last parting shot to cover up his own unease before he made his way towards the tub of water Dream had collected for him earlier.

Sapnap could admit, it was a pretty sweet deal being a second protector when the alpha was good at their job.  He didn’t have to do any of the nitty-gritty stuff that came with self-maintenance.  He could just enjoy the ride.  With a grin, he shoved his hand into the wooden tub and focused on increasing the water’s temperature until it was perfect (yet another benefit of being a blaze hybrid, Sapnap could heat his own water and didn’t have to suffer through lukewarm – or worse – cold baths).  When he was satisfied, he threw one last glance towards the tent divider then quickly wiggled out of his small clothes, folding them in a careless pile before he slipped into the tub with a contented sigh.

Ah yeah, that was the stuff.  There was a good chance it might burn Dream’s hands, but for Sapnap, it was just perfect.

He let himself sink into the water until it just brushed his chin, letting out a pleased purr while he wiggled his toes, eager to rid himself of the sweat and dirt that had accumulated since his last wash.

“Can I take that to mean you’re ready?” Dream asked, his voice drifting past the divider, as though he was waiting on just the other side. “I heard a splash.”

Fucking weirdo, listening for that shit.  Sapnap’s pulse definitely didn’t speed up at how obviously eager he was.  Not at all.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sapnap muttered, reaching for the soap and washcloth as he began to lather himself up, tilting his head back to get it wet so Dream would have an easier go of things.

“Thank you.” The words came in a sort of rush, though Dream’s steps were measured and graceful when he came around the divider.  His gaze didn’t linger on Sapnap, didn’t drift towards the tub with any sort of interest.  Dream’s focus was very much on the prize, and with great purpose, he marched towards the head of the tub, crouching down behind Sapnap and pulling up the small stool so he could really settle in. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Sapnap said, trying to go about his usual brisk cleaning ritual.  It wasn’t something he normally struggled with, but he also didn’t usually have company.  They were in entirely new territory all around tonight.

“Okay,” Dream said, and he must be entirely lost to his own excitement and task if he wasn’t going to take the opportunity to chide Sapnap while he could.  It was all the warning Sapnap received before firm fingers were digging into his hair, rubbing familiar, tantalizing paths against it to relieve tension.

Sapnap’s head fell back with a sigh, becoming puddy in Dream’s hands, and the other protector released a pleased rumble of satisfaction.

“Yeah, that’s good, that’s good,” Dream murmured, gently pouring some of the shampoo into Sapnap’s hair. “You’re doing great, brat.”

“N-Not a brat,” Sapnap muttered, shiver running through his body when Dream found that sensitive spot just behind his ear. 

He would give Dream this – the guy was thorough.  Which was good, but also horribly distracting.  It made it that much more difficult for Sapnap to finish cleaning his own body, his movements becoming clumsy and fumbled, not that Dream seemed to notice.

No, he was too focused on cleaning every inch of Sapnap’s hair, every inch of his scalp – careful and methodical and never once sparking pain.  It was almost mesmerizing – hypnotic in its own way, and Sapnap found his body heat rising in response to it, his control slipping somewhat until a fine steam started billowing off the water.  Not that he could focus on that much.  There was a sort of haziness there, and he belatedly realized it was the call of his instincts, the more submissive aspects of his secondary protector instincts coming into play.  It left him feeling slightly dazed – but in a nice way, he knew he was safe, protected, and then-

A thumb scraped along the base of his horn and he shuddered hard, head jerking when bolts of sweet electricity jolted through him.

The hands in his hair – blessed, doting things – came to an abrupt stop. “Sorry,” a voice – the alpha’s – murmured. “Do you want me to-”

“More,” Sapnap whined, the word coming out in Protector even though he knew it should be Blaze.  He wasn’t sure why though, and that aspect of language seemed to escape him at this moment.  He nudged his head more pointedly into the alpha’s hands. “More.  More.”

There was a fond chuckle, and then the thumb dug in harder. “And you say you’re not a brat.”

Sapnap could only respond with a whine, his body claimed with helpless shudders with every brush and scratch.  That territory had always been especially sensitive, to the point where he rarely allowed anyone else to touch it.  The alpha was permitted to, of course, Sapnap trusted him – knew he was safe and pampered in his care.  Here, he could get as many rubs as he wanted, could savor the feelings of pleasure thrumming through him that followed.  

Fuck. Fuck, this was amazing.  His alpha made him feel so good.

“You like this?” the alpha asked, his strokes feather light and terribly insubstantial against Sapnap’s horns, making the blaze hybrid whimper. “Huh.”

“Alpha,” Sapnap whined, turning pointedly so he could face the other protector, hands gripping desperately at the edge of the tub.  He was met with a startled expression, but Sapnap ignored that in favor of reaching out towards him, coaxing those long fingers back into his hair with a pointed mewl. “Alpha, please Alpha.”

“Oh shit,” the alpha said, remaining frustratingly still as he stared at Sapnap with wide eyes. “I mean- thank you.  That’s- I’m honored, I’m really honored, but-”

“Alpha,” Sapnap huffed, prodding the other protector’s fingers against his horns.  He’d been doing so well, and now Sapnap had to do everything.  It was stupid. 

He wanted more.  Not just more head rubs, but- but contact, he realized.  His alpha was too far away, he wanted cuddles.

Well, there was an easy way to solve that.

“-it’s just that you’re really deep in your instincts right now,” his alpha was saying, and Sapnap shouldn’t ignore him but he could only sort of focus on one thing at a time, and right now, that thing was clambering out of the tub. “So I think- hey!  Um- maybe don’t-”

“Alpha,” Sapnap tried to growl – which was bad and mean but his alpha was being weird right now, weirder than usual.  He did nothing but flail and ineffectually try to coax Sapnap back in the tub, which wasn’t where he wanted to go, so Sapnap was forced to light his shoulders with a quick flare of fire to get him to back off so the blaze hybrid could clamber out of the tub and into his lap, which was where he belonged.

“Oh fucking fuck,” his alpha gasped when Sapnap settled into place with a happy purr, straddling firm thighs and draping his arms comfortably around his alpha’s shoulders. “I’m so fucking sorry, Sapnap, I really didn’t mean to-”

Ugh, more talking.  Sapnap didn’t want talking, he wanted action.  And maybe rumbles.  Rumbles were better than talking any day.  He didn’t know why his alpha was being so dumb right now, but it was fine.  At least he was here.  And he’d been doing such a good job too, he must have just gotten distracted or something.

With a sigh, Sapnap buried his face in the curve of his alpha’s neck, greedily soaking up his scent while his alpha flailed again, all dumb like.  He was being so silly.  Sapnap chuckled, nuzzling into that delightful smell as he leaned himself forward, trying to get as much snuggles as possible.  He missed the horn scratches, but he guessed this would do.  It would be better if his alpha was naked as well, but if he was being this dumb today, it would probably be too much to ask for that.

“Sapnap,” his alpha began, voice tight as a hand tentatively curled around his hip. “I’m really sorry-”

The apologizing was beginning to get distracting.  He didn’t have anything to apologize for and it was really ruining Sapnap’s mood and he felt so good and-

He rocked his hips forward and paused, ignoring his alpha’s choked wheeze as he looked down with a lazy blink and realized that he was very hard. 

Huh.

He rocked his hips forward again, grinding them against his alpha’s stomach, and grinned at the delicious slide of friction that followed. 

“Okay now,” his alpha’s voice was firm again, which was good, maybe that meant he was focused once more, but then it was bad because he had both of his hands curled around Sapnap’s hips and he was holding him away so Sapnap couldn’t get any friction whatsoever and that was actually terrible and the worst and Sapnap really didn’t deserve it.

“Alpha?” Sapnap asked, feeling his eyes begin to well with an uneasy heat.  He didn’t like the game they were playing anymore.  He just wanted cuddles. “Second cute?  Cute second?  Happy-happy-happy?”

He couldn’t remember why, but he knew that last part usually got him good things, like scratches behind his ear or head rubs or foot massages.  He’d say it and his alpha would laugh and smile and Sapnap had done that, he’d done it, because he was the best.

It took a moment for his alpha to respond, a moment that felt like a lifetime, that made the tension in Sapnap’s chest rise to an all-consuming crush, but then he was babbling. “Yes, yeah, you’re very cute. I promise you’re very cute.”

It didn’t sound like he was being honest.  It sounded like he was just trying to keep Sapnap happy.

He didn’t think Sapnap was cute at all.

He didn’t want Sapnap.

“Oh no,” his alpha said, seemingly to himself, and then Sapnap was whining, hot tears pouring down his cheeks while he tried to muffle his cries behind his lips, but it was hard and it wasn’t fair and he didn’t know what to do.  He wanted comfort and the only place he could imagine getting it from was his alpha but his alpha didn’t actually like him and why had he even come to Sapnap in the first place?

He felt torn between the need to leave and hide himself and the desperate desire to stay, a consideration that left him frozen in place, and then his alpha was dragging him closer, tucking Sapnap’s face against his neck again as he released a stream of supportive rumbles.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” his alpha babbled, rubbing careful circles against Sapnap’s back. “The question surprised me, I wasn’t expecting it.  Of course I think you’re cute, it’s obvious, I just didn’t know you wouldn’t realize it.  I’m sorry I was slow.  It was a mistake; I promise it was a mistake.”

Sapnap sniffed, considering this offering, and settled for clinging as tightly to his alpha as possible.  He wasn’t hard anymore – the heartbreak and pain had taken that away – but his alpha was still a solid source of comfort, so Sapnap would appreciate that while he could, at least until the alpha maybe potentially changed his mind. 

Oh please, don’t let him change his mind. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re so good,” his alpha rumbled, reaching out so he could drape a towel around Sapnap’s shoulders, as though trying to make him more comfortable.  It was like he’d forgotten that Sapnap could counteract all outer cold with his internal fire, but it was a nice thought nonetheless. “You’re so good, Sapnap, I don’t deserve you.  I don’t deserve you at all.”

Sapnap leaned into him greedily, his instincts humming with pleasure at the confession.  No, the alpha really didn’t deserve Sapnap, but Sapnap had chosen him anyway.  The least he could do was be patient with the guy when he made the occasional mistake, even if it had been a devastating one. 

He just better not do it twice.

“Happy-happy-happy?” he tried tentatively, and he definitely wasn’t scared or anything when he looked up to see his alpha’s reaction, definitely wasn’t worried.

There was another pause, like his sweet, dumb alpha was surprised again, but then he was smiling, the scales beside his eye crinkling ever so slightly.

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice soft while he held Sapnap closer. “I’m happy too.” Damn right, he was.  He had a lap full of Sapnap, his life was amazing right now. “Do you um- want to get back in the tub?”

In all honesty Sapnap might have forgotten about the tub, and he expressed his disinterest in removing himself from his alpha’s side with an unimpressed mrrr under his breath, headbutting the alpha’s shoulder while he clutched on tighter.

“Okay, okay, that wasn’t a threat, I was just checking in.  I want you to be happy.”

“Happy-happy-happy,” Sapnap dutifully parroted, wiggling himself closer to the alpha. 

Yeah, that was the good stuff.

“Happy-happy,” the alpha murmured back, and then he was letting out a steady stream of rumbles that lulled Sapnap into a state of total relaxation, the blaze hybrid slumping boneless in his arms.  Wow, this was just- yeah, it was- yeah. 

This was what he’d needed.  He wasn’t even sure why they’d been messing around with the dumb tub in the first place.  At least, why they were bothering with it when his alpha wasn’t in it too.  As warm as Sapnap was now, as good as he felt, it would only get better with more skin-to-skin contact.  Now he just felt vulnerable, and though he knew his alpha would protect him, he would have liked his alpha to demonstrate a sense of vulnerability in turn.  Didn’t he know how much Sapnap trusted him?  Didn’t he trust Sapnap too?  It was something to talk about later, but right now Sapnap was exhausted.  He’d settle for getting in these cuddles and hoping that maybe the alpha would scratch at his horns again.  That would be pretty nice. 

Sapnap drifted, but in a contented way.  He was tired from the emotional minecart ride his alpha had inadvertently taken him on, and now he just wanted to cuddle in bed.  Talking- that was all stuff that could happen later, when Dream was being less dumb.

When Dream was- who was Dream?  Wait, no, he knew this- his alpha was- Dream was holding him, right? He was holding Sapnap close and rumbling because he’d been such a dumbass, and-

“Holy fuck,” Sapnap wheezed as the events of the past ten minutes came slamming into his non-deeply-entrenched-in-instinct self. “What the fuck.”

Dream tensed, then sighed. “Are you back now?”

Sapnap leaned back, then sort of immediately regretted it because he was naked and Dream very much wasn’t and his dick was resting against Dream’s stomach and everything was just out there but he couldn’t back down now because he had nothing to be ashamed of even if he had just spent the last five minutes desperately clinging to Dream and calling him his alpha- shit.

The only bright side in all of it was that Dream seemed similarly flustered.

“I repeat,” Sapnap began, his cheeks burning with a deep humiliation. “What the fuck.”

“I didn’t mean to!” Dream exclaimed, resolutely keeping his eyes on Sapnap’s face. “Why didn’t you warn me about your horns?”

“I didn’t know it would get that bad!” Sapnap countered with an angry hiss. “It always just made me a little cuddly before, not- that.”

Over emotional and terribly needy and superbly, breathtakingly sensitive.

And he’d called Dream his alpha.  In his instincts, when he was most honest. 

Dream now had that power over him, a verbal confirmation.

“Okay, okay, this is- this is fine,” Dream declared, looking off to the side distractedly. “Here’s what will happen.  We’ll just- we won’t do this again.”

Sapnap, who sort of hadn’t wanted to do this in the first place but sort of did but it was complicated because Dream and he really should be celebrating this but instead-

He smacked the side of Dream’s arm, making him startle. “Just don’t touch my horns next time,” he huffed, bundling the towel closer to him. “And close your eyes, I’m getting back in the tub.”

“I- right.  Right, okay,” Dream said, sounding dazed before he slammed a hand over his face, which was – hey, whatever worked. 

There was a part of Sapnap’s instincts that strongly objected to removing himself from his alpha’s- from Dream’s lap, but that part was small and stupid and had already made a fool of him that day so he ignored it, dumping the towel and climbing back into the tub with a huff as soon as he knew it was okay.  It took only a few moments of effort to get the water warm again, and then it was as though nothing had happened.  Nothing at all.

His hair was still damp and sudsy, and his washcloth was who even knew where, but this was fine.  All fine.

“We’re not going to talk about this,” Sapnap declared when he was properly settled. “Now finish washing my hair.”

A pause, and then Dream was scoffing – awkward, belated, but still scoffing.  Just like always. “Sure thing, your highness.”

And that was- ugh, just fucking- Sapnap didn’t need this, he really didn’t. 

But this was what they had to work with so they needed to leave the past behind them, and definitely never let this change anything.  Because there was no reason it should.  Definitely nothing of note here.

Nothing at all.

Chapter Text

If there was anything Dream had learned about war, it was that it continually exposed him to the least expected outcomes on the regular – at least for aspects that didn’t pertain to the conflict directly.  Planning and executing missions was hazardous but familiar.  Regular trainings, scheduling knight rotations – all things he did back in the capital.  He could do it in his sleep, but the relocating, the awe and respect delivered from individuals not among the knight ranks, the army members he didn’t normally interact with – medics, engineers, managers – it was easy to forget the weight of his mask and what it represented when he was surrounded by the same mass of individuals every day who valued who he was as a soldier over who he was in the eyes of nobility.  At war though, there were many lower ranking support personnel who’d likely never interacted with nobility at all, and while there were many other nobles among the knight ranks, there were few as conspicuous as Dream.  It felt like he was walking the scholarship halls of boarding school all over again, except with less aspirations of grandeur and greedy networking lingering in their eyes.

He had to be careful when going about the camp.  He was constantly under observation, except in the safety of his tent.

Which presented a new series of problems, because one of the few predictable (and therefore grounding) things in this damn war was supposed to be Dream’s interactions with Sapnap.  They were snappy, defensive, and volatile – even if they’d made a sort of peace treaty, that didn’t stop them from taking shots at each other, didn’t stop them from being grumpy.  They simply acknowledged that they had needs that they had to cater to, so they may as well keep things relatively easy.  Keep it simple, because they had much bigger things to worry about.  Things they actually needed to use their efforts on.

And it had been fine, and then-

Dream had never been claimed as an alpha before.  It was a deeply intimate thing, something that went beyond friends, acquaintances, or coworkers.  To have another protector defer to you in such a way was a sign of extreme trust, and Dream had been absolutely stunned to hear it come from Sapnap of all individuals, having long embraced the fact that it wasn’t going to happen for him.  He knew who he treasured in life.  His father, Drista, George – they were all strong protectors in their own right, but not only that, they were fiercely independent.  Dream had long since given up on all fantasies that George might claim him as the panther hybrid’s alpha, because even in his dreams it had seemed wildly unlikely.  He’d spent years wrestling with the possibility of claiming George as his alpha in turn – his instincts were more than satisfied to defer to the other protector in such a manner, knowing George wouldn’t lead them astray – but demonstrating such trust risked George backing away completely, the panther hybrid unprepared for any conversations of a deeply emotional level due to the negligence of his own family, and then when Jack had come into the picture, Dream had held back even further, wanting to play it safe. 

He'd given up on the idea of an alpha or being alpha a while ago, but then Sapnap had turned to him, so obviously entrenched in his instincts, and looked at him with a pout so devastating Dream had choked on his saliva (because Sapnap wasn’t supposed to look at him like that).  Wasn’t supposed to trust him like that or be affected by his opinion or his hesitance like that, but he had been, and now there was no taking it back. 

Technically, such claims could be undone – it wasn’t as concrete as a mating bite (though even those could be reversed too with the right effort) – but given the stress of their current circumstances, attempting to do so now could be potentially devastating to both of them. 

Dream just had to live with the knowledge that the deal they’d made, or rather, the tolerances they’d built up for each other, had managed to establish enough of a connection in their desperation for comfort that it tricked their instincts into thinking they were much closer than they actually were.  Because this was- it wasn’t all Sapnap’s fault, Dream knew that.  Instincts were complicated but at the end of the day, they always sought to enhance the survival probability of the affected hybrid.  If Sapnap had been willing to claim Dream as an alpha, then his instincts had already picked up enough confidence from Dream’s demonstrated behavior that it would be okay to do so.  And it was true, Dream would gladly take a secondary protector under his wing, but he’d always expected it to be Drista or George.  Not Sapnap. 

If he’d been decent, he would have rejected Sapnap the moment he’d verbally claimed Dream as his alpha.  That was the only time he could have nipped this thing in the bud, and Sapnap would have been hurt – as deep in his instincts as he’d been – but it would have been salvageable.

But no, Dream had hesitated, had frozen at the surge of contentment and happiness that overwhelmed him because yes-good he could be a great alpha, he was going to take such good care of this protector who deferred to him and it was going to be amazing and then Sapnap was clambering out of the tub and-

Of course Dream hadn’t been ready for that.  Hadn’t been prepared for the swell of instincts that desperately wanted to hold Sapnap close, and look, Dream had made him feel good, that was- oh, too good, he’d made him feel – and it was a struggle, trying to stay in control when he desperately wanted to give in but he had to be responsible – he’d be a shitty alpha if he wasn’t, if he didn’t try.  He had to be responsible and think of future Sapnap instead of the Sapnap of the moment who wanted nothing more than to soak up his scent (which was breathtakingly validating) and cling tightly to him, who trusted Dream so much, who wanted to- and Dream sort of also wanted him to and what the fuck was that about – they didn’t even like each other on a normal basis – what the hell was any of this? 

And then he’d made Sapnap cry, and a month ago that would have been a victory but in the moment it was the most terrible thing ever (and that included the war they were currently fighting) and he was a failure of an alpha and how dare he do this, shame on him and everyone he knew except Sapnap because Sapnap needed cuddles and rumbles and-

Honestly, Dream didn’t remember what he said to make Sapnap calm down.  There had been a lot of babbling by that point.  He’d been running on panic slowly followed by validation and contentment when Sapnap had relaxed against him, and it was then and only then that he realized the immensity of their situation.

Sapnap had claimed him as an alpha.  Dream had accepted him as a second.

In light of that, the surprise erection felt irrelevant.  They were so much more intimately connected now, and later, when Dream was alone, he resented that.

Because he shouldn’t have this with Sapnap.  It was supposed to be reserved for George.  Even if they worked to sever their connection right away, the process would take a few years at the very least because this – unlike a mating bite – wasn’t something that could be forced upon either party.  They both had to initiate and they both had to accept and sure, there were many alphas and seconds that naturally drifted apart over time, but again, that took a handful of years at the very least, and Dream and Sapnap were currently sharing close quarters for the unforeseen future, seeing and actively engaging with each other every day, because they still had protector needs that required satisfaction.

And Sapnap – he was just so fucking normal about it all, climbing back into the tub and demanding Dream wash his hair with an annoyed pout on his lips, and it was irritating, was what it was.  Dream felt unbalanced but Sapnap carried on as though everything was the same.  If anything, knowing that Dream accepted his position as alpha had made Sapnap even more secure.  He no longer hesitated to ask for treats or foot rubs, or feared his presence would be turned away in the command tents even if Dream was working on matters that didn’t explicitly relate to the royal guard.  He could do it because he was Dream’s second and he knew Dream was a good alpha, would rather eat his own shirt and set fire to his mask than to dare and be a bad one who turned his second away without good reason.

Really, Sapnap was better off than before while Dream got to constantly struggle with a moral dilemma that he didn’t have time for.

This was supposed to help him.  Something superfluous that settled his instincts, that helped him relax.  Feeding Sapnap or helping him get armored up (Dream didn’t mess with his under clothes anymore, didn’t want to send anymore signals to Sapnap’s subconscious that could be misconstrued) was supposed to ground him, but nowadays Dream found himself getting more and more distracted.  His instincts were satisfied, but he knew it was a hollow thing.  His mind did, at the very least.  This was an arrangement created out of a sense of necessity, and he knew the moment they returned to the capital, things would fall to pieces.  And it didn’t matter, it shouldn’t matter because Dream had so many other things he needed to focus on, a position that required his utmost attention, and yet he was consistently losing part of himself to Sapnap.

Or, he had been.  In the week that followed the claiming, Dream found himself getting more and more withdrawn, throwing himself into his work with a certain vigor.  He was a leader in this encampment, he should act like one, set a good example – except there was only so much time Sir Technoblade would let him spend going out before he would get ordered back to his tent.  Dream couldn’t take on too many trainings or missions and overwork himself (as decreed by the general) because that would set the wrong kind of example, so Dream had to occupy himself with other things.  Visiting his knight friends during their downtime, grooming his horse.  Writing letters home in a place where he was easily accessible to his subordinates so there could be an open line of communication to detect future problems before they truly unfurled. 

They were good things.  Important things, and if they happened to keep him away from Sapnap, then that was just a benefit.

Sapnap did not agree with this.

Despite the immense changes he’d made to his schedule, Dream still somehow managed to consistently miss George, which felt like a level of cosmic justice he didn’t want to read into.  He usually managed to time things so that Sapnap was in bed when he arrived – dutifully getting what sleep he could so he could be in fighting condition if needed.  Dream’s hybrid status kept him from needing to sleep quite as much – actually, that was a lie, he’d definitely been pushing his luck and that was irresponsible of him but what else was he supposed to do?  Continue doting on Sapnap like it was normal?

It turned out that the answer to that question was yes, which he discovered when he may or may not have stumbled into their tent late one evening, trying to keep his footsteps light to keep from disturbing Sapnap.

Sapnap, who was already waiting for him with a lantern clutched in his lap, something he turned on the moment Dream came inside.

“You’re such a motherfucker,” Sapnap informed him with a hiss, steam billowing from his mouth, indicating just how pissed he was. “If you didn’t want this to happen-”

“I didn’t,” Dream pressed, glad that they were cutting straight to the point, that they weren’t dancing around the issue that was beginning to plague him so much. “You surprised me-”

“But your gut instinct was to accept it,” Sapnap snapped, rising with another huff of steam as he set the lantern aside.

“Of course it was,” Dream hissed. “Who wouldn’t want to be an alpha?  It’s a big deal.”

“One you’re treating like a shithead,” Sapnap growled, his arms curled into angry fists against his side and there was something in his gaze, something aside from his fury and frustration – it was hurt, Dream realized, a low bitterness because Dream had neglected him, and maybe- maybe this was a bigger deal to the prince than he’d let on. “Look,” Sapnap huffed while Dream grappled with that information, the blaze hybrid running a distracted hand over his hair.  He was already in his sleep clothes – clothes Dream hadn’t helped him get into because he was too busy being a self-absorbed dick. “I know you don’t like me, I know you’ve never liked me, but you cannot- you can’t do this right now.  It’s shitty, but aside from that, it affects both of us, not just me, and neither one of us can afford that, so could you just- just pretend that I’m someone tolerable to you?  At least for the duration of the war?”

For once, Dream was at a loss for what to say.  He realized quite suddenly that in all this, it was Sapnap who had been the negotiator, Sapnap who had called for peace and arrangements, who’d been the bigger individual and set their petty feelings aside so they could function in a manner that was sustainable.  It was Sapnap who begged Dream to do his job now, who was being realistic, and it was another blow to Dream’s pride.  He should have been the one to take point on this, he was supposed to be the leader. 

Because of that, he scrambled for a response, desperate to buy time while he put his thoughts in order.

“I liked you,” was what he settled on, weak and hopeless, but true.

Sapnap, who clearly hadn’t expected that tangent, recovered after a beat of confusion, giving Dream an incredulous look. “Bullshit.”

“I did!” Dream pressed, and this was- this was good, he could use this conversation to level out some, get his head back together. “Of course I liked you – you were George’s friend.  You made him happy, so I wanted to be friends with you too.”

“The hell you did,” Sapnap hissed, gaze narrowing in fury. “That first time we met you were all ‘George is family and he doesn’t have time for the likes of you’.”

“That’s not what I said!” Dream sputtered, and this was- it was supposed to be easy, supposed to be familiar, but instead Sapnap was throwing out nonsense for an event they had both very much been present for. “It didn’t happen like that; don’t twist my words around.”

“That’s exactly what you said!” Sapnap snapped with a flail of his arms.

“No, I said my pack had claimed George and no matter what, we would always come first,” Dream hissed. “I was establishing boundaries, clearly communicating.  You know, like adults do.”

And then Sapnap had gone off the handle, cutting into Dream like he was elitist scum, and Dream didn’t even know where that response was coming from, especially when George had said that Sapnap was excited to meet him.

“That isn’t- no, that’s not what happened,” Sapnap said, his cheeks beginning to color in a light flush. “You said George was yours and if I ever dared to hurt him, you would make me suffer – with the very strong implication that you thought I’d do just that, because I was some non-noble riffraff that dared to befriend your packmate!”

“What?” Dream could barely think for how wildly Sapnap had misunderstood that situation. “No, no, I’ve never – I don’t and have never cared about someone’s noble status.  I’m not some kind of pretentious elitist.  If I was, I never would have befriended George at all with the Davidsons ranked as they are.” He ran a hand over his head, mind reeling under this new onslaught of information. “Wait, did you think – this whole time, have you disliked me because you thought I was being just- the biggest dick when we met?”

“You were the biggest dick when we met,” Sapnap grumbled, crossing his arms. “I was there, nervous as hell because George’s best friend was apparently Dream Wastaken who was probably the coolest person in the universe because I can’t imagine George settling for anything less, and the first thing he – you did was criticize me and declare me unworthy.”

“That was never my intention,” Dream said, wondering how they had gotten so horribly awry. “I’m sorry, that wasn’t what I meant at all.  I just- George is important to me and my family, I just wanted you to understand that, and what would happen if you fucked with him.” He let his head fall back with a sigh. “I should have clarified that I didn’t think that would happen, because George wouldn’t have picked you if you were actually an asshole, but my hybrid instincts necessitated the warning anyway.”

Sapnap let out a thoughtless hum, fidgeting in Dream’s peripherals. “So you- you were going to give me a chance?”

“Of course,” Dream said, managing a small smile.

“But we never got that far because I-” Sapnap shook his head, sorrow crossing his features. “I chewed you out.”

“In light of what you thought I meant, I would have done the same,” Dream offered. “I’m so sorry, Sapnap.”

“I’m sorry too,” Sapnap murmured. “I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you.”

“And I shouldn’t have thought the worst of you either.”

There was a long moment of silence.

“Prime, damnit,” Sapnap hissed, hands curling into tight fists. “We could have been friends this whole time.  I mean, maybe.”

Dream swallowed hard.  It felt like there was a lump in his throat. “I think we could have made it,” he offered quietly. “I’m always happy to spend time with someone who appreciates George.”

“Yeah,” Sapnap agreed with a sigh, rubbing at his bicep. “So what now?”

It was a good question, but this time- this time Dream knew the answer.

Before this point, back when they were enemies, it had been Sapnap who had been responsible and pushed for decisions that would look after their emotional wellbeing.

Now it was Dream’s turn to take the lead.

“I’d like to start over, if you’re willing,” Dream said, offering his hand out with a small grin. “Dream Wastaken.  George is my best friend, and if he wanted to introduce us, you must be a pretty awesome individual.  I’m honored to meet you.”

Sapnap’s breath caught, eyes wide and Dream knew part of this had to do with his position as Dream’s second, the acknowledgement after too many days of cold shoulder, but it only took a beat until he latched onto Dream’s hand, shaking it soundly. “Sapnap Halo,” he murmured. “Or um- Craft now. Sapnap Craft.  George talks about you a lot.  Good things.” He smiled.  “Well, it’s George, so-”

“Yeah,” Dream said, couldn’t hold back the laugh if he tried. “He was probably complaining.”

“But smiling in his own George way, which was how I knew you mattered,” Sapnap said, smiling brightly.

They were still holding hands. 

Prime, they were fucking idiots.  To have a half decade-long grudge sufficiently delt with via a conversation that took less than five minutes. 

They were the dumbest of dumb.

Dream cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to rebalance who he was now with who he’d been then.  Growing.  Improving. “I um- have something for you,” he admitted. “They were making cookies in the mess hall-”

“Gimme that shit,” Sapnap interrupted him with a hug, nuzzling into chest with a light headbutt. “Let’s get you out of this armor first though.  Then cuddles.”

“I- yeah, that sounds good,” Dream agreed, and it was the first time Sapnap had helped him in turn but it felt right, felt good because this was his second who didn’t hate him, who he didn’t hate in turn, who he could now come to properly appreciate the way he should have always properly appreciated.

“Hey,” Sapnap spoke up, already moving on. “If I try washing your hair, am I at the risk of setting off your instincts, or…”

“You should be fine,” Dream allowed, ruffling Sapnap’s dark locks. “Just don’t give me any valuable jewelry or precious gems.  That will just- yeah.”

“Figures you’d like shiny things,” Sapnap chuckled, but this time it was light, fond, and Dream felt absolutely no need to get defensive in response.

Because it was good; what they had was good.

This, he realized, was what they’d been missing.

~:~

“You’re doing well,” Duchess Wastaken noted, her voice firm but approving, the way it had been for the entirety of their training process.  “Are you sure you don’t want to take a break?”

“No,” Jack said, trying to relax his brows as he focused on keeping the thick tome he’d been working with perfectly balanced on his head – his posture needed to be inherent, thoughtless, something he didn’t have to actively focus on. “I’m good, thank you.”

When he’d asked Lord Eret about who he should contact to find a new etiquette teacher, he hadn’t expected to end up under the guiding hand of Duchess Wastaken, but he could admit he was ultimately glad for the arrangement.  If anyone should know how a proper noble acted, it would be one of the most powerful nobles the empire had to offer.  He trusted her, and knew he’d be safe in her hands.  She wouldn’t try to trick him and hope for his failure – George was her son, after all, and she wouldn’t want anyone her son was connected with to not pass muster.  Living up to her expectations was Jack’s constant goal – her true expectations though, not the low ones she seemed to have for Jack, where she didn’t force him to practice eating with utensils and always asked if it was a furniture day when it didn’t matter if it was a furniture day or not, he had to get better, and that involved sitting on furniture whether he liked it or not.

Quackity, who was sharing the small table with Duchess Wastaken in the sunroom they frequently used for practice, cleared his throat. “You’ve been going at it for a while,” he said, voice mild – an observation, or a critique?  Jack needed to get better at determining those intricacies. “It wouldn’t hurt to get some rest.”

“I need to build up my stamina.” It was sort of tragic, how used to hunching Jack was.  He wasn’t regal or graceful at all – which was understandable given his past, but that excuse could only take him so far. 

He understood their concerns, of course.  He’d been practicing this for at least an hour now and he could feel the sweat beginning to soak through the back of his tunic, felt it beading on his temples.  It wasn’t attractive, but that was what practice was for.  He had to put in the work first before he could reap the benefits.

“How many books do you expect to carry on top of your head?” Duchess Wastaken asked, and there was a smile in her voice – fondness, but it was edged with something else.  Worry, perhaps?  Worry for Jack’s slow improvement. 

That, he related to.

“You’re funny,” Jack drawled the way Connor might, sending out a frantic wish that conversation would come to him more easily.  He had to analyze too much – multitasking like this was hard – but that was why he practiced. “You know this is just to get my posture right.”

Jack had been a busy bee in the weeks since the war had started.  As per his own privately dictated plan, he’d kept himself occupied with various trainings.  He was studious now more than ever, going all in on his tutoring in the early morning, followed by helping Quackity with Las Nevadas near teatime.  He then either took a carriage to the Wastaken estate for etiquette classes or the duchess would come to him and they’d train for a few hours before Jack spent time with the pups, often relieving the older packmates of dinner duties and managing that part of the evening routine himself.  Then – regardless of how much he wanted to be present for baths or story time – Jack would lock himself in his office and study some more, practicing the things he’d learned that day until they became second nature, or training with Skeppy when he needed that particular outlet.  Sometimes he saw Drista or Duke Wastaken, sometimes he wrote letters, sometimes he pet the emperor’s crows, but he was always late to bed and early to rise because improvement waited for no one, and if he wanted to get better, he had to put the work in.

Of course he had to lose some things.  He’d cut down his appointments with Ponk significantly because – well, what could he do for Jack at the moment?  He was probably busy anyway, lots of people needed feelings-help in the wake of the war, it wouldn’t be right for Jack to hog the doctor when he’d already come up with a battle plan to address his issues.  Besides, what he needed to focus on Ponk couldn’t help him with anyway.  This was better all around.

Jack had tried explaining this to Bad the few times the prince had brought it up, but the Nether demon wouldn’t get past the whole plan thing – he didn’t understand it, and Jack was tired of trying to explain it.  He was controlling the controllables – what was wrong with that?  Nothing, absolutely nothing.  So what if he maybe, sort of had stopped reading George and Dream’s letters?  They made him sad, and that sadness was distracting, so Jack just saved them in a box and pretended he read them and if they ever asked (because they would be around to ask, definitely), Jack would just say he couldn’t read their handwriting or the words they’d used were too big or the crows had gotten confused and not delivered them or something and it’d be fine, it was fine.  He could even tell them the truth, they’d probably understand.  They all had to do what they needed to get by nowadays.

Jack thought he was doing a pretty good job – using silverware at every meal, reading even when the letters started to blur together and his head hurt so much he was crying, avoiding his big nests because they smelled like people that weren’t there and that made him sad so back to the closet nest he went (he should probably feel bad for lying to Bad and Skeppy about sleeping in Quackity’s suite but it was the only way he could get to his nest alone and maybe it broke Connor’s rules but he’d understand, probably).  Jack thought he was doing great, but for whatever reason Quackity had started attending some of his lessons with Duchess Wastaken.  Sometimes – like now – he even brought Ponk, but he’d been sure to explain that it was because the doctor needed a change of scenery, which was pretty nice of the Wastakens to allow him into their very private estate for that reason alone.

Jack would have thought that the doctor would get more out of wandering the gardens or even relaxing in the library, but he seemed to like sitting in on the lessons as well, mask pushed up towards his nose to allow him to take sips of tea.  It should be unnerving, but this was good – Jack was always going to have to do this stuff with an audience, he may as well have one comprised of individuals he knew liked him.  It was the best possible training.

Look at him, improving all over the place.  The others were going to be so proud when they returned, because they were going to return and everything would be okay again.

Jack just had to hold it together until then.

“I think your posture is perfectly serviceable,” Duchess Wastaken said – which might be true by lowly Jack standards, but by royal flock standards was laughably inaccurate.  Jack watched how Lord Eret walked – he glided.  He didn’t even seem to think twice about it.  Jack wanted to be like that. “Has anyone told you otherwise?”

They wouldn’t dare to, not to his face.  He used to think that meant they wouldn’t talk about him at all, but Connor had taught him the tricks to eavesdropping, and since his protectors weren’t there to gather information for him ,Jack was forced to do so himself.  It meant he heard a lot of conversations that Connor must have heard previously, which sort of explained the turnover rate of Quackity’s assistants since none of them seemed to like Jack all that much. 

He wished they’d only critique his posture.

Honestly, the nicest ones ignored him.  That was the best he could hope for.  But using only what he’d heard as proof was considered hearsay, and Jack probably wouldn’t be considered mentally stable enough for his words to hold any weight (that was another thing they liked to speculate, considering the amount of therapy appointments he used to have – and even though he didn’t have them now they still thought he did, because he wasn’t passing for normal as well as he wanted to), so he saw no point in bringing it up.

“No,” he lied, which he could get away with because he wasn’t looking at her anyway and he was already sweaty and gross which would cover up his guilty lying face. “I’ll stop if you want to practice something else, though.”

“How about pouring tea?” the duchess offered, Ponk scrawling down something on his notepad beside her. “Or passing sugar cubes?”

“We’ve already practiced that a lot,” Jack pointed out, trying not to feel self-conscious.  Those were always the duchess’s go-to choices when he asked for something past what she declared the limit for teaching that day.  It made him think that maybe he was really bad at them, but he’d started practicing them during his downtime, so he was pretty sure she just wanted him to sit down, which wouldn’t help him.

“How about the proper way to eat a fruit tart?” the duchess countered. “You can demonstrate the proper etiquette to fix your tea as well, I’m sure Dr. Ponk would appreciate it.”

Jack didn’t let out a gusty breath of air because that wouldn’t be proper.  Instead, he carefully removed the book from the top of his head and did his best to maintain the posture he’d been working so hard on, setting it in its appropriate position on the bookcase before he tried to glide over to the table.  It didn’t matter if he was sweaty and gross and didn’t feel regal – real royals, according to Connor, didn’t feel regal most of the time, they were just good at faking it.  If there was anything Jack was good at, it was pretending things were okay.  Or maybe it was just pretending not to exist.  Either way, pretending was a big factor in there, and it was important to learn how to translate what few skills he already had into his new life.

“Very nice,” the duchess said when he settled into his chair – and it wasn’t as graceful as he would like, but it was the best he’d managed so far for the method that didn’t involve the assistance of an attendant. “The tea’s orange blossom.”

It was one of his favorites.  Citrussy but sweet – refreshing.  It made him feel invigorated, like a hot version of lemonade, he guessed.

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Duchess Wastaken, I’m honored by your consideration.” He bowed his head politely, fighting to keep his smile just right, not too big, not beaming because anyone could manage that sort of small talk, it was actually nothing, but it had sounded natural and that was a pretty big deal for him.

“I’m glad you like it,” the duchess said, and for whatever reason Quackity was frowning from his spot across the table, but Jack had learned not to read into that kind of stuff.  At least, not from the people who supported him.  There was a good chance Quackity was worried about something else entirely, honestly, Jack wasn’t even sure why the duke was wasting time here when he had so much else to do.

They got through serving and fixing the tea, and Jack paid close attention when the duchess showed him how to cut into his tart – where to leave his utensils when they weren’t in use – when to talk, when to wait to take a bite, when to strategically sip his tea.  It all seemed unnecessarily complicated, but also fascinating in a sort of way.  It was almost like an entirely new language that half the population would never hope to understand.

“Do you have any small talk you’d like to practice, Jack?” the duchess asked, because they did that too – simulated real tea times so Jack could get a feel of what he was working towards.  She almost always taught him some sort of food-related components during his lessons, it made him think that maybe she knew about him cutting down on lunch and breakfast.  It wasn’t like he needed that much food to get by as it was, and he’d found that his stomach was tight with nerves lately, which made it difficult to enjoy his food anyway.  He may as well use that time to study if it would be wasted otherwise.

Jack pressed his lips together, contemplative. “I’m not sure if it qualifies, but I’d like to learn how to play piano.”

“Oh?” More than one of them startled, but Jack kindly ignored them in favor of cutting another tiny, strategic piece of his tart. “Were you inspired by one of George’s records?”

“No.” Jack didn’t make a face, though it was hard not to at the thought of touching any of George’s stuff while he was gone.  It just- he’d be coming back, and when he came back his stuff should be where he left it.  It should be perfect. “Bad said that most nobles know how to play an instrument.  I’m not a noble, but since George and Connor are, I thought it would be a helpful thing to learn.”

Apparently, nobles could be asked to perform when invited to each other’s houses.  It could happen at literally any time – impromptu arias, piano concertos, flute performances – all things to be expected.  It wasn’t like Jack was at risk of getting invited anywhere anytime soon, but if he did, he didn’t want to make his protectors look bad by not having that kind of skill.  Even if he could only play children’s songs, anything would be better than nothing.

Duchess Wastaken took this in with a slow nod, taking a careful sip of her tea. “It’s a time-consuming hobby to master, especially for those unfamiliar with music.”

“I know.” Jack had already made plans to cut into his resting time.  It wasn’t like he was sleeping much anyway.

He understood the importance of beauty rest – getting as much sleep as possible would help keep him refreshed, but since that didn’t seem to be happening anyway, Jack decided to take the advice of the one aide that would voluntarily talk to him, someone who seemed to treat him as a sort of experiment or thing of intrigue rather than a person, but her advice was helpful nonetheless, and how Jack had learned about makeup.  So he could fruitlessly try to sleep the appropriate hours he needed to get rid of the bags under his eyes or he could just get the concealer the saleswomen at the store had recommended and paint that on his face instead. 

One of the options seemed substantially easier than the other.  Besides, what else was he going to use his money on?

“But every journey begins with a single step,” Jack continued, and he couldn’t remember who’d told him that exactly, but he was pretty sure it was George.

He missed George.

But hey, he couldn’t end the war, so he may as well cut up this tart perfectly.  Those were two perfectly equivalent things. 

“Jack,” Duchess Wastaken began – and that was her serious voice, and he knew that because she hadn’t used it with him since they’d started training, hadn’t used it since that morning where he’d had a breakdown over sharing all that awful sex stuff. “We will gladly support you in any and all endeavors, but several of us have grown increasingly worried about you as of late.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Jack began, because one didn’t not appreciate concern when it was freely given. “But I’m okay.”

Ponk cleared his throat, and Jack was ashamed to admit he’d forgotten the doctor was there, or rather, that he would think to contribute to the conversation, considering how silent he usually was during these sessions. “There’s a difference between being okay and thriving.  Before your protectors left you seemed to be thriving, but now you’re surviving – which is understandable, given the current circumstances – but it isn’t healthy to dismiss what’s going on.  To pretend one thing’s another.  To pretend surviving is thriving.  Being honest with yourself-”

“I’m honest,” Jack interrupted, which was rude, rude, rude, but he was annoyed now. He’d thought he’d been doing an amazing job and Ponk was trying to invalidate that. “Are you mad because I’ve cut down on our appointments?”

“I’m not mad, I’m worried,” Ponk countered, making it sound so genuine. “Everything we do comes from a place of concern.  This isn’t an attack, and if you’re feeling defensive-”

“I’m not defensive, you’re just wrong,” Jack said, and that wasn’t- that wasn’t the proper way to hold an argument but he was too tired to think of any better words. “I’ve been working really hard lately and I don’t appreciate you dismissing that.”

“We would never undermine your efforts,” Duchess Wastaken soothed. “You have been very diligent in your studies lately – all of us agree on that.”

“It’s just the other stuff we’re worried about,” Quackity spoke up, his brows furrowed. “You lied to Bad and Skeppy about staying in my suite.”

Jack pressed his lips together, willing himself not to look as guilty as he felt because he was allowed to want privacy – even if Connor had asked him not to, had almost begged for it. “I wanted to be alone.”

“Did you want to be alone so you could take that time to center yourself?” Ponk asked. “Or did you want to be alone so you could get in some more study time when they normally would have made you go to bed?”

Jack opened his mouth.  Closed it. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Jack,” the duchess began, her voice soft. “I understand how tempting it is to seek out distractions when the people we love are at risk.  My children knowingly thrust themselves into danger all the time, and I’ll admit, George being summoned as a part of the war effort was a blow I wasn’t prepared for, but shutting out the people that I have left isn’t a sustainable solution.”

“That’s not- I’m not doing that,” Jack said, heat beginning to flood his cheeks steadily, a low nausea building in his stomach.  This wasn’t fair at all.  He was doing so good lately, he’d been working so hard, and they were disregarding all of that because he’d told a few measly lies. “I’m working.  They’re working so I’m working too.”

“Is that why you’re so… diligent?” Ponk asked, and Jack was beginning to wonder if this qualified as a session or not, he didn’t really see Ponk outside his office, which was a guaranteed safe space. “None of us here want to get between you and your studies, but I think it’s important to have the proper motivations to seek them out and, like anything else, to do them in moderation.  Pushing yourself too hard could lead to burnout.”

“You’ve lost weight,” Quackity spoke up before Jack had a chance to respond. “You’re sleeping less and you weigh less.  I’m worried about you, Jack.  I know this is hard.  I hate that both my protectors are gone too; I wish I could help them-”

“But all you can do is your work here, which is what I’m doing,” Jack countered. “I’m just doing what you’re doing.”

“I respond to their letters,” Quackity said, his gaze locked on Jack’s. “I read their letters.”

For a moment, it felt like the wind had been punched from out of Jack, and that-

It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair – of course he wasn’t as good as Quackity yet, he was still training.  How could they hold him up to such high standards when they got mad at him for the work he put in to get there? 

“I’m sorry I can’t be you,” Jack snapped, and it was rude, but he didn’t care anymore.  They were being rude too, crashing his training just to bother him with things that didn’t matter. “I’m trying, but I’m not there yet.  I’m trying.”

He slammed his hands down on the table, no longer concerned with manners since they all knew how awful he was, and shoved himself away from the table, angry and frustrated and moving on, because that was all he could do.  Lessons had ended early so it was back to the castle to see the pups, and if Lord Eret wouldn’t let him near, then Jack would go to his room and not cry, he wouldn’t cry, because crying wouldn’t help him.  He’d teach himself how to play the stupid piano at this point, it couldn’t be that hard.  He’d learn how to play an instrument and have perfect posture and be beautiful and demure and sweet and George and Connor would never be embarrassed by him ever. 

He heard Quackity call out his name but Jack ignored him, because he could only do so much and this wasn’t it, it wasn’t this, he just- he needed to keep moving.

So that was what he did.

Chapter Text

Now that things had mostly settled between himself and Sapnap, there was an ease to their interactions that allowed Dream to be fully settled in his bones, that released the tension he’d been carrying in his shoulders.  Something that made it easier to act, Dream no longer constantly second guessing himself, which wasn’t something he realized he did until it was no longer actively happening. 

Now in the mornings he could wake up to a cuddly blaze hybrid, and instead of forcing himself up and out of bed he could simply enjoy the sight of Sapnap’s sleep rumpled hair, of his blatant clinginess and the small hint of dried drool lingering on the edge of his mouth from quiet, occasional snores.  He could revel in the ease in Sapnap’s frame, that he could be so vulnerable because of Dream’s presence.  He could take comfort in the fact that he could stare as much as he wanted and Sapnap would never call him out on it because he enjoyed the attention.  Of course he did, he was Dream’s second.  When he did wake up, it would always be with a few slow blinks Dream could now classify as cute (because they objectively were), until they melted into a sleepy smile that had him butting his head against Dream’s chest or shoulder.

“Morning, alpha,” Sapnap would greet, like he knew just how much it made Dream’s pulse jump in his throat – those two easy words. “Everything safe and secure?”

“George left earlier of his own volition and there’ve been no attacks,” Dream reported dutifully, a low buzz of excitement building beneath his skin, as though he’d been waiting in breathless anticipation to do just that.

“Good job,” Sapnap hummed, giving Dream’s nose a supportive poke before he reached his arms up in a lazy stretch, his back giving a few satisfying cracks. “Help me get dressed.”

“Yes, baby,” Dream said before he could think to stop himself, the pet name slipping out entirely on accident, which earned him a pissy look that ultimately melted into a smile.

“I’ll baby you in a fucking second,” Sapnap muttered, his cheeks tinged in a pale flush before he sat up with a groan. “Now, c’mon.  Chop-chop.”

“I’m on it, I’m on it,” Dream soothed, instincts of sweet second-care-care-wanted singing loudly in the back of his mind.

Dream would admit, being friends with Sapnap was way better than fighting him.  Sapnap had insisted that they get to know each other properly the day they’d reconciled, when he happily washed Dream’s hair that time – the two of them exchanging questions about their interests, hobbies, and opinions, which inevitably led to them trading stories about Jack and George.

“He used to be so intimidated by me,” Sapnap complained when he talked about Jack. “And by the time we finally fixed that, this dumb war started.  Not that it isn’t necessary – it’s been necessary, Manburg has always been the worst, but- you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dream had sighed, tilting his head more pointedly into Sapnap’s fingers. “I miss him a lot too.”

“When we get back home, could you let me tag along to some of your hangouts?” Sapnap asked, vulnerable and a bit tentative. “I want to be involved too.”

“Of course,” Dream said, the baby safely held within the confines of his mind.  He knew where Sapnap was coming from, knew he wanted to have that bonding time with Jack just as much as Dream did because at the end of the day, they both loved George.  And loving George meant loving Jack, and now that Sapnap was his second – well, there was no part of Dream’s instincts that would allow him to dissuade Sapnap from something that would make him happier while not actively hurting him or anyone else.  So long as it met those qualifications, Dream was obligated to help Sapnap as much as possible – so if he wanted something more with George… technically, if Dream wanted it, his claim as alpha would supersede Sapnap’s, but that was only if he was a shitty alpha.  They were a team now, which meant there was no more working separately.  It was together or none at all. 

Ultimately, it all depended on George.  If Dream needed to, he would back off from those endeavors entirely if that was George’s preference, and he knew Sapnap would do the same, but until then they could hope and bond over the panther hybrid.

So now that Dream was allowed to satisfy his own protective urges by helping Sapnap get ready, the blaze hybrid could return that care.  Every morning, he would slot Dream’s mask into place and give him a light headbutt, and he didn’t know how intimate that was, how close it defined them by Wastaken standards.  It was a step away from a marriage proposal or adoption, but this was- it was a war.  They were allowed to do stuff like this without thinking too hard about it when there was a war going on.  There were extenuating circumstances.

“Hey,” Sapnap would say when he was done, cradling Dream’s face between his hands even though he could no longer see it. “Don’t get hurt.  I will be mad if you get hurt.”

“Yes, baby,” Dream rumbled, and Sapnap flushed before blowing a raspberry at him like the dignified and mature prince he was. “You’d better not get hurt either.”

Sapnap scoffed, adjusted his diadem so it would be at a light tilt that was guaranteed to slowly drive Dream and almost everyone else crazy. “As though they could ever touch me,” he declared, and like that, they went along their way.

In light of their new partnership, it was easier to spend time with Sapnap in the command tent, mostly because Dream actually did want to hear Sapnap’s opinions.  He knew George had befriended the guy for a reason, and wouldn’t have stuck around if Sapnap was an idiot.  Sapnap wouldn’t have been selected as one of the elite guard knights if it wasn’t warranted regardless of how much Prince Tommy liked him.  He was a wealth of information once Dream reached out and utilized him with more than intent to boost morale, though there was one small drawback in that they may or may not have forgotten that not everyone was up to date on their little ceasefire.

“Alright, that’s good,” Dream had said distractedly after he and Sapnap had finalized the outline for how the next village evac should go based on the information available.  Without thinking about it, he reached up and ruffled Sapnap’s hair, sure to keep his fingers clear of the blaze hybrid’s horns. “Great work, Sap.”

“Damn right, it is,” Sap muttered, bending so he could playfully headbutt Dream’s shoulder – the highest part he could reach when they were standing side-by-side like this. “I’ve got to run my patrol soon, don’t work through dinner or I’ll know.”

Dream let out a small chuckle. “No you won’t.”

“Oh, Dream – you’re so innocent,” Sapnap chuckled in turn – though his was slightly more amused. “If you think I won’t abuse my authority to ensure you actually take care of yourself-”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Sapnap sang, giving Dream’s shoulder a squeeze. “But seriously, eat something.  Even if it’s just jerky or some shit.”

“So long as you eat something too,” Dream said, and then upon finally remembering that they were in public, he hastily added on, “Your highness.”

“It’ll come naturally to you someday,” Sapnap laughed, smile wide as he ducked out of the tent, and Dream didn’t hunch his shoulders or anything because he was working, he couldn’t afford to be bashful, he had to be a pillar of strength-

“What the fuck.”

So Dream may or may not have startled at the sudden interruption, only it wasn’t really all that sudden because Punz had definitely been present the entire time.  Just- right, he’d been standing on Dream’s other side.  Cool.

“Are you guys friends now?” Punz pressed, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “When did that happen?”

“When we started sharing a tent,” Dream hissed, keeping his voice down even though this wasn’t really a secret. “It was that or kill each other so we decided to, you know-”

“To traumatize everyone else?” Punz asked, his right eye beginning to twitch. “What even was that?”

Dream felt his cheeks heat with a flush and was grateful now more than ever that his family line dictated the necessity of masks. “We realized that we’ve had some misunderstandings over there years that um- well, once clarified, it didn’t really make sense not to be friends.”

“That goes beyond friendship,” Punz said. “That was like you and George, but George would never be that sweet.”

“Keep your voice down,” Dream hissed. “That’s the heir to one of the four major families you’re talking about.”

“You’re more worried about that than the prince you were literally just canoodling with?” Punz countered, one brow raised in incredulity. “Do you think word of this isn’t running rampant throughout the camp already?  And when it does, do you really think that I’m the one who should be concerned?” Dream froze, not quite understanding the implications, and Punz released a weary sigh.  As though there was no way the blond could ever be properly compensated for the nonsense he was forced to deal with. “His protector dads are two of the most powerful warriors in the entire empire and both of them are here.  Do you know how overprotective Philza is?  Do I need to remind you that no one’s seen Lord Foolish leave their tent outside of when we’re traveling to a new camp?”

At once, the blood started draining from Dream’s face, and despite being biologically inclined to deal with the ice of the void, he couldn’t help but register a certain coolness running down his spine.

Upon realizing that Dream understood the severity of the situation, Punz pushed onwards. “Once they figure out that you’ve been sneaking those extra cookies to Sapnap and not George, you’re fucked.  You are well and truly fucked.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dream said, feeling a bit lightheaded. “We have bigger things to focus on.  The war- and they- they need me.  Sapnap needs me.”

“Uh huh.” Punz gave his arm a few sympathetic pats. “You keep telling yourself that.”

“It’s objectively true.”

“Think they’ll feel that way when they see that little get along cot of yours?” Punz hummed with a wag of his brows, and that was- that was a low blow, Dream had told him that in confidence. “Look, I’m not saying it’s completely hopeless.  You can be friends, but if you try for anything more than that, Sapnap’s the only pup they have on hand right now, of course they’re going to be protective of him.  Honestly, it’s a testament to his skills that they didn’t send him away.  He’s good at his job, damn talented – that doesn’t mean they’d ever want to risk him.” A smirk pulled at his lips. “Especially to a protector who’d previously caused him so much strife.”

“Isn’t George their kid too?  They don’t care that I’m close to him.”

Punz sighed and gave a look like he didn’t know how Dream had managed to survive this long on his own. “George is Eret’s kid, and technically your parents’ kid, though I know they see him as more of a son-in-law, am I right?” He laughed at Dream’s hastily whispered fuck off, but was kind enough to get moving. “The point is, you have always been a point of support and positive interactions for George.  That is not the case for Sapnap, and Sapnap is their precious baby boy who they’re allowed to fragrantly dote on, so… I reiterate, if you go for more than friendship-”

“Punz,” Dream whispered, dragging the other protector close but positioning them so it looked like they were strategizing over their maps when they were really just gossiping. “He claimed me as his alpha, Punz.  I’m his alpha.”

Punz froze, then released a heavy, if mournful, sigh. “It was nice knowing you,” he said, giving Dream’s bicep a few last pats. “Recommend me to replace you, if you’d be so kind.”

“You are the worst friend in the world,” Dream lamented. “It wasn’t like we did it on purpose.”

“Anyone in this camp would know that,” Punz said. “That’s not going to save you from the critical eye of the emperor.”

Oh man, if it was Philza who confronted him about this- Philza, with his thirst for blood and ruthless but methodical destruction of Manburg-

“I would suggest finalizing your affairs if you haven’t already done so,” Punz advised. “Otherwise Drista’s going to claim all your weapons herself without any thoughts of if your friends might want some.”

“The worst friend,” Dream repeated, just in case he missed it.

Punz gave him an offended look. “I was talking about Callahan.  You know he’s had his eye on your mace for years.”

Oh wait, that was right.  Dream probably should put that in writing, he didn’t want Drista and Callahan fighting over it when he was gone, mostly because Drista would lose and be that much more inconsolable.

“Look,” Punz began. “It won’t be that bad so long as you keep it cool, alright?  Today’s meeting will spread some rumors but no one’s going to believe them anyway.  Just be less buddy-buddy when you’re out and about and…” He trailed off abruptly, letting out a low sigh. “Never mind, it was nice knowing you.  Real honor serving with you and all that jazz.”

The reason Punz had excelled where so many failed was that his critical evaluation skills had granted him the ability to understand the value of a strategic retreat.  Despite their efforts, they couldn’t always win when they were out on the battlefield and Punz had always exercised that caution in his private life, so Dream was unsurprised to see the blond immediately vanish from his side, knowing the value of not getting caught in unnecessary crossfire.

It made sense, but it didn’t make Dream less resentful when he turned to observe the measured approach of General Technoblade, garbed in his own mask and looking as intimidating as ever.

“Sir Dream,” the piglin hybrid greeted with a nod of his head, his voice a low, threatening rumble. “A word.”

“Of course,” Dream said, falling in step with the general and not dwelling on his lack of foresight.

Because that was the one thing he’d forgotten when it came to improving his relationship with Sapnap.  When it came to being his alpha.  He had a family Dream had to prove himself to, and the half of the family he was exposed to was in ultimate protector mode, so um-

Yeah, it was a good day to be him.

Ten out of ten in terms of thinking things out, really.

~:~

Jack’s dramatic attempt to storm off would have likely been more effective if Ponk wasn’t so fast – but hey, there was yet another thing to feel bad about, that he – the individual who’d spent a lifetime adapting to hard labor – couldn’t outrun the guy who’d worked behind a desk for most of his life.  Ponk caught up to Jack before he could even get down the front steps, which was bad enough when the butler seemed to be doing that thing where he pretended not to see Jack but he definitely saw Jack and knew Jack wanted to leave and not go back inside and have more cookies or whatever and fuck it, fuck it all, he would just walk back to the castle.

“You can have space if that’s what you need right now,” Ponk said in a rush, lingering a few feet behind Jack as he stomped down the cobbled drive. “I’m sorry if we came on too strong – that wasn’t supposed to feel like an attack but I can admit that we may have allowed our concern to cloud our judgement in regards to determining the best way to approach you.  We should have brought you in for a proper session instead of ambushing you during your lesson- and I know you’re upset right now, but I’m instituting my emergency session protocol.”

At that Jack stopped, turning to face the doctor with a furrow in his brows, his stomach feeling even less comfortable than before.  The emergency session protocol was something Jack had agreed to after many, many meetings with Ponk, when he’d finally come to trust the doctor.  Ponk was an outside observer of Jack’s life and could therefore offer a neutral perspective on how things were unfolding.  The thought behind the protocol was that there may be issues that Jack himself couldn’t see that Ponk did, and as such, Ponk could initiate the protocol to bring Jack into an emergency session even if it didn’t feel like something he needed at the particular moment.  It was a measure of trust, that Ponk could see an issue that he didn’t, and before Jack had been enthusiastic to agree to this protocol because he knew he wouldn’t get better if he ignored his problems, but in practice, it was a bitter pill to swallow when he didn’t have any of his protectors or usual allies around to verify this protocol initiation.  Then again, that might be why Ponk had been forced to use it at all.

“So,” Ponk continued when he realized Jack wasn’t immediately going to start arguing with him. “We can have that session when we get back to the castle or later tonight, or even when we get in the carriage-”

“I’m not getting in the carriage,” Jack declared, making a private vow with himself not to come back to the Wastaken Estate until Dream returned from the war.  It had been a mistake to come here at all, it took up way too much of his time, and the duchess was too nice to him.  He needed someone who would be critical.  Who would evaluate him appropriately.

There was a weird choking sound, and then Ponk was scrambling to catch up, main estate house falling further behind them. “Are you- are we taking a walk, then?  I’m sorry for assuming-”

“No, I’m going back to the castle,” Jack declared. “But I’m not riding in the carriage.”

He was tired of waiting on the butler.  He was tired of them trying to talk him into staying the night.  He didn’t want to stay the night, he wanted Tubbo; he wanted George and Connor and Dream and Sapnap and his dad – or whatever Technoblade was to him – and in lieu of any of those things, the least he could do was go home when he wanted to, but now he didn’t want the Wastaken’s pity carriage to get him there, just like he didn’t want their pity teachings either.  Sure, it had been helpful, but the cost wasn’t worth it. 

“Okay,” Ponk said, neutral, processing. “So, to clarify, is the plan to walk back to the castle?”

“You don’t have to join me,” Jack said, because he’d done harder things, much harder things, and this was- he didn’t even know why he cared, really.  Jack wasn’t sure why he was getting upset.  Getting mad would help him as much as getting sad would – which was to say that it wouldn’t.  It wasn’t productive.

“I would like to, if that’s okay,” Ponk said, easily keeping stride with him.  It would take them ten more minutes before they got to the gate, but that was okay.  Most of Jack’s life had centered around slow, difficult, repetitive tasks.  This was like that.

“You’re a free person,” Jack said, with no amount of bitterness in his tone because he was free too and also had rights he was allowed to exercise. “You can do whatever you want.”

“I would like you to be comfortable.”

Of course he did, and Jack couldn’t even be mad at that because he knew it was true, at least when it came from Ponk.  It was his job to care about Jack’s comfort.  If Jack really didn’t want him around, he’d likely linger ten or fifteen feet behind him but follow nonetheless. It was what he was paid to do.

That was something else he heard the other aides talk about.  They must have caught Jack interacting with Ponk in the hallway or something and they’d laughed at how dumb he was, pretending that his therapist was his friend.  That they could have a relationship outside their sessions.  Jack was just a puzzle to Ponk, nothing more. They wouldn’t have even met if Jack hadn’t been so messed up.

“It’s fine,” Jack said, and in a fit of inspiration he dug into the bag he’d remembered to grab just before he’d stormed out of the estate, finding one of his thicker textbooks and balancing it on his head. 

There, now he was getting something out of this besides fruitlessly proving a point. 

Hopefully, Puffy would take over the pup’s evening needs since Jack likely wouldn’t make it back to the castle before morning. 

What a waste of time.

“Okay,” Ponk said, his voice soft as he fell in step with Jack.  The blaze hybrid had to slow down because of the textbook, which would lengthen his trip significantly, but he couldn’t stand the thought of spending so many hours on his feet, further reinforcing his terrible posture from before.  Sometimes, sacrifices needed to be made. “Could I ask you some questions?”

“I’m not going to answer them if they make me uncomfortable,” Jack said to establish a clear boundary. 

It wasn’t like he could put this off forever.  One way or another, he and Ponk would be having their emergency session, and he didn’t feel nearly as angry now as he had before.  He may as well do it while he had energy and some relative privacy.

Ponk let out a small hum, like he was mentally recalibrating. “Is there a particular reason why you don’t want to take a carriage back to the castle?”

“The carriage isn’t the problem,” Jack murmured, keeping his head straight, perfect.  He was doing well. “It’s waiting for the carriage that’s the problem, because they always take forever and in that time Duchess Wastaken wants to offer me more food or books or Drista wants me to stay the night, but I don’t have time for that and I know it doesn’t take that long to prepare a carriage but they still go slow anyway because they think I’m stupid and I’m not.  I’m not stupid, I know they go slow on purpose.”

“No one thinks you’re stupid,” Ponk soothed, his voice all reasonable again, kind, but that was just what he was paid to sound like. “And I’m sure the Wastakens never wanted to make you feel that way.  Did you think about mentioning this to them?”

It was a good question; one Jack hadn’t considered.  He’d been too frustrated by their actions to contemplate any sort of substantial problem solving, mostly because he’d always been able to get into the carriage eventually at the end of the day.

“I… I didn’t know how.” He was just so tired and he always had so many things on his mind, he always had to move onto the next thing, and engaging in additional conversations that weren’t strictly necessary just- it seemed like a waste. 

“That’s fair,” Ponk said, even though normal people probably could have managed it with little issue. “For the record, I think the Wastakens would want to know if any of their behavior ever made you feel uncomfortable – which extends to their servants as well.  While I cannot speak for them, I can say that they seem to hold you in high regard, and as such, likely never committed any of their actions with negative intentions.  If I were to hazard a guess, I would say that they simply wanted to spend more time with you, or perhaps hoped that you wanted to spend more time with them.”

“That’s… what?” Jack almost came to a stop but he didn’t, because the only thing worse than slow progress was no progress at all. “Why would they want me to hang around?  Dream and George aren’t here.”

“You’re George’s packmate,” Ponk offered simply. “Based on their previous behavior towards you, they’ve always treated you with care, haven’t they?” Jack nodded, he couldn’t deny that much, not when their chef invented new meals for him specifically and they let him have his own room and didn’t make fun of him when he felt too overwhelmed to use furniture.  They hadn’t even thought he was dirty when they learned he’d been violated, which Jack had known better than to hope for. “That’s because you’re important to them.  With or without George, you – individually – matter to them.  Dream decided that much when he gave you that bracelet, and they do not take those commitments lightly.”

Jack almost stared at the bracelet in question, the one he grew more and more torn about wearing, because on one hand it granted him a connection to his friends but on the other the aides always stared at it like they couldn’t quite believe it, always whispered, speculated, and none of them understood how Jack of all people had two protectors who were heirs to some of the most powerful families in the empire, because Technoblade was a marquess, apparently, though he refused to use the title.

“Just as you miss your packmates,” Ponk continued. “They miss their sons.  It’s natural to want to keep your family close in the wake of turbulent situations.” He cleared his throat. “That’s why you want to spend so much time with Tubbo, right?”

“I- yes.” There had been one day where Jack hadn’t gotten in his babysitting time.  One day where he’d had to double back to Quackity’s office to correct some work he’d thought he’d finished but when he got there it was all disorganized and not at all like he’d left it but it must have been his fault, he must have been frazzled, so he fixed it but by the time he was done they had already finished with dinner and had moved onto post-meal games and puzzles and Jack couldn’t even join them for that because he was too busy getting chewed out by Quackity’s third in command.

It had been an awful day.  He might have wrecked part of his bedroom. 

When the rage had passed he’d quickly hidden away the broken things in some of his empty drawers and pretended everything was fine.  No one would look twice at the new cuts on his hands – or they wouldn’t have if all his other scars hadn’t faded so he’d worn gloves the next day, making his awful coordination even worse, but that was the best he could do.  It was all he had.

“That’s how they feel about you,” Ponk said. “But they don’t know that you need Tubbo time.  They didn’t realize that the castle was as much of a source of comfort as it was a source of stress for you.  They likely thought that perhaps you’d be too shy to ask for a break if you ever needed one so they presented an opportunity for you to take one instead without understanding how important it was for you to see your pup.”

“He’s not really my pup,” Jack whispered, an irritated heat building in his eyes, that same thick discomfort clogging his throat that always rose when he dwelled on Tubbo too long. “He’s Quackity’s.”

And Jack didn’t regret that.  He never would.  Quackity was amazing, and Jack was the kind of individual who refused carriage rides and broke things and didn’t have nice posture.  He was young too, and not nearly as wise or emotionally mature as Quackity.  Whatever connection he had with Tubbo had always been temporary – logically, he knew that.

But getting his heart to understand it was another matter entirely.

“He could be claimed by both of you,” Ponk offered quietly. “I’m sure Quackity would be more than happy to share if he knew how much Tubbo meant to you.”

“No.” Jack shook his head. “It’s better like this.”

With no official claim, he wouldn’t be able to drag Tubbo down.  It was bad enough that he could reflect poorly on Connor and George now, on their families by association, on Quackity and Techno and Dream and the Wastakens because they were dumb enough to give him a bracelet.  Jack wouldn’t burden anyone with the unpredictable mess that he still apparently was, least of all Tubbo.

“Jack.” Ponk increased his pace, just enough so Jack could see him easily, the peacekeeper turning to walk backwards so they could talk eye-to-eye without issue. “Is this why you’re trying so hard to be like Quackity?  So you can be worthy of Tubbo?”

Jack hadn’t needed to explain it for Ponk to put the pieces together – they’d spent too much time together for Jack to be able to escape that.  On one hand, it was a bit of a relief that he wouldn’t have to find the words for himself, but on the other, now there was no hiding the root of the issue.

“It’s so I can be worthy for anyone,” Jack muttered, wanting to stare down at his feet but he kept his head held high, even when his hands began shaking. “He’s such a good bearer, and I’m not.  I just wanted my packmates to have something nice to come back to, and this was what I could do.”

“They already have someone nice to come back to,” Ponk said, his tone full of sorrow. “Jack, they love you for you – not for your ability to navigate the world of nobility, but for your kindness and enthusiasm and thoughtfulness, for your strength and how hard you fight every day.”

“But that’s just it!” Jack burst, flailing his hands and almost losing track of his book, managing to rebalance it at the last moment. “That’s just- every day is a fight; every day is a struggle for every little thing.  I just want to be normal.”

“Normality is a trap,” Ponk countered, sounding so very certain. “People talk about normality as though it’s some sort of universal standard, but really, it’s a delusion that doesn’t exist.  Because everyone has a different normal.  What’s normal for Quackity might not be normal for you and that’s not a bad thing.  One of the most wonderful and interesting aspects of society is the diverse and unique selection of individuals that comprise it.  If we were all the same-”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Jack snapped, heat building in his eyes again. “You know I meant normal like can hold a basic conversation without worrying all the time, or doesn’t evaluate every room for hiding places and escape routes.  I want to be the kind of normal that doesn’t have to try so hard just to use a fork, I don’t want to feel weird or out of place with furniture, or breakdown at the idea of romance.  I want to be that kind of normal and I’m not, and I’m trying to work on that, but I can’t if you guys keep getting in the way all the time.”

“First of all, let me say that none of us would ever want to hamper you practicing things that will make your life easier,” Ponk began, his expression earnest. “But I think that it’s important to understand that who you are now – even without those skills – is a person who is deeply loved.  You may be lacking in experiences and information that most of the people around you have, but that does not in any way make you less, nor does it make the people around you consider you as such.”

Jack scoffed, couldn’t help himself, and looked angrily off to the side, anything to tear his gaze away from Ponk’s eyes.  Obviously, he didn’t bother eavesdropping like Jack did.  He didn’t know how people outside the flock really considered him.  He was barely more than an animal to them.  A freak.

He tried to brace himself for whatever Ponk’s continued response would be but he was distracted by the feel of the book slipping – panic shooting in his gut because he’d turned too fast, he couldn’t compensate-

It tilted and he scrambled to catch it, but it slipped through his fingers, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

He hadn’t even made it to the main gate.  He couldn’t even do that much.

“Jack?” Ponk probed, his voice soft. “It’s okay-”

More noise, but that was from behind them, and Jack whipped around to see the carriage he’d used earlier pull up alongside them, Quackity and Duchess Wastaken waiting in its depths.

Great, more people to see his failures.

“Jack?” Quackity spoke up, his brows furrowed in obvious concern. “I’m sorry for earlier.  We um- we don’t mean to interrupt, but it’s very warm out here today.  Would you please get in-”

“Go away!” Jack snarled, allowing a Blaze growl to edge his words. “I don’t want to talk to you!”

He didn’t want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be better.  He was working so hard to be better, he didn’t know why it didn’t count.

He turned and snatched up his book, wary that a few of them had called his name again but he ignored them, turning to stubbornly march the rest of the way down the path.

Which would be a lot easier if there wasn’t another carriage in the way.  But there was, this one coming into the estate rather than exiting it, the way Jack was trying to.  He had enough time to recognize the house sigil on the outside before Secretary Sam pushed his way out, the tall creeper hybrid’s gaze narrowed in what seemed to be interest and concern as he took in the picture before him.

Which was- whatever, this could be the distraction Jack needed to properly get on his merry way, but he recognized the folder clutched in the secretary’s hands – it was the one he’d worked on that morning after his early lessons.  Because of the war, Jack often found himself working on things that reached beyond the scope of Las Nevadas and the refugees, which meant he had to be extra careful, and he was- he was- but the folder looked different than earlier and Jack was- he was so sure- he’d been so sure-

“I- I got it right this time,” Jack said as Secretary Sam pulled closer, the guilty file tucked under his arm. “I did.  I double checked in before I sent it this time.”

“I know,” Secretary Sam said, not at all put off by Jack’s greeting, and he hadn’t even- he’d been so frazzled and defensive that he hadn’t even offered a proper greeting at all, had just gone straight into sputtering around like an improper animal.

“I promise,” Jack continued, feeling desperate. “I shouldn’t have to redo it this time.”

“I know, Lord Jack, that’s not why I’m here,” Secretary Sam repeated, his voice soft.  When he was close he came to a halt, his head cocked to the side in a curious evaluation.  He cleared his throat. “May I pick you up?”

The offer startled Jack.  He hadn’t had someone carry him around since Dream left. 

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

They weren’t close though, it wouldn’t be proper for him to take advantage of such a proposition (Secretary Sam was also a duke, though Jack mentally called him a secretary because it was less scary), it wouldn’t be polite or dignified of him, he needed to be good, he should be good-

Jack sobbed and threw himself at the creeper hybrid, letting out a coo of relief when the secretary easily scooped him up, tucking him against his side and letting Jack cry into his shoulder with ugly, quaking breaths.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Secretary Sam rumbled – and he wasn’t Jack’s protector but he was a protector and he was strong – he wasn’t frazzled like Skeppy or distracted like Drista or absent like Wilbur or Duke Wastaken.  He was there and a force to be reckoned with and Jack needed him, needed anyone who would let him feel okay.  “You do what you need to do, I’m at your disposal.”

“Sam,” Jack heard Quackity speak up, the older bearer fumbling his way out of his carriage. “Did something happen?”

“More like I suspect something has been happening under our noses,” Sam countered, never letting up his comforting rumbles. “I would have reported it at the castle but once I grew certain, I knew it would be safer to divulge it here.” He bowed slightly towards where Jack assumed the duchess was. “Assuming I have your permission, my lady.”

“Does this concern Jack?” she asked, which seemed like a silly question, until-

“Yes,” Sam said, so easily, and Jack would have panicked but he was tired and stressed and he didn’t want to lose this comfort, so he clung tightly instead.

“Then I invite you in at once,” Duchess Wastaken said. “With all haste, Sammy.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Sam said, rumbling all while he carried Jack back towards his carriage, and Jack didn’t fight him, didn’t care because he was safe for the moment, he could defer to someone else – and right now – that was all he needed.

Chapter Text

Quackity tried to keep himself composed as Duchess Wastaken led them into a new sitting room, his heart twisting in his chest as he reviewed the events of that afternoon and the growing anxiety of what was to come.  It had been terrible enough, realizing that his oldest pup was on a slow and steady downwards slope.  Jack was spiraling, and already far enough away that he seemed out of Quackity’s reach – and worse than that – he didn’t want Quackity’s help, or maybe he didn’t expect it.  Jack seemed confused by the attention Quackity was giving him, and despite being Quackity’s ward (and hopefully one day officially – as he was already there unofficially as far as Quackity’s instincts were concerned – his son), he never once turned to Quackity for help.  If anything, he seemed to view Quackity as some sort of competition, a yard stick he had to measure up to.

It was terrible watching Jack work himself so hard without rest, the blaze hybrid charging forward with a single-minded focus to improve what everyone else considered perfectly respectable.  Quackity understood where Jack was coming from – even he with all his practice still felt a bit uneasy living in the castle; he couldn’t imagine how Jack felt, and this was his way for compensating but the way he pushed, the way he was so ruthless and impatient with himself – that hurt to watch.  Jack should be enjoying his free time; he should have relaxed teas where he enjoyed all the snacks he wanted – he shouldn’t be practicing meaningless small talk or barely feeding himself because noble dining practices focused on looks rather than efficiency.  Quackity was his guardian – he had pledged to look after Jack and Jack had trusted him in turn, and now because of his own issues, he’d allowed one of his precious pups to slip through the cracks.

And Jack had just- he’d been so angry.  Frustrated.  And Quackity wanted to explain how proud he was – he was proud that Jack was doing so well in his training, that he could use a fork so well, that he seemed so elegant and refined.  Those were all things that were worth celebrating, but so was Jack as he normally was.  That individual was worth celebrating too, and that was what Quackity had wanted to get across, and instead they’d mucked it all up.  Instead of helping, they’d set Jack off.

Quackity had thought they’d catch up to Jack on the front steps – he and the duchess holding back to give Jack some time to cool off, but by the time they’d exited the building Jack and Ponk were already halfway down the drive, because Jack was so angry that he wasn’t going to wait for the carriage to pick him up.  He was so angry that he’d rather walk back to the castle himself, balancing that accursed textbook on top of his head.

His baby was suffering.  He hated it.

Pushed to the edge, feeling alone, yelling at Quackity with betrayal and hurt in his eyes.  That it had taken Sam a handful of sentences to get the blaze hybrid crying in his arms, desperately latching onto him, was both comforting and endlessly frustrating.  At the end of the day Quackity knew this wasn’t about him.  He knew there were likely bigger issues at play that culminated in Jack lashing out as he had no other outlet, but that didn’t make Quackity’s heart less heavy as he watched Jack lost to his instincts, seeming coherent enough to follow Sam’s prompts but not enough to be totally present for the conversation. 

While it was a relief to see him gladly accept the cloak Sam offered him, wrapping himself in the thing like a giant blanket before he curled closer to the creeper hybrid’s side, Quackity couldn’t help but wish it were him that could comfort Jack.

“Mine?” Jack managed to get out in Common, his mouth clumsy around the word as he tugged on the cloak.

Sam seemed just as surprised as Quackity felt, but he nodded nonetheless, letting out a comforting rumble. “Yes, that’s yours.  You can have it for as long as you want.”

“Mine,” Jack whispered to himself, eyes falling shut as he seemed to give into his exhaustion, now done with both them and Common for the moment as he curled into a small ball.

He was so thin.  So tired.  

“I assume the reason we’re having this conversation here and not at the castle is because the root of the problem has manifested there?” Duchess Wastaken prompted, kind enough to take lead while Quackity tried to gather himself.

“That would seem to be the case,” Sam allowed, passing over the files that had agitated Jack so much earlier, the blaze hybrid frantic in his efforts to assure Sam that he’d done the work he was supposed to – and of course he had, it was Jack.  He didn’t leave a job half finished.  If anything, Jack was prone to overcompensating with how much he reviewed his work.

That seemed to be a bit of a problem nowadays, though.  Quackity’s assistants didn’t like to gossip – least of all with him – but he’d heard stirs of discontent aimed towards Jack, mentions of his inefficiency, though Quackity hadn’t looked into it.  It hadn’t felt possible, felt real, and if it was, he hadn’t felt prepared to deal with it, knowing that it was the extenuating circumstances of war and Jack’s absentee support group that was causing the problem, and that when both were rectified things would be alright once more.

He’d gotten complacent though.  Lazy, which was unacceptable when it came to his pups.

“I have reason to believe that Jack has been targeted as the focus of political sabotage,” Sam explained without further ado, tapping the files as he laid them down on the coffee table. “Initially, I only had suspicions, so I sent in a mole to gather more information.” His expression shifted into something grave. “I was not comforted by what I found.”

“What happened?” Quackity asked, feeling the blood drain from his face. “What did I miss?”

“It wasn’t just you, if that’s any comfort,” Sam said. “They were subtle and cautious.  They waited until Jack’s main protector was out of the picture.  From what I have observed, he’s good at detecting and nullifying the biggest threats to Jack’s emotional and political wellbeing before they can truly become problems.  Without his presence – or even the presence of George – there are some who are taking advantage of the opportunity presented.”

“And as a result, Jack is suffering,” Duchess Wastaken noted, somehow able to sound neutral, unaffected.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Sam allowed with a nod of his head. “It’s no great stretch of logic to determine that the weakest links of any pack are the pups.  Of course, we’re always certain to guard the younger ones, to increase security and heavily vet anyone who interacts with them as it will shape and guide the development of their personalities and worldviews.  Older pups like Jack though are trickier.  He’s technically an adult, and as such, the security measures surrounding him seemed to lapse – it is a mistake I will see corrected shortly, but as you can see-” He gestured towards Jack who, by this point, was mostly asleep. “Some damage has already been done.”

“Enough set up,” Duchess Wastaken pressed. “Speak plainly, please.  What did your investigation find?”

“Just as I said – sabotage,” Sam explained, tapping the files once more. “From what I can tell, this was the work of Schlatt and Boomer’s supporters.  All the aides working at the highest levels of government are thoroughly vetted so most of them aren’t on those payrolls so to speak, but an unfortunate number of them were susceptible to bribery, and those that weren’t seemed to have their morals appealed to.  Jack was presented to them as a liability from trusted sources, with the emphasis that his removal would lead to one less weakness to be exploited.”

“Bullshit,” Quackity hissed before he could stop himself, his wings ruffling with frustration. “That’s not their place to decide.”

“It isn’t,” Sam agreed. “And they will be fired for it, but they were acting off what they perceived to be the presented evidence.” He pointed towards Jack’s paperwork. “Which in itself was sabotaged by the one rat that was on Boomer’s payroll.” Sam’s lips pressed together in an unhappy glower. “It started off small – errors inconsequential enough to look like flighty mistakes – Jack likely didn’t think of them twice, but the rat got bolder.  Started rearranging his work, sabotaging it and Jack – who trusts everyone in the aides’ office, assumed that the errors were his own doing.  He never mentioned anything, and it likely would have taken far longer for us to become aware of this problem had they not started sabotaging the reports Jack did for my office.” He nodded his head towards Quackity. “I know how you run your office, I know what processes you taught Jack to follow, and I understand just how fervently he holds to them.  This was clearly the work of someone else, and once I understood that, I knew I had to look closer.”

“I assume there’s more going on than some ruined paperwork,” Duchess Wastaken noted quietly, her fresh cup of tea held carefully in one hand, and though she was the picture of dignity and elegance, Quackity knew she was just as furious as he was.

Sam nodded. “The paperwork was a destabilization point – to spark conflict among those unsusceptible to bribery and to undermine Jack’s confidence in himself.  Once the foundation of his self-assurance began to crumble, they struck at him other ways.  Never directly – but Jack isn’t as good at picking up information as Connor.  He doesn’t hide as well, and they took advantage of his attempts to eavesdrop and used the opportunity to the fullest to critique him, further attacking what they already perceived to be a weak point.”

“And he listened to them,” Quackity realized, his hands beginning to shake. “Because he looks up to them. Wants to be like them.”

“Yes,” Sam said, making no effort to sugarcoat things. “They attacked every facet of him that they could.  From his appearance to his connections, his past, his work ethic.” He tilted his head towards Ponk, who was sitting on Jack’s other side. “Even your relationship.”

“Ours?” Ponk asked. “In what capacity?”

“His need for a therapist along with many attempts to mitigate whatever friendship you have, emphasizing that Jack is strictly a job to you-”

“That’s bullshit,” Ponk snapped, seeming just as angry as Quackity now.

“You know that and I know that but Jack, who is very vulnerable right now, might view it as a hard truth his pack was too kind to share with him,” Sam said, making Quackity burn.

“I hate it, but it explains a lot,” Ponk sighed, running a hand over the top of his head. “Why he would start cutting down on our appointments, why he would be less talkative in the ones we did have.”

“They attacked his connection and trust in the support structure he had left behind.”

“Is that why he’s trying to be like me?” Quackity asked, unable to help himself.  He couldn’t help but ruminate on the way Jack seemed to view him as competition, as a threat.

Sam shook his head. “No, I believe that’s due to a different cause.  They did many things, but they never compared Jack to you – only to what a normal worker might be able to achieve.”

Quackity’s spirits sank, but there seemed to be a sort of knowing in Ponk’s eyes – knowledge tinged with sorrow – and Quackity knew then and there that he likely wasn’t going to get any immediate answers on that subject, but if they fixed this, then maybe Ponk could make progress that Quackity couldn’t.  It wasn’t a relief to know his son was still hurting, but to think that there was a chance that it would be rectified was something that made him breathe easier. 

It was a temporary respite, however.  To think that his distraction with Wilbur and the war – with Phil – had allowed him to miss vile poison being poured into Jack’s ears, Quackity wanted to hear what they’d said specifically, wanted to know how they’d dare attack his family – the family of a bearer, of royalty, that they’d thought they could possibly ever get away with it.

They wouldn’t.  They would pay for the grief they’d caused, for the desperate measures they’d pushed Jack to, for the lack of kindness they’d forced him to show himself.

No more.  No more of this.

“Without either of his protectors present, Jack is one of the most vulnerable members of the royal flock,” Sam continued. “Though it’s my belief that he isn’t the only one being targeted.”

Quackity tensed, his pupils dilating as he was hit with an unquestionable swell of rage burning deep in his gut. “Who else?”

“It seems they’re trying to attack Sir Skeppy as well,” Sam said, cutting to the point. “He has a much stronger resilience when it comes to personal attacks, but his commoner background is prompting him to overcompensate, so he hasn’t said anything despite the fact that his schedule is slowly but surely being overloaded with what is, as far as I can teel, unnecessary drivel.  They haven’t tried attacking Prince Bad, likely because they haven’t built sufficient grounds for it yet.  He was a noble and well-decorated doctor before he was adopted – even if it seemed like a spontaneous decision, the nobles couldn’t argue it was an unfounded one.  Much like Wilbur, he’d earned his noble title through hard work, though it was based on a lineage that had already been established in the Nether.  So while both of them had temporarily been labeled as commoners in the Overworld, their blood is technically of a protected lineage – which is something that will keep most elitists at bay, meaning that Boomer and Schlatt’s factions can’t manipulate them as well.”

“I assume Sir Skeppy’s performance has begun to decline somewhat due to his schedule,” Duchess Wastaken surmised. “Therefore presenting an opportunity for criticism.”

“And thus the cycle continues,” Sam said with a somber expression. “Or I’m sure that was the intent.  They couldn’t attack Bad, so attacking his fiancé was the next best step.  They’d likely proceed with some sort of blackmail scheme or deal after things devolved somewhat, something that involved Bad stepping down from his position for the protection of Jack and Skeppy.” Sam tilted his head to the side, thoughtful. “As contrary as it may seem, Sapnap being an active participant in the war keeps him relatively safe – at least in terms of politics.”

“It’s a poor comfort,” Quackity said, who’d been furious when he’d learned that Sapnap had sent himself off to war.  He understood that protectors had different needs, but he was still one of Quackity’s pups and newly adopted at that.  He should be at home safe with them.

Except apparently not, because they’d fallen for the illusion of their security hook, line, and sinker, leaving them blind to the new monsters that lurked in the shadows.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, and to his credit, he seemed to mean it.  He always did, but his stoic disposition left those unfamiliar with him think that this was not the case.  It made Quackity even more grateful for their friendship. “If it helps, I coordinated with the Inspectors Office once I realized what was happening.  All guilty parties will be dealt with accordingly, though I thought I should consult with you before moving further, since this most greatly affects your office.” He adjusted the arm he had wrapped around Jack, the peacekeeper subconsciously curling closer to him as he released a small purr in Blaze. “Unfortunately, all of your aides had to either be reassigned, arrested, or fired.”

Duchess Wastaken cleared her throat while Quackity took a moment to process that. “I had presumed that they would have covered their tracks too well to allow for such a thing.”

“They did,” Sam said, his voice deceptively light. “They did not consider to protect themselves from other infractions they’d committed though.” He offered a light smile. “When properly motivated, I can dig deeper than any of them might anticipate.”

Yes, it was a good thing Sam was on their side.  Quackity forgot how terrifying he could be.

In the best way though, like Technoblade.

“It takes care of one problem, at the very least,” Sam continued. “Lord Eret is already working with his own information network to spread the proper rumors before the opposition can use this as an opportunity to critique the crown.” He nodded towards Duchess Wastaken. “I was hoping we could have your aid as well.”

“Of course,” the duchess said, quietly accepting the files Sam retrieved from his satchel – names and profiles on each of the workers Quackity had thought he’d thoroughly vetted but apparently not.  Apparently that was all just a lie. “I’ll get started once we conclude our meeting.”

“Thank you,” Quackity said, though he knew it was unnecessary, knew when their eyes locked that she acknowledged this as well, but Quackity needed to say it, because he’d failed – and as a parent, there were always going to be mistakes, he wasn’t perfect – but to this degree was- it’d happened, and he would deal with the fallout from there, but never again. 

Never again.

“We also need your help with the perception of Sir Skeppy’s schedule being relaxed,” Sam cut in. “He hasn’t complained because he knew it would present a point of potential weakness and criticism, but what he’s doing now is unsustainable.  We need to make it appear as though his schedule was never so heavily filled at all – convince the power players that he didn’t go to as many parties and events as the lower ranked nobles might remember.  If the higher-ranking nobles will deny it, they’ll have no choice but to follow in suit, thus allowing Sir Skeppy to attend to more pressing matters – his family.”

“I can make that happen too,” the duchess said, and maybe this wasn’t something Quackity should be listening to, maybe it wasn’t ethically proper to resort to gaslighting to correct their mistakes, but these were the extenuating circumstances of war, and maybe two wrongs didn’t make a right, but it was different when it came to dealing with mass perceptions.  They couldn’t explain the intricacies of the situation so they took this hit now to protect their family.  It was what they needed to do, and Quackity was a bearer.  At the end of the day, his family came first.

“Good,” Sam said, giving a slight nod. “From what I’ve observed, Jack is highly sensitive to the emotions of those surrounding him.  It’s yet another reason why Sir Skeppy’s crowded schedule proved to be detrimental.  With Sir Skeppy as his current closest protector, having him in a constant state of stress and agitation-”

“Was always going to wear on Jack,” Ponk surmised with a gusty exhale, dragging a hand across his face. “Is that why he was so receptive to you?”

“I believe so,” Sam said, letting out a comforting rumble. “Though I am furious with this turn of events, I’m well practiced in controlling my more volatile emotions.  Obviously, this was a point of stability Jack had been missing, otherwise I doubt he would have sought me out so vehemently.” His gaze shifted back towards Quackity. “If we readjust Sir Skeppy’s duties to focus on Jack rather than the empire as a whole, things should improve.  If Skeppy’s more relaxed, Jack will feel more stable, which in turn will make it more likely for him to confide in his packmate rather than keep his troubles buried inside.”

“I’ll see that this gets done myself,” Quackity spoke up, determined to stop moping and start being proactive. “I’ll talk to Eret when we get back to the castle.”

“I think those changes alone will see a great improvement,” Sam said. “I’ll curate a list of new aides for your review, though I can send a couple to fill the immediate void – some from my own office, and one from Foolish’s.”

At the mention of Foolish, Quackity’s stomach tightened, but that was- he couldn’t focus on that now. He could only trust that Techno wouldn’t let their peacekeeper get hurt and focus on the problems that were currently under his purview.  It was the best he could do.

“Thanks, Sam,” Quackity said, running a hand through the hair that spilled freely around his shoulders. “Really, I can’t thank you enough.  I missed all this.”

“It’s my duty, your highness,” Sam said, making Quackity flush because he hadn’t been coronated yet, but Sam refused to treat him with anything less than the utmost respect when the engagement announcement had gone out. “One I am honored to fill.” He closed his hand into a fist and pressed it against his chest, tilting his head in a respectful bow.

Seeing him like that, with Quackity’s pup tucked under his arm, sleeping peacefully because he’d felt an inherent trust and stability towards Sam – Quackity was hit with a swell of emotions he couldn’t place.  There was so much going on and it was easy to dismiss them, but for the moment he focused on the positives, the contentment, the rightness.  Sam might not be pack but he had always – past that first day Quackity had crashed into his house in the middle of the night – been earnest and genuine in his intent to help Quackity.  He was an invaluable friend.

And now, just like then, Quackity wouldn’t forget it.

Things were going to get better for Jack, come hell or high water.  No one hurt his babies on his watch.

No one.

~:~

Dream kept his head held high as he followed Technoblade through the camp, pretending they were engaged in one of their usual updates or strategy sessions they often took on the go – both of them far too high in demand to ever dawdle in one place long.

Now though, there was a certain edge to it, a looming threat hanging over Dream’s head, for all that Technoblade had been perfectly professional.  There had been no growling, no outward aggression, but things weren’t as relaxed as they normally were either.  He and Technoblade had built up an amicable relationship over his months in the castle, which Dream had partially attributed to his own ease in the piglin hybrid’s presence, likely due to his mother.  Dream didn’t have that same concern or fear that lingered in the back of his mind when it came to nether hybrids, and part of Techno seemed to acknowledge that in kind.  They worked well together, and Techno seemed to respect the work Dream put in to make sure George and Jack were well cared for, the work he would gladly do until the day he died.

But things were different now.  Punz had been right, and now Dream had to face the consequences of his actions.

He tried to do so with as much grace as possible, the same disposition he’d honed and perfected to reflect well on his family.  It went beyond that now – his actions also reflected on Sapnap and George and, hopefully, Jack.  Even if he felt tentative, he couldn’t act that way.  He had to be strong. 

They had started their walk in the main command tent.  While Dream was not entirely sure where they were heading, he’d theorized that perhaps the general would pull him aside towards a secondary private location – such as the royal corral, where his horse Carl was kept, or perhaps Technoblade would clear out the armory.  Dream had not anticipated the piglin hybrid leading them towards the emperor’s tent itself – the private space that outside of Emperor Philza and Technoblade, only George, Sapnap, and a handful of aides were allowed to visit, solely for the purpose of ensuring Lord Foolish’s security.  To be invited in guaranteed at least the presence of the Architect’s Guild Head, but if Philza was in there as well…

Punz was right, Dream should have put his affairs in order.

Technoblade held the tent flap open without any kind of ceremony, motioning Dream in with a lazy wave of his hand, though his focus was fixed purely inside the tent. “Hey Foolish, we’ve got new company.  It’s Sir Dream.”

“Dream?” Foolish echoed, Dream entering in time to see the short lord consort slipping away from the messy worktable he must share with Philza and Techno. “Dream!  This is great!  This is- wait, is he here because something bad happened?”

“No,” Techno soothed, gently enough that even Dream found himself relaxing. “Sorry, should have started with that.  This is something good.”

“Good things during a war?  I’ll take it,” Lord Foolish said, motioning them back towards the table. “Can I get you guys anything?  I have tea, water, and a cookie stockpile I have slowly but surely been adding to.”

“You need to stop spoiling Phil’s birds,” Technoblade chastised, but there was a smile on his lips, so it was halfhearted at best. “Tea’s good for me, thanks.”

“Um- me too,” Dream murmured, deciding to follow Technoblade’s lead. “Thanks, your majesty.”

“You don’t have to bother with that,” Foolish said, waving Dream off with a few flaps of his hand as he fixed the kettle into position over the fire. “We’re practically family at this point anyway.”

“In more ways than one now,” Technoblade spoke up. “Which was what I wanted to talk about.”

“Oh, did it finally happen?” Foolish asked, almost tripping over himself in his effort to get back to the table, bypassing the spare chair entirely in favor of climbing into Techno’s lap. “Did George let you claim him as an alpha?” He turned towards Technoblade, his expression fixed into one of the utmost seriousness. “It’s the will-they, won’t-they of the century, except everyone knows they will, it’s just really a matter of George allowing himself to have it and now it’s here.”

“You are close,” Technoblade allowed, making Foolish’s expression fall somewhat while Dream just- tried to grapple with all- that. “You got the wrong two protectors.” The general turned back towards Dream, missing Foolish’s expression of confusion. “I’ll admit, before today I’d only had my suspicions, nothing concrete, but based on what I’ve heard I wanted to ask you myself – set the record straight once and for all.” Technoblade paused, seemed to realize he was still wearing his mask, and pulled it off in a fluid motion, setting it to the side. He looked substantially less intimidating. “Did Sapnap claim you as his alpha?”

“Sapnap?” Foolish echoed under his breath, amazed, but Technoblade’s focus was on Dream, who definitely wasn’t floundering.

They had just- they’d literally just- it had just happened but Technoblade had been expecting it for a while, had his suspicions likely when Dream and Sapnap had been committed to their deal to help with their instincts, and that shouldn’t have read as friendly as it ended up being and had he just known?  Did Technoblade have a sixth sense?  Were his instincts really that good?

Wait, Dream had been asked a question. 

Right, focus, he was trying to stay alive right now.

“Yes,” Dream said, soft and feeling somewhat breathless, for all that he tried to project a sense of composure. “And I accepted him as my second.  We reconciled, I promise.  And I’ll honor my commitment-”

“This is awesome!” Foolish cut in suddenly, seeming incapable of holding it in any longer.  Dream sputtered to an awkward halt, not that the lord consort seemed to pay much attention to him, too busy high fiving Techno before slipping off his lap to do a small, celebratory dance. “This is the best news I’ve gotten all day,” Foolish hummed while he danced in dizzying circles. “Hell yeah, our kid got a great alpha.  Our kid gets the best things.”

“That he does,” Technoblade agreed with a rumble, and Dream officially didn’t know what was going on.

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

“So um- just to clarify,” he began, because he didn’t know when to stop pushing his luck. “You guys are happy about this?”

The two of them turned to stare at him in perfect synchronicity, wearing similar expressions of befuddlement.

“Yes?” Foolish said, seeming bewildered that Dream could mistake his dance for that of anything other than celebration. “Why wouldn’t we be?  You’ve already proven yourself to be a great protector.  I mean, if George – one of the most selective individuals with a low tolerance for bullshit that we know – chose to be your friend, we know you’re good stock.  And what’s not to celebrate when your kid gets a great alpha?”

Those seemed like very fair points that also made Dream’s face flood with a distinctly embarrassed heat. “I didn’t ask, though.  That’s- usually that happens first.”

“You’re both adults,” Technoblade said, nose scrunching in distaste at the tradition that he seemed to dismiss out of hand. “And I assume this was a spur of the moment thing, right?  You proceeded with the commitment because it felt right to you.”

“It did,” Dream allowed, cheeks feeling hot.  He wasn’t used to having this sort of frank emotional conversations with people other than his family.  George certainly wasn’t one for it. “It took us both by surprise, but it feels right.”

“I’m glad,” Foolish said, returning to the table with a kind smile. “I know this is a difficult time for everyone, and that you two found something to make it easier – built lasting connections – it’s great!”

His smile widened as he clambered back into Techno’s lap, and now that Dream wasn’t swamped with feeling of approaching death and confusion, he could feel himself begin to get flustered at the sight, because there was just- Techno was a lot bigger than Foolish, and they were together, and that was- they made it work, it worked, and it made Dream think of Jack, who wasn’t as petite as Foolish but he was definitely slight and-

“That means the angry part of your rivalry’s over, right?” Foolish asked, startling Dream when he clapped his hands together to emphasize his declaration.  Fuck, was he grateful for his mask. “Now it’s a playful rivalry?”

“Y-Yeah,” Dream managed, ruffling the top of his hood, as though that would settle the hair below. “There was a big misunderstanding but we clarified it, and we really like each other and care for the same people, so the alpha thing- I promise I’ll never neglect my duties, or take advantage of my position over Sapnap.”

“We never thought you would,” Technoblade said with a certainty that made Dream’s eyes well with moisture, that the piglin hybrid could say it so easily, that he wasn’t- they were just glad.  That was it.  That was all they had for Dream – happiness. “You’re not that kind of protector.  I should have clarified, but I didn’t bring you here to read you the riot act.  We just wanted to touch base, get things out in the open.”

“Though on that note,” Foolish began, tugging at the end of his braid distractedly. “We probably shouldn’t tell Philza about this right now.”

“Oh, yeah- that would be- we’re not going to do that,” Technoblade said in an awkward rush. “Not that he’d be ultimately displeased-”

“Just that he would right now be displeased, because his overprotective nature is fixed at eight thousand at this moment,” Foolish picked up. “Out of ten, to clarify.  This is- it’s great news, Dream, and I’m sure all the pack will feel that way, but Phil’s deep in his protective instincts.  He could just as easily welcome you in as he could – I don’t know, arrest you or something.”

“Which we won’t let him do, for the record,” Techno cut in when Dream’s pulse jumped.  This was- yeah, a lot of emotional whiplash right now. “You’ll be perfectly protected by us – unless you do something that actively harms Sapnap – which you won’t, so…”

“So,” Foolish picked up. “Just uh- you know, keep doing what you’re doing.”

“Except maybe keep things a little more subtle when you’re outside your tent,” Techno offered, making Dream plummet right back towards embarrassment. “People might be too afraid to approach Phil with superfluous news, but it won’t stop the more enterprising brown nosers from giving it a try if they ever catch wind of things.  And I’m not- this isn’t a permanent thing, we’re not discouraging or displeased with this arrangement, but-”

“It’s better not to invite unnecessary trouble,” Dream said, trying to show that he understood. “I understand.”

“Good.” Both Techno and Foolish’s shoulders seemed to relax in tandem, all smiles and happy and they- they knew and they were pleased.  They knew and had celebrated.  Dream didn’t know how to express what that made him feel, a deep bundle of something incomprehensibly joyful churning in his gut. “Now,” Technoblade continued, clearing his throat. “Sorry to pull you away from work, but when the gossip started stirring I thought it would be better to act sooner rather than later.  We’ll talk to Sapnap about this too, of course-”

At that moment, the tent flap roughly shoved aside to reveal none other than Sapnap himself, the blaze hybrid looking pissed as he let the material fall shut behind him.

“Sapnap!” Foolish cheered, brightening to see his pack’s newest pup. “Wait, don’t you have a patrol right now?”

“I detoured when I heard Technoblade was giving Dream the march of death – which I heard all the way from the stables, by the way.  News spreads fast.” Sapnap kept his voice low as he marched over towards them, a man on a mission. “Are you seriously threatening Dream right now?  Because I promise, we’re good.  We were both stupid but we cleared up our differences, and I’m the one who claimed him as an alpha – don’t believe any self-sacrificial nonsense he might have told you-”  

“Sapnap, we like him,” Foolish interrupted, bringing Sapnap to an abrupt halt. “And we’re happy for you, we just wanted to talk to Dream to find out what was going on, and you were supposed to have patrol, so…”

“So… I overreacted,” Sapnap realized with a slow blink.  And then his cheeks were flushing, which was- he was embarrassed but it was also cute and hooray for Dream’s mask, his mask really was the best thing in the world.

“He also said that you claimed him first,” Techno offered, as though trying to be helpful.

“Which is a huge show of trust,” Foolish said. “We’re so proud of you, Sapnap.”

“I- um- I-” Sapnap’s cheeks darkened. “It was sort of an instincts thing.”

“Instincts are there for a reason,” Technoblade said with a soothing rumble, likely to ease the tension in Sapnap’s shoulders. “Yours brought you together, and I hope they continue to guide you through a comfortable partnership.”

“They will, I think,” Dream said, standing up so he could move beside Sapnap, no longer comfortable letting him stand alone, even if he was confronting two people who only cared for and supported him. “Thanks for the conversation, your majesties, and for the support.  It means a lot.” He reached out and threaded his fingers through Sapnap’s, was grateful when the blaze hybrid reciprocated easily. “Your approval is a large comfort-”

One interruption was a surprise, two was the strands of fate openly mocking them, though this time when movement stirred near the front of the tent without any prior announcement, Dream knew it could only be one individual in particular – something Sapnap seemed to understand as well based on the way he eagerly pushed apart from Dream, just in time for the intimidating visage of Emperor Philza to stroll in, entirely geared up for war and looking just as deadly as ever.

Oh no.  Oh man, oh no-

His gaze flicked around the space in an efficient evaluation, though he paused when he got to Dream and Sapnap, his expression morphing into-

“Dream!  There you are,” the emperor cheered, looking happier than Dream would have expected him to be, considering the circumstances. The avian strolled over with an easy bounce to his step, practically whistling to himself. “I’d heard Techno had pulled you aside for a quick meeting, but I need you back in the command tent.”

“Of course.” Right, they were at war, he actually had war things to do. “Sorry, your majesty.”

“None of that now – at least, not in private,” the emperor said, waving him off just as easily as Foolish had before. “Your family was kind enough to welcome us into their home, the least we can do is treat you with the intimacy such a connection would imply in private.” And that was- okay, wow, the emperor had essentially just said they could be friends, and before Dream could reply to that, Philza’s focus had already shifted onto his son. “Sapnap!  What a sight for sore eyes, you are!” He didn’t hesitate to cradle Sapnap’s face between his hands, nuzzling their foreheads together with a loving rumble before he pulled back to straighten Sapnap’s diadem. “It’s good to see you, pup.  Did you get pulled away from your patrol for this meeting too?”

“I- yes,” Sapnap said, deciding to take the out for what it was, a furious blush spilling across his cheeks. “Though I should probably go catch up to them now.”

“Nonsense, you could stay here and cuddle Foolish.”

“Dad,” Sapnap huffed, the word seeming to take Sapnap by surprise, Philza releasing a pleased croon in response. “I have to go to work.”

“Can’t fault me for trying,” Philza hummed, pulling Sapnap into one last hug with a generous helping of nuzzles before he let him go.  And then the emperor’s focus was back on Dream. “You’ve been taking care of him, right Dream?”

“Of course,” Dream said, didn’t hesitate when his instincts as an alpha were pushing him forward. “Sapnap and George are in safe hands with me, your majesty.”

“Just Phil in private, mate,” the blond reminded him, giving Dream’s bicep a few comforting pats. “And I know they are.” Which was comforting until his expression turned sly, and then he was leaning forward with a look of mischief Dream had learned meant he should run for cover. “You know, Sapnap would make an excellent second for you,” he said, making both Dream and Sapnap choke on spit. “I know you two have your squabbles, but Sapnap’s solid through and through – he’d be excellent backup for you, and we all know he loves to be pampered-”

“Dad,” Sapnap hissed more pointedly, voice strangled as he objected to this betrayal. “You don’t- that’s not something you sales’ pitch, it’s just supposed to happen.”

Phil gave an unconcerned shrug, smile firmly planted in place. “There’s no harm in trying to coax things along, is there?” His grin became a bit toothier. “Besides, you both like George so much-” 

“Dad.”

“I imagine he’ll be both your alpha one day-”

“Dad.”

“There’s no harm in being a third, Sapnap, and anyone who told you otherwise is a narrowminded idiot – though I think you and Dream will likely be equal in your position under George-”

“Oh sweet Prime,” Dream said in a breathy exhale, realization slamming into him with abrupt ruthlessness. “You already know.”

The emperor stopped, then threw him a wink that was entirely more devastating than any number of threats. “Perhaps it was just wishful thinking on my part,” Phil said cheerfully. “But when I heard Techno pulled you aside and Sapnap charged after you – well, a man can hope.”

“You’re such a rascal,” Foolish chastised, sliding off Techno’s lap so he could chide Philza properly. “They’re under enough stress as it is.”

“You’re right, you’re right – I’m sorry.” Phil held his hands up in surrender, but this time when he smiled, it was a small, genuine thing. “You have nothing to fear from me, pups, I’m more than happy with this development.  Any extra security and backup for Sapnap – especially from a trusted protector like yourself – is welcome for me.  Besides-” He reached forward, ruffling Sapnap’s hair again. “I like knowing my baby’s getting extra pampering.  That someone’s taking extra care of him when I can’t.”

“Dad,” Sapnap whined, flushing so hot the heat started radiating from him in waves. “I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are,” Dream and Philza said at the same time, which Dream really, really hadn’t intended, and could only be grateful for his mask when Philza burst into a hearty laugh, Sapnap pouting at the both of them.

“You’re the sweetest, most hardworking, wonderfully dedicated baby we could hope for,” Philza said, giving Sapnap’s shoulder a squeeze. “I want you to have all the best things in the world, and I’m glad Dream can be one of them.  You have a good alpha, Sapnap, and I know you’ll be a good second to him in turn.”

It was a touching, wonderful moment, one Dream was likely to hold onto for years to come.

Which made it all the more startling when it abruptly ended, Phil’s expression going bloodthirsty. “That said, if you ever hurt him, Dream, if you ever intentionally cause him harm-”

“I won’t!”

“I will rip the flesh from your bones-”

He cut off with a displeased squawk when Technoblade shoved his hand over his mouth, the piglin hybrid looking down at his partner with a loving amusement. “He gets the picture, Phil.  He knows and Dream’s not dumb – he won’t mess up.” He chuckled, but this was- it was dark and deep, the kind Technoblade used when they were about to launch an attack. “He knows exactly what enemies he’s making if he does, and what we’re capable of.”

“I have drafting pencils,” Foolish informed Dream sagely. “I will stab you in the eye with them.”

Sapnap made a low sound of displeasure, and then he was shoving himself between his dads and Dream, pulled up to his full height, even if that wasn’t close to hiding Dream from their vision. “Mistakes happen in every relationship, Dream’s not that kind of guy, and we are both adults who can manage our own relationship, so while I know you mean well, kindly fuck off.”

Dream was impressed with how articulately he managed to communicate his needs when Dream himself was still floundering, though perhaps he would have done so with a bit more tact, except-

They all lit up, even Philza, and not in their Oh look how cute my baby is being way.

“Aw, you’ve got it, Sapnap,” Philza said, tone rife with utter fondness as he looked at his son. “You’re exactly right.  This is your relationship, and we are here as a supportive safety net, not dictators or the axe hanging over your heads.” He reached towards Sapnap’s hands and Sapnap, still desperately confused, returned the hold on reflex. “Sorry, pup – we just needed one last test.  Wanted to be sure you were ready for this, and you are.  Of course you are.”

“You… oh,” Sapnap said, blinking rapidly to maintain his composure. “T-Thank you, Phil.  Techno.  Foolish.  Um- dads.”

“They grow up so fast,” Philza mused, sounding close to heartbroken. “The next thing I know, you’ll be getting married-”

“We’re leaving now!” Sapnap declared, grabbing a hold of Dream’s hand and dragging him out of the tent to the sound of the royals’ cackles, Sir Technoblade’s especially hardy and Dream feeling utterly bamboozled by what the hell just happened.

It took about thirty seconds for Dream to come back to himself, and in that time Sapnap was still very much holding his hand, though he’d brought them to a halt beside the royal horse corral, likely where Sapnap’s steed was.

Sapnap dragged a hand over his face, letting out a loud groan of despair. “Please forget literally everything they said.”

“I mean- some of it wasn’t bad.”

“Let me clarify,” Sapnap amended, looking up towards the sky as though it could bring him absolution. “Please forget everything Phil said.”

“I like the part where he approved of me,” Dream offered. “And when he said you like to be pampered-”

“Who doesn’t like being pampered?” Sapnap asked, defensive. “That is an objectively awesome thing.”

“You’re an objectively awesome thing,” Dream offered with a wide smile.

“Don’t try to sweet talk me now,” Sapnap muttered, ducking his head with a pout.  He sighed. “I really do need to go on patrol.”

“Let me escort you there,” Dream said, and it was a mark of how far they’d come that Sapnap didn’t rear back in offense, that he wanted Dream with him, that Sapnap’s family – the royal family – had approved of Dream being his alpha.  He had- that was a big deal.  That was a huge deal.

And he could write about none of it in his letters back to his family.

Guess he’d just have to finish this war quickly then so he could share the good news.

Chapter Text

Jack blinked towards coherence slowly, warm and wrapped in a scent that could only be comforting.  He was confused for a moment – mostly by said comfort.  He’d taken to resting on couches or his floor nest since the war had started, and neither of them had been as so cozy as where he was now.  If anything, it reminded him of the few nights he had spent with Bad and Skeppy before he felt bad for intruding, before Skeppy’s stress and Bad’s exhaustion became too much for him to handle, before the uphill battle he’d been fighting became that much more impossible.

It was nice, but odd.  He couldn’t remember getting to that point.  His mind was a haze of exhaustion, and while he was certain he’d been resting for a long time, his body still felt like it needed more.  It was a feeling he was accustomed to bearing with recently, and yet he wasn’t panicking even though he must be behind schedule.  He didn’t have time for surprise naps, he was supposed to be working.  He was- he should- why had he woken up again?

“Hey,” a voice murmured, and Jack forced his focus towards the source of it, made himself perceive the surroundings he’d been ignoring in his weariness.  Oh, this was- he was in Bad and Skeppy’s bed.  Why was he in Bad and Skeppy’s bed? “Jack?” Another blink, and- right, there was Skeppy kneeling at the edge of the bed, looking up at Jack with a pain and exhaustion that Jack resonated with well. “Hey um- could we snuggle?”

Usually when Skeppy offered this, Jack had the baseline belief that it was for his benefit.  That Skeppy was being generous, was throwing him a line so he wouldn’t sink under.  Of course he likely enjoyed it because he and Jack were friends, but ultimately he didn’t need constant support and affirmation the same way Jack did.

Here and now though, that didn’t seem to be the case.  It felt like Skeppy was just as desperate for comfort as Jack, like Jack was his only lifeline, like he was a boat adrift in a storm.

So Jack didn’t think twice about opening up his arms and beckoning Skeppy closer, heart twinging in his chest when he realized Skeppy’s gaze was glistening with restrained tears.  He crawled onto the bed and pulled Jack into a hug, nuzzling the top of his head and releasing a stream of rumbles.  They were weak – intermittent instead of constant as the golem hybrid ran out of energy, but he seemed to offer Jack what relief he could, like he was trying to comfort both of them.

“Do you want me to be a pillow or do you want me to guard your back?” Skeppy asked, running a careful hand over Jack’s hair.

“Pillow,” Jack murmured, tugging his good-smelling blanket closer to him.  It smelled like limes and fire.  He liked it.

“Okay.” Skeppy turned on his back appropriately, lifting his arm so Jack could snuggle into place.  As disconcerting as it was to not remember the events that led to him there, it felt better knowing that he and Skeppy were in the same boat, that they were together at least, even when they had so much to do. “Do you remember what happened before this?”

“Um.” Jack furrowed his brows, thinking.  He remembered his lesson with Duchess Wastaken.  He remembered… he walked out, and then he talked to Ponk and it was hot and he- he dropped his book and then there were carriages and- and comfort, he remembered that.  He remembered finally, finally getting comfort and it was- the scent, his blanket.  It was the scent from his blanket, and then nothing. “…Secretary Sam?”

“From what I heard, you passed out on him,” Skeppy said. “He carried you back to the castle – secret passages all the way though, so no one saw you that shouldn’t.”

“Oh.” Jack relaxed the tension in his shoulders.  It had been a concern. “What time is it?”

“The pups already went to bed,” Skeppy offered, which wasn’t a concrete answer but it did make Jack’s heart race, because he- that was a lot of day that he’d missed, he was supposed to- he was so far behind. “It’s okay, we’ll join them for breakfast tomorrow.  Quackity and Eret ordered us to take the day off.” Before Jack could protest, he sighed. “Actually, both of our schedules are getting overhauled because we uh- it turns out we were the victims of a political attack, so… yeah, we get to take it easy for a bit.”

Jack furrowed his nose, confusion overtaking his immediate panic. “I don’t think anyone tried to attack me, though.”

“Not that kind of attack,” Skeppy said, and then he explained what Secretary Sam had investigated, revealing what Connor meant by ‘the battles of nobility’.  Jack had- he’d heard, but he’d never really understood.  He knew knights fought with swords and nobles fought with words, with paperwork, but he’d never expected to see it in action.

Skeppy explained it, and the schedule tampering with him- that made sense.  Jack had noticed Skeppy getting more and more stressed and tired as the days went on, but he’d just thought that was what war did to people.  Having someone do that to him on purpose just so they could get at Bad was- Jack hated it.  It was mean and underhanded, but he didn’t know what any of this had to do with him.  After all, he was the one who controlled his own schedule.  Everyone else was very accommodating of it.  He hadn’t been hurt like Skeppy.

“They attacked us differently,” Skeppy explained when Jack brought it up. “You know how there’ve been a lot of mistakes with your paperwork?”

Jack tensed, a fierce yet useless heat building in his eyes. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.  I’ve been working hard to keep it from happening-”

“But that’s just the thing,” Skeppy interrupted. “It was always going to happen because they ruined your paperwork on purpose.  They messed with all your stuff to make you look bad so other people would turn against you.”

“What?” Jack didn’t understand. “Why would they do that?  What did I do to them?”

“Nothing – it’s politics,” Skeppy explained. “You’re just a means to an end.  They wanted to attack Quackity but they couldn’t, so they attacked you instead because they knew that would hurt him, just like they attacked me to get to Bad.”

“That’s- that’s so mean,” Jack settled on, still grappling with the fact that all those mistakes, the things they’d berated him for, that they’d given him annoyed or disappointed looks while he burned with shame, while he tried to correct them and they judged him- they’d known he hadn’t done any of it and they’d let him feel terrible anyway- they’d wanted him to feel terrible.  All those forms they’d given him with barely legible calligraphy that they insisted was fine – they’d done that on purpose so they could blame Jack on stuff not getting done when he had to waste hours trying to translate a single document into something that he could read. 

They set him up to fail on purpose.

“Yes, it is,” Skeppy agreed. “And I didn’t notice it.  I’m so sorry.”

“You were getting hurt too,” Jack said, hugging him tighter. “And I didn’t notice that at all.”

“I think we were both trying not to cause any trouble, but we still felt hurt, and that hurt our pack in turn.  Because when we’re hurting, they’re hurting.”

Jack wanted to argue, but he tried to think of it from another perspective.  If it was Connor that was hurting, Jack would hurt right along with him, would want to do anything he could to fix the problem so his protector could be happy again.  He’d feel anxious, especially if Connor wouldn’t tell him what was going on.

It made Jack wonder if that was how Quackity felt, if that was why he’d started tagging along to Jack’s etiquette lessons.

Jack was swamped with a twisted cocktail of guilt, unease, and sorrow.  It was strange to think he could mean that much to someone, but it wasn’t like the pack had given him reason to doubt.  They had always been supportive of him, it was just- after a lifetime of nothing, it was his default not to expect it, not to factor it into his decisions or circumstances or strategizing.  It was a habit, and if Connor were there, he’d chide Jack, say it was a bad one, and maybe he was right.

With a small coo, Jack buried his head against Skeppy’s chest, taking in the knight’s comforting scent and the warm feel of his body, a grounding reassurance that he was there, that he wanted to be with Jack, that this was where he needed to be.

“I yelled at Quackity,” Jack whispered like the shameful secret it was. “He was being nice but I yelled at him because I thought he was trying to hold me back and that made me mad.”

“What was he holding you back from?” Skeppy asked, releasing another shaky rumble.  There was no judgement though, no outright anger even though Quackity was a bearer and the nicest person ever.

“Practicing,” Jack said. “I wanted to be more noble so I could tell everyone that I was a bearer and they wouldn’t be embarrassed of me.”

Skeppy paused his ministrations, his hand a solid presence on the back of Jack’s head, cradling him close. “I don’t understand.  What does acting like a noble have to do with being a bearer?  You are a bearer, there’s nothing embarrassing about that.  There’s nothing embarrassing about you.”

It was a nice thought, but-

“If they announced that I was a bearer, I’d get compared to Quackity, and then it’d be like – here’s Quackity, and he’s a duke and an amazing mom and has all these refugee programs and he’s going to be a Lord Consort and- and he’s articulate and dignified and strong, and then there’s me and it’s just kind of pathetic.” He sighed, nuzzling into Skeppy’s chest. “They’d go around saying that George and Connor got the reject bearer.  The broken one.”

“You’re not broken,” Skeppy said, sounding furious that anyone could insist otherwise. “You’re wounded.  You’ve survived shit that most of them wouldn’t have lasted five minutes through, let alone an entire lifetime.  You’re so strong, and it kills me that you can’t see that.  You don’t know how amazing it is that you went through all that – experienced oppression and violence and the worst of society – and still came out the other side determined to help others.  To be kind and thoughtful yourself.  Even now you’re worrying about Connor and George when plenty of others in your position would focus only on themselves.”

“But it’s for a selfish reason,” Jack insisted. “I like them, of course I want good things for them.”

“You know, there’s people out there who like others – but instead of doing nice things for them, they do the opposite.  They don’t care about those people’s opinions or feelings, they just do what they want even if it might hurt those they like.” He tilted Jack’s head back gently and the bearer let him, knowing that Skeppy was in a place where he needed that visual confirmation. “That’s selfishness, Jack.  What you have is love, and you have it in spades.” His hand shifted so he could cup Jack’s cheek, his thumb rubbing small circles against Jack’s cheekbone. “You have a warped view of reality, but here’s something I’ve learned over the years.  A good example is Lord Foolish.”

Jack blinked, not quite understanding the segue, but he listened attentively, knowing Skeppy wouldn’t steer him wrong.

“He had little noble training when he became engaged to Phil and Eret,” Skeppy explained. “Most of it he learned from them and they had teachers catch him up on the important stuff, but the point is, he made mistakes early on.  He did, and Eret- he just went along with whatever Foolish did, even if it was wrong, and you know what?” Jack waited with bated breath, eager because this at least fit his situation, even if he could scarcely imagine a time when Foolish wasn’t royal. “All the nobles followed Eret too, because none of them wanted to be the odd man out, and here’s what I learned.” Skeppy smiled, one that made his eyes crinkle in the corners, one of the ones Jack really loved, and he hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it until he was graced with it once more. “Nobles will take a chance to attack if they get it because – not all of them, but a lot – are always hungry for more power.  They will lash out, but the thing that protected Foolish, the thing they couldn’t argue against- was his past.”

The words hung in the air, allowing Jack to take them in, his brows furrowed as he considered the offering.  He didn’t know as much about Lord Foolish’s past as he would like, which seemed like an oversight now, considering how much Jack liked him.

But these were extenuating circumstances – just as Skeppy had said.  Jack hadn’t even been here a year, he had plenty of time to ask Lord Foolish questions.

“It’s also the same thing that protects Quackity,” Skeppy continued. “Both of them had rough pasts.  It isn’t anyone’s place to dig into it, but it is something that can be inferred.  Foolish is clearly a totem hybrid that was deprived of praise.  Quackity was devoted to a protector that was actively harming pups.  So yes, nobles will lash out at them if possible if they feel Quackity and Foolish aren’t the right fit for the job, but they have to work that much harder because of their pasts, because the hardships they suffered give them a certain amount of leeway and forgiveness.” Skeppy gave a loose shrug. “It was the same leeway I was given as an orphan commoner who worked my way up through the ranks, the same pity Bad was offered as a twelve year old raising a toddler all on his own as he migrated into the Overworld.  Nobles might look down on you because of your past, but they can’t actively critique you for it without looking like huge damn assholes.”

“But they’ll still look down on me,” Jack pointed out with a sniff. “Because I was a slave.”

“Yes, some of them will, because they’re dicks,” Skeppy agreed. “But the important thing is that you can’t look down on yourself.  You can never give them that satisfaction.  You take your past and you wield it as a weapon.  Don’t let it weigh you down, don’t let them make you feel shame for it, because what advantage do they have over you besides the luck to not be born into slavery?  They didn’t do any of that on their own, they just got lucky, so you can’t let them drag you down.” He hugged Jack tighter, but it never hurt, not even slightly. “No matter what I do, I can’t change the fact that I was born a commoner.  Even if I’m marrying the crown prince, even if I’m one of the highest-ranking knights in the castle – to the narrow-minded, that is something they will never forget, so I won’t either.  I won’t pretend it’s not part of who I am, because it is, but I will never give them the satisfaction of feeling ashamed by it, because I didn’t do anything wrong, just like you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jack had never thought of it like that.  It was true that the way of nobles still confused him – they seemed much more indirect with their hatred and attacks, but at the end of the day-

He could only feel as small as he allowed them to make him feel, and he was tired of feeling weak.

“And even if you ignore all that,” Skeppy continued. “You’re a bearer.  You’re entirely in a league of your own.  You and Quackity – you have the monopoly and no one, no one’s going to critique a bearer.  So hey, maybe the way you do things is different, maybe you don’t fit the mold of a noble, but you also don’t have to.  Because you’re the one with the power.  You’re the one people want to be like, and no one – no petty, mean, stupid aides gossiping behind your back or their stupid noble parents and relatives – will ever change that.  So just- if you want to learn court etiquette learn it, but don’t feel like you’re not worthy of this family, of support and love and comfort because you don’t know it, because that’s bullshit.” He released another deep rumble, this one getting stronger. “And if you want to learn it, do it in moderation, please, because it’s not your training that’s been making everyone worried, it’s the way you’ve been working yourself into the ground with it, and we just- we want you to feel happy again.  And I know that’s hard with both of your protectors missing, with Dream and Sapnap and your dad gone.  This is an unprecedented challenge for all of us, but the way we get through it is if we stick together, not if we try to go it alone.  Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Jack whispered, mulling all of it over.

“Think about it like this,” Skeppy said. “Pretend I’m the one that doesn’t feel worthy of being a protector.  Pretend that in my effort to correct this, I shoved everyone away and stopped eating and sleeping as much as I should, and I mostly stopped doing things that made me happy because I was trying to correct the whole bad-protector thing.”

“But you are a great protector.”

“And you’re a great bearer,” Skeppy countered. “You’ve always been a great bearer; you will always be a great bearer – and no number of rules you learn or instruments you know how to play or small talk you can manage will ever change that because you’re already there.”

“But…” Jack swallowed hard, an ugly lump in his throat. “But they said all that stuff about me.”

“As part of the attack,” Skeppy said. “Just like the paperwork, it was all a game to them.  They wanted you to hurt so they said every awful thing they could.  Please don’t ever believe them though.  Whatever they said, they were wrong.  They’re just jealous of how awesome our pack is and they were taking advantage of Connor’s absence to hurt you.  You know he wouldn’t have let that slide.”

Jack chuckled, weak, but heartfelt.  It hurt, but he managed it. “No, he would not have.”

“You think someone as awesome as Connor would be dedicated to someone who wasn’t as equally awesome?” Skeppy prompted. “You think George would have?  They both agreed to be your protectors because they care about you, because they saw you as someone more than worthy.  If anything, they likely thought they had to fight to be worthy of you – and they were right.”

“Skeppy,” Jack gasped, his face feeling warm at the very thought of it.

“What?  It’s true,” Skeppy laughed, running his hand through Jack’s hair again.  He’d been losing some of it due to stress, and that had made him feel even worse, but Skeppy still treated him like it was luscious and thick, making Jack feel pretty again. “Do you want to talk about what they said?”

Jack swallowed hard again.  The lump didn’t get any smaller. “I thought I was failing.”

“I thought I was too,” Skeppy admitted. “But that’s what they wanted, and I decided a long time ago that I wasn’t going to give assholes what they want.  They don’t deserve it.”

Political attacks were complicated and hard, and even though Jack didn’t entirely understand it, he did feel cared for.  He did feel supported and loved, and he did love Skeppy in turn.  He trusted him.

Maybe this would help.

“Okay,” Jack said, before repeating all the words he’d spent so long shoving to the distant corners of his mind.

“Aw, Jack,” Skeppy said when he was finished, tears in his voice. “I’m so sorry, angel.  They’re wrong.  They’re so, so wrong.” He let out a sniffle, gasping for a quick breath. “They really are the fucking worst.  I should stab them with my diamonds or something.”

“Physical pain is temporary,” Jack reminded him of Technoblade’s favorite adage, and that- it hurt.  He missed Techno.  Jack wanted to be cuddled up in his cloak.

“They still deserve it,” Skeppy muttered. “For the record, none of what they said was true.  None of it.”

“They just wanted me to hurt.” Jack sighed. “And I did.”

“We both did,” Skeppy admitted, sounding regretful. “And we both will probably keep hurting for a while.  It might linger, but we can- it’ll get better.  We don’t have to go it alone.”

Jack let out a slow breath, his head spinning – partially overwhelmed but mostly, he thought, he was relieved.

He could have kept going if he needed to.  He could have pushed on.

He just- maybe he didn’t need to.

Whatever happened, he didn’t have to be alone.  He didn’t want Skeppy to suffer, to struggle, and Skeppy didn’t want him to hurt either.  They were both victims, and that was- he’d learned with Ponk that it could be a difficult thing.  It was natural to want to claim some sort of control over life, and blaming himself – that gave the illusion of control even if it was impossible.  Even if it was false.  It wasn’t, in the end, their fault.  It was completely out of their hands.  They were victims of happenstance and it wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t a burden they should be forced to carry either.

Jack didn’t know if he could let go of the things they said just like that.  He didn’t know if he could slow down.  He’d liked being productive.  What was he supposed to do, go on picnics and learn new recipes and play with the pups while his protectors were risking their lives?  That didn’t seem right either.

“What is it?” Skeppy asked, voice soft. “What’s going through your head?”

“I hate this,” Jack admitted, words cracking. “I want to help.  I want to be productive.”

“Is that why you were learning noble stuff?”

“Yeah,” Jack sniffed, scrubbing at his cheeks. “So when they came back they’d know I’d been working hard too.”

“Hey um- I have a thought,” Skeppy said, making Jack pause. “Why don’t you just ask them?”

Jack tilted his head to the side, curious. “What?”

“Ask them,” Skeppy repeated. “You’re already worthy, so just ask them what they’d like you to do.  Instead of guessing – ask, and then incorporate that.  You can still help Quackity with his paperwork, just- it should all be in moderation.  We deserve to rest.”

Jack pressed his lips together, thinking about it. “That’s not a bad idea,” he said, a phrase he’d learned from Wilbur, he was pretty sure.  Prime, he missed Wilbur. “It’ll be six days before I get an answer though.”

“Then take those six days to recover from the attacks with me,” Skeppy said. “You don’t run on a broken leg, remember?”

“I- right.” That was one of Ponk’s favorite sayings.  Because emotional wounds needed just as much time to heal as physical ones, though people tended to forget that sometimes. “Do you think they’ll mind?”

“After he hears the report, I’ll be surprised if Bad will let us out of bed anytime soon,” Skeppy laughed, though he mostly sounded relieved, like he wanted that more than anything and it hurt, because Jack had missed it, but Skeppy hurt too, because he’d missed Jack’s pain.  They just- they were just victims.  It was terrible, but it happened, and they could move on from that. “It’ll be okay,” Skeppy continued, running his hand up and down Jack’s back in soothing patterns. “It might not be right now, but I’m confident that we’ll get there eventually.  The others will come back, the war will end, and it’s going to be okay.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he could work up the courage to believe it yet, but he wanted to, and that felt like enough in the moment.

~:~

Someone was having George on.

He wasn’t sure who or how or why, but he could draw no other conclusion from the rumors flitting past his ears, the ones he couldn’t help but collect from years of training under Eret’s tutelage.  There was no such thing as too much information, and even the most superfluous and superficial exchanges could prove to be fruitful.  Through his years of schooling, George had refused that side of nobility, choosing to focus on his studies instead, pursuing information that interested him, that improved him in logical, unyielding ways.  Rumor gathering and idle conversation, small talk and gossip, those were for braindead nobles that didn’t have anything better to do with their time, that didn’t have the capabilities to think for themselves. 

At least, that was George’s thought.  Perhaps there was a tinge of bitterness that tempered his perception, a result of the rumors – unfounded, purely speculative things – that had rendered him a social outcast in school.  Things that said he was the black sheep of his family, that he was a snob, that he thought himself better than everyone else.  And perhaps there was some truth to that last point because he, at the very least, thought he was good enough not to blindly buy into rumors, was better in that he could make his own judgements instead of following the sway of the crowd.

It was Eret and Wilbur that had shown him the use of successfully navigating the noble social world.  Rumors and gossip could be useless, but it could just as easily be a tool, be a weapon to be wielded with great accuracy and ferocity.  Even if it wasn’t true, sensational stories could prove to be wonderful distractions, could pull the public’s eyes away from where you didn’t want them to look.  Rumors could be twisted, words shifted, perspectives spun until the tales fit the needs that they had – and that was when it was dangerous – and while George had understood the potential damage idle gossip could cause, it had taken him far too long to realize how deadly they could be.

But that was an issue of the capital, a place where battles were waged with words.  It wasn’t something he should need to keep an eye on out here, where they were fighting an actual war.  He wasn’t an idiot, of course.  He’d kept his ears open just in case – there was no sense in being reckless – but with most of the soldiers and army affiliates focused on more life-threatening tasks, there wasn’t enough motivation or energy leftover to pursue the petty battle tactics of nobles.

Which was why George was so confused when he heard the latest rumors spreading throughout camp.  Confused, because they obviously weren’t true, but they had managed to pervade most of the camp with the utmost sincerity, the soldiers swearing up and down that it was accurate, that they’d seen it with their own eyes.  Usually George would expect that sort of behavior from the individuals that had kindled the rumors themselves, but to hear it from so many different sources meant that at least half of them thought they were telling the truth, meaning they had witnessed something that had granted enough courage to spread the rumors onward, but it didn’t make any sense.

That was why he was certain someone was trying to fuck with him.  Someone who was jealous of his adoption into the Essempi family, or jealous of the connection to the royal family, to the Wastakens and Las Nevadas.  It seemed to be the only reason since the rumors centered around two individuals he cared about greatly in camp – that he was visibly connected to since he roomed with both of them in the same tent.  Honestly, the fact that there weren’t more rumors surrounding the three of them – three sons of three very powerful families in one place – spoke of just how intimidating the weight of their families were.  No one was going to bother with idle speculation, not when it could come back to bite them, not when they were already risking their lives in a war.  There was no point in inviting extra dangers.  But this- this.

It was obviously an attack.  Some snooty noble was presenting these soldiers an opportunity to make some quick silver – somehow sniffing out the best actors among them so George would become distracted by this utter nonsense, which seemed overcomplicated, but the only other option was that the rumors were true.

And that, quite frankly, was impossible.

There was no way Dream and Sapnap had become friends.  Or, according to the rumors, even more than that – something around the area of best friends, based on how the soldiers went on.  Friendly ribbing and declarations for the other to look after themselves, threats should they fail to do so.  The soldiers were gobsmacked, easily excited and overwhelmed at the prospect of the longest running rivalry between the knight ranks coming to an end.  Those that hadn’t seen refused to believe it but other soldiers were adamant, insisting that they wouldn’t have come around either had they not witnessed it themselves.

It was stupid, and George was determined not to get involved.  It was stupid, and dumb, but-

By lunchtime, George had come up with yet another potential motivation for these rumors.  Because he’d realized – when he’d taken breaks between muttering his agitations at whichever noble would try to distract him with such obvious falsities – that a direct result of these rumors seemed to be a significant uptick in morale.  After all, if Sir Dream and Prince Sapnap could set aside their differences to focus on the war and in doing that, find a way to bond with each other, could start something good after something so awful, what was to say the rest of them couldn’t?  Their upper officers were getting more in sync, were focusing, and that set off waves of enthusiasm and comfort throughout the ranks. 

George was certain that whoever had arranged for this little exercise hadn’t intended for that particular consequence, except-

What if that was the goal all along?

War was difficult, you had to take what wins you could and Dream and Sapnap – while George’s unquestionable idiots – they did have a few hints of common sense between them.  It was entirely possible that they’d developed this scheme with the intent of putting the army in the best possible mindset that they could.  If that was the case, George was certain now more than ever that he needed to reward them.  If they’d done this – and it seemed like the most probable option – then they deserved all the treats and praise for being so thoughtful.  It would hurt their pride to do this, but they did it for the greater good.  They did it because it would help, and while George had been growing frustrated with both himself and his subconscious nowadays, he could throw that agitation aside in favor of his pride.  Because he was so, so very proud of them. 

So proud, in fact, that he’d created a block of free time where previously there was none in his schedule, and while he should be working, he wanted to see them, damnit.  He could take some time for himself just this once, to see how his precious little protectors were doing.  To see them in action and give them his admiration and appreciation where he’d normally hold back.  If they were taking risks, there was no reason he couldn’t as well.  They were literally fighting for their lives every day, if George wasn’t honest with his affection towards them now, when would he do it?  When it was too late?

No, that was entirely unacceptable so George moved on, abandoning the administrative tent and searching for Dream and Sapnap, purposefully seeking them out for the first time since this war had started.

It earned him more than one double take, soldiers startling in his wake.  He rarely deviated from his schedule, so he was being exposed to workers he didn’t normally see, who more than that, didn’t normally see nobles, let alone those connected to the royal flock, but George had no time for them.  He kept his head held high and his clipboard tucked under his arm as a plausible cover story – the emperor’s tent his supposed destination.  This time, though, he was aiming for the training fields.  The major shifts would be done by now, leaving the area deserted for private training time, and Sapnap and Dream would likely be making use of it.  As little as they liked each other, there were few others that were as good a match for either of their advanced skills.  With Skeppy back home and Punz looking after his own squadron, with Hannah on the complete opposite schedule – they would have no choice but to turn to each other, and when better to spread more morale-boosting rumors than with some friendly sparring?

George would see them in action himself, and then he would make a determined effort to finish his work in some kind of reasonable manner so he could spend the evening with his friends, and maybe- maybe they could get on the topic of rewards.  He knew they both enjoyed having their egos boosted.  There was no reason to worry that it might stray to an area that might muddle their friendship.  George would be in control, and he would keep it platonic.  But it would be nice to have that touch of contact, even if he was just rubbing their shoulders.  He missed cuddling with Jack in bed at night, even if now he was- with his strange dreams and urges –

They would likely vanish when the stress of war was done, George was sure.  They’d only manifested because he was lonely and restless, and once he wasn’t, he would regain his usual composure.  It would be fine.

It would all be fine.

He approached the training fields carefully, sure to wind his way between the different collections of tents, using them as cover.  He didn’t want anyone to see him coming, wanted plausible deniability – he was taking the long way to the emperor’s tent supposedly, but he could use the excuse that he was searching for General Technoblade if he really needed to, and-

It was impossible to miss Sapnap at a distance with his bright, fully-manifested blaze features, and it was difficult to miss Dream with his stature as substantial as it was, leaving him looming over most other protectors.  The mask he wore, while it did its job admirably, did little to help him fade into the background. There was no missing them, and for George, there was no missing Dream’s disposition mask or not, for he knew the other protector’s moods like the back of his hand.

And here and now, the other protector was happy.  Unquestionably so.

They weren’t even fighting when George spotted them, the two of them taking a water break as they leaned against the fence that partitioned the training area from the rest of the camp.  Dream had one hand buried in Sapnap’s hair, ruffling it in a manner that should have Sapnap squawking, but instead the prince was leaning into it like he wanted more, despite the pout pulling at his lips.  Dream pulled his hand away, and Sapnap lowered his head, only to butt it against the taller protector’s shoulder in a blaze hybrid show of friendship and contentment, and Dream replied to it by tossing a casual arm around Sapnap’s shoulders, his head thrown back in a laugh that Sapnap echoed with a bright and victorious grin – the look he wore when he was celebrating the success of his joke.

George drew to an abrupt halt, his heart tensing in his chest.

He understood the rumors now.  Understood why the soldiers were so confused, then so elated.

This, he knew without question, wasn’t an act.  It wasn’t fake. 

This was real.  They were really friends.

The get-along cot had worked, George thought somewhat hysterically.  And that was- that was great.  That was amazing.  He was glad, honestly, that these two had found friendship with each other, he’d always thought that they’d be great friends.

He watched as Sapnap leaned against Dream, whining at him for something or other, and instead of shoving him off Dream held him close, and even with the mask in place George knew he was wearing an expression of fondness, one that said he would be treating Sapnap to something he wanted soon, and it was- this was good.  They had a good thing in the middle of a war, that was great.  George could ask for nothing more.

He just wished that maybe he could be a part of it.

Because he wasn’t, was he?  They were together and happy and thriving for who even knew how long, and he was-

They didn’t need him.

They didn’t need him to be this happy, not like he needed them, or Jack, or Eret. 

George – as he’d suspected years ago when he had cornered Dream next to the school library – wasn’t needed.

They were fine.  They weren’t secretly aching at the schedules that kept them separated.  They weren’t being torn apart by internal dilemmas, they were just stupid and idiotic as always, stupidly wonderful and idiotically bright as always, a combination that didn’t and never had needed the addition of one George Essempi.

Suddenly, George couldn’t remember why he was here at all, what he’d been attempting to achieve.  He’d discerned the news for himself, it was true, but no rewards needed to be given.  After all, why should he intrude on a dynamic that was already so solid, so perfect without him?  He would only taint it, would only make it worse, and George-

He was a proud individual at the end of the day.  He would be no one’s obligation.  No one’s pity acquaintance.

Before he could think on it too much he turned on his heel and fled, shoving himself back towards a place where he was useful, where he was wanted and needed.  He would figure out where to move from there, but he had a feeling that it would be in the most productive path as possible.

He was George Essempi.  He had no time for friends or distractions.  They were at war, and he would do his family proud.  And in the meantime, he would shove his feelings into a small box where they wouldn’t hurt him, because he didn’t have time for such distractions. 

He only had time for work.

Chapter Text

Jack’s first instinct upon completing their rest was to write a letter to George and Connor – a proper one, not just him trying to pretend everything was okay – one that covered the things that had happened while asking their opinions on how he should proceed.  He knew Connor would be antsy because he always knew when Jack wasn’t being himself, and unlike every other time this occurred, he couldn’t gently coax Jack into coming clean to him – and maybe that made him feel helpless, maybe that made him feel bad, maybe that distracted him and maybe that sent Jack into an itty-bitty panic attack that Skeppy calmed him down from, reminding him that while Connor had likely been worried, it was also Connor they were talking about – Technoblade’s heir and apprentice.  It would take a lot to shake him up.

“If anything, he would use this as motivation to end the war faster,” Skeppy offered, his grin fond because Jack’s first protector really was the best. “In as safe and efficient a manner as possible, because he knows both you and Technoblade would have his head if he didn’t.”

Jack wouldn’t because Jack loved Connor to pieces, but he could admit he’d be somewhat upset if Connor got himself by rushing into things without a plan.  Sort of like how Connor would be upset when he heard Jack had been losing weight because he’d been pushing himself too hard. 

Whoops.

He could explain it, though.  Explain the nerves and fear and anxiety that had kept him from sleeping well and completing a proper meal.  He could promise to do better, promise to start his treatment up again, and apologize profusely for breaking the very few rules Connor had given him before he left.  Jack had certainly grown bold indeed if he’d felt comfortable enough to break rules – something he wouldn’t have possibly conceived even a few months ago.  It just went to show how desperate he was that he would disregard his brother’s care. 

Well, no more.  Jack could ask for a punishment for breaking the rules – he knew Connor would come up with something reasonable.  If anything, he would give Jack even more rules to follow, but this time he would listen to them.  Because they were Connor’s way of showing his love, and they made Connor feel more stable, like they could separate, instead of proving all the reasons why Jack couldn’t be trusted to be alone.

Oh.  Jack had betrayed his trust.  That wasn’t a good feeling at all.  In fact, he maybe hated it.

He hadn’t been able to think of that implication in the moment – he’d felt so helpless and alone, so desperate.  He hadn’t meant to- and he could explain that too, would explain that too, because he knew Connor would listen. 

It helped that he had Bad and Skeppy to bounce ideas off of while he wrote his letter, something he had to do from the comfort of their bed because Skeppy had been right about Bad wanting to keep them cuddled inside it.  He’d burst into the room after Skeppy had rang for a tea cart, tears in his eyes and expression crumbling upon seeing them, breaking out into soft sobs when he crawled onto the bed, and though it was obvious he wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around them, he still held back, still asked if it was okay, because if it wasn’t, he’d leave.  He’d hold back even if he wanted them, and he wanted to hold them because he cared for them, he loved them.

Bad and Skeppy – they were family too.  Cousins, maybe, where Connor was a brother, but in light of that revelation Jack realized he wanted nothing more than to have them close.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Bad cried into Skeppy’s hair as he held them, Jack cradled carefully between them. “I’m so sorry, I’m sorry- I hate this, I shouldn’t have- I should have just said no, let them have the adoption without the coronation, then maybe you would have been safe.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Skeppy said, his voice soft. “We still would have been vulnerable; you would just have had less power.”

“I still hate this though,” Bad sniffed, his body gripped with a few soft trembles. “I knew this was going to happen, I just thought they’d target me.  I was so prepared for them to target me; I’d braced myself for it.”

“And that was why they didn’t do it,” Skeppy said. “Everyone knows when you’re looking for breaks in the amor that you don’t go for the places that have been fortified.  You find the spots they were trying to pull focus from, that they don’t emphasize.  You hit there because you know that’s where it will hurt most.”

“I know you’re being rational and strategic right now but I really, really hate it,” Bad said, his voice wet with emotion.

“On the bright side, I doubt it will ever get this bad again,” Skeppy offered, nuzzling Jack’s hair and giving him quiet reassurances that it was okay to cuddle into Bad, because sometimes Jack got scared it might not be, and somehow Skeppy always knew.  It made Jack wonder how it’d taken him this long to realize that they were family.  Serious pack. “This is just the death throes of Schlatt and Boomer’s faction.  They’re desperate and they’re throwing together what little strength they have to lash out at the crown.  It’s not something they can maintain, and once it proves ineffective, their entire group will crumble into nothing, leaving their leeches to either be arrested or abandon ship and take the significant blows to their pride and social rank – their houses’ powers diminished while gleeful opportunists swoop in and take what they can, though I’m sure most of them are going to be disappointed when Phil comes back.  I’d bet almost anything that he’s going to take those assets and award new noble titles before he’ll ever disperse anything among the existing houses – he likes rewarding his soldiers and army support professionals, it’s what earns the empire such loyal citizens.”

The way he talked so casually about Phil returning – like it was a certainty, not something that was tentative – was a large comfort.  That entire explanation made Skeppy sound so much like his usual, confident self – the one that wasn’t overworked and put under constant stress of having to maintain a pleasant and poised façade under the gazes of critical nobles.  It was just Skeppy – their Skeppy – and Jack loved him for it.  Loved Bad and his endless wells of affection and care, because he wouldn’t hesitate to give up his crown if he thought it would make their lives better.

It was love, not selfishness.  Jack wanted George and Connor’s lives to be better because he cared about them, Bad wanted the same for him and Skeppy for the same reason.  People could feel that way about Jack too.  Could be pushed to the same extents.

It was a bit humbling, but mostly Jack felt warm, which after so many weeks of cold was a welcome change.

He felt warm when they cuddled him, warm when they helped him write his letter, making it a team effort so he could properly articulate himself, to break the news as best he could without underselling it, because it had been bad.  They needed to know how bad it’d been, that he understood that, but they also needed to know that he was recovering from it with Skeppy.  That they could get to a place where they might feel more comfortable.

The tea cart had sat abandoned in the sitting room for a good while by the time they’d finished the letter, and yet Quackity and Eret were still waiting with it by the time they emerged from the bedroom to retrieve it.

“We can leave, if you need,” was what Quackity said first, his expression broken in a way Jack hadn’t been able to read as anything other than pity before. “We just wanted to see you.”

Without the poison of the other aides ringing in Jack’s ears, the blaze hybrid could see Quackity as something other than an unattainable ideal he was no doubt disappointing every day.  Without their words turning Jack, he could see the dark bags under Quackity’s eyes, the feathers that weren’t as groomed as usual.  He could see the flaws Quackity had, because even if he was a bearer, he wasn’t perfect. 

Jack could see that he was just as scared and sad as they felt, and that was a difficult thing to grapple.

What was easier was the love in his gaze.  The care Jack had been ignoring because it felt like he hadn’t deserved it.  He hadn’t earned it.  But his worth was- it was inherent.  Connor had told him that.  Ponk had told him that.  Jack didn’t have to prove himself and he’d forgotten that because he’d been scared.  Because it was easier to have something to fight towards than it was to sit back and do nothing while the people he loved risked themselves. 

He wondered if Quackity felt that way too.  If Eret and Wilbur felt like that.  He knew the pups were restless sometimes – were even they affected?  Were they all in the same boat?

It seemed that way, based on Quacktiy’s less-than-polished disposition.  Based on the shades Lord Eret kept in place even though he was among family, even though none of them cared what his eyes looked like.  Connor said when he did that it was because he cared what they looked like, like he was ashamed of them which was sad, because Jack always thought they were pretty.

In light of all that, there was really only one response Jack could have made – or at least, one reaction he couldn’t have hoped to stifle, all the emotions he’d been holding at bay hitting him in a thunderous tidal wave.

“I’m sorry,” he crooned, reaching out towards Quackity with desperate hands. “I’m sorry, I-”

They met in the middle in a graceless tumble, Quackity lowering him to the ground while releasing a steady stream of coos and purrs. “No, baby – no, it’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

“But I- I did that.  I chose to do all that.  To be mean and break rules.”

“You did the best you could,” Quackity soothed, nuzzling the top of his head. “You haven’t even been free for a year yet.  You made a mistake, that’s something everyone does.  You messed up but you know that and you – we- we’re all going to do better going forward.  But I’m not mad at you.  Not when they pushed you to that, not when they- whatever the fuck they said, whatever bullshit they spilled- none of it was true, sweetheart.  We love you so much.”

“Q-Quackity,” Jack gasped, trembling even when he felt the others join their pile, until they were all huddled together. 

There was a word he dared not say, one his instincts begged for but it wasn’t appropriate, he didn’t have any right- but no, he didn’t- he didn’t have to earn it.  It had already been given, even if it felt too good to be true. 

He swallowed hard, then chose – much like Connor and George – to take a leap of faith.  To be brave.

“Mum?” he whispered, terrified that he’d overstepped.

Quackity froze and Jack shuddered, apologies waiting on his lips, trapped thick on his tongue as they waged war with each other, all surging forward at once, but then Quackity was cooing – pleased and bright and so very happy.

“Yes, baby?” Quackity said, a wet laugh rife with a clear fondness carried in his tone. “What is it?”

“I…” Jack’s throat felt thick again, and he was so tired, so hungry – they’d evaluated so much that evening but there was a thought, one that wouldn’t shake, and he had to follow it, he needed to ask now or he might never do it. “I just- I don’t know why you picked me.” Quackity froze – surprise more than shock – and Jack elaborated. “When I came with you.  You didn’t have to claim me as part of your pack.  I could have just- I was just a worker.  I just came to work.”

It was a lie actually, but one that was such a fundamental part of Jack’s being that he didn’t feel guilty for saying it, not when some allowances were inherent. 

When he really dwelled on it – not that he often did because Jack tried to look towards the future rather than be held down by his past – Quackity really did get the raw in of the deal.  Back then, Jack had been fighting hard to pass for normal, then ultimately failed, gave up, and surrendered to being what he was – a survivor who wasn’t anything close to conventional.  He had a lot of baggage, and while they’d stated multiple times that they were deeply grateful for his presence, he couldn’t help but be confused.  Not by their patience in helping him address it – that they did because they were decent, because most decent people would have done that.  It was a surprise to him because he hadn’t met many decent people in his life before, but that was just what they were like.

He understood the help; what he didn’t understand was the pack thing.

Quackity had initiated that early on, and while Jack had always insisted on keeping it a vague connection to play it safe with his own feelings, Quackity had always seemed confident in his decision.

Jack managed the courage to meet Quackity’s expression, not wanting to miss a single nuance, even if he wasn’t the best at reading people.  He needed to know, if only to understand.  If only to satisfy a nagging curiosity so he could focus his efforts on other things.

“Oh, Jack,” Quackity murmured, his voice soft and so full of love it made Jack ache. “Of course I had to pick you.  I knew you were one of mine when I first met you.  When you – terrified and shaken and so worn down by the world – pushed through all that hurt just so you could look after Tubbo.  Just so you could make sure I wouldn’t hurt the son of someone who had been terrible to so many people, because that didn’t matter to you at all.  You liked Tubbo because he was Tubbo, and when I saw that I knew you were someone I wanted to keep by my side for the rest of my life, someone I wanted to guide and protect and care for, if only you would let me.”

The words – frank as they were – hung in the air, though Quackity didn’t duck away from them.  They were his, and he never said anything he didn’t mean.  He was straightforward like that, to the point, and Jack-

Sobbed, because he was terrible at letting people look after him.  He didn’t know how to do it.  He’d gotten better at it with Connor and George and Dream, with Bad and Skeppy, it was just- hard, because it was so much easier to get hurt.  It was easier to rely on himself for his own happiness even if he wasn’t that good at it.  It seemed so much better than putting his fate in other people’s hands.

But they only wanted to help him.  To love him.

To take care of him the way a family would.

“It’s hard,” he gasped, tears burning in his eyes, lungs heaving from the exertion of spilling the secret that everyone here already knew. “It’s so hard.  It’s so hard.”

“I know, baby, I know,” Quackity soothed, petting his tears away. “You don’t have to believe it right now.  You don’t have to trust it right now either – we can prove that to you in time.”

“But you’ve- you’ve already- you haven’t betrayed me,” Jack gasped. “Why am I still like this?”

“Because a few good months don’t erase decades of pain,” Lord Eret said, his voice soft. “But you don’t have to feel guilty.  Our love is unconditional, it will be there regardless.”

“We’ll work to earn your trust,” Quackity picked up, gaze fond. “Because we love you, and that’s what you do for the people you love.”

Jack sobbed, then sobbed again, leaning greedily into Quackity’s chest.

And Quackity – who was not perfect or unattainable or distant – who was simply himself the way Jack was simply himself – the sum of his experiences and hardships and hopes combined into a resilient and hope-filled person –held him close, held all of them close, because they were a family and they were not alone.

~:~

Things got easier after that in a way that had seemed all but impossible.  Jack was used to hard work, he'd accepted it, maybe even relished it because it was familiar.  It wasn't healthy though – the perpetual drive for it – and he knew there was more than one person to whom he owed an apology, more than one bridge he needed to put the work in to repair, because even if he'd been grieving and scared and doing the best he could, that didn't change the fact that he'd caused pain and distress – however minor it may or may not be – and he had to be accountable for that. 

It was fortunate that his family was so understanding.  That they were willing to accept his apologies even if they didn't necessarily have to.  They didn't owe him a second chance – something Jack had learned from Ponk, but that was in reference to individuals that were considered toxic, that made no effort to improve or learn from their mistakes.  The fact was, they were all imperfect, they were always going to mess up and hurt each other.  As a family the best they could do was learn how to pick up the pieces and build long-lasting systems that would help them recover and move on. 

All of this was information Jack knew, that Ponk had been kind enough to give him because Jack always felt better when he was armed with information, but it was also information he'd been ignoring.  Or rather, information he'd been too stressed to properly manage.

It was okay now, though. They could make it okay together. 

Quackity confirmed this when Jack shakily explained his need to apologize to the others, guilt eating at his gut. "We can call them in, but could you eat something first?"

'Could', not 'would'.  Quackity wasn't making a request, he was checking to see if Jack was in a place where his stomach might cooperate with him, see if his nerves were being kind.  It was a helpful prompt, one Jack hadn't considered because he'd forgotten to register his physical state in the wake of his emotional stress, and when he did, his stomach felt very, very empty in a manner in which he was no longer accustomed.

"Food, please," Skeppy said upon hearing Jack's stomach give a fierce growl. "I could use some mug soup if that's alright."

"And cookies," Jack said, thinking of the staple that Connor swore up and down by, that needed to be included in every meal regardless of time or occasion.  Connor was at war so he couldn't eat any, but Jack was certain that the hedgehog hybrid would be annoyed if Jack didn't take advantage of the comforts at his disposal and enjoy them on the protector's behalf. 

When he got back, Jack was going to bake him and George cookies every day.  Every day, because they would be back and safe and sound; every day so they could know how much Jack loved them. 

Skeppy let out a small laugh like it had been startled out of him, but he seemed pleased for it. "You heard him," he said, hugging Jack close with a rumble that was beginning to sound steadily less raspy. "We require cookies."

"You'll get them," Quackity said, his gaze warm and bright. "I think we could all use a pick-me-up, to be honest.  A proper tea party. Or rather, an improper one."

"Proper ones are overrated," Eret offered, prompting a pleased rumble from Bad, and just like that they relocated to their suite's sitting room, the servants delivering carts with fresh tea and a variety of cookies, and Jack wanted to cry but mostly he knew Connor would chastise him for not appreciating the offerings while he had them, so he made a note to tell Connor about it in his next letter, did that and enjoyed soup he didn't have to struggle through using a spoon for.  Bad made a determined effort to cradle both Jack and Skeppy in his lap, letting them cuddle together while he released Peacekeeping purrs that seemed to be just as much for him as it was for them.  He nuzzled their shoulders and pressed fresh rolls in their hand, shivering when Quackity nuzzled his arm with a comforting purr of his own, when Eret pressed in close on his other side.  They were all grieving in their own way, all missing the ones that were not here, and this was- it was easier to manage that loss when they were together.  So much easier than when Jack had been trying to make it alone.

He'd been foolish, but he'd do better now.  He could learn. 

There was soup and meat pies and cookies and tea and cocoa, wonderful cocoa that Jack had missed, and by the time he was on his second mug they received the company of Ponk and Duchess Wastaken, something that had made Jack tear up all over again.  Not enough for them to fall though – he was too tired for that – but the emotions were there, and the duchess would hear none of his apologies. 

"These are trying times," she soothed, one rough hand cradling his cheek. "It would be unfair of us to presume perfect behavior from you when a good deal of those you hold dear are at war."

"But you miss them too," Jack whispered. "Your sons- and I didn't make it easier."

"You did the best you could," the duchess said simply, holding him close. "And now we shall do better."

He liked the sound of that – doing better. 

Ponk didn't need apologies either, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile as he accepted the cookies Jack passed him. "Setbacks are an expected and natural part of therapy.  Life is unpredictable, my only goal is to give you the tools to best manage it." 

It was what he'd always done, what he would always do, but also-

"We're friends, right?" Jack asked, somewhat desperate. "It's okay if we're not, but I need to know if I- I'm just-"

"You're not just a job to me," Ponk said, his voice soft. "You're someone I admire very much.  Someone who I want to help as much as I can because you'll fight for it.  You want it, and you're ready to put in the work." He tilted his head, smile stretching lopsided underneath his mask. "In light of that, I think it might be impossible for me not to like you." 

"Oh," Jack said, bamboozled. "I'm sorry I doubted that." 

"I should have emphasized it sooner," Ponk said. "But in the future, you can always ask me if you need clarification or reassurance.  It's better to ask and know for sure than to assume the worst and let it fester." 

Jack could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd done that, but it'd just seemed so obvious.  They made it seem so reasonable.

He supposed that had been the point. 

He set up new appointments to catch up and address the newest developments and then was surprised with a visit from Secretary Sam, who came in armed with a stack of folders and a small grin on his lips.

"I'm glad to see you're doing better," Duke Sam said, offering Jack a bow of respect. "We've finished rearranging and consolidating our office space for the foreseeable future.  To prevent future security leaks, me and Quacktiy's team will be sharing a space and workers." 

That was- a lot, but what Jack got from that was- 

"We'll get to work with you?" Jack asked, tugging the cloak that he'd never got around to returning closer to him.  It belonged to the secretary, and he'd been afraid that the creeper hybrid would take it back, but the protector made no moves to do so.  If anything, he seemed pleased with Jack's attachment. 

"If you're comfortable with it," the secretary replied. "It will be a limited aide pool – only those that have been verified and secured will have access to our office.  All of them have passed mine and Lord Eret's inspection, though final authorization will be up to you and Quackity."

"No more working with people who make you uncomfortable," Quackity declared, his voice firm. "No matter who they are or what their connections may be." 

"But-" Jack began, overwhelmed with the responsibility.  

"You deserve that consideration," Duchess Wastaken said gently. "You're a member of the royal flock, and you've been greatly wounded." 

"Skeppy can help make the choice too," Quackity said. "If you'd like."

"I'd like," Skeppy said, smiling wide. "If I'm not doing publicity stuff anymore, can I help you guys and Bad?"

"In moderation," Quackity said, and that seemed to be the running rule nowadays, but Jack was glad it applied to everyone – at least, proportionally.  Because the truth was, some of them could handle more than others.  It was frustrating, but it was simply where they were nowadays.

"You're diverting energy to things they don't have to consider," Ponk had said when Jack had mentioned his new schedule, something that seemed much smaller than Eret's. "You're still working hard, you just have to put your focus on other things he doesn't.  It wouldn't be fair for you to have to do that and a pile of paperwork." 

That, Jack couldn't really argue with.  His therapy sessions definitely felt like work, he couldn't say he wasn't exhausted from it, but Quackity was good at making sure all of them took breaks, that all of them got rest even when the tension in his shoulders pulled steadily tighter – and that was from Wilbur, Jack knew it was from Wilbur – but aside from that-

Aside from that, things seemed to be okay, and that was nice.

~:~

Jack didn’t meet their new work team until the next day, after a leisurely breakfast where the pups crawled all over them, enjoying the treat that was additional company.  That morning, Jack had Prince Tommy in his arms, the small blond excitedly creating waffle sandwich abominations for them to share.  Jack would have thought he’d feel somewhat listless without Tubbo, but the goat pup was sitting next to them, safe in Skeppy’s lap as they egged Tommy on, at least until Tubbo began building an abomination of his own, and then Skeppy was on a desperate but ultimately futile quest to mitigate his efforts.  On Skeppy’s other side, Ranboo was perfectly behaved in Bad’s lap, munching on orange slices as he held his stuffed cat close, his focus across the table on his brother, Fundy slumped in a ragdoll-like objection while Lord Eret and Quackity worked together to clean the smears of chocolate off his face.

It was so good Jack didn’t know how he could stand it, so good that he gladly ate whatever Tommy gave him, because it was full of love-love-love and maybe a lot of sugar, but he was able to distract the small avian with scrambled eggs that had vegetables safely camouflaged with cheese, and he could take satisfaction in the fact that even though they weren’t all here, he could still do okay.  They were allowed to be happy.  They were allowed to live.

It was what his protectors would have wanted from him.

They bid the pups ado, shooing them off towards their own basic training (a loosely structured thing ostensively to teach them the fundamentals that’s main objective was to burn out all excess energy so they could sit still for their lessons) before heading to their new and improved office.  In the time Jack had been away from it, the room had been rearranged – desks removed and work tables relocated.  It gave a sense of newness, of a fresh start and Jack liked that, liked the idea of starting over.

He held Skeppy’s hand as Secretary Sam brought in the three new aides, and though Jack had already reviewed their files and had a good idea what to expect, he was still somewhat nervous.

He didn’t really need to be, though.  He’d already met Ant before, as the cat hybrid was a close friend of Bad and Skeppy.  Tina was just as bright and bubbly as Ant was, and Jack could admit that he liked the fact that they were both cat hybrids.  Even if they weren’t like George, it was close, and that in itself was a comfort.

“Hello!” Ant cheered, soft brown hair and bright blue eyes gleaming in the warm glow light of the room. “I’m glad we get to work together!  To reiterate, I’m Sam’s head assistant.  I started off as an admin assistant in the law offices, but wanted a challenge, so I transferred over to Infrastructure years ago, but I still keep up to date on everything.” He shot them a wink, his grip warm and unhesitant as he pumped Jack’s hand up and down in a few enthusiastic shakes. “Sam likes us to have as many skills as possible.  Anything to help the empire.”

“But enough about him,” the second cat hybrid – the Tina about whom Ant so often complained – burst, white ears twitching playfully in her brown hair. “My super cool boss Foolish is way more awesome-”

“They cover completely different things,” Ant huffed, looking put out, but in a way that made it seem like they’d had this conversation many times before. “Sam does redstone – you know, the thing that’s vital for our-”

“I’m Tina!” the white eared cat hybrid continued, as though she hadn’t heard Ant at all. “And I’ve been going stir crazy without Foolish around!  All major projects are on hold with the war going on, so I’m eager to do paperwork and stuff!”

“It’s not stuff,” Ant sniffed. “It’s very important-”

“And over there’s Josh!” Tina continued, shooting Ant a wide grin as though to confirm she could hear him just fine, she simply didn’t care to give him acknowledgement. “He might look intimidating, but he’s a Manifold, so you know he’s solid.”

Jack pressed his lips together, gaze sliding over towards the last aide that entered the room, the one for which he’d been most nervous.

Josh of the Manifold pack was a respectable protector of noble descent, belonging to a march that had supported the crown since the establishment of the empire.  His personality profile marked him as thoughtful and reserved, on the quiet side for a protector, but a thorough and responsible worker.  The Manifold family was a small one, with only himself and his grandfather – the current Marquess – to its name, but they were just as powerful as Technoblade or Pete, and with their history of loyalty long proven, no one would so much as consider trying to bribe or manipulate any of their members into doing something they shouldn’t.

On paper, he seemed like a wonderful addition to the team, save for one glaring thing.

He was a blaze hybrid.

A proper one, like Sapnap.  One with fully manifested traits – bright and plentiful scales, glowing eyes, firm horns, and retractable claws.  He looked to be a powerful one as well, and all at once Jack found his earlier reservations – the ones he’d held against Sapnap – crashing into him with a fierce ruthlessness.  Josh wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t trusted, he wouldn’t be here if the others hadn’t already approved him.  He wouldn’t be here if he was mean, and he’d probably already seen Jack at a distance.  If he didn’t think much of him, it was unlikely that Josh would make his displeasure known, it was just- conceptually-

Jack paused, blinked when his trepidations melted away in the wake of Josh properly entering the room.  If anything, he would have expected himself to be even more anxious, but he just- there was something about him. 

Good, his instincts said, taking in Josh’s small smile. Friend-good-protect-protect.

That was- alright, he’d go over that with Ponk later.  For now, though, Jack took in the pleasant well of comfortable feelings that manifested upon locking eyes with Josh, and then, with Secretary Sam’s cloak still clutched close, he found himself crossing to the other blaze hybrid.

He heard Skeppy trail after him, but Jack ignored that in favor of following his instincts.

“Um.” Josh cleared his throat, managing a small, awkward wave.  It seemed almost funny, considering the fact that he was a full head taller than Jack. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Jack greeted in Blaze and then, before he could really think about it, he leaned forward, something that Josh seemed to mimic on instinct until they were safely bumping their foreheads together in the softest of headbutts.

Oh, that was-

Yes, Jack liked that.

“Mine,” Jack informed him, giving Josh’s elbow a light squeeze when he straightened. “My baby.  I’ll protect you.”

Josh froze, his pupils dilating as he fell into his instincts, throat bobbing in a swallow. “I um- I think it’s supposed to be the other way around.”

“My baby,” Jack reminded him simply, because he knew this in his bones.  He didn’t know how, he just did.  Josh was his, and it was Jack’s job to protect him. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Josh agreed, making Jack pull back with a wide smile.

Good.  Great.  Everything was going perfectly.

“Hey, um- what just happened?” Skeppy asked, reminding Jack that he was, in fact, still present.  That there was- oh, there were others there.  Right.

Well, no matter, that just meant Jack could share the good news faster.  And he liked everyone there too.

“He’s my baby,” Jack explained, motioning towards Josh. “I’m going to protect him.” And then he frowned, because his flame wasn’t nearly strong enough yet and he wasn’t as good with his weapons as he’d like and both of his protectors were missing- “Wait,” he said, considering Skeppy with a tentative hope. “Will you help me protect him?”

Skeppy, who seemed confused, blinked, then melted into a look of fondness that made Jack’s instincts sing. “Of course,” he said, like it wasn’t even a question. “My sword’s always at your disposal.”

“Thank you!” Jack couldn’t hold his enthusiasm back, couldn’t help but throw himself at Skeppy, pulling him into a tight hug rife with purrs before he turned back towards Josh, taking his hands and tugging him low so Jack could nuzzle and comfort him the way his instincts knew he was supposed to. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured, scratching the tips of Josh’s ears. “You and Tubbo and the other pups and Quackity – you’re going to be safe.”

“Safe-safe-safe,” Josh rumbled, leaning happily into him.

Jack was vaguely aware of the others watching across the room, but he didn’t really mind.  They were all good too, even the new ones, because they’d been approved.

“I did not foresee this turn of events,” Secretary Sam said, formal and understated as always.

Beside him, Quackity seemed torn between pride and confusion, with pride and happiness ultimately winning out. “That’s my boy.”

That was- he meant Jack.  He was proud of Jack.

Jack was wanted.

Chapter Text

It took a few hours for the immensity of Jack’s actions to fully sink in – hours away from Josh, because when he was with the tall Manifold he was practically on cloud nine, his bearer instincts kicked as high as they could possibly go, needing to make sure Josh was safe and cared for and happy.  Jack wasn’t completely gone, he could still do his work – his focus had simply been split, and he’d been a lot happier, if somewhat (entirely, completely) protective of Josh.

It wasn’t until they had separated for the day that Jack began to come out of his instincts, though even that had been somewhat of an ordeal seeing as neither Jack nor Josh wanted to part with each other.  It took Duke Sam swearing that he would see Josh safely home and confirming that the Manifold estate in the capital had the latest and best security measures before Jack loosened his grip enough to let them be pulled apart, and even then Skeppy had to carry him away, back towards their suite with Jack protesting all the while.  He pouted angrily in their room, rearranging his makeshift nest and giving Bad the coldest of shoulders until Skeppy delivered the pups unto them and then it was better, much more manageable because Jack had to help them with dinner, and then Quackity let him help with their night time routine and then Bad and Skeppy were coaxing him back towards their own suite to wind down for the night, to get comfortable, and Jack was flipping through the recipe book Duchess Wastaken had gotten him, contemplating what cookie recipe he might try next, when the weight of his actions slammed into him.

“Oh my god,” he said, recipe book forgotten when he felt his rational mind settle back into place, allowing him to review the events of the day with the same pragmatism that allowed him to survive so many hardships. “What was that.”

“Aaaaaand you’re back,” Skeppy said, setting aside his mug of tea as he clambered to his feet. “Do you want cocoa?”

“Can we get Ponk?” Jack asked, because he saw no reason not to make up for lost time when he had no idea what was going on.

“We’ll get Ponk and cocoa,” Skeppy compromised, and that was what saw all three of them in their private sitting room, Jack cuddled between Bad and Skeppy when Ponk strolled in with a tray of cocoa and cups for them all, along with a large platter of cookies.

“You’ve made a lot of friends in the kitchen,” Ponk explained with a smile as he started passing out cups, and Jack was glad for it, because cocoa had always meant good things for him, because he was safe and secure and needed to focus on himself, focus on that controllable instead of everything else. “So, what happened?”

Skeppy gave a rundown of the situation from his outside perspective, Bad filling in with what he’d noticed when he’d finished his princely duties for the day and was tasked with corralling a grumpy, in-instinct Jack.

“I can’t explain it,” Jack admitted when it got to his turn. “I thought I’d be scared of him, but I saw him and I just- I knew I was supposed to protect him.  I don’t know why or even how, I just knew it was going to happen come hell or high water.” He turned so he could hide his face against Skeppy’s arm, the golem hybrid releasing a comforting rumble as he coaxed his fingers through Jack’s hair, weaving gentle patterns. “Do they know I’m a bearer now?”

“Thankfully, no,” Skeppy said, nuzzling the top of his head. “That secret’s still safe.  They think it was a blaze hybrid thing and I let them run with that assumption.”

“It could very well be a blaze hybrid thing,” Ponk said, looking thoughtful as he considered his clipboard. “Josh is younger than you, and as a bearer your instincts will always coax you to protect pups.  They could have slotted Josh into that category, connecting the two of you because of your blaze heritage.  It could be why he responded to you positively, acknowledging and accepting your claim.”

“But I didn’t get that way with Sapnap,” Jack pressed, taking a slow sip of his cocoa to settle himself.  Wherever Josh was, Jack hoped he could get as much cocoa as he wanted. “And he’s younger than me too.”

“I think that has more to do with how you met Sapnap,” Ponk explained. “He was part of the team that rescued you from the warehouse, correct?” At Jack’s nod, he continued, “When you first met him, he was in a position of authority over you – a strong, competent, and fully realized blaze hybrid.  At that point in your life, he would have been perceived more as a threat than anything else, and then he became a source of unease for you.”

“That’s true,” Jack allowed, thinking it over.

“It wasn’t until you felt stable that it became easier for you to interact with Sapnap,” Ponk continued. “Contrarily, with Josh, you already had a stable support network.  You’re in your territory, secure, surrounded by friends and allies.  It’s a completely different mindset.  Maybe that’s why you connected with him on such a fundamental level.”

“But he’s an adult,” Jack said, embarrassed just to think about it. “Even if he is younger than me, he’s an adult, and a noble at that.  He doesn’t need me to baby him.”

“Your instincts clearly don’t agree with that,” Ponk said, his voice gentle. “How much do you know about the Manifold family?”

“Just what Secretary Sam told us,” Jack said, conscious of the way Bad tensed beside him. “That they’re an old bloodline that’s always been loyal to the crown.”

“And all that’s true,” Ponk said, his expression neutral. “They’re also one of the smaller Marquess families.  They always have been, but a couple decades ago they suffered at the hands of a political attack – coordinated by the same people who were also responsible for the deaths of Philza’s parents.”

“Even we heard about it in the Nether,” Bad whispered, shifting closer to Jack’s side. “That’s how bad it was.”

“Most of the family was annihilated,” Ponk said, making Jack’s heart twist with an aching sympathy. “You’ll notice that most noble packs have branch families – offshoots that spring from siblings or cousins that guarantee a perpetuated line.  The Manifolds, however, seemed to be struck with a curse of having only one child per generation – at least until the current Marquess’s daughter broke it.” Ponk smiled then, a small thing that stretched the fabric of his mask. “She had three children.  Two sons and a daughter.”

“But there’s only Josh now,” Jack said, the pain in his chest intensifying. “And his grandfather.”

“That’s right,” Ponk said, his expression rife withs sorrow. “The daughter and older son were killed with the parents, leaving only Josh and his grandfather behind.” Ponk pressed his lips together, considering his clipboard. “Even if they are close, blaze hybrids tend to have large, sprawling families.  Josh and Sapnap are exceptions to the rule, really.” He turned his gaze towards Jack. “Josh lost most of his family when he was very young.  There’s a chance that your instincts sensed that and reacted accordingly – righting the wrong that they saw.  Even if Josh has a strong relationship with his grandfather, being a marquess and managing the march of one of the most powerful families in the empire would have been a time-consuming job.  Especially considering how vulnerable they must have been after they lost so many of their family members.  That would have been when most rival families would strike, and while the Manifold family is still thriving, that makes it probable that Marquess Manifold wasn’t able to spend as much time with his grandson as either of them would have liked.”

“So I saw a need and I filled it,” Jack said. “My instincts wanted me to step up so I did, because no pup should hurt.”

“That’s my best guess for what happened,” Ponk allowed. “It’s understandable to be confused by this response, but I don’t think it’s anything you need to worry about.  If anything, I think this will be a healthy connection for both of you.”

“But I was closer to being entirely driven by my instincts than being my normal self.  Isn’t that… not healthy?”

It was something Ponk had said before.  Even if it was natural for hybrids to fall into their instincts from time to time, especially when they were overwhelmed with large emotional responses, doing so long term might lead them into going feral or surrendering to their instincts entirely, with no hope of return.

“It isn’t when they’re negative instinct responses,” Ponk allowed. “But these are positive, and I think as time goes on and the more exposure you have to each other, the easier it will be for you to not fall into your instincts.” He smiled. “I think this is significant progress for you, Jack.  You have a tendency to be somewhat insecure when it comes to the connections you already have – that your instincts felt comfortable enough to claim someone new, especially in a protective capacity – and a stranger who you’d been worried about as well – that’s amazing.  I, of course, am not surprised, but I think you should be proud that you felt comfortable making that step.”

Jack felt his cheeks flood with an embarrassed warmth, and he wanted to hide his face again but Skeppy ducked his head and pressed their foreheads together instead, letting out a comforting rumble of proud-proud-love that made Jack shiver in contentment. 

He cleared his throat when he was able to pull away, taking a sip of his cocoa to buy himself some time, and they let him, giving him a moment to collect his thoughts.

“You don’t think it’s a distraction, do you?” Jack asked tentatively, hit by a new worry. “Focusing on a new problem since it’s something I can help with, something I can do instead of feel helpless?”

Because then it wouldn’t be nearly as noble or worth feeling proud about.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” Ponk said, and he sounded so confident it wasn’t fair. “Partly because you’re not that sort of person, and partly because if you were looking for a distraction – as sensitive and defensive as you are towards your pack, you’d likely focus on one of them rather than helping out someone new.” He cocked his head to the side, gaze fond. “When you met Josh, you couldn’t help but claim him, not because you needed that distraction, but because that was an injustice you felt needed to be righted.  Bearers are sensitive to that sort of thing.  Honestly, if you hadn’t acted, there was a good chance Quackity would have, but now he doesn’t need to.”

“Because I have it covered,” Jack said, a small protective burn heating deep in his gut at the thought of others trying to step in where they weren’t needed.  At least, not yet.  Jack knew he would be grateful for his baby to have more allies, that could only benefit him, but they had to know-

He was Jack’s baby. Jack’s.

And if that was what their instincts wanted then he was going to respect it, embrace it, because he was done fighting them.

~:~

The hope that Jack’s intensity towards Josh would fade the more they were exposed to each other proved to be a slow-moving plan.  One minute, Jack was totally in his right mind, feeling calm and settled and contented after seeing the pups off to their lessons, the next he was running across Quackity’s new joint office so he could pull Josh into a hug the moment he entered, the other blaze hybrid eagerly meeting him halfway.

“My baby!” Jack purred, remembering all at once how they’d been forcibly separated and it had been awful and he hated it and how dare they do that to him, how was he supposed to protect Josh if they weren’t together? “Baby-baby-baby, good-safe-happy?”

“Hello, hello,” Josh rumbled against his shoulder, eagerly returning his hug. “Good-good-safe, elder happy?”

“Very happy,” Jack cooed, stroking the back of Josh’s head.  What a thoughtful baby he had. “Good baby.”

Josh simply rumbled contentedly in response.

After about ten minutes of hugs and cuddles Jack allowed them to be separated, mindful of the fact that they both had duties to attend to.  Still, he was certain to make sure Josh had plenty of snacks, that he was comfortable, and if any new runners entered their space to take their documents off wherever they needed to go, Jack was always by Josh’s side, glaring them down until the interlopers left, taking satisfaction in a job well done when he saw that his baby was safe and sound.

“Safe-good-safe,” Josh offered with a bright grin, returning Jack’s headbutt the way he always did. “Elder safe?”

“Elder has many protectors,” Jack soothed. “Very deadly.  Many connections.”

“Good-good-good,” Josh rumbled, looking proud of Jack’s success.

As he should, Jack was very impressive.

There was one worrisome moment when one of the cat hybrids seemed to tense during Jack’s administrations, but when he’d turned his full attention on them it had vanished, Jack only earning smiles as well as a thumbs up which meant good, so Jack was probably being a bit too protective but no one yelled at him so he was allowed to strut his caretaker stuff, which was the very best.

Parting that day didn’t go much better than it had the day before, nor did it go well the day after that.  It took three days for Jack’s instincts to understand that Josh would, in fact, keep coming back and that he was safe at his house before the bearer conceded with any sort of grace, but in his defense, Josh didn’t want to part with him either, often whining when Ant and Tina dragged him down the hall like the jerks they were, the tall blaze hybrid shooting glances over his shoulder that Jack had to smile for because he didn’t want his baby to be sad even if Jack would rather Josh be by his side than by himself in the Manifold estate.

Stupid rules.  Why couldn’t they keep Josh at the castle?  Didn’t they know he was Jack’s baby?  Shouldn’t that count for something?

But no, they didn’t want to cause any stress for the Manifold family that had already lost so much, didn’t want to give the Marquess Manifold anything to worry about.  He needed the comfort of knowing his grandson was safe at home too, so Jack tried not to be too bitter about it, even if it was stupid.

It wasn’t until the fourth day when he gave Josh what had become their customary greeting of cuddles and head nuzzles that he felt his less-instinct driven self seep back in after he was sure his baby had been properly welcomed, a steady chant of happy-happy-happy ringing in the back of his mind as he looked upon the other blaze hybrid.

It was there, with his hands still cupping Josh’s face, where logic, reason, and decorum let themselves be known.

Oh.  Right.

“I’m sorry,” Jack said, pulling his hands away as he felt his cheeks burn with a furious blush. “For all of this.  I really don’t- I mean, we sort of have a guess as to why, but I’m sorry if you don’t feel comfortable with it.”

“I do, though,” Josh said before Jack could spiral into panic.  He seemed just as bashful as Jack but he kept his gaze on the bearer’s, never ducking away. “I am comfortable with it.  And if it helps, I’m just as confused, but uh- ultimately grateful.” He slid into a wide smile. “And honored.  Thank you, for all of this.  It’s been really nice.”

Oh.  Oh, he- he didn’t have siblings or parents.

And Jack didn’t either – or, he hadn’t either, but then he got Connor and it had been so, so nice.

Maybe that wasn’t what he had with Josh, Jack couldn’t replace the family he’d lost, but if he could be Josh’s Connor, Jack thought that would be amazing in itself.

“I’m glad,” Jack said, and he found that he meant it with every ounce of his being. “I’m really glad.  And you-”

“I’m really glad too,” Josh cut in, smiling wide as he took Jack’s hand. “So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep the hugs and nuzzles and the- that stuff.”

The bonding stuff.  The family stuff.

“I can do that,” Jack said instead of good.  Instead of damn right, you do. “Let me know if I overstep.”

“So long as you let me know the same,” Josh said, and it wasn’t the same relationship Jack had with his other protectors, what he had with even Dream and Sapnap but it felt just as meaningful, just as good, and it wasn’t a betrayal to enjoy it while he had it.  Because if the tables were turned – if George or Connor made new friends on the warfront and felt guilty about it, Jack would feel sad, because he wanted them to be happy, just like they wanted him to be happy.

He’d know more in a few days.  The letter should either have arrived or would be arriving that day, depending on where they were in Manburg.  He would be hearing back from them soon, but he wouldn’t panic.

He trusted them.  He knew that even if they were mad or disappointed they wouldn’t be done with him, so he held onto that.

~:~

George wasn’t avoiding his friends, he was making himself useful, which required him to be places in which Dream and Sapnap were not.  If he received the added benefit of not having to talk to them – or rather, continuing not to talk to them as he already hadn’t been talking to them since they were at war and not going on holiday or whatever, they were busy – then that was fine.  If anything, that was great.

George wasn’t- he wasn’t hurt or anything.  He knew that lingering on things which were beyond his control was a stupid and useless pastime and as such, was not one he had any intention of entertaining.  Reality was what it was.  His family had neglected and berated him.  It’d happened, it sucked, and while he was still addressing a bounty of issues that resulted from that intentional cruelty, he sure as shit wasn’t going to belabor it when he had other things occupying his attention.  So what if Dream and Sapnap were friends now?  So what if they hadn’t told him of this unquestionably large development?  He wasn’t their keeper, he wasn’t their alpha or something, they didn’t owe him anything.  He would have thought that Dream at the very least might have tried to reach out to him for something this grand, but perhaps they weren’t as close packmates as George had assumed.  Perhaps it had been the Duke and Duchess that considered George family more than Dream did, or maybe not, and George was misunderstanding the obligations family had towards each other.  He had a skewed frame of reference, he understood that.  He was more than familiar with participating in a pack that blatantly ignored all aspects of communication, he’d simply thought Dream was better than that.

He tried to give them the benefit of the doubt, of course.  Perhaps they were waiting to see if it was a fluke.  Perhaps they didn’t want to get George’s hopes up.  Perhaps they were waiting to see if they could perpetuate their friendship for the long haul because they were thoughtful, because they knew how much strife their stupid rivalry had caused George over the years – guilt and frustration and annoyance bundled into a bitter pill he’d repressed the hell out of.  If that were the case, George could understand their reluctance to approach him.  They were at war, they had other priorities, they likely assumed George had other priorities too and they didn’t want to distract him with something possibly frivolous. 

In that way, they were quite thoughtful, it just-

George knew what he’d seen and the rest of the soldiers seemed to know it too.  The other two protectors weren’t just kind acquaintances, they were friends, good and proper, they had an ease to each other that made George’s chest throb in ways he’d rather not discern, that he actively avoided thinking about, because what good could it bring him?  George gave them a day, then two – sticking rigidly to his opposite schedule and making no further efforts to seek them out, and the rumors didn’t diminish.  They didn’t fade; if anything, there were more believers, and more than that-

He saw them once, walking with General Technoblade.  George wasn’t even sure they were paying a scrap of attention to the piglin hybrid – both protectors seeming more occupied in a play fight that had Technoblade openly chuckling, which meant he knew, which meant Foolish and Philza knew too, which meant that everyone in the pack George was supposedly a part of knew and George didn’t know shit. 

Perhaps it had slipped their mind – they had plenty of other things going on, but no, they knew George was here.  They knew that he was the one, for the longest time, that had connected them together, that had even caused the two of them to meet.  It had been George that had arranged for that, so why would they disregard him like this?  Why shut him out?  Was it a joke to them?  To see how long they could go on before George caught on?  Did they want him to confront them over it?

It seemed needlessly cruel, which meant at the end of the day, he knew what their motivation was.

They didn’t need him anymore.  They’d discovered they were better off without him, that things were easier without someone who was perpetually grumpy and had difficulty communicating his feelings and articulating his inner most thoughts and they’d moved on without him, bonding over their laidback personalities.  Their older flockmates likely didn’t know that George was unaware – he was certain that Foolish – who loved gossiping and was so very desperate for it in light of his seclusion to the emperor’s tent – would have spilled something to George by now at least if he’d known that the cat hybrid was ignorant.  George had to believe in their kindness, at least.  He didn’t know if he would be able to carry on with any kind of efficiency if his new family turned out to be as neglectful as the last one.

So – avoiding.  Which he wasn’t doing.  He was working, and if he happened to work for as many hours as he could before one of the senior staffers sent him away, if he only ducked into his tent to freshen up and change uniforms when he knew for a fact that Dream and Sapnap weren’t present, if he occasionally slept under his work table because who were they to pull him from his codes, that was his own business.  They didn’t know how important his work was, or the extent of it.  He was his own master, and he would use that fact to keep himself safe from the likes of nothing, because he wasn’t avoiding anything.  He wasn’t validating the truth they almost certainly discovered, about how pleasant it was without him.  He was just surviving, it was all that he could do with each day that dragged on, to the point where he avoided going to the emperor’s tent if he could help it.  There was no point in inviting excess trouble.

It was a suitable plan of action, at least until the one person he couldn’t avoid if he tried decided to track him down, literally tackling George into an unoccupied supply tent with the quick efficiency George had long come to associate with the man.

“Why are you never in your tent?” Connor complained, looking wild-eyed from what could only be lack of sleep. “I’ve been trying to catch you in private but you’re never at your tent.”

“I’m busy,” George huffed, extricating himself from the hedgehog hybrid’s hold (and Connor graciously allowing it) with an annoyed flick of this tail, George smoothing out his uniform with a few careless flutters. “What do you need?  I thought you were supposed to be on a raid.”

“It was a scouting party,” Connor corrected absently, his gaze narrowed in displeasure. “And I would be there had I not received this.” He shoved a folded up note towards George’s chest, scrawled with Jack’s familiar writing. “I’m going to guess you haven’t checked your mail yet.”

George’s stomach dropped. “I haven’t been by the emperor’s tent lately, no.” And the crows wouldn’t bring it to his tent when they had Foolish as an alternative.  Their blatant favoritism was too strong to ignore.

“Yeah, that’s something we’re going to talk about later,” Connor said, and with the other protector it was never a request, but an inevitability that George should come to terms with as much grace as the situation would allow. “Read up, buttercup, this one isn’t pretty.”

“Fuck,” George cursed, chest filling with ice as he read over the letter, and it was-

He understood Connor’s displeasure now.

“Fuck,” George cursed once more for good measure. “Fuck.  Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Connor drawled, a default boredom that George had learned masked his true intentions. “Those were my thoughts." 

"Of-fucking-course," George hissed, running a hand through his already frazzled hair, so far from his usual cool and collected disposition.  It was a good thing he'd already had his breakdown over failing to live up to expectations before the war even started or else he'd be adding that onto his already full plate of personal baggage waiting to be unpacked. "I hate this."

"Me too, but he needs us to respond to him," Connor said, a verbal reminder to keep them both on track.  It was clear in his gaze that he was strongly contemplating abandoning his post and running through the Nether to deliver some form of justice and reassurance in the defense of Jack.  The fact that he was still here was a remarkable show of strength and a laudable sense of duty, especially considering how unnecessary Connor saw his presence in the war in the first place, for all that he was making a name for himself as Techno's heir.  There was no longer any confusion as to why he'd been selected or to his competence and capabilities – which was the sort of reputation that couldn't be bought, but George knew that was hardly a comfort to the hedgehog hybrid, who would have gladly lived in confusion and obscurity in the eyes of the public for as long as Techno would have let him. 

"He wants you to give him a punishment," George murmured, the very thought of it making him ill. 

"And he'll get one," Connor said, his gaze hardened. "He'll have to attempt to make at least five different cookie recipes before we come back, and pick a craft of his choice and never worry about perfecting it.  He'll have less hours in his lessons – that includes both school and etiquette – and he'll have a set bedtime that he better share with at least one packmate of his choice."

"We could make him keep a diary of his day," George suggested quietly. "So we have something normal to look forward to.  Emphasize the need for a mental escape and the desire for a connection to him.  He doesn't have to give us every little detail, he can still have privacy-"

"But anything more than what he's currently giving us will be a vast improvement," Connor finished with a knowing nod. 

"I hate this," George reiterated, as though Connor was not just as filled with loathing, with a sense of helplessness.  George understood his duty, he would commit to it, he knew this was important, but the parts of him not dictated by logic wanted nothing more than to be by Jack's side.  The blaze hybrid had been doing so well and now he had to recover from this disastrous blow on his own.  They could offer nothing but words of support that he might actually read now, and the rest of their pack might know to look after him, but that was George's job.  George had been chosen to protect, and now he was doing it in the broadest sense of the word, protecting the entire empire which by extension protected Jack, but that also included the opportunistic snakes who thought they could take advantage of a national state of emergency for one last pitiful attempt to recover power and control when they'd thrown their lot in with the losing horse.  

It was yet another blow for which he was unprepared to handle, but like every other unfortunate curveball life had brought him, George would deal with it. 

It was all they could do. 

"Me too," Connor murmured, commiserating.  He looked more exhausted than George had ever seen him, and for all that he perpetuated an air of boredom and disinterest, George knew that at his core, Connor cared just as – if not more – deeply for their peacekeeper than George could ever hope to understand.

Perhaps more than he could ever hope to emulate, considering his minimal success with emotional intimacy.  Perhaps Jack would be better off without him too-

No.  No, that wasn't a decision George could make on Jack's behalf.  He'd read the letter; he knew that Jack cared for him just as much as he cared for Connor.  George couldn't let go of that.  Couldn't give up without properly talking it over with Jack.  And maybe that was something he should do with Dream and Sapnap too, but that was too much on top of everything else, George couldn't handle it.  Handle how they were together, how happy they made the people around them.  George knew he'd never be able to imitate such an act, that such positive feelings would never stem from him, and here he was, bemoaning his own insignificant issues when Jack was hurting back home. 

"Hey." There was a light bap to the middle of his forehead, and belatedly, George realized that Connor had flicked it.  Like he was a naughty toddler or something. "What the fuck’s wrong with you?"

"We're at war," George sniffed, slamming his walls back into place.  He'd gotten lax in the presence of his packmate, of the protector with whom he most greatly related, the two of them bound by the same peacekeeper. "And Jack-"

"You're getting lost in something else up there and I don't like it," Connor said, always one to cut straight to the point. "You have to take care of yourself, George.  If we don't get back to him in one piece he might shatter for good, and I can't look after you the way I want to – and I do want to, because for all the shit I might give you, you're my brother's protector."

"Wouldn't that just make us all brothers?" George asked in a panicked effort to buy himself distance from that statement. 

He and Connor didn't really do this, discuss who they were to each other without Jack factoring into the mix. 

Connor simply met him with the same no-nonsense stare he'd worn for as long as George had known him. "You know it's not the same," he said, implying something that made George's heart twist because there were only a handful of relationship implications between a protector and their charge and all of them were intimate, and if they weren't family, that generally implied something else.  Something that George had never considered with anyone, mostly because he'd considered himself utterly unsuited for it. 

"Do not panic over this," Connor ordered, and George was grateful for the instruction. "You already knew it." 

George sucked in a sharp breath. "I didn't-"

"Don't insult my intelligence," Connor said with a deceptive lightness. "Don't insult your own.  You can't tell me your subconscious hasn't picked up something." 

At once, George felt all the heat in his body decide to rush to his face with a betraying ruthlessness that left George with no cover to hide behind.  Those dreams – the ones he'd been getting in his sleep- but he'd been getting them about Dream and Sapnap as well, and that was just- so obviously- where did that even leave him?

"Don't panic over this," Connor reminded him. "You already knew it." 

"The hell I did," George whispered, heart beating furiously in his chest. 

"You could only live in blissful ignorance for so long," Connor replied, giving a lazy shrug.  Easy, as though they were discussing the weather and not a development that would affect the life of a delicate peacekeeper that George greatly held dear. 

"Why aren't you upset by this?" George said with a surprise burst of energy.  "Aren't you worried about him?  Would he even want that?  Is he ready for it?"

"I don't know," Connor replied simply. "That's something you'll have to work through with him, but as for being upset – no, I'm not." He held George's gaze, seeming as immovable as a mountain, containing a quiet sort of ferocity that could declare to the world why Sir Technoblade had selected him and him alone to be his apprentice. "You never would have been chosen as his protector if I'd thought you could do any kind of substantial damage.  He never would have interacted with you, never would have met you – I never would have taken that risk.  Jack and I – we were put together by chance, by Wilbur's need to keep Quackity close – and while I had doubts on my ability to be a proper protector to him, I can say that this is one choice that I'll never regret making.  It made my life better, and I was certain it would – and has – done the same for you.  Has done the same for Jack." Connor reached out and rested a hand on George's shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. "You're a pragmatic individual.  You're practical, not inclined to flights of fancy.  It's what makes you such an invaluable aide to Eret, but it also seems to make you view yourself in the harshest possible light.  You and Jack are a lot alike that way – constantly underestimating and devaluing yourselves.  You might not see it but I do, alright?  You're amazing, and together you and Jack are going to do great things.  However you decide to do it, I know both of you will be safe and respectful, will come out the other side as best you can, and at the end of the day, that's all a guy can hope for his family." 

"So we're family?" George laughed, a certain heat stinging in his eyes. "Are we brothers?"

"Brother-in-law, I hope," Connor said, shooting him a wink while George choked on nothing. "Or maybe not, but ultimately, you and I- yeah, we can be brothers." He knocked his knuckle against George's forehead again, gentle and grounding. "We're family, no matter what happens."

"Terrifying."

"Yeah, I know," Connor chuckled, low and deep. "There's no escaping me now.  Not that you ever really stood a chance."

"When you say stuff like that, you sound like Technoblade."

"Au contraire," Connor countered with a wag of his brows. "Techno sounds like me."

"I think he'd have a thing or two to say about that."

"We can contemplate that on our way to my tent – we need to write an adequate response to our Jack." 

"Yes," George murmured, heart warm as he dwelled on the thought of our Jack – he quite liked the sound of that. "Let's do our protector duties."

"Finally," Connor huffed, and even in all this, no matter what happened or as little as George saw him, the panther hybrid remembered he was not alone.  Like it or not, Connor would always be by his side. 

Because they were family. 

Chapter Text

As comforting as it was to have a new routine, to not worry about lessons and having the added connection of Josh, Jack was still somewhat antsy as he awaited a response from his protectors.  He’d read all the letters he’d stockpiled with Skeppy’s help, guilt twisting in his chest when they reviewed George’s multiple pleas for more information, the panther hybrid trying his best to get a clearer picture without pressuring Jack.  Connor was substantially less tactful because he knew if he gave Jack an inch of wiggle room the bearer would make a mile out of it while gleefully sprinting off into the distance.  It made Jack wince because yeah, Connor wasn’t going to be happy when he responded.  He was already angry to be stuck on the warfront – Jack’s brother had made his opinion on that abundantly clear.  Made it obvious that Jack came before all other duties for him, that he’d known how hard things were going to be and he was doing his best to get the war finished so their family could be together again.

He’d be disappointed but he’d also be fair, Jack knew they’d both be reasonable, but even that knowledge wasn’t enough to combat his restless anxiety. 

In an effort to make both himself and Josh more productive (not that they weren’t when they were together, they just had a tendency to focus on each other’s needs, Josh just as determined to ensure Jack had cookies and safety as Jack was for him), Jack was gently coaxed to assist Sam with his paperwork.

It had been awkward at first.  The last time Jack had interacted with Sam on a one-to-one basis, Jack had cried all over him before passing out, and Sam – who was a firm ally to Quackity – had been kind enough to cradle him close, going so far as to allow Jack to keep his cape, something that Jack still used as a blanket to this day, at least when he wasn’t wearing it.  At this point, he sported the clothes of others more often than he wore his own – wearing a mixture of Bad, Skeppy, George, and even Dream’s daywear (the last sent in a care package from Duchess Wastaken).  It both hurt and helped, reminding him of the ache of their absence while prompting the subtle reminder that one day they would return, and when they did, they’d see how cute he looked in their clothing, how dedicated and loyal he’d been.  That staved off a portion of his anxieties – the knowledge that they wouldn’t have allowed or encouraged this privilege if they didn’t care for him, but still, Jack found himself lingering close to Duke Sam more often than not.

He did his work, of course.  There was no point in Jack being present if he didn’t help, he just- he was struck with the urge to cuddle near the creeper hybrid again, to ask for more of his clothes which was just grossly inappropriate.  Duke Sam was married, wasn’t he?  He wore a ring, at least, but no one talked about him having a partner, so Jack had never brought it up, especially since the secretary had been kind enough to help Jack last time because Sam was Quackity’s friend, but the creeper hybrid wasn’t known for being that demonstrative.  That was a rare exception, not the rule, and Jack shouldn’t be disappointed by that.

He was listless, fidgeting with his papers as he organized them, painfully aware of how much of a nuisance he was being, which in turn made him even more distracting.  He wanted to apologize or check on Josh, or check on Tubbo, but mostly Jack wanted to focus, to help, and if George present, this would be the point where he’d suggest they take a walk or maybe have an early lunch, or he’d reassign the work to some of the other aides with a roll of his eyes because they were always slacking as far as he was concerned, and the thought made Jack want to laugh and it also made him want to cry but he’d hear from George soon and things would likely be fine and-

There was a rumble, low and comforting, and Jack was stumbling towards it before it was a coherent thought.  He vaguely registered Sam holding open his arm, but that was enough of an invitation for him, enough for Jack to plaster against his side with a quiet “Worried-worried-worried,” in Blaze.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Secretary Sam rumbled, just as solid and strong and reliable as before. “Do you want me to pick you up?”

“Please-please-please,” Jack cooed, giving a few shaky nods.

He was lifted, and from anyone else that might be scary but from Sam it was okay because Jack knew the creeper hybrid wouldn’t drop him, even though he was very tall and could raise Jack very high and it would be funny.  He wouldn’t though, and Jack could bury his nose near his scent gland and take in the comforting smells of lime and gunpowder and feel as contented as possible. 

Yes-yes-yes, this was better, this was much better.

“Is everything okay?” That was Skeppy, back from a paperwork run and sounding worried and Jack didn’t like that, he didn’t want to worry Skeppy, not when he was fine. 

So he managed the effort to lift his head, turning until he could lean over and give the golem hybrid a gentle headbutt, something that startled a small laugh out of him.

“Good-good, I’m good,” Jack assured him in Blaze. “Protector keeps safe.”

“I think he just needed a minute,” Duke Sam said, and then, as though one of his arms was not being entirely wasted on a fretful blaze hybrid, he continued his drafting, allowing Jack to drift alongside him.

It took half an hour for Jack to calm down and when he did, he was embarrassed.  Mostly because he had bothered Secretary Sam – one of the most powerful and vital individuals in the empire.  He sat propped against the creeper hybrid’s hip, the secretary easily continuing with his work as though he were unburdened, everyone else kind enough to ignore the shameful display but it wasn’t- it wasn’t shameful and Jack wasn’t useless.  This was just what he’d needed to do right now, and Duke Sam had understood that.  It was why he hadn’t yelled at Jack or pushed him away.  Why he’d encouraged him closer.

Still, Jack couldn’t help but feel bashful.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured when he felt like he was as settled as he could get. “Thank you for your help.”

The secretary paused, blinking as though he hadn’t expected Jack’s coherence, then smiled. “I’m glad you’re doing better.  Would you like me to set you down?”

No, Jack’s instincts urged, the blaze hybrid holding on tighter, then sighing as he tried to loosen his grip, his face flooding with heat.

“To clarify,” Secretary Sam continued while Jack faced that internal conundrum. “As a protector, I’m honored and pleased to help you like this.”

“Wait.” Jack blinked. “That applies to you too?  The holding smaller hybrids thing?”

“It applies to all protectors,” Sam replied, and while Dream had explained that, Jack had just- he’d thought that maybe some protectors – the older ones that were of higher status, that were refined and mature – wouldn’t be interested.

But even Secretary Sam got something out of it.

“So this makes you happy?” Jack asked, sure to keep his voice quiet. He didn’t want to force Secretary Sam to accidentally share private information that he otherwise might not, but it felt of vital importance to clarify such tidbits at that moment.

But the duke seemed unbothered. “Of course,” he said, like it was that easy. “But you don’t have to humor me if you’d like your mobility back.”

“I’d like to stay, if that’s alright,” Jack murmured, even though he felt that Sam knew that much.

And yet there were no knowing, mocking looks.  Only a grin before Duke Sam went back to his work, and Jack nuzzled close to him, taking in the scent and presence of safe-safe-safe.  Now that he was more coherent, he could help some – steadying the paper when Duke Sam needed it, passing him tools and pencils, steadying rulers.  He realized that despite what Ant had said on that first day, Sam wasn’t working on redstone so much as drafting normal buildings, and Jack was pleased to realize that he understood what the secretary was working on. 

They held onto a companionable silence as they worked, even when Quackity had stopped to check on them both, Jack leaning down so they could nuzzle their foreheads together, Quackity letting out a pleased trill before he returned to his own work.  Despite the solid comfort of Sam's presence, Jack was worried about Quackity too.  The duck hybrid had just lost most of his aides, and the ones he had left he had to share with Sam.  Jack wasn't helping him the way he should – he couldn't – and he could see that was beginning to take a toll on the elder bearer, however little he may acknowledge it.  Still, Quackity always smiled whenever Jack looked his way, even when he began to look more harried and stressed. 

When he bit at his bottom lip, feeling torn, Sam had released a comforting rumble, something that made Jack melt against his shoulder. 

"It will be alright," Sam murmured, knocking the sides of their heads together in a light bump. "He knows his limits."

"No he doesn't," Jack whispered back, because if there was anything he'd learned in the time where he'd attempted to be productive on his own, it was that bearers were terrible at judging that sort of thing. 

"He has to learn them on his own," Sam amended. "Some lessons can only be realized through experience.  But he has us in the meantime." He gave Jack's side a soft squeeze. "We will be there for him when he needs us, just as we were there for you." 

"I wish I could do more." It felt like the running trend of this war – the constant battle with uselessness. 

"You're doing plenty by taking care of yourself," Sam murmured. "That's how it works with packs.  As hybrids, we can't be strong all the time.  There will be moments when we fumble, when we fall – that is inevitable.  It is expected." 

"But your pack will pick you up," Jack said, putting the pieces together.

"Exactly." Sam nodded. "And in turn, when your packmates fall, you'll help them rise." A small grin pulled at his lips. "When it comes to packmates, you take turns being strong.  We're all going to have moments where we're weak and when we'll need our packmates' help, and that's why it's just as important to take care of yourself.  You look after yourself so you can be strong when Quackity needs you." 

"Oh." Jack hadn't thought of it like that.  He liked the idea, though.  Knowing that it was okay for him to be weak, that they were all going to be weak at some point made him feel less guilty about it.  Life was unpredictable, they never really knew what would happen or how it would make them or their family feel.  The best they could do was take care of themselves and be there for each other. "You're really smart." He nuzzled the secretary's shoulder. "Your pack must be strong for you to know this much."

Sam tensed, making Jack remember Connor's warnings about assumptions, but then the creeper hybrid was relaxing – or forcing himself to relax – releasing a comforting rumble just to soothe Jack's anxiety. "Unfortunately, the Awe family is a small one," Sam said, his voice tinged with the slightest hints of sorrow. "I had a brother, but I lost him." 

Jack tensed, his gaze going wide. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, devastation crowding his heart at the thought of losing Connor, while Sam actually had lost his brother.  He had no words to accurately express his sympathies. 

Sam's expression was neutral. "It was a long time ago.  I've always thought that if Doc were still around he would have been Secretary of Infrastructure over me." A small grin pulled at his lips. "If you think my redstone's impressive, you should see his.  It was revolutionary.  Worldbreaking." 

"You loved him very much," Jack noted, because that was easy to see in Sam's gaze.

"Yes." The creeper hybrid didn't deny it. "It was easy to love him.  Be proud of him.  He was a real rascal.  He was supposed to be the next head of my family.  He would have been a great one, the best one.  I was ready to help revolutionize the empire with him." His gaze shifted back towards his papers, though that didn't hide the pain lingering inside. "And now I'm alone.”

Jack couldn't think of a thing that was much more terrible than that, couldn't think of a fate more unjust for such a steady, dependable protector.  One that was so kind and understanding.  And there were so many that weren't out there in the world.  Jack felt like he'd met most of them.  There were plenty that lacked sympathy and kindness, plenty that only sought to protect themselves, that could care less for the attachments or betterment of a pack.

Sam was not one of them though.  Of course he wasn't, he was decent.

Jack hugged him tight. "You could be my family," he murmured, wondering if the offer was too bold.  It might be enticing from a bearer, but it was probably impertinent from a perceived peacekeeper. "If you wanted."

Jack wasn't sure what Sam would be to him, his instincts didn't have a clear read – but an uncle would be nice.  Maybe an older cousin.  He wasn't sure, but he knew he'd be lucky regardless what happened.

Sam tensed, and Jack was about to apologize – he'd gotten too lax, too comfortable, he'd pushed for too much – but then Sam was releasing a low rumble of pleasure, one so firm that it turned more than a few heads. 

"I'd like that," Sam said, sounding somewhat clumsy, like it was an effort to wrap his tongue around Common once more. "I'd be honored." 

"Good,” Jack said, his face feeling hot but heart mostly full of comfort-comfort-comfort. "Me too." 

Sam let out a soft laugh. "Doc would have liked you.  He would have built you so many things."

"You can do that instead, if you'd like," Jack offered. "I think he'd like that too." 

"You might be onto something," Sam hummed, but it was lighter, happier, and that was really all Jack needed. 

They all had their own burdens to bear, their own struggles – but pack, that was something they could decide for themselves.  They could choose their packs, and when they had one, they could depend on them.  Right now, Jack wasn't at his strongest, but he could get there.  He'd do his best to look after himself, and if Sam or Quackity or Josh or any of the others stumbled, Jack would be there for them, just like they were there for him.  Until then, he'd be patient with himself. 

Because he deserved that much.

~:~

After that, it was easy to work with Sam.  He was family, after all, and Jack had long since learned not to be afraid of his family.  Jack had asked if Sam wanted to fill out formalized paperwork, or even an informal document because things could be complicated when it came to noble families and pack dynamics.  Right now, Jack was a son of the Quackity family, a ward of Las Nevadas.  Filing formal documents would link the Quackity and Awe families together in a binding way, which wasn't bad for them, exactly, but might be another possible point of stress for the other nobles still dealing with the shifts in power with the loss of Schlatt.  Considering the blow to the royal aides' department just this week due to the targeted attacks against Skeppy and Jack, there already seemed to be enough changes without throwing yet another curveball into things. 

Sam and Jack decided an informal document would be best, something just for themselves, but Jack was sure to tell Bad and Skeppy about it, and also Ponk, who thought it'd be a good idea to bring Sam into one of his sessions to properly talk things out.  Seeing as Jack had also adopted Josh as a younger hybrid in need of his protection that week, there were a lot of new and prominent developments occurring for Jack in a short period of time, and Jack agreed that it would be best to discuss them. 

"You don't have to be pack with everyone you like," Ponk had explained in their one-on-one before the big session – or rather, one-on-two, as it was all but guaranteed that Jack would spend most of his sessions in the comfort of Skeppy's lap – who also got something out of it because he was protecting Jack. "I'm not saying this to dissuade you, of course.  At the end of the day, your instincts know what's best for you, but since positive relationships are a relatively new development in your life, you don't have as much experience with different levels of connections – from acquaintances to friendships to colleagues and pack." 

"I understand what you're saying," Jack said, because this was something he'd worried about as well.  He'd been concerned that his instincts were latching onto all the extremely positive connections in his life and declaring them pack from a need to keep them close, but the more time he spent as a free person, the easier it was to assuage those concerns. "But it's not like I want Puffy to be my aunt or anything, and I spend a lot of time with her." 

He liked her a lot, respected her, and of course cared for the one who looked after the pups so regularly, but he didn't feel the need to claim her as pack. "I like Pete too, and Ant and Tina, but they're just..."

"Friends?" Skeppy offered, continuing his quest to rub soothing patterns against Jack's scalp. 

It was a quest Jack had no intention to discourage ever. 

"Right," Jack said. "We're friends.  Nothing more, nothing less, but Sam is... I don't know, I've always liked him." 

Granted, Jack was intimidated by him as well, but the creeper hybrid had visited Quackity's office frequently once the older bearer had integrated into the castle.  Sam had helped Quackity with Schlatt's investigation and subsequent additional sentencing, and while they didn't take as many social visits as Quackity did with say, Duchess Wastaken, there was still an easiness and inherent trust there.  Maybe the fact that Sam had been there for him in a desperate hour made Jack more attuned to him.  Maybe the fact that Sam was alone the way Jack had been struck hard at his instincts.  He didn't know the reason why, all he knew was that he liked Sam, that his scent and presence were comforting, that he was smart and kind and patient, and that was all Jack cared about. 

"Well," Ponk began, scribbling something on his clipboard.  Jack suspected he was just doodling sometimes.  It was something Jack did on his own clipboard when he was talking to people he didn't like.  Connor had taught him that trick, it was great. "Like I said, if it feels right to both your instincts, that's what matters." 

"It does," Jack said, which was something they confirmed later when Sam and Bad joined them, Sam seeming utterly unbothered by the amount of company they had. 

"I'll support this," Skeppy began, eying Sam carefully. "But only if you promise professional stuff won't get in the way of your pack.  If he ever becomes a casualty of your duties, I don't care who you are, you're toast." 

"Skeppy," Jack hissed, because for all their conversation, he hadn't expected Skeppy to be the one to put up a fight. 

"Jack, you don't know him like the rest of us," Skeppy said, his gaze on Sam. “There's a reason he's alone."

Sam tensed, gaze closing off with an iciness that made Jack's stomach hurt. "I didn't kill my brother." 

"I'm not talking about that," Skeppy said. "I'm talking about the friends you can't keep and the suitors you run away.  Everything comes second to your duties – you're inflexible, and you can't be that with Jack, not if you want this.  Pack has to come first.  Patience and understanding, adaptability has to come first.  He deserves that much consideration." Despite their difference in stature, in power, despite the fact that Skeppy was only the fiancé to a prince, not a prince himself staring down the might of a duke, he didn't back down for an instant, hugging Jack close. "The world isn't as black and white as you make it, Sam." 

Bad – who'd held silent throughout Skeppy's tirade, who seemed unsurprised (meaning they'd coordinated or discussed this before the meeting even began) – cleared his throat. "I can't even begin to imagine your loss," he said quietly, his voice level but tinged with hints of sympathy. "I barely remember my parents, but I've always had Sapnap to look after, to learn and grow with.  If I'd lost him, I don't know if I could even be functional." He closed his eyes, letting out a slow exhale, as though he was focusing himself. "You did what you had to in order to keep going, to keep the honor of your family alive.  You did the best you could, but if you want Jack, I agree with Skeppy – you need to do better." He tilted his head towards Ponk. "You need therapy." 

Oh, was this- 

Jack was pretty sure he was experiencing an intervention.  

He wasn't certain if he was annoyed or not, but to be fair to Bad and Skeppy, they did say they had concerns they wanted to raise, which was the entire point of this meeting.  Jack could have asked them at any time what the concerns were and they would have told him, but he hadn't asked, because he knew he'd learn them soon enough.

Sam considered them with a stony expression, his posture unmoving.  Jack ached for him, wanted to crawl into his lap, wanted to offer him purrs and nuzzles, but he knew that in this moment, Sam had to make this decision for himself.  It wasn't an unfair one.

"If it helps," Jack spoke up quietly, the tension dwindling as they switched their focus towards him. "I didn't want to go to therapy at first.  Or rather, I didn't understand what it was for, and when I did, I thought it was pointless because I didn't think I could ever get any better, but I was wrong.  It did help.  It helped a lot.  And sometimes it's hard, and maybe you won't need as much assistance, but even if it can make things a little bit better, I think it's worth it." He inclined his head towards Sam, his approximation of a respectful bow.  "But that's a choice you have to make for yourself.  If you're not ready for that, it's okay, I'll always be your friend, but I know who I was a few months ago.  I deserved family – just like you deserve family – but I wasn't in a place where I was healthy.  Where I could be healthy for them or myself.  And I'm not saying you're there, I'm just-" He waved his hand towards Bad and Skeppy. "If they think this will help, I trust them." 

Sam considered him with dark eyes, and it helped that the tension had been draining from his body throughout the course of Jack's explanation, until he was just as calm and focused as he'd been when he arrived. 

"Okay," Sam said, seeming to shock all of them – definitely shocking Jack, who'd feared that the creeper hybrid would get offended. "I can agree to that.  If it can- if it helps, I-" He exhaled slowly though his nose. "I will not say no." 

"And your duties?" Skeppy pressed, not backing down an inch. "Will Jack-"

"Jack is Quackity's," Sam interrupted, gaze locked on Skeppy's and tone holding a bit of offense. "Of course he will come first."

"Oh, of course," Skeppy echoed, but Jack could feel the tension leaking from his body, so that was just a front for his relief. "Then in that case, I'm fine with an informal document stating all the stuff we agreed on." 

"I didn't realize pack could be so complicated," Jack mused while Bad pulled out paperwork he'd prepped for this occasion. 

"We communicate clear boundaries now to avoid complications later," Sam offered before Skeppy could respond, and see, see, that was why Sam was good.  He got it, and when Jack grinned it was one of pride, because maybe Sam needed some help but that was okay, Jack did too.  Bad and Skeppy probably did too, and George and Connor and Dream and Sapnap might need some when they came back from the war. 

It was okay to need help for some things. That didn't make everything else less good. 

"You'll have to talk about this with Quackity if you ever get around to setting up formal papers," Skeppy mused when they were all signing the documents – Bad, Skeppy, and Ponk acting as witnesses. 

"Trust me," Sam began, a small but almost mischief-like smile pulling at his lips. "I will." 

"But it will wait," Bad sad, keeping a careful eye on Sam. "For when he's less stressed."

The reminder made Jack's shoulders fall, but no- nope- it would be okay.  He wasn't in a place where Quackity would listen to him, but he could be in a place where he offered his mum comfort when he was ready to accept it.  Jack could do that much. 

Until then, he had a pack that was steadily growing.

~:~

With all the excitement with Sam and Josh, Jack had almost forgotten about the response from George and Connor, but sure enough, one week later saw a very determined crow flitting through the upper halls of the castle, seeming too impatient to wait at the official messaging area.  No, Connor must have incentivized it to locate Jack itself, and it did so when he was on his way to his lunch break, Sam left behind to finish just one more thing (it was always more like five more things but Jack had learned not to fight with him about it).  He was holding hands with Josh on one side, had Skeppy's arm thrown across his shoulders on the other, and they were on their way to pick up Bad from his office when the crow made its dramatic entrance, circling around Jack's head until he properly freed his hands to make room for it. 

It landed on his arm, and he opened the message tube on its back with shaky fingers, a small lump forming in his throat because he knew what it would be.

"Breathe," Skeppy reminded him, and Jack realized he had not, actually, been doing that.  How foolish. 

"Elder?" Josh rumbled, concerned, and that wouldn't do. Jack was worrying his baby. 

It would be okay.  He'd chosen good protectors.  They wouldn't yell at him, not even on paper. 

He unfurled the document shakily with one hand, read the first line, then choked on a laugh so fond it was difficult to breathe, the sudden sense of elation and love loosening the tension in his shoulders so suddenly he almost fell over. 

First of all, the document read, not so much bothering with a preliminary 'Dear Jack'. We love you, and we will always love you, and here is a picture to demonstrate just how much we love you.

What followed was a series of wobbly, unpracticed, but utterly sincere hearts, surrounding a stick figure depiction of what could only be the three of them together, George and Connor cuddling small, stick figure Jack close.

That is what we'd be doing if we were there. This is what we'd much rather be doing right now, this is what we will do as soon as we get home because we will get home, and set some people on fire when we do- okay, this is George, I'm taking over for Connor, the text read, handwriting a bit wobbly, like they'd been fighting over the quill. Sweetheart, we love you and we will always love you no matter what you do, no matter how much or how little you learn.  We love you and there are no words that any stupidly uninformed, jealous, or grossly incompetent people can spill – regardless of their rank – that will ever change our mind to that fact.  Our love is without condition, our love is fierce, just like the sweet peacekeeper we left home.

Oh George, he was so- he didn't even know.  He didn't know and he was still this dedicated and passionate, and Jack-

He was going to tell him.  He didn't even know why he'd waited this long, but George deserved to know.  He was his protector and Jack trusted him.  Trusted and loved him and even wanted to romance him. 

The rest of the letter was just as reassuring.  They weren't mad at him; they were glad he'd gotten help.  They wanted him to work less, to enjoy the things they couldn't, to write more.  To pick up a new hobby, to be kind to himself. 

That was all they wanted.  No yelling, no disappointment that he couldn't do better, that he'd broken rules. 

They just wanted him safe and happy, it was all they'd ever wanted. 

Jack found himself grinning wide, clutching the letter close to his chest as he nuzzled the crow, who eagerly leaned into his affections. “I need to write them back," Jack said, smiling as he waved the letter with his free hand. "They need to know all the good things that happened, they need to know things are better." He turned back, making sure to share headbutts with both his lovely protectors – Skeppy a friend and brother, Josh, his sweet baby. "You can write something too, if you like." 

"If um- you think it'd be okay," Josh murmured shyly while Skeppy wooped and that time when they detoured for Bad it was with much more energy, the prince joining them with a wide smile, going so far as to pick Jack up and spin him because they'd told him it would be okay and look, look, it was. 

Sometimes pack could be complicated.

But sometimes it was just easy, and that was what they were fortunate enough to have. 

Chapter Text

Things were good – Jack would even go so far as to say things were grand were it not for the dangerous war taking place, even if it was half a continent away.  Save for the loved ones they would fret over regardless of their various level of competencies, Jack thought things were about as close to outstanding as they could be, all things considered.  He felt safe and happy, warm in his skin, meaning that his internal flame was slowly building itself up again after weeks of stress and minor starvation.  He was back to seeing the Wastakens regularly – though they would also visit him at the castle so he could stay close to Tubbo.  They even took off their masks when it was just the royal flock, something that made Eret blink in surprise – which Jack would have missed had he not been standing next to the consort.  It was good to have everyone together, to hear Drista bemoan the boredom of guard duty – it was character building, supposedly, and she insisted she now had enough character to fill the royal treasury, not that it would help her get reassigned to a better position.  Duke Wastaken didn't talk about his own work but he gladly discussed the letters Dream sent him that shared short anecdotes.  Apparently he and Sapnap were friends now, which made Jack's instincts very, very pleased. 

Yes-yes-good-protectors-strong they cheered, and even if he didn't understand them, he embraced what they offered with a soft grin.

He still took etiquette lessons with Duchess Wastaken but they were more casual now.  It was information he'd need in the distant future – for when the elders in their pack got married, but even if he messed everything up, Skeppy was right.  Jack would be untouchable, because Connor and Sam and Duchess Wastaken would make it so.  It made it a lot easier to approach things, and in hindsight, it seemed almost silly how much he'd obsessed over it, though both Ponk and Skeppy reassured him in his sessions that at the time, he'd thought it was the best route forward.  Regardless of that being true or not, it had felt true to him, and that mattered. 

Things were good.  Not perfect, because they couldn't be perfect without George and Dream and Sapnap, without Techno and Philza and Foolish and peace, but it was as close as Jack was ever going to get, and he held onto that. 

Sort of.

There was just one thing missing, or rather two, because now Jack couldn't find Quackity. 

He'd just- he'd been assisting Sam, Josh a diligent worker on the other side of the room, shooting them an occasional grin of pride that Jack reciprocated because that was his baby and what a good worker he was.  He'd taken to cuddling with Sam while he worked since it helped them both, and over the course of that closeness Sam started teaching Jack how to read the blueprints he worked on.  Jack could admit he'd taken an interest in them.  It was a fascinating process, to think that each and every building – even the castle they were currently in – had started off on papers just like these.  An outline, a plan, someone had designed it before they were implemented, and Jack thought that was amazing.  To change the world in such a way, to create such a long-lasting impact- it appealed to him.  Sam had asked if he wanted to be a builder like Foolish, and Jack had been flustered.  He didn't know if he could handle such responsibility, but then Sam had put it in a different light.  Because what if Jack helped design the new schools for the refugees?  For the freed slaves?  He knew what they'd need in a way that most architects wouldn't, and that was how Jack found himself as a consultant, giving Sam advice on how to design the schools, and it was invigorating, to see his name on the blueprints – Jack Quackity – it was enough to make him tear up.  Sam had already framed a copy of the first blueprint they had worked on together and had it hung in Jack's suite. 

Jack was going to show it off to his protectors when they returned home.  Drafting counted as hobby, right?  It definitely made him happy; he thought it counted. 

It was a pleasant afternoon, at least until Ant had poked his head into their joint office.  Jack, Sam, and Josh had spent their morning at the Architect's Guild Hall getting reference material, and the office had been empty when they'd returned.  They'd assumed that Quackity had a meeting somewhere else or perhaps with the pups, but Ant's pinched expression poked some solid holes in that theory. 

It was worsened when the cat hybrid ducked inside, taking a more thorough inspection of the room. "Have you three seen Quackity?" he asked, gaze darting towards the windows. "He took a break on the balcony earlier, but when Tina went to check on him, he wasn't there anymore." The cat hybrid fidgeted his hands together, biting at his bottom lip. "We thought maybe he went for a flight or glided down to the gardens, but Eret didn't find him there." 

Sam didn't tense, but Jack could feel the shift in his disposition, going from lax and loose to guarded, shifting his focus from a creator to that of a warrior.  A warden. "Have you checked the full royal wing?"

"Everywhere but Prince Wilbur's suite.  Do you think-" 

"We'll have to get one of the doctors," Sam declared, already on the move, though he accepted the hand Jack slid into his own, not shirking him off as an annoyance – standing strong and focused while still protecting him. "Alert the guards to put the castle in lockdown regardless – level yellow warning." 

The yellow warning level was a subtle alert set throughout the castle designed not to cause unnecessary distress, locking things down without signaling to potential threats that they've been compromised.  Ant ran off to do his task while Sam detoured towards Medical, where Ponk would be.  He was one of the few aside from Lord Eret who had credentials to enter Wilbur's suite – even though the antidote had worked wonders, even though he was completely cured now, the piglin hybrid’s side of the bearer suite still had limited access, and Wilbur had yet to venture beyond it.  Jack knew the pups were restless about this, and he could admit that he was too.  He missed Wilbur's steadfastness, his confidence, his quiet but unyielding support.  Jack knew he'd undergone something horrific and he deserved all the time he needed to recover from it – Jack didn't begrudge that – but he wished he could at least talk to the prince, send his love.  The pups had written letters, but Jack felt too embarrassed to add to the pile.  He was an adult, he should be able to respect Wilbur's need for space – even if a small voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Ponk said there were extenuating circumstances, that he was allowed to have different needs than other people, that 'normality' was a made up concept and he should stop trying to apply himself to it.  

It was just hard though, so that was one thing he hadn’t dwelled on.  With everything else being so good, it didn't seem worth it, and it would be resolved in time anyway, right?  It wasn't like Wilbur would avoid him forever, and it wasn't even like Wilbur was avoiding him in particular.  He wasn't seeing most of the flock, it wasn't a targeted attack and Jack shouldn't panic or take things personally (but what if Wilbur realized he was better off without having to deal with Jack's fussing all the time?  What if- no, that wasn't fair to Wilbur.  He'd already said how honored he was by the trust Jack placed in him.  Wilbur wasn't a liar, he meant it, and Jack had to remember that, even if circumstances might have changed).

It took forever to get to Medical.  Jack was practically vibrating out of his skin when Sam knocked on the door to Ponk's office, and he was surprised to find himself on the verge of tears, because what if Quackity had been kidnapped?  So many bad things had happened lately – what if this was another attack?  What if it wasn't?  What if he was just on the roof?  What if he was dead – how were any of them supposed to recover from that?  How could Jack- How could Tubbo-

"What happened?" Ponk greeted when he opened the door, cutting straight to the point. 

"We need you to check Wilbur's suite," Sam said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Quackity's gone missing." 

"Fuck." Ponk didn’t dismiss the severity of the situation, and then they were off sprinting again, tears leaking from the corners of Jack’s eyes as they made their way to the far door of the bearer's suite, the one that led into Wilbur's half. "I'll be right back," Ponk informed them, and then it was just- they just waited in the hallway, useless while Quackity was potentially being carted off by who even knew who, and Jack knew what happened to bearers who were slaves, he knew the life Quackity was in for and it made his breath come faster, too quick and too light but he couldn't help it – all those memories he repressed, the ones he hadn't touched on with Ponk yet, all that pain and how was he supposed to enjoy being free if Quackity was- if Schlatt had managed-

And Jack could have stopped this earlier, he knew that.  If he'd given them Boomer's name earlier but he hadn't- he hadn't because he'd been scared and he thought the man was already arrested and when he realized he was on bail or something, Jack had gotten so sick he'd thrown up, and you didn't- you didn't go against your master, you didn't- so Jack just pretended he didn't exist but Boomer did and he had awful poison and friends in all the wrong places and this was all Jack's fault.

"Jack?" There was a voice, soft and firm – a voice from someone he trusted rumbling before him. "I need you to steady your breathing.  I need you to match me." 

Jack let out a weak croak, torn between leaning into the presence before him – one he knew was pack, one he knew he could trust – and wrenching himself away before he could somehow corrupt them with his presence too, hurt them with his indecision. 

"Please, Jack," the voice said, sounding a bit sadder. "In with me.  Just like this." He pressed Jack's hand to his chest. "Just like-"

"He's okay!" another voice said, bursting out the door next to them and that was Ponk, Ponk was- "He just went to see Wilbur but they're both safe and incredibly sorry for the concern they raised and- Jack?" 

Quackity was safe.  Quackity was okay, and that was a good thing, Jack could process that as a good thing but he could barely breathe, and what energy he did have was relegated to sobbing, his entire body rocking with it while his expression crumbled.  He didn't know if he was relieved or repenting but he let out a desperate croon nonetheless, his legs collapsing under him as he crumpled to the ground.

Sam caught him – Sam would always catch him – letting out reassuring rumbles and holding him close but Jack couldn't- he didn't know why it was so hard in that moment, it just was. 

"Oh, Jack," Ponk said, his tone full of sorrow. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart.  It's okay, I'll go in and get Quackity out here, you can get eyes on him yourself-"

"What's going on out here?" a new voice cut in, and that- that was Wilbur.  

It was Wilbur.

And even through the blur of tears Jack could see him standing tall, could see him looking just as strong and dignified as before.  He wasn't horrifically burned or melted or withered, he was fine, he was safe, and he was standing right there. 

Jack let out another sob, and before he could stop himself, he reached out with both hands, begging for Wilbur's comfort with a pitiful cry.  There was a low string of curses and then Wilbur knelt before him, not hesitating to pull Jack into his hold, letting out a wave of piglin rumbles that reminded Jack of Technoblade. 

"Fuck, sweetheart, I'm so sorry," the brunette murmured, nuzzling the top of Jack's head. "I missed you too.  Truly, I really did." 

Jack couldn't swallow his whine as he buried his face against Wilbur's chest, more or less crawling into his lap.  He knew this fit had started over Quackity but he could see the bearer crouching down beside Wilbur, could feel the worry radiating from him as he released his own set of comforting purrs. 

"M's-sorry," Jack managed between desperate gasps of air. "M'sorry, I'm s-sorry, I- I-"

Wilbur shushed him, holding Jack close. "It's okay, you didn't do anything wrong."

Jack shook his head because they didn't get it.  They didn't know. "I s-should have- I d-didn't talk a-about Boomer." 

Wilbur tensed, and Jack couldn't help but sob, leaning into the piglin hybrid even if he didn't deserve it, taking what comfort what he could while it was offered. 

"What do you mean?" Wilbur asked, his tone neutral as he carded a hand through Jack's hair. "What do you know about Boomer?"

And now, this was it.  The moment of truth.

"He was my last owner," Jack gasped, making more than one person freeze. "He- he used me for sex stuff, but I- I didn't- I didn't say anything when they asked." He buried his face against Wilbur's shirt. "I was too scared." 

"Oh," Wilbur said, sounding faint, for all that his grip never loosened. "Oh Jack, I'm so sorry." 

He was- He- but Jack was the one-

"That man's never going to touch you again," Wilbur hissed, possessive but radiating love-love-love. "Not so much as a hair on your head.  And if you're ready to talk about it, we can make sure he and every associate he has is suitably punished for the crimes they committed." 

"They... what?" Jack asked, tears dying down from confusion. "But um- I mean, they were just doing what you do with..."

With bearers, he couldn't say, but that would give them all the context, they wouldn't understand it without context.

"Jack," Wilbur said, sounding a bit watery around the edges, like he was on the verge of tears, Quackity looking not much better next to them. "If you didn't want it, it was a punishable offense, whether you were a slave or not." 

"And if you've functioned perfectly well without those acts for all these months," Ponk began, holding Jack's gaze carefully because he'd gotten it, he'd understood what Jack hadn't said. "Then maybe that's not what you do at all.  Maybe that's just a lie they told themselves to justify what they did, but there was no justifying what they did.  They are monsters and they deserve whatever's coming to them." 

Jack paused, considering his logic.

They'd always done what they had because they said bearers needed it, but Jack had been in the castle for months now and he hadn't felt the urge for that at all.  He hadn't felt a deep-rooted desire hit him so strong that he hadn't been able to function.  Honestly, he hadn't even thought about that side of his life with everything else going on.

Ponk was right, he didn't need sex to survive. 

That was just um- what had Ponk called it?  Conditioning.  Conditioning Jack for compliance.  A pleasant lie for themselves, but it was a lie nonetheless, and Jack didn't need to hold onto it.

"Oh," Jack said when it dawned on him. "Okay." He reached a hand to wipe at his cheeks, but Wilbur and Quackity did it for him, cooing and rumbling their reassurances.  Wilbur was still tense, because- oh, he hadn't been there at the Wastakens when- right. This was all new to him, but he didn't shove Jack away, only held him tighter, because Jack wasn't dirty.

His attackers were the dirty ones.  And they should be punished.

"I can give you descriptions later," Jack sniffed, leaning into their affection. "But I'd like to enjoy this time with you before you go away again."

"I'm not doing that," Wilbur said, reaching an arm out to cradle Quackity against his side. "Anymore.  I'm done with that.  I'm sorry for avoiding you." 

"You don't have to apologize for needing time," Jack murmured. "I'm just glad you're back." 

Wilbur paused, pulling back enough so Jack could see his radiant smile, one so full of love and reassurance it made most of Jack's pain melt away. "How lucky I am, to have a packmate like you." 

Jack didn't know how to respond so he simply buried his face in Wilbur's chest again, but the prince still held him close, as did Quackity, and Ponk and Sam didn't leave them, and it was- it wasn't perfect, but it was good. 

~:~

Sapnap gave Dream five minutes to stomp around their shared tent, huffing and muttering under his breath as he glared at the papers strewn across his worktable, brow furrowed in a look of firm displeasure, as though the collected files had done something to personally offend him.  If Dream had a tail, it would not doubt be flicking in irritation, but as it was, Sapnap could tell his alpha was making a desperate attempt to be 'quietly' agitated, no doubt intending to restrain himself from infringing upon Sapnap's disposition, as though the blaze hybrid was not constantly looking out for and reading his alpha's state of mind.

Sapnap gave him five minutes, which was generous of him, before he moved in, whacking a hand down to splay flat against the paper Dream had been staring at so viciously, making his alpha startle back with a look of surprise.

"Alright," Sapnap said, because their afternoon cuddle time wasn't going to happen anytime soon if he didn't take drastic measures. "What's the problem?"

"There's not- it's not a problem, exactly," Dream huffed, though for all that he was wound up, he still mustered a smile for Sapnap (because Sapnap was the best second, obviously, his presence should be celebrated always, perhaps through song and dance). "It's just- tedious.  Irritating." He gestured towards a set of blueprints over to the side. "You know how it is.  All the shady stuff Manburg did was hidden both literally and figuratively deep underground.  The defenses they have for some of this stuff is..."

"Irritating?" Sapnap echoed with a raised brow.  It was a lament he was more than familiar with considering how often he talked to Dream, who was tasked with breaching the defenses of some of the harder to reach places of Manburg. 

"To say the least," Dream said, letting out a gusty exhale. "Each place poses unique challenges which isn't a problem in itself, but when it comes to distributing the appropriate manpower to deal with each situation, it becomes a complicated balancing act."

"What's stumping you this time?" Sapnap asked, walking around the table so he could cuddle against Dream's side, offering a low rumble of support that Dream accepted with open gratitude. 

"The walls have some kind of defensive enchantments," Dream said. "Our alchemist team studied what the scouts brought back, and based on the trap patterns at the bases we've already conquered, we determined that the best point of entry would be to go through the non-load bearing walls." 

Sapnap was familiar with that too – sometimes the actual doors and windows to Manburg's facilities could be so decked out with traps that it was better to find alternative means of entry rather than risk potential poisons or unethical traps.  They'd had a lot of success capturing base commanders and forcing them to disarm traps in exchange for life in prison rather than instant execution.  Still, in order to capture the enemy forces to allow for such a tactic they had to get inside, which was proving to be more and more complicated the deeper into Manburg they got. 

"Unfortunately," Dream continued, running a frazzled hand through his hair. "For these walls the alchemists determined that the best way to nullify the enchantments is either with extreme cold or extreme heat.  Which again, not a problem, but the only ice sorcerer we have of that caliber is with Philza on the northern border right now and we need to finish this raid by the end of the week while we've got them cornered." He sighed, nuzzling more firmly against Sapnap's dark locks. "And we don't have a pyromancer who could attempt such a thing." 

With that Dream sighed once more, seeming to entirely believe this. Dejected and stressed and looking to Sapnap for comfort, which Sapnap offered without second thought of course, it wasn't ever really a question, but-

"Excuse me," he said, trying not to pout because Dream always cooed at him when he did that and this was an important conversation – they couldn't get sidetracked. "I am a powerful pyromancer." 

Dream froze, then released a protective rumble before he wrapped himself around Sapnap's back, dwarfing him with his stupid alpha height. "No."

It was Sapnap's turn to sigh. "Dream-"

"No," Dream repeated, growling now.  Before Sapnap could protest he found himself scooped into Dream's arms with a flail, Sapnap not able to do much more than let out a surprised cry before he found himself settled on their get-along cot, seated in Dream's lap while the alpha hissed and snarled his disapproval. "No, no, you are to stay here,” he rumbled, tucking Sapnap's head under his chin and rubbing at his side, curling Sapnap's knees up against his chest until Dream was entirely supporting him – which on one hand was an impressive show of strength and made Sapnap feel safe and wanted but it also made him feel a bit infantile and patronized, which was what he chose to focus on. "You promised." 

"I didn't- that never happened," Sapnap huffed, because while he'd had many conversations with his pack over the course of this war, he'd never sworn to stay in the camp.  He'd been ordered to, of course, but that was different than him making any sort of pledge. "The nature of my duties keep me here, but if I'm needed elsewhere-"

"No," Dream snarled louder, folding himself until he could press their foreheads together, his eyes burning with a vibrant green mania. "No, not you.  Not one of mine."

"One of yours is very capable," Sapnap huffed, holding onto his annoyance and not the sudden rush of pleasure prompted from being claimed so openly. "I'm not a baby.  These are extenuating circumstances.  If I can be of service, it is my basic duty as a knight-"

"No, no, no," Dream huffed, petulant now as he buried his face in Sapnap's shoulder.

Still, this was progress.  Dream recognized that he didn't have an argument beyond his own instinctual objections, which was hilarious because a month ago he likely would have been hurling Sapnap at the front line with a vindictive glee.  At least, as much as his professionalism and duties would allow. 

"I risk my life every day anyway!" Sapnap pressed, because his duties here at camp were vital – he protected while Dream attacked, both were important, and one implied less of a risk since it was the empire that was on the offensive, it was Manburg that was retreating into their strongholds, that didn't mean Sapnap didn't encounter opposition.  It wasn't anything he'd reported to Dream because he knew the alpha would act like this, but Manburg had sent out a few experimental attacks.  All had been thwarted, but Sapnap had already seen combat. "And so do you.  How is it fair that I get to be left behind, worrying over your wellbeing, but you can't?  Besides, you'll be there-"

"Distracted," Dream murmured. "By you."

"Then find your professionalism and deal with it," Sapnap huffed, threading his fingers through Dream's soft hair.  Even after all this time he was surprised by how blond it was.  A small part of him had always assumed it was green like his hood. "I know this is hard, I know we don't want to make it harder, but if you don't have any options – Dream, I'm right here.  I can help." He shifted his head, leaning so he could nuzzle against Dream's, so he could offer his own support as Dream's second. "I’m not searching for a fight; I don’t have anything to prove.  I don't want to be a distraction to you or my dads, but if I'm the only option we've got, I think it's dumb if we ignore it.  I mean, what else are you going to do, try and TNT your way in?" There was a suspicious silence and Sapnap pulled away, his gaze going wide with incredulity. "Are you kidding me?  You know we don't have refined methods of TNT application!" 

There wasn't precision when it came to TNT.  Even their canons tended to hit a general area rather than an exact target.  If they needed a burst of extreme heat they would need exactness, and that wasn't something TNT could offer unless they used an absurd amount.  An amount that might prove to be both unpredictable and dangerous with that lack of predictability. 

"It was the only choice we had," Dream murmured, and that was- that sounded a lot like a whine.  

It was very hard to stay mad at his alpha when he was whining.  It would be a lot more irritating if Dream was aware of this fact, but he wasn't.  He was blissful in his ignorance. 

Sapnap sighed. "You have another option," he said, trying not to feel wounded. 

He understood the concern – he was a prince of the empire.  Letting him defend the camp was one thing – it was a smaller risk – but letting him attack an experimental well-fortified stronghold brimming with enemy combatants was something else entirely.  Sapnap understood why Dream had trouble grappling with that fact.  That said, there had to be a time where they set aside their feelings for logic.  Sapnap might be a prince, but he was one of many.  Even if he died, the empire would recover, and frankly, he was upset at the implication that he would get that wounded because he was still a kickass warrior in his own right.  His pack might forget that since they themselves were even more competent, but compared to most of the army, Sapnap was exceptional.  They needed to stop forgetting that just because he was the baby. 

Or, he wasn't- 

Stupid Dream's stupid baby talk getting into his head.  Sapnap hated it. 

Really.  He really for sure did. 

"I know," Dream groaned, a put upon thing. "I know, I know, I just..." He sighed. "We need to talk to Technoblade." 

As the highest commanding officer currently in camp, yes, they would.

Sapnap gave his arm a few consoling pats. "I can handle this one, big guy," he said with completely unfounded confidence.

Of the two of them, he was certain Techno would be the easier sell.  He was protective, sure, but he was logical.  Reasonable. Strategic. 

It would be fine.

~:~

"No," Foolish said from where he was curled around Sapnap, up on his knees so he could nuzzle the blaze hybrid's shoulder, him and Sapnap perched on the edge of the emperor's travel nest. "Absolutely not.  Techno, tell him no." 

In hindsight, they should have waited for Techno to approach the command tent before broaching this subject, but Sapnap had wanted to do things in private in case instincts ran high.  Which he guessed was sort of right on his part, because Foolish wasn't liking this at all. 

From his neutral position across from the nest, Techno offered Sapnap an apologetic expression, indicating that he understood how delicate a situation they were entering was, for all that they weren't sure how to navigate it. 

"Foolish-” Techno began, taking a tentative step forward.

"No," Foolish hissed, actually hissed, which was- was that a totem hybrid thing? "No, don't tell me there aren't other options-"

"There aren't other options, though," Techno said, and now his apology was aimed at Foolish.

"I will make options," Foolish snarled, abandoning his task of suffocating Sapnap with his love to hop down from the cot, treading towards the big worktable Techno and Dream were hiding by. "I'm a master engineer, you think I can't break into a stronghold?  I also know runes – why didn't anyone consult me before we decided to go with the plan that hurled one of the princes into active enemy territory?" 

Dream and Techno shared a look with each other, a silent conversation based in confusion and hope for a solution that neither of them had, both prompting the other until Dream seemed to lose, turning to Foolish with the softest of sighs. "We ran the blueprints past the alchemist's group and the siege engineers-"

"I trained most of those engineers!" Foolish huffed with a flail of his arms, running a distracted hand through his hair as he reviewed the paperwork Dream had brought with them– intended for Technoblade's comfort, which went to show how grossly they had misjudged the situation. "You think they would know better than me?" 

With that, he trailed off into a low series of muttering, gaze narrowed as he inspected each of the papers, shifting into what George often referred to as builder mode.  The three protectors sat in awkward silence, sharing looks with each other as they determined how best to succeed.  Sapnap was half tempted to get up but Techno waved him off, motioning Dream towards the nest instead as he redirected to approach Foolish's side, shifting down onto one knee so they could be more level with each other. 

"Foolish," Techno began, somehow managing not to flinch at the soft hiss that earned him. "I have a feeling you're upset about something other than Sapnap needing to leave the camp." 

"You're fucking right I'm mad about other stuff," Foolish snapped, not so much as looking at him. "I just talked about it.  I should have been consulted for this stuff.  I'm literally right here – the Head of the Architects' Guild – and no one thought to talk to me?  I'm a resource, but more than that-" He turned on Techno with a scowl. "I stay locked in this stupid tent to sooth your instincts – yours and Phil's – even though I'm capable!  And I know Sapnap is capable, I know he's a great warrior, I know he'll probably be fine, but it..." He trailed off, his anger seeming to vanish in a rush, leaving him with nothing but a dejected sort of exhaustion. "I feel helpless.  And you're going on your raid tomorrow, and now they're leaving, and..." His throat bobbed in a rough swallow. "I don't know, it was easier when Sapnap had restrictions too.  Because it wasn't just me, it was both of us, but now it's not." 

In truth, Sapnap wasn't sure why Phil had brought Foolish along for this war.  His strongest theory revolved around a desperate need for emotional support after exiting his rut so quickly.  Phil and Techno were the heads of the army, it was important for them to be as battle-ready as possible, and that included being in a solid headspace to handle the stress that was commanding an entire army into war.  Sapnap knew from his own experience with Bad and Dream that Foolish was providing vital emotional and instinct aid to both of the noble protectors, but he could only do that for so few hours of the day.  The rest of the time he was here, alone, even more closed off than Sapnap. 

Wow, that was- it was sort of awful, now that he thought about it. 

And Sapnap, he didn't entirely know how to fix it – he wasn't a big picture kind of guy, but at least he had an idea of how to go forward. 

"Could you look after George?" he asked, making more than one person turn their head in surprise.  But once the words were out there he felt more comfortable, so Sapnap pushed on, building up more confidence. "Dream and I promised Jack we'd look after him," he explained, even though it was technically Dream's promise alone, it was something Sapnap himself was always determined to do. "If we're going away from the camp, he'll be alone.  And George-"

"I know how he gets when he's alone," Foolish said, because he must have heard it from Eret a hundred times by now. "Can- maybe he could room here for a bit?" Foolish wrung his hands together. "While you guys are away.  It'd be nice to have my son close."

That was- right, George was Foolish and Eret's son on top of being claimed by the Wastakens (though still, Dream, Sapnap, and George weren't considered brothers – packs really could be complicated, but they were flexible to best fit the needs of all those involved.  It was what made being a hybrid so amazing).  Sapnap knew early on that George had visited Foolish occasionally, but he wasn't sure if it'd happened recently. 

Oh wow, his random plan was actually a good one.

"I think that would be a great idea," Technoblade rumbled, aiming a proud smile at Sapnap. "A true comfort to all of us." 

"And I'm sure Jack will like it," Dream added hastily, no doubt smiling behind his mask. "Your tent has the best security, after all." 

"Then I think I can work with that," Foolish sniffed, rubbing at his cheeks. There were no tears but Sapnap had witnessed the totem hybrid do such actions many times, a symptom of stress, like he was used to repressing such feelings. "You'll be careful though, right?"

He aimed this last part towards Sapnap, who felt his heart skip in his chest, tense with worry for his dad but relieved at the same time, not because he wanted to risk himself, but because he wanted to end this war as quickly as possible.  He wanted to go home.  He wanted to see his family. 

He wanted Jack. 

"I will," he pledged, knowing it was true a hundred times over, knowing that he would always do his best to do right by his pack. "I promise." 

"I know," Foolish murmured, and only then did he accept Techno's hand, only then did he cross to give Sapnap a proper hug, one of love and comfort instead of desperate possessiveness, and when they all joined together in a group huddle it felt right instead of odd, the way Sapnap had been fearing.  

They could still have this in the midst of the war.  They could still have support and pack and pride and love.

They could still move forward.

Now they just needed to break the news to George.

Chapter Text

With the return of Wilbur came many good things.  There also came many hard things, but with Wilbur back in the spotlight – Wilbur and his smiles and his jokes and his sharp wit and strength that emanated from him in easy waves – those hard things seemed just a bit easier, making it easier for Jack to breathe.  He hadn't realized how much the prince's absence had bothered him until that void was filled once more, and he tried not to be greedy because everyone was happy Wilbur was back – the pups especially – but Wilbur seemed to have a sixth sense when Jack was retraining himself and always made pointed detours to give him hugs and nuzzles and rumbles of piglin affection. Of course, there was a very good chance that was related to the additional investigation that had launched due to Jack's breakdown.  They never pushed, never so much as mentioned it, all of them waiting for when Jack was comfortable and ready, but he didn't want to push it off anymore.  He realized this was a burden he was tired of carrying, one that he'd ignored for too long.  Even with his breakdown at the Wastakens, it had been easier not to address it, to go into detail about the assaults he had suffered.  He'd been so relieved that they still accepted him, that they still wanted him around, that he hadn't dwelled on the attacks that had made him feel such pointed shame in the first place.  He had so many other trials to juggle, and Ponk was always encouraging him to address things in his own time, when he was ready.  Of course he pushed – or gently nudged – Jack forward to keep him from stagnating, but they had all the time in the world, and it wasn't like Jack had a shortage of issues that needed to be taken care of.  They'd get to it when they got to it.

But that time had come, and even without his protectors standing by his side, Jack felt ready for it. 

He had Skeppy and Bad to cuddle him while he went through files with Wilbur and Sam – paperwork that held detailed sketches of all of Boomer's known associates.  Sam pulled up the records regrading those that had frequently visited the estate, and while they had to go slowly – so, so slowly because the pictures were so accurate, because Jack would see faces he'd long willed himself to forget and have to grapple with an onslaught of memories that left him terrified or had him throwing up, or left him unresponsive, curled up in Sam or Skeppy's lap (he was glad Tubbo and Josh weren't around for any of this, glad Drista was uninformed, glad that the fallout of these horrors would have minimal reach) – they still got through it.  It took hours of work but they managed it, Sam noting every offender and marking them for the maximum punishment, even if they never asked for details.  That was something Jack would go over with Ponk if he wanted to. 

They ended up increasing their number of sessions per week together as a result of this, but Jack didn't mind. This, he realized, was the sort of work and self-improvement he should have been focusing on while the others were gone.  Granted, he'd much rather have Connor's steadfast presence by his side for it, have George's warm arms and Dream's smile to return to at the end of an emotionally exhausting day, but he felt proud that he was comfortable enough approaching these subjects without them.  It meant he wasn't entirely dependent.

Yes, he still needed help from Skeppy, but that was understandable.  What he was trying to grapple with was by no means small. 

"So," Jack began when he was properly settled in Skeppy's lap, when the couch had been transformed into a mini nest that featured blankets from most of their packmates, when Jack was wearing his protectors' clothes and all their presents and groomed as pretty as could be to mark a distinct difference in now and then. "I think it's time we actually talk about the sex stuff." 

"If you're certain," Ponk said, his gaze free of judgement, just like always. "We don't have to do this now.  We don't even have to spend that much of our sessions discussing it.  We can go for as long or short as you're comfortable with and spend the rest of the time determining potential triggers and how to mitigate them with healthy coping mechanisms." 

"Okay," Jack said, and he understood it now instead of blindly agreeing, he knew it as true because he trusted Ponk, because they'd known each other for months now and he hadn't lied yet. "But I do want to start now, and I know I can change my mind whenever I want."

"Good." Ponk's lips pulled into a small smile beneath his mask. "Because I think this is going to be one of the more emotionally trying subjects for us to cover.  It's hard, and you might struggle or feel exhausted but that's normal. There's no shame in that."

"I know." He could tell Ponk was trying to ease him into things, likely because the hits would start coming right off the bat.

But Jack was ready.  He had Skeppy, he had the rest of his pack.  He had his mum and Eret and Wilbur, he had Sam and Josh and the pups.  He had so very much, and more than that, they wanted him in turn.  Wanted to keep him. 

"Okay then," Ponk said, nodding his assent. "Then I think a good first step when talking about these experiences would be to replace the word sex with rape, because that is what happened.  Sex implies consent between both parties, and you did not consent.  As you mentioned General Technoblade saying before, so long as you were an uninterested an unwilling party, it could not be considered sex.  What you experienced was rape and labeling it as anything else gives your assailants more credibility than they deserve." He placed his clipboard in his lap, watching Jack carefully. "Are you comfortable with that?" 

"Yes," Jack decided after a beat, leaning into Skeppy's chest. "Because that's what happened.  And they don't- they don't deserve to have it presented more nicely.  They did bad, so it should be referred to as the bad thing." 

"That is my essential intent," Ponk explained offering a small smile. “It is understandable to want to downplay our traumatic experiences to package them into something that's more easily surmountable, something that can be brushed aside.  Rape is a dark word with a lot of negative connotations – but it is also an accurate description of what happened.  Saying anything otherwise implies you were complicit, thus taking some of the blame off your assailants." Ponk looked at him carefully. "It's important to remember that you are a victim in all of this.  Our society isn't perfect when it comes to discussing these heavier topics – many times they will try to justify or lessen the blow of what occurred by blaming the victim in some capacity – much like your assailants might have, but they are wrong.  You were never in a position to accurately convey consent, and that is that.  There is nothing anyone else – even your attackers – could have said to change that." 

"So um- the conditioning," Jack said, ready to broach that particular subject. "When they said that all bearers want sex so they were doing me a favor by giving it to me."

"They were wrong," Ponk said, and even though he'd implied it earlier in front of everyone else, it was still a huge weight off Jack's chest, still made him slump back into Skeppy, who held him close with a few low rumbles, nuzzling the top of his head as a reminder that he wasn't alone, that he was so very loved. "Bearers, just like any other hybrid, just like any other human – are all unique.  Even if they were interested in sexual intercourse, that in itself is not blanket permission for any to engage in sexual acts with them.  That is a conversation that needs to happen between the two individuals, permission that has to be given on both sides, and even then, it only counts for one instance – they are both free to change their minds for future engagements.  They can even change their minds in the moment – sex is only sex if both parties are fully comfortable and interested the entire time.  The moment one of them is no longer interested, it must stop, and if it doesn't, it becomes rape."

"That's- wow," Jack said, because that was a lot of information. "So um- I- could you give me an example?"

"Of course," Ponk said, his voice gentle because he understood that sometimes these concepts were easier to understand when Jack had an example to relate them to. "Let's use Lord Foolish and Lord Eret's relationship as an example.  Now, those two individuals have a healthy sex life, one based on constant communication and trust.  They love each other, are attracted to each other, and have given each other permission to make sexual overtures towards each other that essentially means they're okay with the other asking for sexual things, or perhaps initiating some level of sex things."

"Okay." That made sense since they were married.  Like, romance married, the way Duke and Duchess Wastaken were. 

"However," Ponk continued. "Just because they have that understanding does not mean that they are always willing or even able to have sex with one another.  Even with a relationship as close as theirs, both parties still have to ask, and if one isn't interested-"

"They can not be interested?" Jack interrupted, which was rude, but he hadn't known that.  He hadn't realized that was allowed, or even a thing sex-wanting individuals had.  The people he'd served at Boomer's made it seem like the greatest thing in the world, for all that Jack hated it. 

"Of course," Ponk said, and his voice was gentle again, not at all patronizing, never patronizing, even though this was stuff everyone else likely knew. "Like any other recreational activity, there are times when an individual simply doesn't have the emotional, physical, or mental capacity to engage in it.  Take reading, for example – you enjoy reading, right?" Jack nodded, and Ponk continued. "But you don't always like to read.  Sometimes you have a long day at work and your mind is tired.  Even though you enjoy reading, even though it is something that usually brings you comfort and joy, it might not be something you have the energy to engage in, so you do something else.  Sex is a lot like that.  It's like icing on a cake.  Sometimes you want it and sometimes you don't, and everyone can judge for themselves how they're feeling in the moment." 

"I think I understand," Jack said, Ponk's example making things a little easier.  Sex was complicated since it involved two people, but he guessed it was sort of like dancing.  That involved two people too.  And it was fun, but sometimes Jack was too tired for dancing even if it usually made him smile.  Even if he considered dancing a positive thing, even if it brought him laughs and he knew his partner also had a good time, he wasn't always up for it. 

Sex was like that. 

"Alright," Ponk said, picking back up where he'd left off. "So if either Lord Foolish or Lord Eret isn't interested on that particular day, then sex doesn't happen.  That's how it works.  It has to be something both parties agree upon – that's called consent, and it's the key difference between sex and rape.  If one of them pushed the issue – not that it would ever happen – if they forced the other to engage in an activity they are not entirely comfortable with, that they didn't give total consent for, that's when it becomes rape, which is what you experienced." 

"Because they didn't ask me," Jack said. "They never asked me, not once."

Not even in the beginning, when-

Not even then.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," Ponk said, his expression full of muted sorrow when Skeppy held him close, murmuring his own apologies into Jack's shoulder. "It's nothing you deserve.  You have to understand that no matter what they told you, you didn't deserve that." 

They did bad things, and Jack was used to that.  He was used to slave owners being cruel towards their property and had come to learn over his months with Ponk that being treated like property at all was, in itself, a cruelty that wasn’t warranted.  At the end of the day the trauma he bore was due to the actions of some deplorable individuals.  It didn't make him less – and he knew that, Duchess Wastaken and Techno had already helped him learn that, it was just... he didn't know. 

"Something's troubling you," Ponk noted, holding his clipboard at the ready. 

"I understand that it's okay for me not to like what they did," Jack began, explaining his thought process. "Because they did a bad thing without asking me.  I understand that, I'm just- I guess I'm a little confused as to why I've never felt the urge for that sort of stuff in these past few months while I've been free." 

"That's understandable," Ponk said, immediately making Jack's shoulders slump with relief once more. "Based on what you've heard, sex might seem vital for the enjoyment of life.  It is a common theme pressed in society, though I can say with confidence that is not entirely accurate.  Take Connor, for example."

"He's asexual!" Jack burst, excited because he understood how his first protector looped into things. "So he doesn't want sex." 

Which was what made him such a source of comfort in the beginning.  While Jack hadn't trusted that declaration early on because he hadn't met many protectors that didn't want to have sex with him, Connor had always been adamant about his disinterest.  Jack had shifted to believe that maybe Connor just didn't want him because he was used goods, but the hedgehog hybrid had never worn any of the creepy expressions of the individuals Jack had served in the past, he'd never tested the waters – not just with Jack, but anyone.  He legitimately didn't want that sort of thing. 

"Yes," Ponk said. "But he still lives a perfectly contented and fulfilling life." He picked up his clipboard once more. "There are many different types of sexualities – there are even many types of asexuality – it's more of a spectrum, really, of those who have minimal in particular circumstances to nonexistent sexual interest.  It is – much like our flavor pallet – something that shifts and grows with us."

"Like how I didn't use to like mushrooms," Jack said. "But then I ate them here and they were cooked with butter and chicken and tasted a lot better."

"That's a great example," Ponk said, smiling wide. "Because your first experience with mushrooms was less than ideal.  They were your only option and were often the worst of the crop offerings, the leftovers your owners couldn't sell.  You had nothing but bad experiences with mushrooms, but when you got to the castle, you were treated to a different version of them."

"Are you saying sex is like that?" Jack asked. "I mean- I know I was raped, so I haven't really had true sex, but that's my closest experience and it was a bad one."

To grossly understate things. 

"I think it can be like that," Ponk said. "Your first introduction to physical intimacy was traumatic; it would be understandable if your relationship with it is difficult.  And you could very well be asexual yourself – that's entirely possible.  As I said before, you seem to have thrived without it all these months, and that's perfectly fine.  Sex is recreational.  It is not vital to live a fulfilling life." He scratched the top of his head, grinning. "It could be argued that it's necessary for population growth, and that's accurate, but there are enough sex-enthusiastic individuals in the world with an interest in developing their families to more than make up for the difference, I think.  That isn't our concern though, our main focus is on how this all applies to you." 

Jack considered this, pressing his lips together as he deliberated how to proceed.  He pulled back so he could properly look at Skeppy, who blinked under his attention. "You like sex, right?  You've had it with Bad?"

"Um." It was fun to watch the normally mischievous Skeppy's cheeks dust a pretty shade of pink. "Since this is a private therapy session I can say that yes, we have, though that's something you shouldn't ask me outside this room, because even though it's an open secret, for proper-noble reasons, we have to keep it on the downlow."

"Noble things," Jack huffed, because nobles and their stuffy rules would never cease to infuriate him. 

"I know, right?" Skeppy chuckled, giving his side a soft squeeze. "But yeah, we've had sex and we enjoy it." 

"Should I enjoy it?" Jack asked. "I mean- if it was done the proper way, where we both agree." 

"You could, but it isn't something you need to feel pressured into doing," Ponk offered, his voice gentle. "If it's something you want to explore, that's great.  We can discuss steps to safely navigate it, but because it's purely recreational, it's also something you can approach at your own pace."

"Even if I'm a bearer," Jack said, because if there was one thing he thought he knew, it was that bearers were supposed to bear.

Which was sort of hard to do without sex. 

"You can be asexual and a bearer," Ponk said. "The two are not mutually exclusive.  You can even be sex-positive but abstinent while being a bearer, it is entirely your choice.  Despite their label, bearers are not celebrated purely for their ability to procreate.  It's the effect they have on an overall pack dynamic that makes them so cherished, and you've already done that without so much as considering sex.  As far as anyone's concerned you are already an outstanding bearer, with no bearing involved."

"Oh," Jack said, and he knew that, he did know that, he just- with all these different things, he forgot sometimes.

But his worth was inherent.  Ponk had a sign about it and everything, he brought it out just for Jack's sessions. 

His worth was inherent, no matter what he did or did not do.  No matter what others did to him.  If they hurt him, if they snarled cruel things, if they tied him up or made him feel pain in unspeakable ways and then had the audacity to try and shame him for their actions – that was a reflection of their wickedness, not his.  It had nothing to do with Jack at all.  It was only if he chose to inflict such cruelty that he could ever be considered shameful, and he had no intention of doing that, not even to the people that had hurt him so much. 

"Do you want to take a break for today?" Ponk asked. "We've covered a lot of material." 

"I think a break would be good," Jack decided. "But in our next few sessions, I um- I think I want to start discussing the steps towards exploring sexual enjoyment.  If it's even a possibility, and how I can do it safely." 

"Then that's what we'll do," Ponk said, and when he smiled, it was one full of pride. "This is some amazing progress.  You've fought so very hard for yourself, please don't ever forget that."

"I won't," Jack said, or at least he'd try, because he was pretty sure Connor would be super miffed if Jack forgot entirely, and if Connor's disappointment was what he needed to keep himself in line, then that was okay.  There were worse things. 

"You're so strong," Skeppy rumbled, nuzzling his shoulder. "You're such a badass, Jack." 

At that Jack laughed, because even if Connor had said that before, he'd had trouble believing it, but now-

He'd fought through so much.  He'd come so far.  Even if he wasn't a warrior, he was pretty sure he was a badass indeed, and that was good enough for him. 

~:~

George was trying, honestly trying, to not start snarling, and he believed the effort deserved to be commended.  Theoretically, at least, though perhaps not in practice as the objects of his ire weren't present, and it wasn't as though Foolish deserved to deal with his irritation despite being rendered the messenger. 

"I'm not a child," George informed the lord consort – because he was a lord consort rather than a guardian at this moment, had to be a lord consort because George was still so bad at managing familial relationships.  He hadn't been afforded much time to practice before it had all gone south and now he was simply doing the best he could to keep his head above water. "I do not need to be babysat." 

"Neither do I," Foolish countered, standing firm where normally he might wilt – confident but kind – loving – a distant part of George noted, practically overflowing with it.  

Perhaps he'd been avoiding Foolish too much.  George could admit his guardian had been a casualty of his efforts to avoid Sapnap and Dream, though it had felt necessary at the time, and still would, were the assholes not both traipsing about into the unknown on a mission – which was expected of their positions and yet irritating nonetheless, regardless of George's determination not to see them.  He didn't want them in his immediate vicinity, that didn't mean he wanted the knowledge that they were off risking their lives while he was ferrying around paperwork.  The two were not equivocal, for all that Duke Wastaken might disagree. 

"And yet," Foolish continued, waiting for George's wavering focus to return to him, because if anyone understood the weight of a flighty attention span, it was Foolish. "This will make their instincts feel better and admittedly, it will make mine feel better too." 

He offered the last part with a sheepish smile, and it was there that George saw the weariness seep close in the corners of his eyes, saw the vulnerability that Foolish was so good at hiding behind a smile. 

Foolish turned his attention back towards his efforts, fluffing up the pillows on the new cot that had been relocated for George's usage. "Besides, it will be nice to talk to you more.  You've been so busy these past few weeks, it feels like I've barely seen you."

Were it offered from anyone else, George would perceive it as a passive-aggressive slight. From anyone else, it would have been a passive aggressive slight, but not from Foolish.  He wholeheartedly believed that George had merely been busy.  He only saw George in an honorable, productive light, and if anything, he sounded proud rather than sad.  

It wasn't a guilt trip, it was simply a thoughtless observation, thrown into the void of the world before he blissfully moved on.

Guilt sank heavy like a stone in George's gut.  He didn't deserve Foolish.

(He had the sinking suspicion he didn't deserve anyone).

"I'm sorry," George said, heart heavy in his chest. 

Foolish startled from his work with a surprised expression, one that melted into sorrow. "Oh- no, George, that wasn't- you don't have to apologize.  I know you've been working hard-"

"I have been avoiding you," George forced himself to speak up because Foolish deserved to know.  He spent all his time confined to this tent, and still he could smile, could keep a positive attitude.  The least George could do was attempt to imitate his efforts. "But I wasn't- I wasn't avoiding you, I was avoiding Dream." 

Foolish stared at him with wide eyes, needing a moment to process his words.  Had George not been staring at the totem hybrid he likely would have missed the way Foolish's shoulders slumped with relief, because he'd noticed.  Because the thought had occurred to him.  He thought he'd done something wrong, but he hadn't. Not by George. 

"Okay," Foolish said, nodding to show he understood. "Do you want to talk about that?" 

George bit at his bottom lip and, upon realizing that he didn't exactly want to finish the argument he'd started, that his instincts were settled by being in the presence of his guardian – one of the ones that had willingly chosen him, that hadn't belittled him and threw him away, that appreciated him as he was – he crossed the room, taking a tentative seat on the edge of his cot. "It's stupid," he said, because every time he'd thought about vocalizing his new conundrum to someone – to Connor or even Punz when he was feeling especially desperate – it had always sounded so... petty.

Foolish took a quiet seat beside him. "If it makes you feel bad, it's not stupid." 

"But objectively-"

"Nope," Foolish interrupted, knowing that George would distract himself with unimportant arguments for the sake of delaying painful conversations, even if they were inevitable. "Not stupid."

George sighed.  He wondered if Foolish would change his mind if George spelled it out for him, wondered if he'd be disappointed.

There was only one way to find out. 

"For as long as they've known each other, Dream and Sapnap have been at each other's throats."

"I noticed that," Foolish offered, companionably bumping his arm against George's – a grounding reassurance that he wasn't alone. 

"Who couldn't?" George rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips because for all that it had irritated (and perhaps somewhat devastated) him that the two protectors he most held dear couldn't stand each other, he cared for them too much to entirely disregard them, to loath their actions because at the end of the day, their idiocy was what made them, them. "I wanted so badly for the three of us to be friends back then.  I didn't- I'm not one who has many friends, and when I could confidently say I had two that I trusted, who trusted me in turn, I just- I wanted us together.  I thought we could be unstoppable, maybe even pack." 

"I think that's a fair expectation," Foolish said, his voice soft so as not to break George's train of thought. "Considering how close they are to you." 

"Thanks," George whispered, and he meant it.  He didn't need anyone's approval but his own, but still, it felt nice to get Foolish's. "I gave up on that dream a long time ago, and I wasn't bitter about it.  Sapnap and Dream – for all that they irritate me – I wouldn't change them, and I know that sometimes people just don't get along.  That's life.  It just happens sometimes, I'd made peace with it."

He turned to face Foolish and was met with a soft, sympathetic expression, one that cleaved right into George's very chest because he knew, the totem hybrid knew and perhaps he'd known for a while.  Perhaps he'd known even longer than George had.  Perhaps he would have told the panther hybrid had he seen him, had George asked about it, but the fact was, he knew. Knew with a sympathy so deep it implied that either Dream or Sapnap had been the one to tell him. 

"Do you feel left out?" Foolish asked, moving forward with a careful probe, trying to bear the weight of the conversation so George could have a few moments to breathe. "You know, I'm sure both of them would be happy to have you as their alpha-"

"What- what do alphas have to do with anything?" George asked, a spike of panic shooting through his chest.  Foolish tensed. "Why are we talking about alphas?" 

That was- it happened with pack, though even then it wasn't guaranteed.  Not all protectors were compatible in such a fashion – some were always equals or took turns taking the lead depending on the situation.  Establishing an alpha hierarchy with multiple protectors was a sign of great respect and trust, of intimacy and connection.  It was a big deal, a huge one. 

They wouldn't have kept that from George.  They couldn't have.  It was too big. 

But Foolish's eyes were wide – like he'd made a mistake, a misstep, and George's heart was in his stomach as ice soothed down his back, and despite sitting perfectly still he felt like he was seconds from shaking apart. 

"Sapnap claimed Dream as his alpha," Foolish said, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. "I thought- isn't that what you're upset about?" 

It was now. 

With a snarl, George forced himself away from the bed, forced himself away from Foolish, from where he might do actual damage.  He dug the heels of his palms hard into his eyes even though it didn't stop the burn of tears dripping down his cheeks like poison, his claws extending to protect him from a threat he'd never be able to face head on.  His legs collapsed under him, and he was distantly aware of Foolish aiding his descent to the ground, the small peacekeeper letting out soothing purrs George couldn't hear over the burst of anger ringing through his ears. 

They didn't need him.  They'd never needed him.  George was just a hurdle they'd overstepped to get what they actually wanted.  Perhaps they were friends now, had such a strong relationship, explicitly because they were no longer interacting with George. 

It was George that had made everything worse.  They knew they were better off without him.

They hadn't even told George they were leaving – he'd found out from Connor, from Foolish. 

"Oh, George," Foolish soothed, but George could only bite down on his bottom lip to keep the yowls at bay, not wanting to sully the dignity of the Essempi family more than he already had.  It was a joke, a joke, and now they looked after him from obligation alone, because they'd promised Jack.

Jack, George realized with a sudden clarity. 

Perhaps- what if they only wanted Jack?  What if George was a means to an end?

The blaze hybrid may only be a peacekeeper but he was a lovely one, and more than that – two protectors, regardless of having an established alpha-second relationship, would need someone else to balance them out.  Perhaps they had their eyes on Jack. 

Not on George's fucking watch. 

They were dead to him, they were gone, and George hardened himself, only half paying attention to Foolish's attempted comforts, the peacekeeper murmuring about things getting lost in the heat of war and how they might not have known how to broach the subject or that they'd wanted to do it in person-

It didn't matter why.  All that mattered was that it hadn't happened, and George would deal with the consequences. He would focus, and when he got back home, they'd be gone.  He'd still visit the rest of the Wastakens, he'd still have tea with the duchess and chess with the duke and get all the best gossip from Drista, but Dream and Sapnap-

They were gone from his life.

Just like they were gone from this camp.

Chapter Text

"Good of you to get over your shit with Foolish," was how Connor unceremoniously thrust his way into George's life once more, a bit singed around the edges but otherwise fine, if a bit filthy. 

"Fuck off," George hissed from where he was hunched over the worktable he had appropriated for his own usage, and across the room, at his own worktable, Foolish released a small, despairing sigh. 

Admittedly, George hadn't been the most pleasant individual to interact act with lately.  He knew that.  He knew he was in control of that.  He knew that he could make it better if he put the effort in.

He pointedly did not do that. 

Connor, who'd been making a beeline for the large wolf pelt that acted as a rug/crashing station for the generals when they were too tired to clean up for the nest, paused, considering George with an owlish blink. "Okay, I see you have discovered a new bounty of issues.  That's- well, I can't say it's not expected." 

George hissed at him, deciding that words were overrated while he continued coding his notes.  Why did he have to learn this system in the first place?  Why had he burdened himself with that knowledge?  They would have shoved TapL out here in two leg casts if George had just minded his own business instead of trying to make himself valuable for something as paltry as validation. 

It was stupid. 

If he'd kept to himself he'd be home right now, protecting Jack from attacks and not burdened with the knowledge that his friends – his former friends – were- no, he was tired of devoting mental energy to them.  He was done with them in all capacities.  Done. 

"It's all the emotional repression," Connor offered as he flopped down on the wolf pelt, lounging back in a lazy sprawl. "It was always bound to cause issues.  Combine that with the high-stress situation and honestly-"

"You don't have to keep talking."

"I'm surprised you haven't gone feral before this, I really am," Connor continued as though he hadn't heard George. "If you'd stayed with the Davidsons you definitely would have, no question." 

Foolish released another sigh and straightened, but that was his commanding posture, the one he didn't seem to know he had, the one that made Eret and Wilbur fall to their knees without an ounce of hesitation. "Connor, you aren't being helpful right now."

"Sorry," Connor said, immediate and somewhat bashful as he curled up on his side, nuzzling into the fur rug. "Scouting missions are- they're fine, but it's just- it's stressful, and I ramble as a way to process." He turned his gaze towards George. "I'm sorry for poking fun at you.  I needed to not do heavy thinking things for a bit but that came at your expense, and that's not okay." 

"Are you alright?" George asked, abandoning his anger to cross to Connor, not hesitating to crawl onto the rug and offer a comforting presence with his brother – his actual brother, not like the other four that had treated him like garbage all his life because he had black fur where they were golden, their jaguar spots shining true where George's blended in, subtle – boring. "Did anything happen?" 

"It's just prolonged stress," Connor said, waving him off for all that he cuddled closer – near without touching, which was what Connor needed sometimes. "I know I might seem unaffected, and I'm trained to withstand this kind of stuff, but that was before I had a- before Jack, I mean." He kneaded his knuckles against his forehead. "I didn't realize how much that would weigh on me."

"His last letter helped," George noted, because it had been a grand relief to hear how well Jack had been doing, even if some of the developments hadn't been expected. 

Adopting Josh Manifold as a pup-like figure was- well, Jack had always been unique, and at least he'd chosen from a decent stock.  George liked the Manifolds; they were always precise with their paperwork.  

"Yes, mostly," Connor agreed, releasing a weak rumble of thanks when Foolish settled down on his other side – sitting so as not to crowd them, but still distinctly present. "The thing with Sam, though-"

"What thing with Sam?" Foolish asked, flushing when he realized he'd interrupted. "Whoops, sorry." 

"No, it's fine," Connor waved him off too, shifting onto his back with a lazy stretch so he could see both of them. "He and Jack established an informal pack agreement.  Jack likes him so that gives him a pass in my book, but I'm..."

"Worried," George finished for him, making it so Connor wouldn't have to admit to such a weakness. "I can admit, I'm concerned as well." 

"What?  Why?" Foolish asked, brows drawn together in confusion.

It was because much like Eret and Wilbur, Foolish had long since charmed Sam into claiming him as one of the creeper hybrid's favored people.  And Sam, being Sam, ensured that only the best stories of his exploits ever trickled back to Foolish.  

And Sam, being Sam, ensured that the harsher stuff – though a necessary duty – didn't. 

George would say this, Sam didn't abuse his authority.  Sam was calm and just, he was practical to a fault and had an unwavering sense of justice.  That said, for him the world was black and white, and such rigidness had a tendency to be more harsh than kind.  The empire had benefited from his efforts, truly, but none of his friends had.  Lord Foolish and Wilbur were likely the closest things Sam had to friends, at least until Quackity came along. 

Ant had different opinions, of course, but he kept most of his knowledge close to his chest out of respect towards the duke’s boundaries.  George always felt like there was more of a story there, but if Skeppy – one of Ant’s favorite individuals – couldn’t get it out of the cat hybrid, George wasn’t going to have much luck even if they could both speak Feline.

But it would be difficult to explain that to Foolish, who had so few people he genuinely trusted, genuinely wanted the world for, and Sam was one of them.

Thankfully, Connor was kind enough to step in. 

"Because Sam likes Quackity," Connor explained, his expression pinched. "Sometimes I worry how much, and sometimes I worry that Jack is a pawn to increase his connection with Quackity which, you know, makes me want to start punching." 

"Sam wouldn't do that," Foolish protested, but his gaze was narrowed in thought, which meant he was considering it.

"I don't think he'd consciously do it," Connor agreed. "Actually, I think his connection with Jack is genuine.  Once he's comfortable around you, Jack is a very lovable individual." 

"He is," George agreed, his heart twisting in a small stab of pain at the thought of the peacekeeper he'd left behind. 

"Again, I'm just worried," Connor repeated. "You know how Sam fixates."

"I think you should give him more credit," Foolish huffed. "I don't mean to dismiss your concern though.  You have a different perspective than me and Jack's important to you."

"He's important to you too," Connor said, looking up at the totem hybrid with a sort of earnestness he was normally above, but for Foolish they all made exceptions, much like they did for Jack and Quackity.  

"Which is why I'll keep an eye on Sam too when we get back," Foolish said, his smile fond as he reached down towards the hedgehog hybrid, carding a careful hand through his hair and quills. "There's no harm in playing it safe."

The words, simple as they were, made Connor relax, the smallest grin pulling at his lips. "Thanks," he murmured – and look at him, being mushy.  

And this was totally a mushy Connor, or the closest version of him George would ever get, and it was lovely. 

As though realizing the immensity of this Connor cleared his throat, turning his attention towards George with a serious look, as though it could hide his flush. "Now um- that's my concern addressed, so spill." He gave George's arm a soft bap. "What's going on with you?"

George furrowed his nose in displeasure, the irritation and bitter fury from earlier rekindling in his stomach, making for a dangerous cocktail. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Really?" Connor was incredulous now, his brows raised in an unimpressed slant. "That's the angle you want to go with?  You're only radiating fury a mile wide.  I'm pretty sure they didn't see it on the moon, but they would if you tried a bit harder."

"Connor," George chastised, but his brother was unrepentant, staring him down with an expectant look.  George sighed.  He was going to find out anyway. "Dream and Sapnap are dead to me." 

Again, Foolish sighed, but it wasn't a disappointed thing.  At least, not in George. 

"Are they really friends then?" Connor asked, interested but not all-knowing, likely because command kept him busy with his scouting missions.  That was the cost you paid when you specialized in stealth. 

"More than that."

"They're dating?" Connor gasped, so loud and amazed that George would have thought he'd been joking, exaggerating for the sake of poking at George once more before he burst up into the sitting position, as though he couldn't possibly remain reclined under the weight of that knowledge. 

Which meant he actually thought that.  Connor actually thought-

"Talk about a plot twist," Connor continued, seemingly to himself.

"No, you shit," George hissed, ears pinned flat against his head as though that could hide the furious rush of blood blossoming in his cheeks. "They're alpha and second.  They talked about it with Techno and everything." 

"Oh." Connor blinked, offering a hand out to George as the panther hybrid rolled into a sitting position. "In hindsight, that makes more sense."

"You're stupid," George reminded him, just in case he forgot.

Connor waved him off while Foolish released a soft sound of chastisement. "George, be nice to your brother," Foolish huffed, and were it anyone but Foolish saying anything but those words George might have snarled, but it was and Foolish acknowledged that Connor was his brother so he just flushed uselessly instead. 

"Yeah," Connor drawled, grinning wide. "Be nice to me."

"Connor," Foolish warned, and both of them took their chidings with a grin, acknowledging them and safely moving on. 

"I'll admit, I don't know what the big deal is," Connor continued. "I thought you wanted them to like each other. I thought that was a whole thing to you." 

"They didn't tell me about it," George said, cutting right to the point. "I share a tent with them – or I did – and they didn't even bother to tell me about this.  Everyone else knew but I didn't."

"Well geez, genius, do you think that maybe they were afraid of how to break it to you?" Connor prompted, shifting into sarcasm where George had expected sympathy.  It was what Foolish had done, still did sometimes, hitting George with something he knew stemmed from affection that felt distinctly close to pity. "You might not know this but you're very intimidating, and they're very stupid.  Loveable, supportive, but still meatheads." The corner of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. "Can't say I understand your taste, but you certainly do have a type."

The heat in George's cheeks intensified. "Jack's not stupid."

"The exception," Connor hummed, looking fond. "Face it, your guys are great at battle and war tactics, great at leading an army, but asking them to make the best decisions towards interpersonal dynamics in an active war zone is a bit much.  I'm not saying you shouldn't be pissed at them, because they did still hurt you.  The damage is still done, but maybe don't cut them out of your life entirely because they're two idiots likely overwhelmed with the new dynamic they have going on.  They didn't mean to freeze you out; they're probably just doing their best to survive this thing in one piece." 

"And they think I have it easy?" George snapped. 

"May I remind you that you were actively avoiding them," Connor said, gaze narrowed and again, unimpressed. 

"Why is that, by the way?" Foolish asked, once more stumbling upon the hard-hitting question quite on accident. "I thought it was because they were alpha and second, but was it really just their new friendship that makes you uneasy?"

George froze, and that wasn't- it wasn't fair, he wasn't supposed to have to deal with this stuff.  It was bad enough that he wasn't getting enough sleep, terrified that he would have wet dreams while sharing a tent with Foolish.  The thought of him hearing any of George's reactions, not that Dream and Sapnap ever did, but Foolish was just the slightest bit more observant than either of those two baboons, and-

"Oh shit," Connor said, his expression now serious. "You really don't want to talk about it."

"I cannot emphasize how dumb it is," George huffed, drawing his knees up so he could bury his face against them, could give himself something that would keep him from looking at Foolish's worried expression. "I'm not even doing it on purpose, I don't know why it's happening." 

"Weird dreams?" Connor asked, making George twitch with a full body flinch, because how did he know?  How did he always know? "Process of elimination," Connor explained casually, like they were discussing the weather. "Again, I've been expecting your whole emotional repression thing to rear its ugly head in new and inventive ways for a while now – I assume this relates.  Please don't snarl at me," he added when George was perhaps about to do that, because if Connor knew so damn much, why wouldn't he just spell it out for George? 

"Just-" George bit off the word in his frustration, trying to articulate himself without devolving into a series of growls. "I want them to stop." 

"They're probably your subconscious’s way of trying to communicate something to you," Connor offered. "Do you want to talk about them?" 

George bit at his bottom lip, considering.  His gaze shifted over towards Foolish – who thought so much of him, who loved him regardless of his crankiness and irrationality.  He felt awkward; these weren't the kinds of conversations he was ever going to have with his old family and he barely knew how to tackle them now with Connor.  Only the fact that Connor could put most of the pieces together on his own had allowed them to get as far as they had. 

Foolish seemed to catch his indecision, shifting into a knowing look. "Why don't you guys talk privately in Connor's tent?  You can come back here if and when you're ready."

“I'm sorry," George apologized, because he knew how lonely and helpless Foolish felt, how much George's presence – as irritated as it was – grounded him.

Immediately, Foolish was on him, fluttering close and offering him comforting nuzzles. "No, hey, don't worry about me," Foolish purred. "You look after yourself, I'll be fine."

"I love you," George said, tentatively going in for a hug.  It was a relief when Foolish returned it, when Connor himself eagerly added on, the three of them joined in a group hug that settled his instincts in a way he could scarcely describe.

"I love you too," Foolish purred, nuzzling their heads. "Both of you." 

"Aw, shucks," Connor murmured, trying to be coy but leaning into the contact, and if they enjoyed the comfort of their embrace for longer than was strictly needed, that was their business and no one else's. 

Eventually, they had to pull away.  Eventually, George had to address his issues instead of distracting himself with grudges that he'd known, deep down, were ultimately unfounded.  Maybe.  

George was willing to think that this particular judgement was still up in the air. 

They didn't pull away until he did, and Foolish bid them off with a small grin, seeming comforted that George may or may not be getting the help he needed.  Who even knew, George certainly didn't. 

The walk to Connor's tent was too short, and then they were there with no more excuses at hand to stall them. 

"So," Connor broke the silence with a lazy drawl, motioning George to take a seat on the edge of his cot.  It was more modest than George's tent, but Connor shared it with no one, which was a sign of luxury in itself. "Is it sex or romance?"

"Connor," George sputtered, scandalized.

"Sex then," Connor hummed, giving a knowing nod. "And that's worrying you?"

"Of course it is," George hissed, his tail flicking in irritation. "It isn't appropriate.  Jack trusts me."

"Yes, and that has nothing to do with subconscious desires you literally have no control over manifesting into memorable dreams," Connor said. "So let's just wrap our heads around that little nugget of information and come to terms with it because I feel like you've been carrying around a lot of guilt for something that was ultimately out of your hands."

"It's not that simple." 

"It really, really is," Connor countered, refusing to budge an inch. "If you wouldn't persecute Jack for having dreams about you-"

"That's different," George sputtered, his face flooding with a furious heat at the very thought of it. 

"It actually isn't at all," Connor drawled. "You're purposefully focusing on this unnecessary guilt thing because that's easier to handle than the idea that you might want to sex Jack up." He cocked his head to the side, thoughtful. "I'm guessing Dream and Sapnap made guest appearances as well if you went out of your way to avoid them."

George buried his face in his hands. "I don't know why I thought I could hide anything from you."

"Me either, but it's cute when you try," Connor offered consolingly, giving George's arm a few pitying pats. "Ready to deal with the problem instead of running away from it?"

"No."

"Ready to do it anyway?" Connor asked, unrepentant, and George released a weary sigh. 

He shouldn't have started this conversation with Connor if he didn't want to finish it.  That said, if he legitimately did want to stop, Connor would let him, he just knew that when it came to George, he had to push. 

"Okay," George said, voice small but audible, which was enough for his brother.

"Alright then," Connor hummed, giving his shoulder a few pats. "Let's get started, shall we?"

It was going to be a long afternoon.

~:~

"So," Connor began brightly, because that was the way of things with them, Connor push-push-pushing while George was dragged along for the ride, a necessary but still troublesome event. "What about this is difficult for you?  Is it the guy-thing?  Were your old family the kind of super traditional homophobes that tried to condition you to avoid that stuff for dumb, superficial reasons or is it something else?"

"As though my old family ever talked to me that much," George sniffed. 

Honestly, his old family would have gladly sold him off to anyone for the sake of strengthening the family's position, would have marketed him as second husband arm candy to some rich noble that already had a wife for the purposes of procreation and wanted to play a different kind of field. 

"Then what's the issue?" Connor pressed. "Is it because you're worried about how your feelings will affect Jack?  Because let me tell you something, if you think you're betraying him by forming some sort of attraction to him, that's a load of hot garbage.  If anything, your attraction proves that you consider him a strong individual rather than a pity project mess still working themselves way into personhood." 

George wanted to snarl at the latter description because that wasn't even close to encapsulating who Jack was.  Sure he still had his issues, but hundreds of others in his position wouldn't have succeeded with nearly as much grace as he had.  He was so strong, fighting the battles he did, overcoming them and then bracing himself for new ones without getting discouraged.  It made George proud that such an individual had chosen him, of all people, to be his protector.  It was a badge of honor he would wear until the day he died, and he could tell from the gleam in Connor's eye that he agreed with that sentiment wholeheartedly. 

"If you're afraid your feelings – both romantic and sexual – will affect the fragile balance he's managed for himself, that's a conversation you should have with him.  It's understandable to be worried when Jack's been forced to overcome as much as he had, but deciding he isn't ready for that sort of thing without consulting him is a different matter entirely, and not only that, is patronizing as fuck, which Jack doesn’t deserve."

"No," George agreed, shoulders falling in the wake of Connor's reality check. "He doesn't.  But he just- with his past assault, I don't want him to be afraid of me.  I would hate to make him uncomfortable."

Even now, George's protector instincts only wanted to make Jack happy, wanted to bring him the best in life.  He wanted to protect, and if he had to guard Jack from himself then that was what he would do.  "I realize I might not be giving him enough credit, but this isn't something that can be taken back.  Once it's out there, it's out there." 

"And that's a fair concern too," Connor said, and it wasn't patronizing when he offered it, he was only sincere as he considered George's conundrum, working through it the way a healthy pack should. "But I think by this point Jack both knows and trusts your character.  Trusts that even if you have these feelings, you'll always respect his desires over your own and would never do anything to make him uncomfortable.  That's just my take, but if you want to be sure to do this right, you could always schedule a session with Ponk – both to prepare yourself and to facilitate the conversation with Jack.  Ponk's office is a neutral, safe space, and I can step in as a neutral mediator if you think that would help."

"I really have to tell him, then," George murmured, the fact weighing on him heavily.

"It's going to affect your relationship with him, so yes, he deserves to know," Connor said. "I understand – theoretically – that this is intimidating, but you should have faith in your relationship.  Granted, we don't know how Jack's going to respond to the sex stuff, but the romance... I think you might have more luck than you expect, just- you have to go slow and easy, is all.  All of this is new for him, and I know you'll proceed with care, I just want you to understand that it might be even slower than you anticipate." 

"For him, it'd be worth it," George pledged.

"True," Connor agreed, humming in approval. "Now I realize that in itself is a rather large and daunting issue, but setting it aside-"

"I don't know how Dream and Sapnap factor into this," George groaned, burying his face in his hands. "I think it's just hormones."

"Mm hm." Connor pressed his lips together in an expression of neutral judgement George was really starting to loathe. "Do you? Do you really?"

Curse Connor.  Curse him to his very bones.

"I don't know what else it could be," George lied, because apparently he was still at that point. "I've never felt that sort of urge towards either of them before.  I don't know why it's starting now."

"Perhaps it's because they're being such loving and attentive protectors towards your peacekeeper," Connor offered, helping George fumble through things. "That's an attractive quality in anyone, but especially pack-focused hybrids.  Perhaps their behavior gave you an idea of what could be."

"What, you mean like what the emperor has?" George pressed, his eyes narrowed in thought. "With Techno and Quackity?"

Before Phil and Eret had married Foolish, it was an unspoken standard that noble couplings were monogamous regardless of whether they were hybrid based or not.  It was a rigid, traditionalist standard established for the sake of simplicity, but the fact was that most hybrids thrived better with large, expansive packs.  In light of that, polycules and polyamory were much more fitting, which was why when Philza and Eret had married Foolish – even if it was more symbolic than anything else, with only Eret and Foolish truly being in love (well, George had his suspicions that Eret was head over heels for Philza, but as he'd never acted on it and likely never would, it wasn't a theory that was worth mentioning), it was still a great step forward for noble pack dynamics.  Now having multiple partners was acceptable, which meant that George's defaulted vision of one life partner could shift into having multiple, and that-

That made him hold his head for a bit, his mind reeling with the implications.

"You okay?" Connor asked instead of answering his question, knowing George had already realized the full breadth of his implications. "Need a minute?"

"Many, many minutes," George muttered, rubbing at his temple. "I've never considered this."

"You haven't?" Connor seemed genuinely surprised by this. "Not even a little bit?" 

"Why would I?" George huffed. "Until recently, I was a Davidson.  Anyone I publicly connected with would only be dragged down by my family." 

Connor leaned back, his gaze wide as he muddled over that information. "You'd resigned yourself to a life of bachelorhood."

"It wasn't like I had to worry about maintaining my family line," George muttered.  His family had been thorough in their efforts to demonstrate just how expendable they considered him to be.  If anything, they would prefer if he didn't procreate so as not to pass on the fur that rendered him a black sheep and blight unto his family. "Honestly, I wouldn't want to inflict my family on anyone, so it seemed like an inevitable conclusion."

"Wow." It was deadpan, clearly a placeholder while Connor processed that, and George tried not to be offended. "Just when I start to think you're the normal one, I realize that you have just as much baggage as the rest of us." 

"Normality is a lie," George sniffed, reiterating the point Ponk had pressed many times.

It earned him a wide grin. "That's true," Connor relented. "Okay, so you never considered it a possibility for yourself, and what time you've spent as an Essempi was focused on other things.  Now that you have an opportunity to think about it, could you see a future with Dream and Sapnap?  Forget all the noble stuff for a minute-"

"I can't though," George interrupted with a huff. "Dream's going to be the next duke, he couldn't be with three individuals that have no hope of producing an heir.  He needs at least one partner capable of bearing a child or the Wastakens will become a laughingstock.  It will provide a weakness that the other nobles will exploit – throwing their daughters at all of us, hoping that if one takes a liking to them, they can marry in.  It's just-" George exhaled hard through his nose.  He was usually better at staying practical under the firm hand of logic and reason, he didn't know why he was allowing his emotions to get so out of sorts now. "It can't be done.  And Jack's an heir too, whether he knows it or not.  I know Quackity's going to have him take over Las Nevadas one day – after his majesty, no one loves those citizens more than Jack."

He'd be a good duke too – fair and kind and so full of love, and George was going to help guide him there, was going to be by his side every step of the way.

"It's a little better with me and Sapnap," George continued. "Even if I'm Eret's only heir, he established a precedent by adopting me.  I could adopt a suitable heir as well.  And Sapnap has many brothers – even if he's a prince, it would be more socially accepted."

And that didn't include the fact that these would be three heirs of some of the most powerful families uniting in a fashion that had never been managed in the empire's history.  Even if their connection was genuine, even if it was merely happenstance that landed all of them as heirs, there was no way it wouldn't be seen as a power play, especially considering that George had intentionally downplayed his connection to Dream for almost a decade now.  In light of that, throwing Sapnap onto the pile would look like a declaration of war against the rest of the nobles – the most powerful families uniting together in an intimidating force that few would sit idly by and contemplate.  No, nobles were too paranoid for that, they hadn't gotten as far as they had by not taking precautions.  They'd build up their own unions, and then the entire balance of noble powers would be thrown off.

That was, of course, assuming any of the others felt the same way.  There was a strong chance they didn't.  Perhaps George could have Jack in some capacity, but he had no reason to believe that Dream or Sapnap would ever consider him as anything other than a good friend. 

An intimidating friend, apparently.

"It just couldn't be done," George sighed. "There's no way."

And that was that.

Unless you were Connor.

The hedgehog hybrid quirked a brow at him. "You think members from the major families haven't married before?"

"I think the heirs haven't," George countered. "You know it's different."

"Maybe," Connor allowed. "But let's tackle this one thing at a time.  You're worried about the kid thing, and you don't need to be – both Dream and Jack have siblings who could believably pass on their family line."

"But it's different with the Wastakens," George argued. "Every one of them counts.  They're such a rare hybrid type-" Granted, even George didn't know what Dream was a hybrid of, exactly, just that he had plenty of scales and a strong resistance to the cold. "-to have one simply choose not to procreate would be irresponsible."

"Then you'll get a surrogate."

George paused, unfamiliar with the term. "What?" 

"It's someone you bring in to manage a pregnancy between two parties that are incapable of doing it themselves.  So if you and Dream wanted to have a kid, you'd get a surrogate peacekeeper to balance out all the protector genes – do a little magic, a little alchemy, and bam, you can have a kid that's from him and you, easy peasy." 

George had never heard of that, but he'd also never thought about kids or marriage.  It seemed like such a distant thing. Granted, he knew one day he'd have to teach an heir like Eret, he just thought he'd adopt them as an adult the way Eret had with him.  He couldn’t imagine raising a child, not really.  Not when he could barely remember his own childhood.

"So that takes care of the whole kid problem," Connor continued, seeming unaware of the way he had rocked the fundamental understanding of George's world. "The problem with the major families uniting can be tackled by the Wastakens, Eret, and Wilbur.  Fuck, it could be managed by Techno too – there's a reason they have those information networks.  It's not just to collect information, you know.  They can shift public perception too; we could make it work.  So." He leaned back with a cocky smile. "With those excuses addressed, what's holding you back from Dream and Sapnap?"

George felt like there couldn't be a world where it was even slightly that simple, but those things aside-

"They don't even like me like that," George muttered, glaring at his boots.  It sounded even stupider out loud. "Dream's my brother.  His family is my own.  It's clear he only considers me pack, and Sapnap-"

"See," Connor interrupted, cheerfully lost in his own little world. "I go around praising just how smart and clever my brother is and then you go and say something and remind me why you're such a perfect match for Dream and Sapnap."

"Connor," George hissed, because that was unhelpful. 

"Sorry, sorry – it's a stupidity we all love you for, if it's any consolation," Connor drawled, as though that had been the problem. "George, did you ever sit back and wonder why Dream and Sapnap didn't like each other for so long?" 

"Because sometimes that just happens?" George prompted. "Not everyone has cooperating personalities." 

"Yes, that's a good theory," Connor allowed, his grin small, kind. "Though not entirely accurate in this case.  It's because they were two of the most important guys in your life, and I suspect they wanted to be the most important guy in your life, if you catch my drift."

George did not.  It was expected when he had these conversations with Connor, but still.

"Clarify," he said, hoping it didn't sound as begging as it felt.

Connor took pity on him. "They saw each other as competition for your affection and declared instant rivalry then and there.  I'm guessing that changed when they realized that neither one of them was going anywhere, and their powers combined would be far more successful than their powers apart.  Also," he continued. "I suspect that they knew if their stupid fight affected Jack in any way – who is now entirely entrenched in your life – they knew I would have their heads on a platter regardless of who their families were." He grinned. "If anything, that's a great sign of progress from them."

"You- you think that..." George couldn't even finish the statement, feeling numb with confusion. "That is the dumbest theory I've ever heard."

"Have I lied to you yet?" Connor challenged, both brows raised in preparation for a battle.

"That doesn't mean you've adequately judged the situation."

"Have I ever inadequately judged a situation?" Connor hummed, a picture of innocence that was entirely a lie. 

"That doesn't mean you won't," George hissed. "And it doesn't mean I can risk a thing on your word alone."

"Then don't," Connor said, and it hadn't been what George had expected at all – but of course it hadn't, it was Connor.  He thrived in unpredictability. "Test the waters. See for yourself, and if it falls through, feel free to blame me or alternatively, trust in your friendship and the connections you've built with each other, and know that even if they aren't interested, they aren't going to treat you any differently.  They might be stupid, but they're not that stupid.  Even if there really is no romance involved, you know they love you, right?  You can trust that much?"

George pressed his lips together, rife with indecision.  He really didn't know. It didn't feel like it, the way they'd been keeping secrets from him.  The pain they'd caused. 

But Connor seemed so sure, and he wouldn't set George up for failure, not on purpose.  He wasn't like George's old family. 

"Maybe I'll broach the subject with them when they return," George murmured, wrapping his head around it. "Maybe.  But I might wait until the war is over instead.  I don't want to provide additional distractions."

"You're going to be distracted," Connor reminded him gently. "That might distract them with worry, you know."

George sighed.  Looked like he'd be avoiding them after all. "I'll play it by ear."

He tried to picture it again, being married to Dream.  Being married to Sapnap.  He liked the idea of it, of the three of them taking care of Jack.  It'd be like what they had now, but without Dream and Sapnap at each other's throats.

With more sex too. 

This really was going to befuddle him for days, wasn't it. 

"I'll take it," Connor said, clapping his shoulder again. "Hey, I'm proud of you." 

It wasn't even patronizing, which was the worst thing.  He meant it, and it made George's chest fill with an unquestionable warmth. 

He should hate how foreign it felt.  Instead, he held on tight. 

"I'm proud of you too, asshole," George muttered, staring at his hands. "Want to not cuddle while you take a nap?" 

"You are the best brother in the world," Connor gasped quickly, the words running together in a fast slur. "Please and thank you.  All this being the smartest person in the room stuff is exhausting."

"I'm going to tell Foolish you said that," George huffed as they turned to prepare the cot, and it earned a flick to his forehead for his troubles, but that was fine.

This moment, at the very least, was okay, and George would embrace that.  

Chapter Text

George could admit he'd needed a nap as well with all the sleep he'd been missing, and he was gifted with a dreamless rest that left him and Connor feeling more exhausted than ever, because sometimes life was unfair like that.

"Fuck," Connor grumbled from his spot beside George as they trudged back to the emperor's tent.  Foolish would be worried if they stayed gone too long, for all that he likely assumed their duties had pulled them away elsewhere. "What utter bullshit that is."

"Such is the way of naps," George sighed, knowing that as heavy as they felt, it would benefit them tonight when they properly rested, because at this point, there was no putting it off anymore. 

Of course, his conversation with Connor was half-hearted at best, George's mind lost to musings of surrogates, of what his and Dream's children might look like, his and Jack’s.  Jack and Sapnap – now they would have cute pups – George hoped they'd have Jack's freckle-like scales, so much smaller and more subdued than Sapnap's, but of course he was getting ahead of himself.  Sapnap and Jack were barely friends now and Jack may never be in a place where he wanted to be with someone romantically – and if he did, he might not want more than one partner.  But Connor was right, that was a discussion George needed to have with Jack rather than fretting about it, so instead he daydreamed about their future together, about the army of assistants they'd need to manage their three estates.  He pictured a loud and boisterous Yule – perhaps at the Wastaken's estate or the castle.  He imagined Jack cuddling their pup close the way he did with Tubbo, imagined Dream fretting after him, looking to George for reassurance because of course he'd be alpha, it wasn't a question.  He certainly wasn't going to follow after the other two idiots.  No, they were his to watch after and direct and reward as he saw fit, to protect and lead – that felt right, at least, but George had always thought that felt right.  The few times Dream had tried to lead in their youth George had almost always immediately taken over with a roll of his eyes and Dream had let him, always eager to please.  Sapnap had never even tried, always seeing George as a sort of authority, a master of administrative efforts, and he seemed to hold the panther hybrid in awe for that, and George – he could admit he liked it.  Appreciated the considerations.

His seconds – he wanted that.  He wanted it and it hurt, because they might not want that back regardless of what Connor had said.  These were extenuating circumstances; George knew Connor wasn't on top of his game – his little greeting in the emperor's tent had proven that much.  He was fraying around the edges – as much as he ever did – and as much as George wanted to place his unending trust in the hedgehog hybrid, he knew he had to be sensible. He needed to protect his heart.  Things with Jack might not even go well, it could all fall to pieces.  He had to stop getting ahead of himself regardless of how tempting it was. 

If he had a family, he'd treat them right.  They'd never be pawns or tools or assets to be bargained and bartered with at will.  They would have their own lives, be their own individuals, and they'd never have to fight for his validation.  They'd just have it, and he-

He hoped Jack wanted to have kids.  George strongly suspected he did because he loved the pups so much, but that wasn't a guarantee, and if he didn't want kids, then...

Then they wouldn't have kids, simple as that. 

George would fall back on Eret's plan, adopt an adult, and he would enjoy Jack (and Dream and Sapnap) in whatever way the peacekeeper was most comfortable, because that in itself would be more than George could ever hope for.  Perhaps they'd get some cats instead. 

It wouldn't be the same, but it'd still be nice. 

"You're smiling," Connor pointed out, a smug grin ringing in his voice. "Having sweet thoughts?"

"Oh, fuck off," George muttered, ducking his head with a flush. "I'm allowed to daydream." 

"Am I the fun uncle in your daydreams?" Connor probed. "Because I will be deeply offended if I'm not.  Wounded, even."

"The serious uncle would be Bad and you know it," George huffed, feeling the warmth in his cheeks intensify. "And he'd wear that title with pride."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Connor hummed, trailing off in a fond chuckle. "We've got a pretty good pack, you and I." 

"Yeah, I think we do," George agreed, his gaze trailing over their surroundings in a reflexive appraisal, not that they had anything to really worry about in the heart camp like this. "It will be better when..."

He trailed off abruptly, confused, then discreetly rubbed at his eyes, trying to clear his vision.  

He looked up again, but the picture didn't change. 

"That's my brother," he said quietly, Connor having drawn to a halt beside him because at some point, George had stopped walking. "I mean, my old brother." 

It was Gunnar, the first-class knight, which wouldn't be unexpected in a war camp (if anything, George was surprised he hadn't run into him before this point), except instead of his usual armor, he was wearing an apprentice's uniform. 

Hence George's confusion. 

His old brother seemed to be in the process of working with the other apprentices to unload supplies into the cooking tents, a scowl firm on his face and shoulders tense as he resolutely didn't look at anyone.  Were it not for his ears and tail, George would have thought he was someone else, but the Davidson family had a distinctive fur pattern, and that could be no one but Gunnar. 

He must be serving a punishment.  That made sense. 

"Oh, Gunnar?" Connor asked, as though it had taken him that long to unearth the names of George's old family from his memory.  Knowing how spiteful Connor could be, that might actually be true. "Yeah, Dream demoted him weeks ago.  Decided those rumors of harassment weren't quite the misunderstandings he assumed, so he stopped covering for him.  Couldn't keep him first class in good conscience, so his choices were demotion or expulsion." 

The words made sense on a logical level, but in practice, George had no comprehension for them. "What?" 

"Dream used to protect him because he was your brother and he didn't want the guy to drag you down," Connor elaborated. "But since you were disowned, he didn't have to worry about that anymore, so good old what's-his-face had to face the full weight of his actions." Connor let out a small scoff. "About time, honestly." 

"What?" George hissed, turning to face Connor properly. "Are you telling me my stupid-ass brother could have been put in his place years ago, but Dream protected him for me?"

"That does seem to be the running trend with your family members," Connor mused, and before George could unpack whatever the fuck that meant, there was a sound of disgust from the loading area, and he turned in time to see his old brother regarding him with a look of deep hatred, anger burning in his eyes as he advanced on them, his tail flicking in irritation.

"You," Gunnar hissed, hands clenched into shaking fists against his side, and while he did tower a good head over George, it was difficult to feel any sort of fear when he was dressed in an ill-fitting apprentice uniform, and that was forgoing Connor's presence beside George entirely. "You did this.  You and your stupid jealousy-"

"Apprentice Davidson," George interrupted, and that was- oh, that was wonderful, how cool and perfectly unbothered he felt. "You need to review the rules of conduct.  You're making an embarrassment of yourself." 

"Even if we disregarded the fact that you're addressing the son of a duke," Connor added helpfully. "That doesn't change the fact that apprentices are the lowest ranked members in an active army."

"You didn't even ask to approach," George mused, his hands tucked neatly behind his back. "We could have been busy." 

"We are busy, actually," Connor hummed, rocking nonchalantly on his heels in a manner that was designed to be additionally insulting, and he succeeded. "Reporting to Lord Consort Foolish, so if you could return to your duties-"

"As though that whore needs anything but a good fucking," Gunnar hissed, and in one moment George was perfectly composed, feeling on top of the world, victory thrumming in his veins, and in the next-

He was smashing Gunnar’s nose into pieces, the sticky wetness of blood coating his knuckles as he went to throttle the stupid dipshit that had made so much of his life miserable. 

(Un)thankfully, Connor was able to hold him back before George could get his claws out, guards from Sapnap's platoon rushing in to keep both parties separated, though George could barely process them. 

"Don't you dare speak of my father like that," George snarled, struggling in Connor's hold. "You aren't worthy to have his name grace your tongue you ungrateful, egocentric, piece of living feces." 

"Okay, we've had our fun," Connor said, offering stabilizing rumbles into his ear. "He's not worth it, George.  He's not worth your time or energy, he's literally nothing." 

"Right," George said, relaxing somewhat because Connor- he was right.  His brother – his old brother – had about as much power over him as George allowed, and even if he'd said something reprehensible, George didn't have to stoop to his level to address it. 

Even if it felt really good.  

George could admit though, making a scene wasn't his most shining moment.  Or that was what he thought until he heard murmuring in the background, the other bystanders-

"Davidson got laid out by an admin," one of the other apprentices giggled. "What a loser." 

"He really is the worst," another agreed, and that-

It didn't make everything perfect, but it certainly felt close.

~:~

Mornings like these – the slow and lazy ones, the ones where they were allowed to take it as easy as they wanted, the ones after the attack had been settled, the stronghold conquered with minimal casualties, all enemy combatants either defeated or captured – they were the very best mornings that were made even better by the presence of Sapnap.

As worried as Dream had been about the company of the blaze hybrid throwing him off balance, feared for the distraction it would cause, the distraction he couldn’t honestly afford (not if he wanted to protect Sapnap and address his duties with the diligence he had promised) – it turned out to all be for naught.  Yes, he’d been more anxious than normal, but the tradeoff was the stabilizing presence of his second, a presence that reminded him what he was fighting for.  Which he’d always known, but there were some physical reinforcements that had made the idea more grounded in his skin.

That being, of course, cuddling.

It made the most difference at night, of course.  Dream hadn’t realized how tense he’d been without Sapnap until he had the blaze hybrid next to him while he was out on a mission, and the difference was staggering.  Just- it was easier, so much easier to fall asleep and feel grounded and connected and whole, and Dream knew that after this war was over there was no way he was ever going to be able to return to his nest, his hoard, and sleep alone.  He didn’t think it would be possible after being allowed to snuggle with his second like this.  It just- it felt too right.  Too good to willingly ignore.

And Sapnap seemed to enjoy it just as much, always cuddling into Dream’s arms with a happy rumble, a cute grin on his lips that he would deny until the day he died because for whatever reason, Sapnap seemed deeply affronted when Dream declared him adorable rather than handsome.  As though Dream hadn’t already noted him as such as well.  Yes, Sapnap was objectively attractive – Dream had always known that – but mostly he was cute, and more than that, he was Dream’s cute second, which made each scrunched nose and small pout and annoyed huff all the more precious. Made each morning of wild bedhead, of sleepy blinks, of prolonged stretching like a cat all the more satisfying.

Their attack on the stronghold the day before had gone well – a remarkable, unquestionable success that Dream had never doubted, but it felt better to get it behind them. To have that certainty so he could enjoy this time with Sapnap.  It was usually Dream that woke before the blaze hybrid, some deep-seeded need ingrained in his instincts that made him determined to have that quiet time to himself to simply enjoy the presence of the blaze hybrid.  That morning he was cuddled up to Sapnap’s back, hugging onto that pure radiating heat.  He was warm and comfortable and soft, fit against Dream in all the right ways, like he was made for it.

Sometimes Dream imagined what it would be like if George was there as well, if he’d be cuddled against Sapnap’s front, the youngest cradled between them like the brat he was, determined to get his due and pretending he’d articulately haggled for it when in reality he’d stuck out his bottom lip and let his cuteness do the bulk of the work, George deciding to take pity on the blaze hybrid with a roll of his eyes that would never be able to hide his fondness.

And if Jack were there – of course he’d be in the middle with Sapnap – their precious blazes cradled together, and Jack’s smile would be so sweet and George’s grin so proud and Dream would feel whole, would feel complete because this was his hoard, this was what he needed, and nothing and no one was ever going to get between him and it.

They’d get there one day, he hoped.  It seemed so much more attainable now that he understood Sapnap.  In hindsight, he felt stupid for the misunderstanding that had kept them apart this long.  They could have been a united front under George for years now, they could have all become Jack’s protector, and maybe one day they would.   For the moment though, he would enjoy the presence and warmth of Sapnap, the way he happily cuddled into Dream.

Which was always welcome, though led to the occasional awkward predicament.

Such as right now, when Sapnap turned in his sleep, promptly burying his face against Dream’s chest and rutting his hips forward with a sleepy rumble, making a familiar hardness drag against Dream’s leg.

Dream didn’t tense, mostly because it wasn’t the first time it’d happened.

Sometimes it was him and sometimes it was Sapnap, but morning wood was an expected development of their morning conditions.  It was natural, it had always been natural, it was just slightly more problematic when they were sharing a sleeping space with someone they trusted so implicitly and liked so deeply.  It led to other problems.  Grandiose problems.  Problems like Dream’s second knowing he could get pretty much anything he wanted from Dream because – despite being in an active warzone – Dream spoiled him as much as possible, and while he would gladly give Sapnap just about anything he desired, they had never really had a proper discussion about this.

Dream cleared his throat, waiting a few seconds in the hopes that Sapnap might stop himself the way he sometimes did, and promptly choked when Sapnap redirected, grinding dangerously close to Dream’s crotch, which just-

With a sigh, Dream gripped his second’s hip, getting a pleased little coo that did not make him feel hot under the collar before he pulled Sapnap back, keeping him from doing anything he might regret.

In a way, Dream knew this was all his fault.  Their relationship as alpha and second had established because Dream had accidentally turned Sapnap on when giving him a bath.  They’d never addressed that facet of their relationship at all – their needs and desires regarding physical intimacy.  There was the unspoken prospect of George – the thing that had turned them against each other for so long.  Dream knew he wasn’t the only one who sought a more official, intimate, and longstanding relationship with the panther hybrid – it was why he and Sapnap had been at odds for so long – but despite their relationship taking a turn for the better, they’d never discussed anything beyond that, mostly because they were occupied with the war.

It seemed that they needed to discuss that sooner rather than later though if the annoyed pout on Sapnap’s lips was any indication, the blaze hybrid slowly blinking his way towards a distinctly unhappy coherency.

“Alpha,” Sapnap rumbled, a words tinged with a whine that made Dream’s heart twist the same way it always did when Sapnap addressed him that way.  The blaze hybrid gave an annoyed wiggle of his hips. “Fix it.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” Dream murmured, face flooding with heat as he nuzzled their foreheads together, sure to keep his grip on Sapnap’s hip as firm as possible so as not to yield against his attempts to gain leverage.  It was always a tossup for how long Sapnap would be buried in his instincts, but Dream was a good alpha and he wasn’t going to proceed in a direction Sapnap’s fully coherent self might not be comfortable with until they’d had a proper conversation about it, regardless of how much his instincts seemed to push for it. “I need you to fully wake up first, okay?”

“Alphaaaaa.” Sapnap released a more pointed whine, one he seemed to have tailormade for Dream’s weak spots, the one that made him want to fall to pieces every time.  The things Dream would do to earn that whine. “Alpha mean.”

Prime damnit, did Sapnap’s in-instinct self know how to play Dream like a fiddle.

“I’m not on purpose,” Dream rushed to assure, for all that Sapnap wasn’t looking at him, refusing to allow Dream the comfort of his gaze as a sort of punishment, especially when he realized Dream wasn’t going to let them grind together anymore, regardless of how much Dream would gladly allow him to do that very thing under different circumstances – a fact he may or may not have consciously addressed until that exact moment. “Please, Sap, just wake-”

Dream cut himself off when Sapnap stilled, panic piqued as he wondered what his mischievous second was up to now when he realized his current tactics were ineffective.  Was Dream going to get the silent treatment?  Would Sapnap play it nice and sweet, buttering up his ego?  Would he actually wake up, thus saving them from a potentially awkward aftermath, or-

“Sapnap,” Dream gasped, face flooding with a furious heat when Sapnap snuck hand down his own torso, Dream watching it go down, down, down, assuming it would detour – that it had to detour – and promptly choking when it landed between his legs so Sapnap could properly fondle himself, letting out a pleased purr, eyes fluttering shut at the rough grind of friction.   

Damnit, Sapnap – why did he have to fall so hard into his instincts in the early morning?  Dream knew that on one hand he should be both flattered and honored that Sapnap trusted him so much to allow for this vulnerability, but on the other hand, the conversation they were going to have after this was going to be even more awkward.

“Yessss,” Sapnap hummed as he began to grope himself properly, the semi hardness between his legs filling out into a proper erection that strained against the sturdy fabric of his sleep pants. “Good-good-second pretty.”

“S-Second very pretty,” Dream agreed, feeling somewhat faint.  He really needed to put a stop to this. “But-”

“Alpha,” Sapnap purred, leaning forward so he could mouth at the base of Dream’s throat, a stretch of skin he could just barely reach, and that was enough for Dream to shudder, that slight touch of contact sending a flood of fire bursting through his veins – Sapnap’s lips parting with a determined tongue reaching out in a flick to lap up Dream’s scent.

Sapnap burst out a rumble so contented and fierce that Dream was afraid they might hear it from outside, and he immediately wrenched his head back, shoving out with his arms to force some distance between himself and Sapnap.  He had to be the responsible one here, he was the alpha.  Sapnap wasn’t entirely incapacitated – if anything, his instinct self was the most honest version of his needs and desires – but for the sake of the longevity of their relationship, Dream had to play it safe.  He couldn’t afford to risk what they had, their future together, without a proper conversation.

Sapnap shifted uneasily, bottom lip sticking out in a fierce pout while he muttered objections into his pillow. “Mean, mean, alpha mean,” seemed to be the predominant message that struck right at Dream’s heart. “Second good, second so good, please-please-please.”

The last ‘please’ trailed off with a pointed mewl that sent a distinct rush of heat towards Dream’s groin, the alpha unable to stop the reflexive response towards Sapnap’s show.  His hand was still very much going between his legs, groping and rubbing while his hips rocked into the contact, and with Dream a completely abandoned prospect it seemed like he recalculated his plan of attack, leading to his hand fumbling for the drawstring of his pants, and that-

Dream grabbed both of his wrists, pinning Sapnap on his back and pinning both arms over his head, leaving Sapnap spread out below him and vulnerable.  His pupils were blown wide between the haze of lust and his instincts, and with his flushed cheeks and wild hair, with the distinct smell of arousal burning in Dream’s nostrils, it was difficult not to give into the call of his own instincts, the ones that wanted to bury his lips against the curve of Sapnap’s neck and bite down hard, the ones that wanted him to rip off the blaze hybrid’s clothes and show him just how mean Dream could be, wanted those legs hooked over his shoulders-

Holy fuck, how had he acknowledged literally none of that until this point? He knew there was a war going on, but he would have thought that at least a fraction of those lustful intentions would have registered in some way. 

Sapnap struggled against him once, bottom lip clamped between his teeth when he realized Dream wasn’t going to do anything else to him, was simply keeping him trapped in place with his superior leverage. 

“Alpha,” he whimpered, giving Dream his best, hopeful eyes. “Alpha, alpha-” Dream was going to go crazy at this point, he really was, and he was about to get lost contemplating that before he saw Sapnap take a large breath, and then there was panic – because although the men knew they were friends and that they were sharing a tent, that was ostensively under orders, that Dream was supposed to watch Sapnap’s back, and if they actually heard the blaze hybrid whining at Dream (the way he was perfectly entitled to), political ramifications would unfold in a manner neither of them were yet ready to address.

But Sapnap was in his instincts and unhappy, Sapnap was in his instincts and couldn’t think of a way to communicate his need with Dream other than being loud, and Dream really, really needed him to be quiet.

So he didn’t think. 

He just- kissed.

There was a moment where Sapnap’s lips were slack with confusion, an interested sound reverberating from the back of his throat, and then Sapnap was reciprocating, moving his lips with a rumble that was equal parts pleased and excited. 

Dream was kissing Sapnp, who was not George, who was not Jack, both of whom Dream would have expected for his first kiss long before Sapnap ever came into the picture, and yet here he was.

And it was- it was so good.  So very good. 

Kissing Sapnap felt a lot like coming home, like everything he'd expected and nothing he could have ever possibly hoped to anticipate.  He was just as warm as ever, and that heat contrasting with Dream's own naturally cool biology made for a satisfying buzz of pleasure.  It was a heady thing to have his second under him, so eager and wanting.  It was almost overwhelming, the way he attempted to arch into Dream's contact, straining against the grips on his wrists to press closer, a small whine crooned against Dream's lips.

Dream held firm, though.  He was the alpha, he had to set the pace here, had to stay in control of his faculties for both of them.  It was tempting to get lost in it, to abandon all thought and drag Sapnap close the way his second's instincts seemed to demand.  And that was- later, Dream would analyze that, how very much Sapnap seemed to want him – or at least want his help, and maybe it was because Dream was his only option and maybe he didn't want Dream so much as he wanted to take advantage of the company that was offered to him while it was available, but if it really was Dream's scent and presence that set him off, that was- yeah, that was pretty amazing.

Dream was almost certain that even if George did consider him with this kind of attraction, he'd never be like this for Dream.  It was no question that he would be the one that was in control, it would be Dream whining and needy under him, never the other way around.  This was something he could only get with Sapnap, because Jack would – that would be slow, Dream knew that.  It may never happen, and that was okay.  He would take Jack however he could get him, but right now he had Sapnap available to him like this, and it was a beautiful, perfect thing. 

Sapnap tried to push them harder, to urge Dream deeper, pressing for more, but Dream held firm, slowing things down, making Sapnap follow his pace.  He swallowed the blaze hybrid's whimpers with his own careful intent, intermixed with comforting rumbles that made Sapnap shiver, that made him catch his breath and slowly but surely start to relax under Dream.  It got less heated, though no less passionate, Dream swiping a tongue against Sapnap's bottom lip and being welcomed with an eager gasp.  He licked into Sapnap's mouth, something he couldn't dwell on the full immensity of in the heat of the moment.  Rather than that, he focused on Sapnap's warmth, on the tension that slowly drained from his body, like Dream had found some sort of pressure point that made him go boneless.

It was only when they were trading easy, soft kisses that Dream considered pulling back, sensing that Sapnap had withdrawn from a full surrender to his instincts, that coherency had returned once more.

Sure enough, when Dream shifted away Sapnap looked dazed but alert, his pupils returned to their normal size and a small but appetizing blush blossoming across the bridge of his nose.

"Hey," Sapnap greeted, low and rumbling, seeming slightly overwhelmed. "Um- sorry about that." 

"It's okay," Dream soothed, nuzzling his shoulder.  The temptation to bury his teeth in that sacred flesh was still surprisingly strong, and Dream decided to distract himself by releasing Sapnap's wrists and setting his clothes to rights.  At least he didn't seem as hard anymore. "We've been avoiding this conversation for a while." 

Sapnap winced – something Dream couldn't have missed if he tried, seeming to shrink into himself as Dream settled back down beside him. "I'm sorry," he repeated, this time in a whisper. 

Dream felt like something had just transpired that they hadn't directly conversed about, Sapnap was taking a cue from something and building up his walls again, and that wasn't ever going to stand with Dream, not really. 

So Dream shifted forward so he could nuzzle their foreheads together, until Sapnap was forced to look at him, could no longer avert his gaze the way he seemed determined to do now. "You don't have to be," Dream said, his voice soft. "I enjoyed it, but I don't want to do anything until we properly talk about it." He watched Sapnap carefully, and when he didn't shrink away, Dream curled an arm around his waist, tugging him forward so they could cuddle once more. "If the issue is that you subconsciously seek out physical stimulus and I happen to be closest, that's okay.  We'll proceed however you want-"

"Please don't be noble about this," Sapnap murmured, burying his face against Dream's chest. "Please.  You're not interested, I know you're not interested-"

"Who said I wasn't interested?" Dream pressed, heart rate seeming to increase with a furious intensity that left him breathless. 

Sapnap let out an annoyed sound. "You've shoved me off every time I've made an advance-"

"Because we've never talked about it!" Dream hissed. "You've always been in your instincts when it happens.  For all I know, that's the only way you find me attractive."

Sapnap's head jerked up abruptly, his eyes wide. "That's not- that's not true," he admitted with an embarrassed flush. "But I know there's a big difference between being your second and being your second." 

"Don't say it like that," Dream huffed, a wave of annoyance flashing over him at the snotty tone Sapnap imitated.  

He was no doubt mimicking some of the noble knights – the ones whose families only pushed for monogamy and as such had no room for alphas and their seconds outside of familial bonds.  With the focus so great on maintaining power and authority, being declared someone's second was as good as being a laughingstock – no matter how sacred and precious it was – and was only utilized when nobles wanted to explore a different facet of their sexuality outside of what the rigid bounds of nobility allowed for them.  It was a perversion of the concept, and Dream didn't want Sapnap contemplating it like that, not ever.  Not when he was so precious. 

"You will always be my second," Dream murmured, tinging his words with a comforting rumble that made Sapnap's body slowly relax. "Whether or not you're my partner in addition to that, or a close friend you trust enough to explore sexual pleasures with, is an entirely separate matter.  There is nothing dirty or shameful about this.  There is nothing dirty or shameful about you." 

Sapnap shuddered, then seemed to melt into Dream completely – not with the same desperation as before, but with a comfort he knew he could find from Dream without hesitation or doubt. 

"I'm sorry if I made you think that," Dream murmured, rubbing gentle patterns against Sapnap's back. "I know our situation is complicated and our past makes things difficult, but you're my second, and I- I love you." He said it, and it felt right, felt true, words he hadn't realized he'd been desperate to utter for so very long now until he was allowed to finally throw them out. "I don't know if I'm in love with you," he admitted. "But I know that I do love you, and I want to make you happy, and I do find you attractive-"

"Dream," Sapnap said, a somewhat strangled whine – music to Dream's ears. "Why do you have to be so perfect?  It's irritating."

"I'll um- get to work on that," Dream offered, blindsided by a sudden rush of good alpha-best alpha-mate-mate-mate that was just- okay. "So now that you know how I feel-"

"I love you too," Sapnap whispered, like it was a secret of the utmost importance, one that could be used to shatter him to pieces. "And I don't know- I don't know where the line is. I know I'm in love with George, but you are..."

"Yeah," Dream sighed, somehow not registering an ounce of jealousy, not even the slightest threat of it at the mention of another protector, not when it was George. "It's new.  We're still getting used to this.  I get it." 

"I think you're attractive too," Sapnap murmured. "I'd um- I'd like- if you're okay with it- I'd like to do things with you.  Whether I'm in my instincts or not.  I trust you." 

Oh, that was a splash of serotonin straight to Dream's brain, it really was.  That Sapnap would allow him that kind of power after they'd been against each other for so long was no small feat.  It wasn't as though Sapnap would be incapable of stopping him or even saying no, but there was a certain flexibility that came with being in your instincts, a willingness to go along with your partner, sometimes more than you normally would otherwise. It was a big deal for Sapnap to offer that, and he did so without hesitation. 

"Thank you," Dream said, because that was nothing less than a gift. "I think we should discuss our boundaries first so we're on the same page-" Dream had managed to avoid propositioning Sapnap while in his instincts but there had been a few close calls because Sapnap was just so- Sapnap. "And maybe the first time we try initiating things we’ll do it when we're both fully lucid just to get a feel for it."

"I'll get a feel for you," Sapnap drawled, wagging his brows in an exaggerated display that had Dream swallowing snickers. 

"Sap, please, I'm being serious," Dream said, which might have been somewhat more chastising without the poorly stifled chuckles. 

"Come on, I finally have the all clear to flirt with you, how can I not take advantage of it?" Sapnap hummed, contented and pleased until something seemed to occur to him. "That is- if you're comfortable with um- that." 

"I am," Dream hummed, nuzzling his second's shoulder because he really was too cute.  And between Dream and Bad – with George and the rest of the royal pack – Sapnap was definitely going to be spoiled. 

Dream was pretty sure they were all okay with that though.  Some people deserved to be spoiled. "Which is a good first step in discussing our boundaries.  Let's move on to the next one."

"You're going to be disgustingly thorough," Sapnap mock complained, but he nuzzled into Dream, releasing a few contented rumbles of approval. "Thanks, Dream." 

"You don't have to thank me," Dream hummed. "Not when it comes to us."

Or George.  Or Jack.  But they'd get there when they'd get there.

For now, Dream focused on formalizing things with his second.  The stronger the foundation they built together, the better off they'd be.  The easier it would be for them to attack their future and address the rest of his – their hoard. 

George and Jack – they could get somewhere if they worked together.  Dream and Sapnap had spent too many years apart as it was, but now they were going to be an unstoppable duo.  The best alpha and second the empire had ever seen. 

They demanded nothing less.

Chapter Text

As satisfying as it was to punch his old shithead brother in his stupid, pompous face, as justified as it may be, actions still had consequences and despite his status, George was no exception.  Half an hour after his confrontation with Gunnar saw them in the command tent, facing down the major in charge of apprentices along with the corporal that oversaw the army's administrators.  Connor had stayed by George’s side every step of the way, both of them waiting patiently for Gunnar’s nose to be dressed in the medic tent before he was brought to their informal court marshalling, the two of them stood before their commanding officers like naughty school children. 

They seemed to be making an effort to keep things discreet for George's sake – using a section of the tent that was mostly empty, guards posted, audiences dissuaded and coaxed along their way, but despite this, George had no doubt that news of this would spread throughout the encampment by nightfall.  Such was the way of the army.  All fresh gossip was leapt on with a fervent intensity before it was gleefully shared, all of them bored out of their minds, all of them eager for distractions unrelated to the potential dangers they faced. 

"Gentlemen," the major drawled, taking the lead as the highest-ranking officer, the corporal deferring to him with a respectful nod. "Would either of you care to explain why you would resort to petty infighting – cheapening the name of the Antarctic Empire – when there is so much at stake?"

George bit back a snarl by the skin of his teeth, years of practice in maintaining his composure under Eret's careful eye coming into play.  Both the commanding officers knew there were extenuating circumstances.  They had but to look at their ears and features to realize that these were the former Davidson brothers, that there was no love lost between them. 

"He started it," Gunnar snarled, further proving why he'd been demoted to an apprentice in the first place.  It had been a rhetorical question, and basic etiquette dictated that the commanding officers would probe the party they were most interested in into speaking first.  Common sense would indicate that the first question was but a performance, a show for what was to come. "He attacked me-"

"Apprentice Davidson," the major interrupted, voice harsh and expression unimpressed, and it was clear to George now that the major was attempting to be patient, that he had no fondness for Gunnar either but he was trying to be a neutral party, as required by the duties of his position. "When I want your story I will request it, specifically." 

Further down the large command tent there was a small stir of murmurs – something that sounded suspiciously like giggles – and on one hand, it was gratifying to know that his old brother had somehow managed to make this many enemies in the time they'd been apart, but on the other, it made George realize just how much Dream's influence had enabled the utter dipshit that was Gunnar, which left George more irritated than anything else. 

"Vice Secretary Essempi," the major continued, addressing George with a polite nod – not particularly necessary since he outranked George in military terms.  This was a courtesy extended between nobles, the major likely attached to a viscounty of some sort – George didn't recognize him, but that didn't mean he and his family were without influence. "Could you please recount-"

A sudden storm of murmurs and movement interrupted the commanding officer, drawing their attention to the distant entrance of the tent, and there was-

Beside him, George could practically feel Gunnar radiate a certain smugness, a smirk that even now, he wasn't afraid to hide. 

He leaned over while everyone's focus was shifted elsewhere, his voice lowered into a bare murmur. "Looks like daddy's angry." 

Through some force of will, George resisted the urge to stomp on his foot.  It couldn't make matters much worse than they currently were, but he should attempt to maintain some level of dignity.  It was the least he could do to meet the expression of a stormy Philza – the emperor still dressed in his armor, indicating his recent return from his own mission.  George didn't even know if he'd made it back to his tent – to Foolish – before he was waylaid by this idiocy.  

So much for keeping this quiet. 

From an outside perspective Philza's arrival might seem to be a benefit to George's case.  Unfortunately, while they were distantly-related pack, this was not a family affair.  This was a matter of the Antarctic Army, and as Philza was the most powerful individual in it, that meant he had to be the most neutral.  He couldn't afford to show any favoritism.  If anything, he had to be harsher on his allies, his packmates, to prove this neutrality.  That was why Gunnar was so satisfied.  Things had escalated, and not in George's favor. 

He wasn't surprised.  This was why he'd trained himself not to act out.  It was never worth it. 

"Major," Philza greeted, voice as hard as his expression as he considered George and his brother. "Explain the situation." 

"We only know the bare details, sir," the major began, firing off a quick salute with the corporal that Philza was quick to dismiss. "There was an altercation between Vice Secretary Essempi and Apprentice Davidson.  There were no witnesses-"

"I'm a witness," Connor spoke up, never one to care too much for decorum.

This earned him a heated glare. "No witnesses aside those involved in the altercation."

"There were literally dozens of people around," Connor continued, seeming genuinely confused. "It happened in the middle of a walkway."

"There are no witnesses that have come forward," the major amended through ground teeth. "As such, we're at a bit of an impasse-"

"I'm a witness that will come forward," a young but cheerful voice spoke up, and the group turned to see the gaggle of apprentices from earlier huddling near their section of the command tent. "All of us will.  Davidson's buddies tried to scare us off-"

"Hearsay," Gunnar hissed.

"It's true," the apprentice huffed. "Have they mentioned that he called Lord Foolish a whore yet?" 

The world seemed to freeze.

It was almost satisfying to see how quickly Gunnar’s confidence drained from him. He'd thought he'd be safe.  No noble would risk repeating such horrid words.  There were few that would risk aggravating another noble family as well, who would dirty themselves with this mess.  It would be better not to be related to it at all, which was why George hadn't expected anyone to come forward.  The fact that these apprentices did showed that they had no fear of the Davidson family, showed just how despised Gunnar was among their ranks. 

It made him wonder what had happened since he’d been adopted by Eret.  He hadn’t bothered keeping tabs, but for there to be this little fear of retribution, something must have occurred.

"'Cuz that's why Lord Essempi punched him," the apprentice continued, seeming unaware of the sudden flood of tension. "Or uh- Junior Lord Essempi?  What do we call you?"

George fought not to smile.  Oh, to be so emboldened by complete ignorance. "Lord Essempi's fine," he assured the apprentice when no one else spoke up. 

Technically, the lord title belonged to Eret, but with George as his heir and Eret currently occupied as a lord consort, it wouldn't be improper for George to use that title himself. 

"What," Philza growled through clenched teeth, the temperature of the tent seeming to drop into something unbearable, into something furious and burning all at once.  He asked as though he'd misheard them, as though he must have misheard for none would be so stupid as to commit such an atrocity, not in Philza's army. "What did he say?" For a moment, no one said anything – even the new group of apprentices losing their confidence – and then George found himself pinned in place by those blazing blue eyes, only the comforting weight of Connor's hand keeping him from ducking away from it entirely. "What did he say, Vice Secretary?" 

It was nothing George himself ever had any intention of repeating, but under the weight of Phil's burning gaze, there was no holding back. "His exact words were ‘as though that whore needs anything but a good-"

"You're taking my words out of context," Gunnar babbled, the color drained from his face. "I didn't mean-"

"I didn't give you permission to speak," Philza hissed. "You dare interrupt the emperor's investigation?"

It wasn't often that Philza threw his weight around – he was a fair and just ruler – but when he did, you knew it was serious, that matters had gotten slightly out of hand.  

For all his stupidity, this wasn't lost on Gunnar. 

He didn't even verbalize his apology, merely bowing deep as a show of repentance, one that had Philza dismissing him as he turned his attention back on George with narrowed pupils. "What did he say?" 

George repeated it, the words feeling just as filthy in his mouth as they had to his ears.  When he finished, there was a long moment of silence, Philza struggling to keep his temper in check. 

"If I may, your majesty," George began, making Connor startle beside him. "I know I overreacted.  I behaved in a way that was unbecoming for both-"

"George," Philza interrupted in a low hiss, glaring at the floor. "You’re on dishwashing duty for a week.  Whenever you're not attending to your administrative duties, you will be helping the kitchen team however they see fit.  Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, I do," George said, having no intention of arguing the punishment.  For other nobles it would be an insult to injury to have to lower themselves in such a way, but for George it was a just punishment.  He'd earned it, and dishwashing was just as vital a task as any other, necessary for the smooth function of their army. 

"Good." Phil pinned him with one last unreadable look before turning his attention to Gunnar, who cowered beneath the weight of the emperor's displeasure, Phil's wings mantled, making him look even bigger. He took a moment to let Gunnar shudder under his glare, the apprentice's gaze wide and terrified as he faced the repercussions of his actions. "As for you," Phil began finally, making Gunnar freeze. "I will do you the courtesy of allowing you to keep your life despite this pointed act of treason." Gunnar gasped, more from the fact that death had been an option rather than anything else, but this was a fact that George had always known – just how much idle words could cost.  It was why he had never bothered himself with frivolous friendships – they presented too many liabilities, encouraged loose lips, and that wasn't a cost he was ever willing to pay. "You will return to the capital with the next supply run, whereupon you will be stripped of your apprenticeship and barred from the knighthood, as well as any of your descendants.  Neither you nor your children shall ever hold any sort of position of power within the Antarctic Empire, and if you think of contesting this decision-" Phil's gaze narrowed with a deadly sort of intent. "I will strip you of your noble title entirely.  In truth, I am tempted to do so regardless." 

He nodded, once and slowly, indicating that Gunnar may speak. 

He took it with substantially more grace than George expected, though his eloquence was as subpar as it could be, considering the circumstances. "T-Thank you, your majesty," Gunnar said in a rush, cheeks red and eyes wet. "I am forever grateful for your generosity."

"Get out of my sight," Phil hissed, and Gunnar didn't need to be told twice, scrambling through the crowd of apprentices until he could be seen no more despite his impressive height.  Phil turned back to the major. "Use him however you see fit until the supply run.  Perhaps he will be of some use shoveling manure."

"Of course, your majesty," the major agreed, giving him another salute.

And then it was over.  In the course of an afternoon Gunnar’s promising career as a knight who would bring honor and glory to the Davidson family had ended, all because he couldn't hold his tongue. 

It was a fitting one, if one George hadn't expected to actually occur.  His brothers always seemed so good at avoiding trouble.

"George," Philza said, his voice lighter now, dragging George back to the present. "Follow me, please." 

"Yes, your majesty." George didn't need to look at Connor to know he was following half a step behind, and they moved with their heads held high, George nodding his respect to the major and corporal that had overseen this court marshalling, to the apprentices who had risked their reputations for his sake.  

He didn't know what the future would hold from here, but he did know one thing. 

He no longer had to worry about Gunnar.

~:~

Despite the relative victory that was the court martial, George couldn't help but feel somewhat uneasy as they followed Philza through the camp.  He'd received a punishment suitable to his crime – perhaps one that was too light, if he stopped to dwell on it.  With Gunnar a mere apprentice and George a vice secretary, the entire exchange could be presented as an abuse of power – George putting his former brother in an uncomfortable position, especially since he was the one who attacked first, for all that Gunnar had disparaged the crown.  George knew that despite the immediate victory, this exchange would cause long-lasting repercussions he couldn't hope to fathom at this point, but for now he had to focus on the immediate fallout.  Perhaps there was more coding to be done since the emperor was leading him back towards his tent rather than the mess area.  George would have been less surprised to be delivered straight into their hands as a demonstration – a production that proved Philza had no favoritism, but that didn't seem to be the case.  He wanted to talk, probably to ascertain a more detailed breakdown of what had occurred, though George wasn't sure how he was expected to do that in front of Foolish.  Already, he was losing the tenuous hold he had on his composure at the very thought of it.  His father certainly didn't deserve it, not after all the emotional labor he'd been forced to do on their behalf. 

George would have to find a way to change the subject, to say no, and if Philza stood his ground, tried to use his rank against George, the panther hybrid would have to utilize their connection as pack to shift the conflict, but he wasn't doing that – Philza couldn't make him.  George would recruit Connor if he had to – if George faltered, he knew the hedgehog hybrid wouldn't.  Together, they could do this. 

The emperor's tent had a feature that few others in the camp possessed to ensure their privacy.  Just inside the immediate flaps was a sort of holding area – a small space that acted as a buffer between the tent and the outside world.  There was another set of flaps that led into the tent proper, but that time, they came to an abrupt halt inside the holding area, Philza turning to regard him once they were outside view of the rest of the camp.  George braced himself, taking a slow, steady breath, and waited for the fight to begin, steeling himself the way he always had to with his old family, prepared for the criticism, the derision, the disappointment and dismissal.  He was prepared for Philza to explain how he'd have to report this to Eret, how George let down the pack, how despite Eret's promises they'd have to disown him, it was an unfortunate necessity, really, they couldn't have a member of their family act in such an uncouth manner-

George paused, freezing when Phil moved forward, not because he was scared, but because Phil was- he was hugging him. 

"Thank you, George," Philza murmured, one of his large wings curling around George's back, buffering him close. "Thank you so much for fighting for our flock."

"I made a scene," George said dumbly, because he didn't know how to respond.  He didn't get hugs all that often from people who weren't Jack.  Or the Wastakens, he guessed. This was new to him. "There were better ways to handle that conflict.  I made problems-"

"You defended your father and I'm proud of you," Philza interrupted, unwilling to hear anything else George had to say. "Yes, you could have handled it differently but it's behind us, and I want you to know that I'm neither angry nor disappointed, I simply love you for who you are."

Fucking- that wasn't- it wasn't-

George's eyes felt unreasonably hot, and he felt trapped in Philza's hold, for all that he had no desire to extricate himself from it.  He allowed himself to return the affection, gently, then with a needy sort of clinging he couldn't stop.

He hadn't expected praise.  Anger, derision, judgement – those were familiar.

Praise was not. 

"It's okay," Philza soothed, releasing a deep, steady rumble that made George melt into him.  Alpha.  This was- "It's okay.  You're safe now, you're safe and wanted and we love you so much." 

George couldn't form the right words, so many things piling on top of the other until he could articulate none of them, gasping uselessly as he tried to stifle his cries. 

He shouldn't be like this; he should be able to take a few compliments.  This shouldn't be enough to tear him to pieces.

"Come on," Phil soothed, and then he was herding George deeper inside. He didn't make the panther hybrid let go though, didn't force him away, and that was all George needed.

Across the tent, there was some distracted humming – Foolish – dad – focused on his work. 

"Good news, boys," Foolish began, staring at his worktable. "Phil's going to let me help out the Engineering Corp, and- George?" It was amazing, how fast he went from overwhelmingly pleased to concerned, concerned because of George, and he was- he'd been so happy and he wasn't even annoyed at George for ruining that. "Sweetheart?  What happened?" 

"He just got a little overwhelmed," Philza explained as he and Connor guided him over to the nest. "I explained how proud I was of him."

"Oh?  Oh," Foolish repeated, seeming to get it. 

George wanted to duck his head in shame, hit with an acute sense of embarrassment, but Foolish was there on one side, Phil on the other wrapping his wings around them, Connor kneeling on the floor, holding George's hand. "Oh, baby, I know it's a lot.  It's okay, you don't have to feel embarrassed.  It's a lot to get used to."  

"I'm sorry," George gasped out, but none of them would hear it, all of them focused on taking care of him, comforting him because he'd been supported instead of chastised, and he still wasn't used to that. 

But he had a new pack now, a real family, and this was- he'd get to keep it.

He'd get to keep it. 

With Jack by his side, maybe even with Dream and Sapnap there too, he'd get to keep it.

~:~

Jack was – settled?  He felt settled, that seemed like a good word for where he was.  Yes, he was a bit exhausted from his sessions with Ponk – unpacking the emotional damage inflicted upon him during his time at Boomer's estate – but it was a good sort of tired, like when he had a strenuous self-defense session with Skeppy or Duchess Wastaken.  There were aches and bruises and he'd stumbled a few times but the pain was ultimately worth it, a symbol of how much he'd accomplished. 

He wanted George to be there with him, wished he could communicate what he was working through without fear of it being compromised, but like everything else, it would have to wait.  Jack was doing well keeping up with his journal, and on the days he was too exhausted to consider putting pen to paper late at night, Bad or Skeppy were kind enough to do it for him.  His protectors would know his journey, and Jack was proud of it, even if exploring sex stuff was an awkward and halting progress.  Part of him wanted to wait for George and part of him wanted to test the waters without him.  As it was, Jack had come to a stalling point, though Ponk was doing a great job helping him create a list of all the things he didn't want to try, which didn't feel like progress, but Ponk and Skeppy had assured him that it very much was. 

"This stuff is hard," Skeppy explained. "Even people who are totally comfortable with it can have a hard time navigating the different facets of it, so please be patient with yourself."

The encouragement did help, and so did approaching it in a clinical, theoretical fashion.  Between Ponk and Skeppy, Jack was slowly taught about different kinks and activities two or more individuals could engage in when they instigated physical relations.  A lot of them made Jack blush, but Skeppy assured him that there was no one way to do anything.  They could adapt things as needed to best fit their comfort – apparently you didn't even have to take off all your clothes to have sex, which Jack hadn't known was possible.  The people he'd been assaulted by at Boomer’s estate preferred him naked, but like Skeppy said, there were options.  Sex was only fun if both parties were having a good time, so it was important to find what worked best for them, and that was what Jack was doing.  

"And this can always change in the heat of the moment," Skeppy said. "If your partner's decent, they'll listen to your needs, and there's no way your partner won't be decent because none of us are going to let a bad apple get within ten feet of you, okay?  I mean, Connor alone- and the Wastakens?" Skeppy smiled. "You've got a good defense force.  They'll vet any and everyone, and even if Connor isn't interested in sex, I'm sure he'd still be happy to sit in on any of your attempts if that would make you comfortable.  So would George."

"Skeppy," Jack whined, because it was still embarrassing to consider doing any of that with people he cared about. 

It was different when it was theoretical, faceless beings, but to actually imagine George cuddling him close, George kissing him-

It made Jack's stomach all hot and fluttery, which Skeppy had informed him was the beginning signs of arousal.  The good kind.  Jack always stopped before it got too far, but it was cool to know that his body was capable of that.  Of course, Ponk had already told him that he could be capable of registering arousal and still not be interested in sex – many asexuals were – but that was something Jack had time to figure out.  He liked learning about the ace spectrum, if only to get a better understanding for the fluidity and flexibility of sexuality. 

Jack was evolving, and as scary as that was, it did make him more confident, which others seemed to recognize with the ease and contentment resting on his shoulders.  The extent of the war still affected them in some capacity – with Eret, Quackity, and Wilbur juggling all political matters, with Bad focusing more on his princely duties than his medical ones, but ultimately, Jack still felt like he had a stable foundation under his feet.  He had Sam – who had started up his own therapy sessions, who seemed to have an easier time trading jokes with Ant and being more relaxed around people who weren't Jack or Quackity.  He had Tubbo – who was safe and whole and eagerly attacked the mission of accumulating many stories for his packmates that had left them with an enthusiasm Jack took so much pride in.  Wilbur was back and as feisty as ever, though he was wearing an increased amount of scent blocker, which Jack didn't entirely understand, but they all coped in their own ways.  He wasn't going to judge anyone for their personal methods of maintaining their composure. 

And of course Jack had Josh, his baby, the one he was determined to protect.  It was relieving that after all these weeks Josh hadn’t grown irritated with Jack’s need to baby him, always leaning eagerly into the contact or flushing when Jack prodded snacks his way, when he wrangled the younger hybrid into plans for dinner.  Many times, Josh’s grandfather would be busy attending noble functions that would pull him away from the Manifold estate in the capital, which was understandable, but would leave Josh alone at dinner time.  Upon learning this, Jack’s bearer instincts were appalled, and at once, he stopped stifling the nagging desire to see the young Manifold partake in a hardy meal with his own eyes. He gave into it, pushed without being overbearing, convinced and then, to be extra safe, brought in the cavalry that was Wilbur, who was always good with his words.

“Awww, you picked a good baby, Jack,” Wilbur murmured when Jack had informed him of the things that had occurred when the piglin hybrid had been in quarantine.  He’d been less-than-pleased with the political attack, and now set aside time each night to cuddle with Jack as well as Bad and Skeppy. “I’m so proud of you.  I’ll admit, when I heard you’d be working with a blaze protector, I’d worried – but look at you.” He nuzzled the top of Jack’s head. “You marched up to him, decided you were safe and comfortable enough to extend your protection, and claimed him as a sibling figure.  That’s so amazing.  You’re so amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Jack muttered, hiding his face against Wilbur’s chest, but the piglin hybrid wouldn’t let him shy away from his praise and neither would Bad and Skeppy, who were all about Jack getting his due.

And he was allowed to return that favor – for all of them.  Allowed to return it and no one scoffed because it was worthless, because what could words from someone like him matter? 

He had value.  They valued him.

To this day, that still amazed him.

Wilbur, of course, was an immeasurable ally, and they had Josh joining them for family dinners in short order – a fact they kept quiet.  As powerful as the Manifold family was, there was no sense in inviting additional trouble.  As it was, Ant, Tina, and Josh were all facing some manner of scrutiny for being among the select few that were still allowed to work with Quackity after the political attack.  Duchess Wastaken, Eret, and Wilbur had spread all the right rumors through their information networks to keep from inviting too serious a blowback at the mass firing.  It was an open secret as to why they’d been replaced – at least to the upper elite – but the more bountiful, lower-ranking nobles bought into the stories the Wastakens manipulated, cover ups and coincidences and perfect tales invented for each aide to leave Jack, Skeppy, and Quackity unscathed. 

They were back and stronger than ever, and they didn’t need Philza or Technoblade to carry out swift justice.  They needed no one but themselves, for they were just as capable.

That night, Jack and Sam wrapped up their last blueprint early – though in reality they made their own schedule.  With Jack’s therapy appointments and mandated pup cuddles and downtime, with his schooling (that was reduced, but still necessary by decree of his own curiosity, which Sam said was the best motivator), Jack had a light workload, which he might have felt bad about had not every person he interacted with vehemently assured him that they were supportive of this choice.  If anything, Quackity looked like he wanted to cut Jack’s hours down more, and he was barely helping out with Las Nevadas as it was. 

“Las Nevadas will always be there,” Quackity had whispered, cradling Jack’s face between his hands as his mum pressed gentle kisses to the top of his head. “We have time.  You focus on you, sweetheart.”

Jack hadn’t been able to articulate a response then, sticking with a strained sort of Blaze purr to express his pleasure, a shy and bashful thing that Quackity cooed at.

He wasn’t shy now, though, not when he had Josh in his gaze.

“Go,” Sam murmured, waving Jack on with a small flex of his hand. “I can finish here.”

“Thanks,” Jack hummed, pausing long enough only to get another dose of Sam hugs before he moved on, cutting a direct path towards Josh who was just as focused as ever, buried in his work with furrowed brows, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth.

What a good worker he was.

“Baby,” Jack greeted, nuzzling Josh’s shoulder in a light scent.  Despite the steady growth of his internal flame, Jack’s scent glands were barely functional at best, though Ponk and Bad were confident that they’d make a full recovery one day. “Good baby.  Happy-happy-happy.”

“Welcome elder,” Josh greeted, setting aside his graphite after he finished one last notation. “Happy-happy-pleased.”

Yeah, he was.  Because they were the best.

“Hungry?” Jack asked, nuzzling his shoulders again. “Second hearth very full, plenty for baby.  Stay-stay please.”

“Jack,” Josh gasped, making an effort to stumble back into Common. “I want to, of course I want to, but I’m not sure.  I already dined with you the last few days; I would hate to intrude.”

“It’s not intruding,” Jack assured him, giving his elbow a gentle squeeze. “You’re my baby, of course you’re welcome.”

While it was just a simple fact of life, Josh still flushed in the wake of Jack’s response – not from embarrassment though, that much Jack had learned from Skeppy.  It was a reaction to open candor regarding sensitive subjects, but not in a bad way.  Most nobles weren’t as direct as the royal family, Jack had come to learn, but with so many individuals that had suffered some form of serious trauma, they couldn’t afford to mince words, and Jack wouldn’t do it with his baby either.

“Thank you,” Josh whispered, tone rife with the same amount of awe as usual, despite Jack’s dedication never waning. “But um- my grandpa-”

“He has a dinner tonight, doesn’t he?” Jack had double-checked with Wilbur just in case.  His information network really was the best. “You shouldn’t be dining alone.  It’s not healthy.”

Jack hated the thought of it.  Now that he knew the wonder of what a pack meal could be, he couldn’t help but despair for the many nights he’d spent huddled in the dark by himself, rationing the moldy heel of bread to last the next few days, or eating wilted mushrooms in the dark heat of the Nether.  There had been no one to cuddle or talk to – they didn’t want slaves getting ideas, didn’t want them to band together to fight back or organize an escape.  They kept them separate because only real, free hybrids deserved friends and family.

Josh shouldn’t have to live like that, not when he had choices.  Of course his grandfather only got him the best, and Josh could always dine with his vassals if he wanted to, but he deserved cuddles and arm pats and head butts and the vassals certainly weren’t going to do that, or insist that Josh have seconds of dessert.

“Come eat with us – if you want,” Jack tacked on, remembering that boundaries were important. “If you need alone time, that’s okay too.  The offer will always be there, and I respect your choices.”

“Thanks, elder,” Josh said, his voice full of fondness. “If it’s okay- I really don’t want to intrude-”

“You’re not intruding,” Jack insisted with a huff, and then – in order to ensure the message was clearly communicated – Jack pulled Josh into a hug, something the taller blaze hybrid gladly reciprocated.  He hunched down just like always, nuzzling so he could tuck himself under Jack’s chin, right where he should be.  Despite their differences in height, it had always felt right to cuddle like this, to be together this way.  It had always felt right and Jack had learned not to question why – it didn’t matter all that much.  What was important was his happy purrs being met with Josh’s pleased rumbles, ending in a pleasant cacophony that made Jack feel warm down to his bones.

His internal flame was going to be strong enough to start fires when George came back – that was his new personal goal.  Jack would improve in the ways that mattered, keeping his arms open as he got himself to a place where he could safely help heal the wounds George and Sapnap and Dream – that his pack – might have accumulated when they were gone.

But for now, he’d cuddle his baby.

“Good-good-good,” Jack purred, nuzzling the top of Josh’s head.  He deserved all the positive reinforcement in the world.  He deserved to never doubt, not even for a second, a moment. “Best baby – safe, proud-proud-proud.”

“Happy-happy,” Josh cooed back, and even though Jack wasn’t doing as many spontaneous vocalizations as he had before his pack had left – hadn’t quite felt blissfully settled enough to give into such things without thinking – he still felt a measure of joy when hearing such things from his baby. “Happy-happy-”

“Josh?” a new voice called from the doorway – older, experienced, and the unfamiliarity alone should have been enough to make Jack uneasy, but he felt just as content as ever.  Interested, not scared.

They turned as one to see an older blaze hybrid, a proper pack leader, back straight and head held high, clad in the colors of the Manifold family – Josh’s grandfather, Jack assumed.  Skeppy was lingering just behind him, an apologetic expression on his face.

“He got past me,” Skeppy said, explaining how they had a visitor who was very much unannounced. “Everyone, this is Marquess Manifold.  He has authorization to access this floor as one of the crown’s most loyal subjects.”

Oh, that was- right, Jack remembered that.  Both Eret, Sam, and Wilbur had made sure he was comfortable with that, but Jack had never thought of restricting the Marquess’s access, not when he had every right to Jack’s baby as Jack himself did, not when Josh deserved all the company he desired.

That made sense, though to enter without waiting for a proper introduction was a little rude.  Even Jack knew that from his etiquette studies.

“Um- hey, grandpa,” Josh said, gently extricating himself from Jack’s hold.  As little as the bearer wished to cooperate, he wanted to displease his baby even less so he forced himself to let go, stepping back an acceptable distance as he became more conscious of the weight of the marquess’s observation.  The expression on his face was neutral the way Eret’s might be, practiced to reveal no indication of his true thoughts, and while it was intense, it didn’t feel mean.  “What are you doing here?”

The question seemed to shake the elder blaze hybrid out of his reverie and he cleared his throat, straightening his shoulders. “My apologies for the intrusion,” he said, offering Jack and Sam a bow of respect.  It was perhaps deeper than it needed to be, with both Skeppy and Jack not officially being members of the royal family, which indicated a certain level of care. “My plans were canceled for the evening, so I sought to spend time with you. I heard that you’ve been working late these past few nights, so I came to here instead of returning to the estate.” His gaze hardened somewhat. “Please pardon my entrance.  Even in a private workplace such as this, Manifolds are expected to uphold a certain level of decorum, and when that seemed to be disregarded, I forgot myself in my haste to get eyes on the situation.”

Josh’s shoulders immediately drooped. “I’m sorry, grandp- Marquess, sir.”

Something flickered in the older blaze hybrid’s gaze – there and gone in an instant. “You can address me however you like, Joshua.” He tipped his head forward slightly, as though acquiescing to some request. “It is understandable to forget ourselves from time to time, to get caught in the heat of the moment – I only say this much to remind you to be cautious.” With that, the marquess turned to address the rest of them. “I apologize for bringing familial matters into your workplace.  If it meets your approval, your grace, I would like to take my grandson home now.”

“Of course, marquess,” Sam said.  Sam, who outranked the blaze hybrid, did not need to use titles.  The fact that he chose to indicated the respect Sam had towards him. “Before you take your leave, may I introduce Josh’s new coworkers?”

“It would be my honor,” the marquess said, seeming to mean it. 

He was- complicated, but Ponk had warned Jack of that much already.  That as a small pack of two, the marquess was especially protective of Josh.

Sam’s gaze turned to Josh, something that startled the blaze protector into motion with a surprised blink. “Oh, um-” Josh began, clearing his throat. “Mar- Grandpa, this is Lord Jack, ward of the Las Nevadas Duchy,” Josh explained, shifting until he was even with Jack. “He’s been brought in as a consultant for the new refugee education centers Duke Quackity commissioned.” He pressed his lips together, a momentary deliberation that none of them missed, and then he pushed on. “He claimed me as his baby.”

The declaration sent a rush of satisfaction ringing in Jack’s chest, because even though he’d already told Josh that it was okay to downplay their connection, that they could keep it as secretive as he preferred because Jack only wanted him to be comfortable, it felt good to be acknowledged.  Because that meant he was just as important to Josh as Josh was to him.

Jack had been around Eret long enough to know what an intentional nonreaction looked like, and it made sense that Marquess Manifold could do the same, taking this information in unblinking.  Eventually, he dipped his head again in another demonstration of respect. “Thank you for permitting my grandson such an honor,” he said, and Jack would have feared he might mean it mockingly, but neither Skeppy nor Sam’s expressions crumbled, so Jack assumed he was being honest. “That is a gift, but I really do need to take him home now.”

“I don’t-” Josh began, the words seeming to fall from him without thought if his widened gaze was any indication, but once they were out there he adopted an expression of determination, unwilling to back down. “I want to stay,” he declared, the words ringing in the air with a certainty that diverted from his normally subdued nature. “I want to have dinner here, with them.”

“From what I’ve heard, you’ve already done so the past few nights,” the marquess said, his tone even – taking the confrontation with an even expression, as though analyzing it with logic rather than feeling. “The castle is secure, certainly, but nowhere is as safe for you as Manifold Manor-”

“That doesn’t mean I want to stay locked up in there!” Josh burst, the words coming from him so forcefully that he’d likely been holding them back for a long time, the weight building on him with each moment until he could no longer hold them back. “I can’t- I can’t do this anymore, grandpa! I can’t go from having- from having light and fun and warmth and what feels like an actual family to being shut away in a cold house with nothing but stilted conversations or worse, no conversations at all!  I mean, the only way I was able to apprentice under Sam was if he agreed to jump through a complicated series of hoops and he did so I could be connected to my parents and I will- I’ll always be grateful for that, but that is the closest thing I’ve come to living and I don’t want to be restricted to just that anymore!”

“This isn’t a conversation we should have here,” the marquess said, and while his gaze narrowed somewhat, perhaps a bit a shaken, he was otherwise resolute, immovable. “This place isn’t safe, Josh.”

“Nowhere is safe according to you!” Josh burst, voice cracking under the sudden onslaught of emotion. “No one is safe, according to you!  Everything’s a threat, everyone’s a potential enemy.  People could only want to befriend me to take advantage of our family’s weakened state and maybe some of that’s true, and maybe some of what you’ve done is reasonable, but I can’t keep doing this!” Josh ran a shaky hand through his hair, flames curling around his horns while his body was claimed with trembles that made Jack’s chest ache. “The tight schedules, the dossiers, the seclusion – only talking with who you approve, only doing what you’re okay with.” He shook his head, letting out a broken, desperate sob. “Sometimes I feel like I died with the rest of them,” he gasped, crying into the shelter of his hands. “Have I even lived since they’ve been gone?” He hung his head, dejected. “I don’t even remember them.  It’s always just been us, grandpa, and you’ve never let me forget that fact, not for one single day.”

It hurt.  It hurt, it hurt, it hurt because it wasn’t even Jack’s wound.  This wasn’t one of his pains he needed to address and tackle in his own time, this was Josh’s baggage, and it was clear that he was carrying it for far longer than was healthy.

In the wake of that, there was only one response Jack could possibly have, a call of his instincts and logical mind both in one.

“Baby,” he murmured, reaching forward to wrap around Josh’s back, squeezing him close. “Baby, baby, good-wanted baby.  Love-love-love.”

“Elder,” Josh crooned, turning so he could collapse into Jack’s hold, crying against his shoulder. “El-brother,” he said, sobbing on the word. “Brother.  Brother.”

Oh, that was-

It felt right, and while they’d had an informal arrangement before, while Jack had always acknowledged Josh as a sort of sibling figure, this felt right.

Josh was his baby.  His baby brother.

“Mine,” Jack purred, holding him close. “Safe-safe-wanted-wanted-never alone.”

Not if he had anything to say about it, and he did, a lot.

“Scared,” Josh crooned. “Scared-lonely-sad.”

“Safe,” a deeper voice rumbled, and then the marquess was there, all harshness and rigidity abandoned as he curled around both of them, letting Josh lean greedily into his chest. “Safe-wanted-good pup.  Sorry-sorry-sorry. Will do better.  Will make amends.”

“I can’t- I can’t be shut away anymore,” Josh gasped, managing to find his way back into Common as he stared at his grandfather with wide eyes. “I want pack stuff.  I want cuddles and chaos and a stupid amount of reassurance.”

“It’s not stupid if that’s how much you need,” Jack said, cutting in because that much he knew was true, was important.

“Wise words,” the marquess rumbled, and if Jack bothered to analyze it, to really look, he’d think perhaps that there was no judgement there, that this was offered with sincerity.

It might have been, but Jack had no time to focus on him when he had a baby brother to comfort.

“I’ve… I’ve been too hard on you,” the marquess continued, making them pause. “I thought our loyalty left us protected and when that proved false, I closed us off from the world.” He nuzzled the top of Josh’s head. “I couldn’t lose you too, so I had to be careful.  I couldn’t put my faith in others the way I had back then.”

“What happened all those years ago was a terrible tragedy,” Sam murmured, reminding Jack that he was still present as he drew close, though he kept a careful distance. “But it wasn’t your fault.  It wasn’t our fault.  The only ones who should shoulder the blame were those responsible for such vile acts.” He dipped his head in a quiet show of respect. “Our position as nobles often leaves us the target of those with great envy and loose morals.  It is grossly unfair, but it is the hand we are dealt.”

“Yes, I suppose you know loss as well,” the marquess murmured, though his voice was gentle, a quiet sort of kindness. “You closed yourself off too, Samuel.”

“I did.” Sam didn’t bother arguing that. “I’ve recently started working on that, and you could too.  It’s better to engage than to always prep for a fight.”

The marquess let out a fond chuckle. “As though you would abandon your preparations and strategies.”

“These things can come in moderation,” Sam continued, unbothered by the critique. “You can keep an eye out for threats while engaging, while building connections to remember what you’re fighting for.” His gaze shifted to Jack, and on his lips was the smallest smile – a careful, fond thing. “It can take you by surprise, but it’s worth it.”

“Samuel, you’re positively gushing,” the marquess chuckled once more, but this sounded a bit wetter, a bit more strained. “I’ve been an overprotective fool, haven’t I?”

“You did what you needed to do,” Jack offered him quietly, taking the risk to lean into him and getting blindsided by the rush of happy-safe-SAFE that struck him.  This was Josh’s grandfather, of course he’d feel attached. “But you don’t have to do that anymore.  We can work together.”

“Could we?” the marquess asked, only seeming half joking, but he held them – both of them – closer, letting loose a deep rumble of comfort that made Josh shiver, that made Jack feel whole. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, I think we can.  I think that’s exactly what I want to do.”

“Me too,” Josh murmured. “Me too.”

And that, ultimately, was all that needed to be said, words abandoned as their instincts took the lead – purrs and rumbles and murmurs grounding them in a way few others could.

Chapter Text

After the tears had dried and faces had been washed, after they were all sufficiently cuddled out and both Josh and Marquess Manifold set up with therapy appointments with Ponk – who had quite a list of patients by this point – they made their way to the royal dining room for a late dinner.  Bad had joined them earlier, worried at the first sign of delay and taking no chances when it came to their wellbeing.  He was the one who thought to send messages to inform the others of their delayed schedule, who ordered the chefs to have a second meal ready and waiting for them.  It was because of his thoughtfulness that they were briefly joined by a worried Quackity, Wilbur, and Eret, who’d left the pups to play with Puffy and Nicki in the lounge while they caught up on everything that happened. 

Even Sam stayed to eat with them this time – the occasion special enough for Bad to make the allowance.  He didn’t want it to become a regular thing until Sam was further along in his therapy, which part of Jack thought wasn’t fair, but he knew they were all doing their best right now.  They all had different needs, and Sam had made it this far.  He could make it a few months more, Jack hoped.  Still, he couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that he himself had desperately needed the support and comfort of others to get anywhere close to the healthy place he was now, and that maybe Sam was the same way, but that was an argument for another day. 

For now, they focused on the Manifolds.  The small but fierce family that had been wounded in such a terrible way.

Someone had to foresight to trade out a few of the chairs with a bench that allowed Jack and the marquess to cradle Josh between them, the marquess keeping a firm arm wrapped around his grandson’s shoulders while Jack plied him with coos and purrs, feeding him with his hands and trading nuzzles and getting not the slightest sound of objection from the marquess, no sign of bashfulness from Josh either.  He gladly soaked up Jack’s attention the same way he always did, with the soft but fierce mutter of brother-brother-brother occasionally falling from his lips.

As tired as they were from the emotional events of the evening, they seemed to be gearing up for something by the time they relocated to the lounge.  Wilbur had left partway through dinner to help put the pups to bed, returning just as they were settling around the large fireplace with mugs of tea or cocoa, depending on what was needed.

“I think we need to talk about more things,” Josh spoke up as he leaned into his grandfather’s side.  The three of them were sharing a loveseat with Josh cradled in the middle.  Skeppy was sitting in Bad’s lap in an armchair nearby, and Sam was sharing another couch with Quackity and Eret, the small avian perched carefully between them.  Wilbur himself chose to keep vigil on his feet, lingering between Quackity and Eret’s shoulders. “I know you’re not comfortable talking about emotional things, but I- I think I need to.  And we can- if you’d rather do this somewhere else, we can, but I- I trust everyone here.” His cheeks colored in a light flush. “They have been a great comfort to me.”

“Then that’s more than enough reason for us to stay,” the marquess murmured, still reserved, but a clear fondness in his gaze. “Please speak your piece, wildfire.  I promise I’ll listen this time.”

Josh managed a smile, small and shaky, before he let out a soft rumble of appreciation. “Thank you,” he murmured, as though he dared not raise his voice any louder. “I don’t remember much of the rest of our family.  I’m sorry, I just- I was so young, and it’s just not there.” He admitted this as though it were a shameful thing, but Jack had read the files from Wilbur.  Josh had been two when the rest of his family had been killed.  His baby sister newly born, his older brother three at most.  They were all too little to suffer such blows. “I remember Jacob, a little bit.  Remember playing.  He was a good big brother, I think, I just- I don’t remember them.”

Josh stared down at his lap, as though trying to scramble for memories that may have been traumatically stolen from him.  It was what Ponk said had happened to Jack.  Why he couldn’t remember any of his childhood before he was seven.  At least, that was their rough estimate.

“You’ve always been the only family I ever had, and I barely ever saw you,” Josh continued, slowly working his way through things. “I understood, though.  Or I tried to, as much as someone that young can understand.  I knew that something bad had happened and you were working to make things good again.  That was what the nanny said, and if I wanted to help, I’d um- I’d be good and listen to the rules, and that was what I did.” His throat bobbed in a rough swallow, for all that he hadn’t taken a sip of his drink. “You know, I never questioned it?  Not until today, even though things had gotten so much better weeks ago, when we switched offices.” He turned to face Jack. “We had so many briefings.  They never told us what happened, not exactly, but it’s not hard to know that it was something bad with the entire group of aides getting fired.  We were warned to be on our best behavior, vetted by both Lord Eret and Prince Wilbur’s teams, which was a level of stress I’d never experienced before, even with everything.”

He sniffed, and the marquess handed him a handkerchief before Jack could even think to, so the bearer settled for nuzzling Josh’s shoulder with a pointed purr.  It earned him a grateful smile, and that was enough for Jack.

“I didn’t know what was in store for us,” Josh continued. “I wasn’t sure I was the best choice.  But I couldn’t have expected what would happen.”

“I didn’t either,” Jack admitted quietly.

Josh’s smile widened. “It was everything I didn’t know I was missing,” he murmured, dropping the handkerchief so he could squeeze Jack’s hand. “In a moment I was wanted – so wonderfully, irrefutably wanted, and I couldn’t have denied that even if my instincts had given me the capacity to do so.  Even if it might have been the proper thing to do, even if it might have been what was safest, I couldn’t say no.  I didn’t want to say no.”

He shifted, leaning with intent and stopping to allow Jack the choice to close the distance or not, but of course he did, happy to share a light headbutt with his baby. 

His baby brother.

Josh’s gaze flickered to Ant who was huddled next to Bad and Skeppy’s armchair.  The cat hybrid offered him a thumbs up, some sort of unspoken conversation passing between them, but it was enough to push Josh onwards.

“I don’t remember my family,” Josh repeated. “I barely remember Jacob, but you, Jack – you don’t replace him.  You can’t replace any of them, but I… I can’t replace your pack either.” He smiled, shifting his focus back to his grandfather. “They have so many they’re worried about on the front lines right now, but Jack still found room in his heart for me.  They all did.” He motioned towards the others with his half-full mug of cocoa. “They just- they let me in.  They didn’t have to but they did, and it means everything to me.”

He turned to address the rest of the room, and this time he bowed, an action Jack and the marquess couldn’t help but make small Blaze vocal protests to.

Josh ignored them though, because it was what he needed to do. “It is an honor and a privilege,” he murmured, voice tight with emotion, and though his eyes were gleaming when he straightened, no tears fell. “I don’t know if this is temporary-”

“It’s not,” Quackity interrupted just when Jack thought he might start crying, because yes, he missed the ones that were gone but Josh filled a different void, and if he was missing, Jack would feel that ache pointedly too.  This was his brother, his- their baby brother, and he knew Connor would love him too.  Couldn’t wait for the day when they all finally got to be together. “It can’t be.  You’re pack, and pack isn’t temporary.”

“Oh,” Josh said, and then he needed a few moments to collect himself, but Jack and the marquess were there for him, they all were, letting him take his time as he found himself.

Eventually, he wound up pressed against his grandfather’s chest, their mugs abandoned on the coffee table so they could properly hold one another, Josh shivering in contentment.

“I can’t go back to what we did before,” Josh murmured, body slumping with exhaustion. “And I’m not sorry for that.  I will gladly honor the memory of my family – their sacrifice and what they could have been.  I will always treasure the life my parents built for me, the siblings I could have had, but this is- this is where I need to be.” He looked up, and Jack squeezed him tighter, overwhelmed by brilliant hums of proud-proud-proud. “My pack needs me here.” He paused, and then, after a moment of building his courage, pushed on. “Our pack needs us here.”

For a moment, the marquess didn’t say anything, simply looking down at the two blaze hybrids cuddled against him.  His flesh and blood, and the other that had drawn his grandson off the careful path he’d built for them.

And then the marquess was laughing.

It was a fond, deep thing, one that reminded Jack of Techno.  One that made him feel safe-safe-happy. “It was not so long ago that the Craft family were considered kin to the Manifolds,” he said. “They had always been there for the Manifolds in past generations – something I thought was well earned by the unwavering loyalty we showed in turn.” He gave Josh’s shoulder a comforting squeeze and then – surprise of all surprises – did the same to Jack. “I withdrew us from the public’s eye for our family’s safety, but Philza – he never contested that.  He respected our decision.”

“That is what you do for those you care for,” Eret spoke up, breaking in with a gentle probe. “Even if you would prefer to hold them close, even if you would do anything to be their shield, even if restraining yourself is more difficult than any action you can conceive, that is what you do, because that is what they need.”

“Philza has always cared,” the marquess continued, letting out a soft chuckle. “And in truth, I have cared for the new royal family he built.  In times like this, I think it’s best for us to stand together.” His smile widened. “I’m tired of living in fear.  I’m tired of allowing the manipulations of a few rotten individuals dictate the actions of my pack.  These are our lives, and we should make the most of every moment.”

“So we can stay?” Josh asked, voice rife with a hope Jack couldn’t help but mimic.  He’d gotten better at allowing himself to feel such things, at not simply shoving them away at the first moment of manifestation.

“If they are willing,” the marquess said, small crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes with his smile. “Then I most certainly am too.”

“We can have suites prepared for you right away,” Eret said, his grin stretched wide, Quackity looking equally pleased beside him.

Even Sam was supportive despite the fact that Josh and the marquess were getting something he had yet to work towards.  He had no complaints though, he was just-

Jack turned his attention to Bad, who seemed to understand his intent without him even needing to speak.

“Perhaps,” Bad began, his sigh only audible to those who searched for it. “We could set something up for Sam as well.”

Quackity perked up. “That’s a great idea!” He beamed at all of them, wings giving a happy flap behind him, not unlike Tommy. “Our flock should all be in one place.”

“I’d be honored,” Sam said, gifting Jack a small grin before nodding him on because he knew, he somehow knew that Jack was overwhelmed with a rush of enthusiasm and happiness and he needed to make his baby comfortable.

“I have to make your bed,” Jack exclaimed, and he no longer felt shy about such things. “Or maybe you and I can share mine so Bad and Skeppy can have sex again.”

“Jack,” Bad hissed, sputtering over Skeppy’s laughter, because that was- oh, that was one of the things most people didn’t talk about, even among pack.

“Sorry,” Jack urged, and though it was genuine, his happiness wasn’t dimmed at all. “Sorry.  I mean, so Bad and Skeppy can have alone time.”

“Where we can maybe have sex,” Skeppy giggled, earning a loud “Language!” from Bad even though he hadn’t said a bad word and there was laughing and hugging but mostly, mostly, it was good.

Strange that it had taken a war to get this far, and Jack would still be happier when it was over, but for the moment, he would take what victories he could.

They deserved that much.

~:~

As much as it had devastated Bad and likely the rest of his pack, going to war was the best choice Sapnap had ever made.

Which was ridiculous because it was war.  As outmatched as Manburg was, as well trained and coordinated as the Empire’s soldiers were, there was still risk involved.  Approaching any sort of combat or mission with ego or cockiness almost guaranteed failure – they didn’t underestimate their enemy, not with the depths of their moral rot so easily exposed.  Not with every batch of slaves they freed and recovered, not with the weapons and illegal potions workshops they raided – most of which violated the Continental Peace Pact dozens of times over.  The one base Sapnap helped breach turned out to be a sprawling facility with files not destroyed enough to hide a trail leading to several other hidden bases, because apparently Manburg kept everything underground like the rats they were.  It would have taken too long to detour back to camp drop off Sapnap, so Dream had compromised by bringing him along on the additional raids, which Phil hadn’t been happy about, as much as he’d understood it.  Or rather, that was what Foolish had written because apparently Phil was too worked up to hold a quill, save to send his love, support, and pride at the very end.

To this day, Sapnap was still amazed that the emperor considered him his pup.  Sapnap had only been special like that to Bad, and maybe a little bit Skeppy or Ant, and now he had a whole host of parents to coo and praise him and it was as overwhelming as it was wonderful.  It was a nice distraction from the war, though Sapnap only dared to contemplate it on the rare moments of downtime he had to himself.  Otherwise, he often found himself shadowing Dream, both as a necessity of his position – being prince put him among Dream’s upper commanders, Sapnap leading his own small squad of royal guards (whose entire presence was necessary due to him and him alone) – and of his instincts. 

The knights were now accustomed to the sight of them.  In the beginning there had been some skepticism.  They had, after all, simply been carrying out an arrangement – a means to an end for them both.  Dream got his cuddles, Sapnap got his respect, everyone won.  It wasn’t until things changed – in a rather staggering way for Sapnap – that the other knights realized just how close Dream and Sapnap had become.  There likely would have been more blowback to it were it not for their constant reinforcement – both of them professional in public but unable to hold back from being friendly and affectionate as well.  It was nothing they intended, but Dream couldn’t seem to help but ruffle Sapnap’s hair and Sapnap couldn’t help but give him shit while leaning towards him greedily, like a plant desperate for sunlight only he wanted affection.  Sapnap had never considered himself a particularly touch starved individual, but this new development with Dream made him feel like he was.

Maybe that was why his instinct-laden self was so damn horny all the time.  It was a prospect Sapnap had considered with a clinical detachment – he’d known Dream was attractive ever since he’d been allowed to see what was under the Wastaken’s mask.  At the time, Sapnap had been somewhat bitter about it.  Perhaps a small part of him had hoped that Dream would be an ugly potato of a hybrid, something to make up for all his other advantages, but no, he’d been amazing, someone totally worthy of standing by George and Jack’s side.  It made Sapnap feel plain in comparison, though Dream had killed those reservations when he made the commitment to be Sapnap’s alpha, always sure to cradle him close and coo about how cute he was.  Sapnap tried to be miffed, thinking that Dream was patronizing, but like everything else he did Dream meant it with every fiber of his being, was truly delighted with Sapnap’s looks, and sometimes when they were out amongst the camp Sapnap would catch that familiar smiley face mask aimed his way.  A potential coincidence, were it not for the way Dream would startle and quickly avert his gaze elsewhere, as though being caught red handed.

Dream had always been suave until it came to George.  Now the same applied to Sapnap and it was satisfying power, for all that Sapnap didn’t know what to do with it.

Kissing though.  Kissing seemed like a good option.

Sapnap still felt warm when he thought about it.  It was Dream that had opened the door to such things in a moment of desperate need (not that- not that kind of need), but it was the two of them that kept it eagerly open.  Dream was Sapnap’s first, but he wasn’t upset with the taken liberty.  He liked kissing Dream, it had felt right to be connected to his alpha in such a way, and now whenever they were allowed catch a few moments in the privacy of their tent together it was almost certain to end in making out.  Dream had made them be horrifically thorough when it came to discussing the physical intimacies they might want to experiment with together (and the thought that Dream actively wanted to do them with Sapnap – that it wasn’t a joke or he wasn’t forcing himself just to be nice, that Sapnap was wanted was- it was a lot), had established methods of communication – things he’d likely researched for George but he applied them to Sapnap with noble and stubborn eagerness, ensuring that anything they did would be handled with the utmost care.

Not that they’d gotten very far.  Ever since their conversation they’d been on the move, and what time they did have alone was spent with exhausted cuddling, both too tired to do more than trade a few lazy, but grounding, kisses.

It would change soon, Sapnap hoped – no, knew – but for the moment they had yet another stronghold to conquer, yet another win to secure for the Antarctic Army.

"Prime, these fuckers are everywhere," Punz hissed somewhere from Sapnap's right – an additional guard Dream had not-so-stealthily assigned to Sapnap's already respectable squad, but Sapnap knew better than to contest it, knew that it was just as much for his safety – the safety of a prince – as it was for Dream's peace of mind. "Is their entire civilization underground?"

"Just the fun parts, I guess," Sapnap muttered as they fought their way through a corridor that was supposed to be abandoned. 

They were in a subterranean highway of sorts – a supposedly uninhabited place, though it hadn't taken very much time to realize that wasn't true.  They weren't even at the new bases they'd uncovered yet; they were still in route and all hell had broken loose, their scouts identifying and redirecting some traps they'd found onto what was apparently a waiting opposition.  The intent had simply been to redirect the damage away from their own army, they hadn't expected to find another one lying in wait, though thankfully they were as disorganized as their predecessors. 

Still, Sapnap could admit to a small thread of anxiety curling in his stomach, a relentless sort of nausea because they hadn't been able to plan, because they hadn't anticipated this, because they were relying on their training alone, and while that would get them far, would likely even carry them through with minimal casualties, there was always the chance that it wouldn't, and Dream would pay the ultimate price in terms of guilt and authority. 

"Hold back!" Dream yelled somewhere from the far side of the cavern, flares of purple energy pulsing with each sweep of his sword – the rarely seen Wastaken magic in action. "Don't let them draw you forward!" 

“Archers!" Punz yelled, though the long-range knights were already working in steady coordination, placed safely behind the lancers and swordsmen.  

They couldn't push forward, it would risk properly falling victim to more hidden traps, so they had to engage at a distance, though some of Manburg's shadow corps seemed happy dropping in when they least expected it – mostly in an attempt to assassinate Dream or Sapnap – suicide runs that had yet to pay off.  It was a losing fight, they had to know that, yet they pressed forward, engaging the Antarctic Army in a desperate bid to take out its prince. 

Sapnap shoved the soldier he'd been engaging into one of the nearby pit traps and immediately blocked out their scream as he turned his attention to helping Punz, the two of them finishing off the blond’s enemy in short order, just in time for three more to take their place.

"You really need to work on your definition of 'fun,'" Punz huffed, and while Sapnap couldn't spare the time to look at him, he had no doubt that the blond had rolled his eyes, damned if it might present a potential weak spot to be exploited. 

"What?" Sapnap griped, beheading one of the soldiers before neatly disarming the other, leaving Punz to finish them. "You're not having a good time?" 

"Maybe I don't have the same idea of foreplay as you and Dream," Punz muttered, low enough that only Sapnap heard him, and the blaze hybrid almost lost grip of his sword, a move that cost him some of his bracer's durability as his current enemy got in a lucky cut before they fell to an arrow through the eye.  "Whoops," Punz said, distracted but still somewhat apologetic. "Sorry.  I guess now's not the time."

"Never is the time," Sapnap hissed, using the new surge of irritation to guide him through finishing off his newest opposition. "At least, for you."

"Fair enough," Punz said, and Sapnap could practically hear the shrug in his voice. "Though with George-"

"No," Sapnap interrupted, firm and unyielding.

The asshole had the audacity to sigh. "Maybe you're not the fun one," Punz offered, amused but also winded, which satisfied Sapnap more than it probably should, seeing as Punz was his ally. "If we're not going to talk about that, why don't you explain why you haven't busted out your flames yet?" Punz continued, sounding as fussy as he ever got. "That's a nice long-distance attack that should earn you glory for the crown or whatever." 

"Because there might be TNT traps?" Sapnap pressed, gasping in a deep breath as he cut down his latest opponent at the knees and shoved them into the guy behind them. "Dream's magic – whatever it is – seems more cold than anything, but my flames will activate any waiting traps if I'm not careful." He turned, disarmed the woman who'd attempted to blindside Punz and shot a small ball of fire into her face that had her crumbling to the ground with a scream. "Underground like this, it'd be too hard to maneuver our soldiers out of the way.   I mean, theoretically I could redirect the flames, but I haven't practiced that much." 

"You and your logic," Punz grumbled, and then he was throwing one of his many knives into the throat of someone approaching on Sapnap's left, and the battle waged on. 

It was fortunate that this squadron of the Manburg army didn't seem well trained.  They had numbers going for them but that was about it.  It made them easy to take down, but it was clear when the shadow squadron stopped their random attacks that they were waiting for the Antarctic Army to wear down before they made one last desperate advance.  The empire was at a disadvantage with their lack of familiarity with the terrain, and through the haze and adrenaline of battle it was easy to lose track of their waiting orders, to follow the enemy's retreat on reflex. 

But they didn't know what was safe.  They made it look easy, but Manburg had already proven to be tricky.  Soldiers could need to have their armor laden with certain enchantments to get past a certain checkpoint or they would have to walk on only certain stone tiles or in a certain way on certain stone tiles.  There were too many variables – and their slow progress to this point had already proven that.  They had to proceed with caution.  Sapnap especially, he had far too many people waiting for him back home, and he had Phil and Techno's trust, he couldn't betray that, not with variables that were squarely in his hands.  

"This is the most annoying way to spend a weekend," Punz muttered as he retrieved one of his knives from an enemy soldier's corpse. "Manburg really has no idea how to demonstrate good hospitality.  These secret tunnels are subpar at best.  No free candies, no foot rubs.  Zero out of ten, would not come again."

"I'm sure they'll fix things up when you publish that scathing review," Sapnap huffed as he deflected yet another arrow that was aimed for his face. "It will have nothing to do with a change in management, of course.  It will all be thanks to you."

"Damn right, it will be," Punz sniffed, sounding far too amused for the level of exhaustion he must feel, for the level of exhaustion Sapnap felt. "It's not Philza or Technoblade or even your alpha they need to be afraid of.  It's me, the mighty Punz, who you should maybe consider-"

"SAPNAP!" 

The yell, anguished as it was, made Sapnap fumble, though by some stroke of luck it didn't cost him.  No, for whatever reason the soldiers his squadron had been fighting suddenly turned tail and fled, some of them getting picked off by the archery corps, but then Sapnap's brain was catching up – because that had been Dream, that was Dream's yell, Dream that sounded so scared and broken, but why?  Sapnap was right here, they were safe, fine.

He stopped to look for a familiar smiley face mask across the room, heart dropping in his chest at the sudden thought that Dream might be the injured one but- no, he was fine too, fine and gesturing upwards, above Sapnap's head. 

It felt like it took forever, but Sapnap knew it occurred in less than a second, that it was barely any time before he looked up towards the ceiling, ice flooding his veins at the sight of active TNT raining down from somewhere up high, a trap they must have activated by chance. 

"Motherfucker," Punz hissed, because it was moving too fast for them to evade, for them to do much else but breathe for a few seconds. 

Yeah, that summed the situation up pretty accurately.

Chapter Text

“Ah man,” Punz huffed while they were staring at the descending, active TNT.  Somehow, he managed to sound relaxed, casual. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to say that I love you.”

What.

It was that, more than Dream’s anguished (and no doubt nightmare-haunting) screams that kicked Sapnap into action, and in a desperate bid to live (not only for himself, but for Bad and Phil and Techno and the alpha screaming for him across the room), he acted, kindling the flames he’d kept on a tight leash.  Since the worst was happening anyway, Sapnap might as well throw caution to the wind, shooting out a large burst of flame to activate the TNT before it reached them, setting off the explosions before they got close to their soldiers.  He wasn’t quite fast enough, they were still way too close, but Sapnap didn’t care.  He wasn’t dying today, not like this, not to a trap he hadn’t even seen, a trap he was certain they hadn’t even activated, and not to bitch ass Manburg. 

Fuck that.  They didn’t get to have any sort of victory, no matter how minor. They got pain and humiliation and that was it.

The fires surged, blossoming outwards and down, but Sapnap pushed for the control he’d mentioned to Punz earlier with a low burning fury, because they’d dared- they’d dared to harm him with the very thing he was built to thrive on?  Fire was his to control, not theirs, and with a responsiveness he’d never expected the flames seemed to almost sing, falling into his grasp eagerly and willing to do his bidding, which he took immediate advantage of.

As though they were an extra limb, Sapnap redirected the explosions, turning them in a forceful push towards Manburg’s forces.  At once, the cheers he’d failed to recognize turned into screams of panic and agony – soldiers yelling, running for their lives, and Sapnap took advantage of his new super weapon while he could, increasing it and pushing it as far out as it could go, leaving no corner of the tunnel uncovered.  If they’d already risked setting off one trap it was unlikely there was more TNT lying in wait where it risked hurting them.  Or there was, but no matter, Sapnap would just hold back those flames too.  Apparently it was easier than he’d anticipated, likely due to his instincts being stabilized by Dream’s presence as his alpha.  Fuck yeah, Bad was going to be so proud.  Except for the almost dying thing but- well, Sapnap would just have to downplay that when he retold the story.

Only when the flames were properly settled did Sapnap drop his arms, Blaze instincts cooing happily deep in his chest.  Later, he might be overcome with the immensity of what he’d accomplished – the remainder of the enemy’s forces reduced to mere ashes with nothing but piles of armor and weapons left behind – but in the moment, he was satisfied with the way he’d defended his allies, adrenaline surging though his veins like vicious electricity.  Had it only been mere seconds ago where he’d thought he’d die?

Though speaking of that-

“What the fuck, Punz?” Sapnap hissed, rounding on the blond knight, certain of a dark flush coloring his features. “What the fuck was that?”

“The biggest fireball ever?” Punz offered, still staring at the remains of what used to be their enemy. “You’d know better than me but holy fuck, man, that was awesome.  They’re going to write songs about this for sure.”

“Not the- forget the fire for a second,” Sapnap snapped, waving his arm in an angry flail.

“Pretty sure I can’t do that,” Punz hummed, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Did you see that fire?  It was a big fire.  Song-worthy fire-”

“Why did you say you loved me?” Sapnap spat out in a low, venomous hiss, leaning close so only Punz could hear him. 

The fact that he had to reiterate any of this seemed like a horrific crime and frankly, he was irritated about it.

“What?” Punz blinked in confusion, at last returning his attention to Sapnap before realization seemed to set in with slow and steady drips. “Oh.” He shrugged. “Just seemed like the thing to do.”

“It seemed like- what?”

“I mean, we were gonna die,” Punz continued as though he hadn’t heard Sapnap. “And I wanted to say that to someone at least once before I died.  That feels like a basic life goal.”

That, at least, made sense with what Sapnap knew of Punz – not that they’d ever been particularly close before this war, Punz was more Dream’s friend than Sapnap’s.  It certainly made more sense than Punz secretly being in love with him all this time.

“So,” Sapnap began, heartrate settling now that he was ninety five percent sure he’d gotten to the bottom of things. “You’re not actually in love with me?”

“What?” Now Punz seemed confused. “No dude, we barely know each other.”

“Which was why I was so confused-”

“Sapnap.”

The growl, deep and guttural as it was, came from behind him, and Sapnap turned to see Dream suddenly there, as though he’d abandoned his post just to check on his second, which really wasn’t like him at all.  Still, Sapnap couldn’t say he hated the consideration, not when it felt so grounding to have Dream nearby like this, to have that visual confirmation that he’d come through this safely too, and maybe Sapnap would even get a hair ruffle before Dream had to move on, and-

A firm arm wrapped around his waist, dragging him forward, and Sapnap had enough time to stifle a yelp before he processed Dream pushing up his mask just enough to-

Aaaaaaand they were kissing.

Good-good-yes-EARNED IT cooed in the back of Sapnap’s mind, every ounce of that latent horniness desperate to act up with a vengeance right then and there.  He wanted to strip off Dream’s clothes, wanted to rip off his own and be rewarded appropriately for his efforts, for changing what could have been a catastrophe into an indisputable victory, he wanted some proper alone time with his alpha and he wanted cuddles and he wanted that clever mouth to work its way downwards-

“Hey,” an insistent voice coughed from next to them, and Sapnap got the feeling that it maybe hadn’t been the first time it had spoken up.

Dream pulled back, but only so he could start the beginnings of a proper growl low in his throat, something that made Sapnap want to melt into him greedily because yeah, that was his alpha, of course he was going to protect Sapnap and put all others in their places, they should know better than to interrupt their fun times anyway.  How rude.

But then he realized it was- that was Punz.  Right, Punz who didn’t love him, who was staring at them with a familiar strained expression that looked like his usual neutral expression except his right eye was all twitchy. “Lovebirds,” he continued through clenched teeth. “Knock it off.”

Immediately, Sapnap had to grapple with a rush of afront and displeasure from his instincts that someone would dare try to tell him and Dream what to do, to hold back their affection.  It was brief though because exhaustion was beginning to set in, as was the smell of ash and blood, which brought Sapnap enough back to his senses to realize what the hell just happened.

Ah, fuck it.  Fuck it all.  Fuck noble etiquette bullshit.  Didn’t they get a pass?  It was the heat of the moment, they were at war-

“It’s okay,” Dream said, voice light as he readjusted his mask, sounding casual enough that Sapnap wouldn’t have known he’d just committed a giant faux pas if Sapnap himself hadn’t been part of it. “It’s fine.”

A nearby soldier cleared their throat, sharing a tentative look with the knight beside them. “…because you’re engaged?”

Sapnap wanted to laugh.  It would probably sound more like a hysterical giggle.  That they would jump to there- and of course they would, he and Dream were nobles, that sort of thing would be expected, but Dream could just explain that they were second and alpha, even if Dream didn’t like the idea of Sapnap being his second like that, it should be enough of an excuse to get them out of this-

“Yes,” Dream said, grinding Sapnap’s world to an abrupt halt. “Yes, we are.”

There was a pause, and then the soldier smiled. “Oh.  That’s- congratulations, sir.” They offered a respectful bow to Sapnap. “Your highness.”

What.

“Thanks,” Dream said, his arm still possessively wrapped around Sapnap’s waist. “Everyone, fall back!  We’ll attend to the wounded before continuing.  We need to intercept the rest of their forces before they realize this squadron has fallen!”

There were cheers around them, knights falling back onto their training as ordered was restored.  With that, there was a rush of excitement around the cave, happy chattering about Sapnap’s fire, about the solid defeat of Manburg, about the prince’s engagement, and-

“Philza’s going to kill you,” Punz pointed out quietly as the rest of the army got to work.

“Forget Philza,” Sapnap hissed. “You think Bad’s going to let you off scot-free?”

Dream sighed, low enough only for their ears. “I don’t know why either of you think my mom’s going to leave enough of me behind for them to yell at.”

Sapnap and Punz paused, sharing a look.

“Okay, you might have a point there,” Punz allowed, but it didn’t matter.

Sapnap was engaged now.

To Dream.

He was never going to hear the end of it.

~:~

“This is the first time I’ve been excited to come home in a while,” Josh informed them as he stared out the window, Bad and Skeppy sitting on the other side of the carriage while Jack cuddled up to his brother’s shoulder. “Which is kind of sad if I think about it, and maybe it’s because I know it’s only temporary, but I’m gonna focus on the positives, and I’m positively happy that I get to show you my home,” Josh finished with a cheer, beaming down at Jack. “But I’m also happy that I don’t have to stay here anymore.  That there’s a place with company where I’m wanted.”

“Always,” Jack soothed, letting out a comforting Blaze purr that had Josh beaming, the two of them trading quiet ‘happy-happy-happy’s back and forth until they pulled up in front of Manifold Manor.

It was a mix between a leisure and a pleasure visit.  While Josh was excited to show his packmates the place he was partially raised (he’d already babbled about his plans to take them to the proper estate out in the empire – the actual lands the Manifolds ruled over rather than their foothold in the capital), this trip was intended to collect some of his things for his suite in the castle.  He officially shared a space with Jack, Connor, and George (Jack would have to run it by the others when they returned but Jack had no doubt with all the gushing he’d done about his baby that neither of them would be surprised.  Knowing Connor, he’d already prepared both himself and George for this eventuality), and while Jack would gladly shower him with a bounty of new presents, he knew from experience that there was comfort to be found in the familiarity of what you already had.  Hence the trip, and Skeppy had dragged Bad along with them so he could get a chance to stretch his legs and not be stuck behind his desk all day.  The golem hybrid and Jack had used their best puppy dog eyes on him, and the crown prince had relented in light of the specially-packed basket of muffins the kitchen had made just for them.  Travel food at its finest.

Bad could make a mean muffin, but he enjoyed eating them even more, regardless of where they came from.  Jack admired the certain definition of his tastes.

“We’re here!” Josh burst, as though they hadn’t noticed the approach. 

It may have been partially true for Jack, who had been so enamored with feelings of happiness and comfort provided by his pack that he hadn’t needed to see what was outside.  It paled in comparison to what he had in the carriage. 

“Come on,” Josh said, but he was still careful when he coaxed Jack from the carriage, hand gentle but sure. “Ta da!”

“Love the showmanship,” Skeppy murmured when Josh waved to the house in a flourish.  Jack couldn’t help but grin at the enthusiasm, and the house was- it was nice. 

It was a nice house.  Big, bright, and much more welcoming than Boomer’s estate had ever been, though not as grand as Las Nevadas.  It was a perfectly acceptable manor.

So why did Jack feel so strange?

He decided to brush it off, obediently following Josh as he herded them inside, introducing smiling servants with enthusiastic waves and giving them a quick tour as he led them to his room.  For some reason, Jack felt as though some of the halls were too bare, like things were missing, and he added spontaneous interior decorating whims onto his list of random bearer stuff he could explore with Ponk in due time.  The list always surprised him, but at least this didn’t seem as detrimental as some of the other things he’d discovered in the past few months.

“This is the gallery,” Josh explained as he led them down a new hall laden with portraits. “This contains paintings of all the last few generations of Manifolds.  We have another one back at our home estate that has a picture of every Manifold since the empire’s establishment, but this is our more reserved version, featuring the most recent Manifolds.” He brought them to a halt near a picture framed with lush, velvet curtains, a small vase of flowers resting before it on a table, a worn stuffie that could be a baby toy resting by a small wooden sword that was broken in half, the end of the sword missing.

Jack’s fingers itched to pick it up.

“This is- was my family,” Josh said, sounding somewhat more subdued now. “Nan passed away when Jacob was little so she’s not in this one, but that’s- that’s the biggest we ever were.” He motioned towards the picture, not quite looking at it. 

Jack recognized Marquess Manifold, though he looked much younger, the smile on his face more gentle.  It was all the attention Jack could spare for him before his focus was dragged to the three young pups at the bottom of the painting – a young Josh standing by his brother, both of them more interested in the small baby their mother held in her arms.  The love and affection were clear to see on Josh’s young face and easily reciprocated in the mother’s, and the father’s-

Jack froze, breath catching as he was struck by a sudden burst of familiarity, but it couldn’t be- that wasn’t right.  He knew that wasn’t right.

He closed his eyes, opened them, but the face he’d held so dearly in his mind didn’t change. 

It was there, captured in brilliant paint strokes, looking upon his family with a sort of quiet pride with which Jack was achingly familiar.

“Jack?” Skeppy spoke up quietly, a gentle hand resting on Jack’s shoulder. “Is everything okay?”

“I um- I know him,” Jack said, unable to look away from the picture of Josh’s father.  He looked so much more polished.  So dignified.  He wasn’t broken or weary or sad at all. “That’s- I know him.”

“My dad?” Josh echoed, the confusion in his voice paling in comparison to the maelstrom of emotion raging war in Jack’s mind. “Yeah, he does look a bit like grandpa, I suppose – even though there’s no blood relation.  He married into the family, actually-”

“No, I know him.” And at that Jack forced himself to turn away from the painting, forced himself even though he wanted to do nothing but charge forward and hug it, wanted to stare, wanted to absorb each and every detail. “That was my trainer,” he explained, wishing he could find words sufficient enough to support his explanation. “The old slave in the Nether.  The one that taught me to read.  The only adult that was nice to me for a long time.” Jack felt a blistering heat burn in his eyes, vision blurring as tears began to swell down his cheeks. “He gave me my name.”

“What?” Josh asked, but it seemed to come at a distance, Jack’s emotions too loud, everything too much for him to process it properly. “That’s- no, Jack, my dad died when they raided our house.  Everyone died.”

“That’s him,” Jack said, because he couldn’t forget that face, couldn’t forget the one who’d whispered encouragement in the Nether.  Who’d said his name was Jack – only Jack – to never tell anyone anything else.  He told Jack what plants were safe to eat, taught him the alphabet song, reached through the bars of their cages just so he could pet Jack’s head and told him it was okay to feel sad, it was fair to feel sad, but he couldn’t cry because it would make him dehydrated and they had to make every little bit count.

Jack knew him.  He’d never forget him, not his trainer.  Not the old slave who was a blaze just like him, but his scales were bright and plentiful and he’d be worth so much more, not like Jack who was a runt (who wasn’t developed, the old slave had said – Jack would get there one day, he just had to be patient).  The old slave that had disappeared one day and Jack had broken the rule and cried, because he’d been so, so sad about it.

He hadn’t seen him dragged away, but he had.  He had.  He’d been dragged away yelling, crying, and there was the smell of burnt flesh and bodies that didn’t look right and-

“They’re coming,” Jack whispered, struck by a terror so sudden he could scarcely understand it.

He didn’t have to, though, the fear was there for a reason, his instincts knew that much, and he grabbed onto Josh’s hand, pulling his baby down the hall and the distance didn’t seem so far this time – maybe he could get away too, but he had to take care of Josh first.  He had to take care of Josh first because he was older, and that was what elders did.

“Jack?” a voice – he didn’t know them but he recognized them as family and fuck, he was going to have to hide them too, but there were only so many secret spaces and Jack needed one for himself. “Sweetheart, who’s coming?”

“The bad people,” Jack snapped, tears burning in his eyes as he released an apologetic rumble.  He couldn’t scare his baby.  It was already so scary and it wasn’t Josh’s fault and Jack needed to take care of him, he needed to take care of his brother.

He didn’t know why they were coming but he knew they were bad because they’d killed the lady and the baby and the old blaze wasn’t home – they were mad that the old blaze wasn’t home so they took the other one and they were mad because no one was supposed to die- they kept shouting-

A familiar doorway came into view and Jack could have sobbed from relief but he didn’t, couldn’t because the door was locked, but that wasn’t- it was never locked, that was where the lady liked to have tea and sometimes she’d play the piano and Jack could sit beside her on the bench and she’d place her hands over his and it shouldn’t be locked, this was her favorite place, it was- With a snarl, he kicked the door open just like Connor had taught him to, and it made their practice all the worth it even if it had made Jack feel slightly terrible but everyone had agreed that sacrificing a few doors was worth it for his peace of mind and the room was all wrong, why was the room all wrong?  There were blankets on top of everything and dust and the furniture was arranged wrong and the hidey hole- there was no time.

He swallowed a croon and charged across the room, heart beating frantically in his chest as he yanked a loveseat away from the wall.  He’d have to put it back in place later but that was okay, it would hide his baby better and grandpa would hear his cries, Josh was good, he would be quiet until it was safe, he was so smart, Jack had the smartest little brother in the world.

At last, his fingers reached for that special spot in molding, pulling out to reveal that small, hidden space in the wall that was supposed to be for secret treasure – grandpa had made it just for their treasure and now the most precious thing Jack had left had to go in there, and there was only room for Josh because he had to push the loveseat back, he had to hide his baby.

“You have to- to get in,” Jack gasped, looking back towards his brother who was-

Oh, oh no.  No-no-no, he was too big.  What had happened? It had been so perfect before and now there was no time and the bad people were coming, he’d failed.

“Jack?” The second voice repeated again, and Jack had failed them too, and now they were all going to be taken and have to change their names and it was going to be hot and mean and awful and then one by one they’d just vanish-

“He’s too big,” Jack gasped, tears running down his cheeks. “But I don’t- I don’t know where else to hide him, we have to hide, we have to- maybe if I go out and distract them-”

“Jack,” the voice said, and suddenly Skeppy was there, grasping onto his shoulders and looking at him with wet, worried eyes. “Jack, it’s okay, no one’s coming.  It’s just us.”

“N-No.” Skeppy had to understand, Jack needed to make him understand. “They already- they took the old- the old slave and now I- I have to hide-” He motioned towards the cubby hole, complete in his sorrow for it was too small to be of any use to them. “Josh was supposed to go in there.”

“I did,” Josh whispered, and then Jack was refocusing, heart throbbing painfully in his chest because his baby was sad.  Sad, but not scared, because he didn’t understand- he hadn’t seen because Jack had covered his eyes, because he was a good brother. “Jack, I did hide there when the house was attacked.  That’s- that’s where my brother put me." More tears started streaming down his face in earnest. “It was our secret,” he said, voice tight. “Grandpa had put it there just for us.  No one else knew about it – not mom, not dad, not the servants.  It was just us.” He squeezed his eyes shut tight, though that did little to stem the flow of his pain. “It’s why they never found me, and Jacob- he never told them.” He sobbed. “Jack.”

The bearer felt torn.  There was still a rush of adrenaline deep in his core waging war on his instincts, but none of the others were scared.  Skeppy looked concerned and Bad was trying to sooth Josh who was looking at him in a manner Jack couldn’t describe, and maybe there wasn’t any danger but why did he- why did he remember that? Why did he know about the secret treasure space?  He’d wanted to put his sword in there so he and Josh could hide it from Jaclyn.  She would start crawling soon, and they didn’t want to take any chances with her getting into things she shouldn’t.

He’d used that sword against the invaders, pretending he’d run for it to draw them away from Josh.  It’d been in his hand for about three seconds before it was pulled from his grasp and broken across the top of his head.

He remembered it so clearly.  He remembered this place so clearly – those last moments of fear.

He remembered the piano.  Their mother.

And the old slave who had taught him how to read.  Their father, who fought every day to hold back his own tears as he watched his son forget more and more of himself, trauma exacerbated by an untreated headwound.

There was a moment of heart wrenching silence. 

“I don’t know where he went,” Jack said, barely able to make his voice above a whisper. “I don’t know where dad went,” he clarified, Josh sucking in a painful, gasping breath. “They probably took him to the fighting pits.”

“Jacob,” Josh sobbed, but that was a name Jack had given up long ago.  It was a name he’d surrendered to protect his brother, a title his father had coaxed him to hide to ease the weight of their punishments in the Nether when they were sold to slavers who had no clue who they were.

Just as the history books said, Jacob had died a long time ago.

Now only Jack remained.

Chapter Text

"You're an idiot," Sapnap informed Dream when they retired to their tent that evening, Punz following on their heels, claiming he was owed payment via 'a sufficient amount of drama' in return for his efforts for helping smooth things over with their squadron – assuring many as one of Dream's best friends that they had obviously been engaged for a long time and obviously they'd kept it quiet due to the tumultuous political situation with the war and no he very much hadn't declared his love for Sapnap, were they stupid? 

"I know," Dream groaned, trudging over to their get-along-cot-away-from-home and plopping face first onto its not-so-comfortable depths. "I panicked."

"You could have said literally anything else," Sapnap pointed out, ignoring Punz's amused hum as the blond ambled through the tent flap behind them, making himself comfortable on the chair positioned next to Dream's portable command table. "Anything.  Anything would have worked." He started listing options out on his fingers. "You could have said it was alpha stuff.  You could have said it had to do with your hybrid type and they wouldn't have been able to ask questions about it because no one can ask questions about it. You could have said you were giving me CPR, or that their eyes were wrong, or that they hadn't seen what they'd seen because this is your special team and literally all of them like you and would have been willing to do that, but instead-"

"I know what happened," Dream offered from where he had managed to squirm his way under their blankets, his boots politely hanging over the edge of the cot because while he was trapped in despair, at least he wasn't a complete barbarian. "I was there." 

"Instead," Sapnap repeated louder – but not too loud, because they couldn't afford for this conversation to bleed through the walls of the tent. "You said we were engaged.  Not courting, engaged." 

"Yep," Dream sighed. "That was what I did." 

"You idiot," Sapnap repeated, this time with more conviction. "Do you have any idea the amount of political bullshit that is going to stir up?  Do you?  Do you understand the number of formal things and paperwork and ceremonies we would have and have supposedly done for that to happen, because I certainly don't." 

He had only glanced in on Bad once when his older brother and Skeppy had been researching such things after Skeppy's impromptu proposal.  The sheer mass of it had made Sapnap's head spin because apparently marrying into a royal family couldn't be as easy as just saying it.  Bad and Skeppy had gotten a pass because Eret had given them one, but Sapnap?  He was expected to do the full song and dance as an example to all his little brothers, which hadn't been a problem because he was pretty sure it was going to take years to make George come around to the idea of marrying him, assuming he ever even got there.  If he didn't, then Sapnap would rock single bachelorhood until he ran into another such hybrid that rocked his world and could only improve his life by being a part of it (and put away the ring he had carefully picked out and had since then not dwelled too long on), but that would guarantee some level of heartbreak, so he usually tried not to think about it.

And now he was engaged.

"I don't even have a ring," Sapnap bemoaned, giving up on his pacing to flop down beside Dream – on the far side of the cot, of course, so as not to provide accidental positive reinforcement. At least, as far as the get-along-cot allowed. "Bad got a ring." 

Dream perked up. "I can get you a ring.  The best ring." He urged closer, which Sapnap had been afraid of, but then he was rumbling sweet nothings that Sapnap was unfortunately susceptible to and- "Pretty second deserves prettiest treasure," he murmured, the deep purr going straight to Sapnap's core. "So pretty covered in my jewels-"

"I hate to interrupt the party," Punz drawled, reminding them that he was, in fact, still present. "But before you get sidetracked you should probably start brainstorming a backstory, since it's a little too late to go out to the squad and say 'Whoops, Dream was mistaken, it turns out your brilliant commander actually doesn't know the difference between courting and engagement'." 

"Why can't we do that though?" Sapnap asked, forcing himself to ignore the tantalizing presence that was Dream in favor of addressing the problem at hand. "Controlling rumors and public opinion is a Wastaken specialty.  Wouldn't everyone be fine with it?"

Punz leveled a dry look at him that was frankly unwarranted. "I'm going to give you a pass because you're frazzled right now.  If you did that, it would be obvious that this was a cover up, that neither of you two know what the hell you're doing with your relationship."

"But we don't know what we're doing with our relationship," Sapnap pointed out, turning so he could better face Punz and letting out a fake annoyed huff when Dream cuddled against his back. 

"Which is normal – for normal people," Punz said. "You two are not normal people.  You two are the elite, and not just that, the elite of the elite.  You're not allowed to have normal problems, and if you do, you have to have them behind closed doors like any upstanding noble would." He cocked his head to the side, looking thoughtful. "It's all a matter of perspective.  The reason your families are this strong is because they played their cards right and they did it consistently.  They didn't leave room for doubt, because if you guys can't even be confident in your personal lives, what else does that translate to?  What else aren't you entirely confident in?  And does that reflect on your families as well?  Are they also frauds?"

"I think frauds is a strong word," Sapnap huffed.

"Yeah, and I think people are stupid," Punz said with a roll of his eyes. "And when they catastrophize, they go big." 

"So you're basically saying we're stuck with this so people won't lose confidence in our families."

"Or confidence in Dream's ability to lead, or the support that you've slowly gained for yourself over the course of the war – you want that to stay, you have to be committed."

"Even with this smaller squad?" 

"Especially with these guys," Punz said. "Any group over five people is going to be difficult to silence.  You change the story, and even if they're all dedicated to Dream, even if they like you okay, one guy's going to mess up.  And if one guy messes up, the guys that don't like you so much are going to jump on that opportunity and use it to plant seeds of doubt."

"Thus beginning the downfalls of our families," Sapnap said, discontent settling uneasily in his chest.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say downfall, but yeah, it would open up an opportunity for attack," Punz said with an easy shrug. "I know it sucks, but that's what happens when you're part of the upper elite.  You have to protect against everything.  Every little thing."

The dog hybrid spoke this with confidence, though Sapnap didn’t know where he got it from.  As far as he knew, Punz was a commoner – though perhaps he was far more observant than any of them ever gave them credit for.

"You're right," Dream sighed, nuzzling against Sapnap's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Sap.  Just- I saw that TNT- and you were fine, you were more than fine, you were amazing, and I couldn't- I couldn't not." He burrowed closer. "I just needed to feel you.  I needed you to know how much I cared." 

"You sappy idiot," Sapnap huffed, allowing his hands to settle over Dream's, giving the other protector's fingers a light squeeze. "I'm not mad, not really.  I understand why you did it, and I probably would have done the same if our positions were reversed.  It's just- it's going to be a lot harder now." 

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," Punz offered. "Plenty of engagements get canceled before they can be seen all the way through.  Or better yet, you can postpone yours indefinitely while you try to woo George and Jack into your torrid affair." Sapnap couldn't begin to describe the look on his own face, but whatever expression he was wearing must have been the same level of befuddled surprise as Dream because Punz immediately scoffed upon seeing it. "Did you think you guys were being subtle?" He nodded towards Dream. "Especially you." 

Dream had the decency to sound bashful. "My instincts are certain about these things."

"Your instincts are as dumb as you are," Punz huffed. "Didn't they hate Sapnap immediately?"

"No," Dream hissed, hand rubbing gentle patterns against Sapnap's abdomen as though to reassure him that such awful times were behind them. "No, we just- there was a misunderstanding. I communicated badly."

"No, really?" Punz laughed. "Who'd have thought."

That time Sapnap knew he was pouting, and he also didn't care. "If you're not going to help, you can leave," he muttered. 

It wasn't like the blond hadn't gotten his payment by now. 

"Relax," Punz said, holding up both hands in lazy surrender. "You know we're not even close to done yet. You guys need a good story, one that won't piss off George in his entirety when he hears what happened."

"Oh no," Dream groaned, burying his face against Sapnap's shoulder. "I haven't even told him about the alpha thing yet." 

Sapnap felt the color drain from his face. "Shit," he hissed. "I didn't- I haven't seen him.  We've all been so busy-"

"So you understand that damage control is necessary," Punz said with a sage wisdom that indicated just how much he was loving this. "Who's ready to invent a cute and aspirational tale that will only further enhance your family's reputations?” 

"We're gonna die," Dream groaned, making no effort to hide his despair. 

"That's the spirit," Punz chirped, ruthless as always. 

They'd made this mess, and now they had to clean it up. 

Hopefully.

~:~

A simple rune test confirmed what they already knew, though Jack was in a daze for the entire process, barely registering the two glowing circles on which he and Josh were standing pulsing a comforting green of confirmation.

They were related.  They were brothers.

It was something that had already been true for Jack regardless of any tests.  He wasn't sure why now he felt so tired now, so empty.  He had answers – hadn't he wanted answers?  There had been an inkling for them at some point, an errant thought he'd given up on.  No, an errant thought he hadn't needed, because he knew who his parents were likely to be.  Slaves.  Slaves that had bred a slave child, and now he was the oldest son of a noble.  He had come from a loving family, he was wanted. 

The memories he'd repressed and locked away, the good and the bad – what had made it past his head injury and the terror of trauma came back in an overwhelming rush, flickering towards his awareness and blindsiding him at the strangest moments. 

Perhaps that was why he was so tired.  He was processing so much. 

"Would you like to talk, Jack?" Ponk asked him, because at some point, he'd gotten there too.  Maybe he'd always been there.  Jack wasn't exactly sure who was present.  Was he drifting again?  He hadn't done that in a while. 

Jack considered the question, but he already knew the answer. 

Did he want to talk?  No, the mere thought of it felt unfairly exhausting, made him want to cry. 

Should he talk, though? 

He knew that after these such events, it was going to happen one way or another.  Better to do it now before he allowed his brain to run off and cause potential harm to himself or others. 

He nodded, and that was how he and Skeppy ended up in Ponk's office – Josh safe with Niki and the marquess, though he'd wanted to come, and Jack, who \ always wanted his baby around, he just- he couldn't, not this time. 

Ponk was kind enough to wait for Jack to speak first, kind enough to give him the time he needed.  It felt unfairly kind, it all just- it was all unfair to some degree, he didn't know. 

That was the problem, he supposed.

"I don't know what's wrong," Jack whispered, the effort of speaking wearing him down to the bone. "I thought I'd be happier." 

"You relived some very traumatic events," Ponk said, and it sounded so, so reasonable. "That would take a lot out of anyone, even if it did ultimately provide you with answers you may have spent a long time searching for." 

Jack always felt a bit more comfortable when Ponk validated his opinions – that reassurance.  Getting credibility from an outside, professional source that let him know he wasn't crazy.  He was just- this was just him.  It wasn't easy, but it wasn't easy or straightforward for anyone.  

It was perhaps, though, a little less easy and straightforward for Jack than it was for others. 

"I remember mom dying," Jack said, following the structure Ponk had set for him, to start where he could, and that was where he was. "I saw it through the window.  I kept Josh's head down, but I wanted to look." Because it was loud, and there was screaming and his dad was crying and his dad never cried.  He only cried when he was really, really happy, but it hadn't been that. "They wanted to take us alive, but one of them got- got crazy, I guess." That was the only designation he had for someone who enjoyed inflicting so much pain. "Used some sort of dark magic, fire attack on her and Jocelyn, and then they... they were all twisted and burnt." He remembered the blackened corpses now, the terror gripping his throat.  He remembered the disbelief, because those twisted, terrifying things couldn't be his mom and sister, but they were. "And then dad, he just- he was trying to distract them, I think, but they saw me in the window- but not Josh." 

They'd ran and ran and ran and he'd gotten Josh hidden, he was a good big brother, and then he'd gone on the offensive – as much as a three-year-old could do such a thing. 

"I kept him safe," Jack said. "And they took me and dad to the Nether.  Sold us.  I- I don't remember the details." He shook his head; it was so long ago. "Maybe they had a buyer fall through, but no one seemed to know who we were down there, so I became Jack." He looked at his hands – still bearing traces of scars and burns even after all these months of treatment.  They could only apply so many healing potions, and some wounds were just too deep.  He would never have smooth, unblemished hands. "Three years old, running from hoglins.  I just thought my parents were slaves.  That my mom had been- you know, like I'd been." He paused, considering. "I suppose my father had little choice in what happened to us regardless of his background, and now we're... we're just here." 

Nothing had changed. 

And yet, everything was different. 

"I didn't recognize them," Jack said, his breath catching. "I guess I recognized that Josh was mine, but the marquess- I didn't feel anything." 

"You were very young," Ponk said, soothing and kind, and while that tone was normally a balm, now Jack only felt frustration. 

"This doesn't change anything!" Jack snapped, raising his trembling hands into shaking fists, as though that would give him the strength to continue. "I'm still this!  And I'm at peace with that, so why- why am I upset again?  I don't understand." 

Ponk waited for him to catch his breath, waited for Skeppy to offer some supporting rumbles, waited for Jack to be in a place where he could actually listen, waited to see if he actually wanted to listen.  Only then did he move on. 

"Because now you have an idea of what your life could have been.  Those few good memories you have – the dedication the marquess has to Josh – you know what you could have had, and it could have been amazing." He waited a beat, and then- "But that's not what happened.  That was stolen from you, and it isn't fair." 

"So that's it?" Jack sniffed, the familiar weight of tears burning in his gaze. "I'm throwing a hissy fit because things aren't fair?"

"Jack, you're grieving," Ponk said, and it- it made sense, suddenly.  It made terrible, acute sense. "Your entire life has been recontextualized, that old slave whose loss you were able to shake off because you didn't know him so well – that was your father.  All these things that happened to you, you're grieving them again, because now you understand the immensity of them, now you have full information." 

Jack's breath caught in his throat, gasping and it didn't come any deeper, didn't when the tension was so high, when it all felt so tense and thick and clumsy. 

He felt empty because he finally understood what exactly he had lost.  Because it had been a little easier to take the abuse and derision and pain as Jack, the random slave.  Jack, who'd been born into it.  But he hadn't been born for that.  No one had been born for it, no one should be born for it, but he hadn't even been birthed in the Nether.  The Overworld was always supposed to be his.  His brother, his sister, his parents and grandpa- the piano and picnics and play fights that ended in hugs.  Magic shows with fire that Jack could not imitate until he was at least eight, which seemed grossly unfair, but it would be worse to lose the shows altogether-

That could have been his.  And even if things were good now, even if he had eventually found his family once more, even if he wouldn't have made these friends and bonds if he hadn't been stolen, that didn't make the fact that it'd happened at all any less terrible. 

"I barely remember them," Jack gasped, tears blurring his vision as they spilled down his cheeks. "They stole that too." 

"I'm sorry," Ponk said and he meant it, and when Jack started crying uncontrollably, Skeppy didn't hesitate to hold him close and let the sorrow run its course, because that was what Jack needed to do.

He was grieving. 

Jacob was gone, and he likely always would be. 

But all was not lost with Jack.  Things could still be okay, they could be stable, but first- 

He could grieve.  He was allowed that much.

~:~

With all the hubbub with Gunnar followed by the support and validation George hadn't even known he'd needed, there was a chance that the core motivation for George and Connor's private conversation might have slipped his mind entirely.  

To be fair, he was a bit occupied carrying out his punishment.  Washing dishes for thousands of army men was no joke, and even if the load was split among several mess hall areas, the task of cleaning and maintaining those areas was still by no means insubstantial.  George spent his week making a rotation around the different tents as he quietly and diligently went about his assigned work.  He was just about always assigned to the lowest-ranking apprentice – something that most nobles would have found offensive, but George understood it was something he deserved, so he was sure to treat each teenager he was placed under with the respect and consideration they were due.  The first apprentice seemed to view this as suspect, but the second one took it with a relieved sort of gratitude, building up a comradery with George until they stumbled into a question that, in hindsight, George should have suspected.

"What did you do to earn this, anyway?" the apprentice asked, the apprentices stationed at the other washing areas making no effort to hide the way they were flagrantly eavesdropping. 

George had tried not to broadcast what happened, mostly because he found it so unsavory. "I punched the idiot who called Lord Foolish a whore." 

There was a distinct and prolonged pause.

"And they punished you for that?" another apprentice griped, and suddenly there was an explosion of murmurs, of conversations and questions that ended with George becoming an object of admiration and respect of his own.  

That night when he was picking up his tray for dinner (he always felt bad making the runners come all the way to the tent, even if they were already doing it for Foolish and Philza), he found his plate piled a little higher than usual, a carefully-folded napkin hiding at least two cookies – still warm from wherever they'd made them. 

"Looks like you've gained some admirers," Foolish said, proud and wonderfully oblivious (they hadn't given him the full details of the altercation, only the bare outlines that George had fought with his old brother). "And of course you have, you're you." 

"I- that's not-" George sputtered, still unused to such praise, but then Foolish – his dad – would hug and nuzzle him, would let out a cooing rumble of his own Totem self, and even went so far as to not ask for any of the cookies despite loving sweets.

"Those are yours," Foolish had hummed, pressing a kiss to George's hair when he sat down to eat. "Sweets for our sweetheart." 

"I'm going to cry again," George announced, mostly in an effort to keep from doing just that. 

He managed it by the skin of his teeth, savoring the baked good and wondering how a war, of all things, could bring him such validation.  

George had been busy, and with Connor ducking out of the camp on yet another one of his scouting runs as they prepared to move even deeper into Manberg territory, he felt it was understandable for him to lose track of Dream and Sapnap's return date. He'd stopped keeping track of it after the first time it had been pushed back because it was only making it harder to focus, and now it took him completely by surprise.  They were back – safe and in one piece – no tales of horrific tragedy spreading throughout the camp, and George found himself once more able to breathe.  Of course with this he was also brought back to the conversation he had with Connor – one that meant he had to talk to them, to actually see them again, and as much as George wanted to put that off indefinitely, he could admit that he missed his friends.  

He could also admit that they were somewhat stupid, which made the secret alpha thing easier to bear.  It would be perfectly understandable for those two scatterbrains to forget to inform him, they'd probably both thought the other had done it.  And it was sort of his fault anyway for forcing their hand with the get-along cot.  He hadn't been thinking in the moment, he'd just been so frustrated, and maybe still was, but now he- he was going to do better. He was going to be a good friend and welcome them back properly, congratulate them on their successes.  He'd saved them some of the extra cookies he'd been gifted, and if that didn't earn him some amount of praise and appreciation – not that this was what he was looking for, this was intended for their benefit and their benefit alone – he'd eat his- well, their cookies, that was what he'd do. 

With a confidence that was entirely feigned, George straightened up and made his way towards the area with the returning troops.  He'd been somewhat afraid that this action would come off as too needy, but it had been a while since they'd seen each other.  Foolish had helped George amend his schedule into something that wouldn't clash so heavily with theirs so they could actually spend time together, and whatever happened – with George's dumb feelings and their secret alpha-second thing, he was sure they'd get through it together.  They'd already overcome so much; he was sure they could manage this as well. 

The murmuring increased the closer he got, and already he could see some of Dream's soldiers reuniting with friends, strolling back towards their tents or in the direction of the mess as they updated those they left behind.  George would need to make an effort to collect gossip from them when he could, but right now, he was focused on Dream and Sapnap.

So much so that when he heard their names get mentioned he couldn't help but pause, pretending to consult his ever-present notebook.

"It was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen," the soldier was gushing, their friends eagerly soaking up the information. "First, Prince Sapnap single-handedly redirected all their TNT explosions back at them-" What. "But then the way Sir Dream rushed towards his side- and the kiss." There were giggles.  What.  What kiss? "It would have been the height of impropriety but apparently they've been engaged this whole time-"

What.

For a moment, George couldn't think.  He just- he stared at his notes, stared and felt himself go distant before he snapped his focus back into place, knowing full well that he couldn't afford such lapses in public. Even if they were in camp, he was still very much in the public eye, and he'd already caused the Essempi's honor to tarnish somewhat with his impulsive actions. He just- he needed- 

He was getting ahead of himself.  This seemed like an outlandish, impossible story.  It likely wasn't even true, so he waited for them to finish and then yell something along the lines of got you, but the soldier seemed certain.

Well, daydream-prone soldiers were in every army, and there was no reason that couldn't be the case now.  With that knowledge George moved on, looking for other soldiers to collect information from.

They all said the same thing.  Dream kissing Sapnap in public, a secret engagement, animosity to cover up their courting.

They were engaged. 

George didn't end up making it to that side of camp, his aimless feet taking him back towards safety – the emperor's tent sure to bring comfort while his mind went wild.  The alpha arrangement was one thing, but this?  This proved that Connor didn't know what he was talking about, proved how much George was an idiot. 

"Hey." Speak of the devil and he shall appear – there was Connor, breathless and hair in a mad disarray as he came to a stumbled stop beside George. "Look, I haven't spoken with them yet, but I'm sure-"

"I don't want to hear it," George hissed – shoving all the scattered hopes, the aching longing, the guilt and frustration and self-loathing down into a neglected corner of his mind where it couldn't hurt him. "Just face it, the all-knowing Connor was wrong.  I realize it was not maliciously intended, but you were wrong, and now I'm going to go collect myself into something somewhat respectable and try and remember the things that are actually within my reach." 

He still had faith in his ability to have something with Jack.  Maybe.  He still wanted to try, he wanted to respect his peacekeeper that much and have the conversation, but Dream and Sapnap-

They'd made it abundantly clear where George stood with them. 

With that, he shrugged away the hand Connor aimed at his shoulder and moved along, gathering the shattered remnants of his walls and forging them back into place like iron. 

This was a good wakeup call for him. 

Chapter Text

They built a nest together in the Manifold's suite.  A family nest.  It turned out that blaze hybrids had those too, and Jack remembered it but he didn't.  Mostly, he remembered how wrong it felt to be alone in the Nether, how frustrating it was for the old blaze – for his dad – to be separated from him by bars.  He'd adjusted to the aching hollowness of empty-to-nonexistent nests over the years, then further wore himself down and repressed the depraved mockery of what a nest should be at Boomer's estate.  It had taken him so long to adjust to a proper bed, then longer to share it with Connor, with George and Dream, then Bad and Skeppy. 

As little as he remembered from before though, it had felt right to build that nest together.  Duchess Wastaken was kind enough to provide additional clothing from Dream and George, assuring Jack that they would want him to have it.  Bad didn't hesitate to provide garments from himself, Skeppy, and even Sapnap (who Jack hadn't had a chance to properly befriend but he wanted to, because he knew Sapnap wanted it too, and he meant so much to George and honestly, he meant so much to Jack as well – had started as everything Jack wished he could be and ended as a good, loving older brother to Tubbo and the rest of the royal pups).  When the others provided more – Quackity with some of his things and pillows from the pups, Wilbur passing over some of his things along with one of Technoblade's extra capes – Jack was worried about how Josh and the marquess would respond to them, because while Jack had spent all this time stumbling into these bonds, they had not.  

But neither of them minded.  If anything, Josh was shy but eager to add a few of Sam and Ant’s things to their nest, then some of Foolish's because their offices coordinated together so frequently. 

Jack's pack was their own, it was as simple as that. 

"We have a lot to talk about," Jack said, voice quiet when they stood back and admired their handiwork.  It was huge, bigger than the three of them needed, because it wasn't just for the three of them, not really. "Could we do that?"

"Of course, Jack," the marquess said, and that was- they'd asked him what name he wanted to use, they'd asked and they respected it.  It didn't matter if his name was Jacob down on paper, aloud he was Jack, and they loved him just as he was.

And he loved them too, with a ferocity that scared him.

"I'd like to invite Bad and Skeppy to join us, if that's okay," Jack said, because he'd learned from his mistakes from when George and Connor had first gone to war.  He didn't have to approach scary things without backup, and while at times he'd felt bad for how much he needed them, he forced away that guilt with Ponk’s words.  Because everyone had different burdens.  Some had more than others, and they had to spend a lot of time addressing those hurts where other people didn't.  It didn't make him less, and it certainly didn't mean he never returned the favor.  There were plenty of times when he'd pulled Bad away from his desk, when he'd delegated the easier work to the crown prince's aides so Bad could have a break instead.  There were plenty of times he gave Skeppy pep talks when the golem hybrid was doubting, when he thought he wasn't good enough to be the future emperor's husband, when he was afraid he wouldn't be perceived as enough.  And if Jack's pep talks weren't good enough, he could always rope in Puffy and Duchess Wastaken, who were ferocious in their own right.  Puffy could build up Skeppy emotionally and the duchess could build up his reputation among the nobles, could give him things to do that would help him feel secure in a way Jack couldn't. 

In pack they took turns being weak and they took turns helping each other up when they stumbled.  It was what made them stronger. 

"Yes," the marquess said, his gaze rife with a loving fondness that was not unlike the affection he held for Jack yesterday – because he'd cared for Jack then, even if he hadn't known Jack was his grandson. Even without that certainty, Jack had been his.  They'd been each other's. 

It was that, above all else, that brought Jack comfort.

"Whatever you need," the marquess finished, and then Jack retrieved Bad and Skeppy who'd been preparing themselves for this conversation, who knew just as well as Jack that it likely wasn't going to be an easy one. 

They settled down in the nest together, Jack and Josh cuddled in the middle – Bad and Skeppy at Jack's back, the marquess at Josh's.  They were safe.  Secure. 

Jack took a deep breath, gave himself time.  He was allowed to take time.  There was no rush. 

And then he told them about the Nether.

"I don't remember much," he said, because it had all sort of blended together, years and years of the same thing until the tasks had intensified, until Jack became a teenager and there had been a call for those in the Overworld – new contestants needed for the pits. 

He told them what he remembered of their father, he told them about being sold to Schlatt, he told them about his first time at the warehouse. 

"I was supposed to go to Manburg, I think," he began, a story he'd never explicitly stated – not to Connor, not to Ponk. "But then I presented, and they sold me as a sex slave instead." 

His grandfather – wise and unfortunately familiar with the potential evils that lurked behind the masks of nobles – seemed to put the pieces together first. "Are you a bearer?" 

"Yes," Jack whispered, rubbing soothing patterns against Josh's arm, offering his baby brother a comfort he couldn't quite find himself. 

"What?" Josh startled, looking at him with wet eyes.  It was so unfair for him.  He didn't have the same time to adjust to the tragedies of Jack's life – not like the others.  It was all being unloaded onto him at once. "No, you- there would have been a parade.  They- they wouldn't- bearers should be celebrated, not- not-"

"Raped?" Jack offered, because that was what happened.  Because his assailants didn't deserve to have it sugarcoated.  Because that vile word did not reflect less on him. "I'm sorry, Josh.  Sometimes there are individuals who revel in the depraved, who thought such violations of something that our empire would celebrate was the greatest joy of all." 

"I'll kill them," Josh hissed, pupils narrowing into angry slits as tears poured down his cheeks. "Give me names, I'll burn them with my own hands." 

"Wilbur and Eret already took care of it," Jack said, because they'd been keeping Jack appraised of the investigation into those who had attacked him over the years.  Those that had not already been arrested due to their association with the slave ring were appropriately charged, and usually the investigations revealed other criminal activity they'd successfully kept from the empire's eye – but little could escape Eret and Wilbur's combined efforts when they put their mind to it.  "Thank you, though." 

He didn't want Josh to think Jack didn't appreciate his protective instincts.  Those, when positively channeled, were a gift, and he would always acknowledge that. 

"I love you," Josh countered, insistent and firm – a direct contrast to his body language that was so very careful –- offering nuzzles but sure to give Jack the opportunity to decline them if he so chose, respecting his boundaries because this was Jack's baby brother, and his baby brother was good. "No matter what happens I will always love you, and I will always be proud to stand beside you." 

"That goes for me as well," the marquess offered, sure to vocalize that much for Jack's benefit, so there would be no doubt. "Even if we had no biological relation, that much would be true.  Would be irrefutable.  You are a strong, loving, brilliant individual, Jack, and a worthy contribution to any pack." 

Jack released a shaky exhale of air, taking a moment to process this while Skeppy and Bad offered their own supportive purrs and rumbles.  It was the very worst secret he had to offer, the darkest side of him, and while Jack had thus far been lucky, had been fairly certain the Manifolds wouldn't turn him away much like the rest of his pack hadn't, he couldn't help but have that small, nagging fear in the back of his mind that this might be the one time where his good fortune failed.  

But it hadn't.  He was a bearer who had been attacked, who had been violated, who was a victim, and he was celebrated.  Wanted.  Loved. 

What a precious gift he'd been allowed to rediscover for himself, and at once he wondered what his life would have been like if he'd been too scared to approach Quackity that day at the warehouse, if the need to stay by Tubbo's side had been an ounce weaker.  His life would be completely different.

He was confident it would not have been better. 

"You should have a parade," Josh whispered quietly, sharing his nuzzles when Jack beckoned him closer. "You deserve a parade." 

"I like to maintain my privacy," Jack said, smiling with a helpless fondness because his brother was so proud, because he wanted Jack to have the very best of things. 

"Besides," Skeppy spoke up. "If he did that, he'd be accosted by suitors on all sides." 

"They wouldn't dare," Josh hissed, getting fired up again. "They would have to be approved by me and grandpa first."

"Then um- how do you feel about George?" Jack asked, a thread of shyness building in his chest. "Just- hypothetically speaking?" 

Josh paused, gaze going wide as he considered it before he shared a quick glance with the marquess. "Does he treat you well?" 

"So well," Jack said in a rush. "He's thoughtful and funny and even though emotional stuff can be hard for him sometimes, for me, he always tries.  He never drags his feet because I- I'm-"

"Worth it," Bad offered for him when Jack struggled to finish his thought. "You're worth it, so George fights for you." 

"Yes." Jack nodded, his cheeks heating with a small swell of warmth. "I don't know if he'd be interested in romance, but I think I'd like to try with him."

"So long as he treats you well, he has my support," the marquess rumbled, the sides of his eyes crinkling with a muted sort of joy that Jack remembered – remembered from his mom playing the piano, from Jack's first successfully kindled flame.  It had been barely anything hovering above his pinky, but it had been his. 

"And if he ever intentionally hurts you, I'll set him on fire," Josh offered cheerfully, and for someone so normally reserved and laidback, Josh was a wonderfully protective brother – likely because he was consumed with the same motivation Jack was. That of an individual who was making up for lost time, who was reclaiming what should have always been theirs. 

Still, Jack had to be responsible. "Josh," he chastised, and this was- he liked this dynamic, he decided.  He liked having a little brother.

"Just his tail?" Josh tried, and they laughed and they cuddled and maybe they hurt a little bit too, but more than all that was the indisputable, lovely truth that whatever happened, from this point onwards it would happen together. 

~:~

There was the slightest chance that Dream was panicking.

Even with the mask he felt like it was obvious to anyone who looked his way, but Punz kept sending subtle signals that indicated he was passing for normal – the ever resolute and stalwart Sir Dream of the Antarctic Empire Army.  Beside him, Sapnap was doing an amazing job with his public relations face, shaking hands and trading laughs, smiles, gladly thanking and responding to each of the soldiers that welcomed them back to camp. 

They'd gotten held up – of course they had, he always did – talking to upper commanders and the squadron soldiers that hadn't gone on that raid.  He was always held back, consulting with aides and runners, checking to see that the more gravely wounded were transferred to medical, that the horses were watered and rested all while his squadron spread out before him, already reintegrating amongst the established camp, no doubt eagerly sharing their newest gossip, wanting to be the first to spread the amazing, unbelievable news as some sort of point of pride. 

An elbow dug into his side, and he glanced down to see Sapnap's gaze fixed elsewhere, trading a few waves with some distant soldiers. "It'll be fine," the blaze hybrid murmured through his smile. "George will be buried in his work anyway – or better yet, sleeping.  We'll get to him before the story does." 

Logically, Dream knew that was true, but in practice he couldn't help but worry until the moment they actually broke the news to George.  He knew his friend, his hopefully-one-day alpha.  George was proud and stubborn, but it covered up a sensitive core he would forever and always deny.  George was slow to let people in and when he did, Dream doubted he would tolerate anything he perceived as a betrayal, and being purposefully left out of information like this – especially when they considered each other pack, when they shared a bed with Jack at the Wastaken estate – it wouldn't end well for any of them.  

Dream knew the worst-case scenario.  Knew he didn't want to be anywhere close to the worst-case scenario.  Knew the worst-case scenario needed to be avoided at all costs, and as such, he would not stop panicking until it was safely averted. 

And then things took a turn for the worse.

"Hey, dearest brothers of mine," Connor cheered when he slid into view before them, a blur of blue movement that appeared in less than a second, the force of his stop causing his boots to dig gouges into the dirt below him.  He turned to look at the newest set of workers that had set to approach Dream. "Do you mind if I borrow these two? Literally just got back into camp, gotta share some important info – you know how it is." 

He didn't wait for them to reply before he was dragging Dream and Sapnap into the closest storage tent – a place that was thankfully empty, though knowing Connor, he'd assured that for himself before he'd sought them out. 

The smile he'd been wearing dropped the moment they had some measure of privacy – Punz standing casual guard outside – and then his expression shifted into something more dangerous, something that had Sapnap swallowing roughly beside Dream.

"You idiots," Connor hissed, his voice low and deadly. "Do you know how hard I fought for you?  Do you have any idea how far out on a limb I went to defend your dumb asses?  Do you?" He took a step forward, shoulders tense and hands curled into tight and unforgiving fists against his side. "You know how hard it is to earn George's trust; you know how hard it is for him to depend on someone else-"

"No," Dream said, faint and weak, not a denial of Connor's statement so much as a refusal to process the full implications. "No, he didn't-"

"He figured out you were alpha and second before you left camp," Connor snapped. "I was able to talk him down from that, but an engagement?" He ran a distracted hand through his hair. "What were you thinking?  Were you even thinking?  At all?  Because he is- he is so pissed-"

"No," Dream said, throat tight and eyes burning, because even if the thing between him and Sapnap felt right – in an almost ludicrous way – it was never, ever supposed to come at George's expense. "No, please-"

"He saved fucking cookies for you, you shits," Connor snapped. "He was ready to apologize despite the fact that you were the ones keeping shit from him, and now this." He threw his arms up in despair. "Please tell me you had a plan.  Please tell me you included George in the rumors you started.  Even if you did it without his permission, I'm almost positive that would make him less pissed than what he has likely heard now." 

"We didn't," Sapnap said, sounding as close to tears as Dream felt. "We thought we could get to him first, explain things." He looked to Dream, eyes wet and desperate. "We can still explain things, right?" 

"Good luck getting him to listen to you," Connor said, shaking his head with a bitter sort of grief. "You know how he gets.  Once he's made up his mind, that's it." He looked towards them, and Dream was almost overwhelmed with the sorrow his gaze held. "His first family messed him up a lot, remember?  He's used to being cut out." 

"No." That time when Dream said it he was growling, because if there was one thing that was even less acceptable than George's pain, it was committing actions that were comparable to the despicable scum that was the Davidson family. "We'll talk it out, we'll switch the rumors – say we weren't going to reveal George's name until we talked it over with him, it wouldn't- it wouldn't be right afterwards."

"That um- that would work," Sapnap sniffed, scrubbing his knuckles against his eyes. "We could- that could spin as romantic, you know, that we uh- respect his- his privacy.  We could make that work." 

"Just be abundantly clear why you want him involved," Connor pressed, searching through one of the storage pouches on his belt. "That this isn't some sort of friendship apology.  You have to say you're attracted to him, that you love him and have always loved him and that's why you want him to marry you and you'll do anything to make it easier on him and Jack.  You have to be abundantly clear because you have already messed this up so very much." A beat, and then he was pulling out what seemed to be a ring box.  And then he opened it, revealing that it was, in fact, a ring box.  A box that held two rings. "He's upset enough that he will probably buy you being this level of prepared but for the record, you two owe me an unspeakable amount that will likely sum up to a whole hell of a lot of uncle time with all your kiddoes." He thrust the box towards Dream, who caught it. "These are your engagement rings for George.  You two nimrods worked together and got them for George and you have more back home for Jack, should he so want them, okay? You cannot forget that Jack is a part of the equation."

"We wouldn't," Sapnap said, managing to sound somewhat offended at the statement. 

"At this point, I have learned not to overestimate you," Connor snapped. "Now go.  Go and fix this, because I can't." 

"Do you know where he is?" Dream asked, closing the ring box with one last appreciative look over.  They were perfect – both official, house-traditional engagement rings, which mean that Connor had likely visited both the Wastaken and the Craft treasuries and gotten these rings appropriately sized just for this at some point – and Dream was struck with a rush of contented possessiveness at the thought of George wearing them on his finger.  Of the world seeing that the grand heir to Essempi was theirs. 

"He was heading towards the emperor's tent, so he's probably with Foolish," Connor said. "Now go." 

They went. 

There was no time left for words.  Now they could only act, and hope that they were fast enough.

~:~

When George strolled (not charged, not sprinted – but leisurely strolled because he was the heir of a duchy and the height of refinement and sophistication) into the emperor's tent, it was to find it unfortunately empty – an additional insult to injury for all that it was understandable.  He knew Foolish was making the most of his newfound freedoms by helping the Engineers Corp and George didn't begrudge that.  The small peacekeeper wasn't obligated to stay in one place for their emotional and intellectual stability – he was his own person and George respected that even if he really, really hated it at that exact moment. 

With a quiet snarl, George threw his notebook down on his bed and started pacing, trying to put himself back in order.  He still had work to do, he didn't have time for a breakdown, he had meetings – and wasn't that the most noble-based issue of all?  No time to schedule personal breakdowns between all the status updates – wasn't that just the struggle?  He wanted to scream, to snarl, wanted to use his claws to really tear something to pieces – something that dared to toe into old, dangerous territories – but he couldn't afford such an outcry, couldn't risk pulling that much attention towards himself.  He had to settle for seething quietly in place, hands twitching against his side as his gaze darted around the room, desperate for a distraction.  As though he could focus on anything else, but he had to try.  He had to kill the heat in his eyes, had to abandon the restless energy that wanted to claim his legs, the yowls trapped in his throat – graceless and unbecoming.  He needed to be better than this, but he could only be what he was – a weak hybrid, one gripped with pain he couldn't deny.

He looked over his end of the worktable and froze, a furious heat filling his cheeks as embarrassment kindled in his stomach.  The stupid cookies he'd saved – he should give them to Foolish – but Foolish wouldn't take them, would he?  He'd insist that they were George's, and wasn't George saving them for Dream and Sapnap?  What happened to that? And then they'd be in a conversation George didn't want to have and that was enough to push him forward, considering the stupid treats for longer than he should before he grabbed one and shoved the entire thing in his mouth, trying to get rid of the evidence while his eyes didn't burn and his heart didn't hurt because he'd already known it was hopeless and maybe this was for the best, this was good, this was what you were supposed to do when your heart was hurting, right?  He'd heard the other aides gossip about it from their romance novels – how the leads comforted themselves with sweets.  This was like that.  This was George becoming a stupid cliche, how wonderful.  He was sure someone would like hearing about it.  Maybe Punz or Callahan – he could always count on them to laugh at dumb emotional things. 

With a rough swallow, George reached for the second cookie, though he slowed himself down.  He may as well stop to enjoy these.  The chefs had intended them as presents, and here George was, disregarding their efforts because he was a little upset.  And that was all he was.  Just- just a little- an amount that would one day pass, would fade into a humorous memory.  One day it wouldn't hurt as much, wouldn't seem as overwhelming or insurmountable, but until then he would just- eat his cookies, he guessed.  He'd take it one pleasure at a time, and when he greeted his friends, he would do so with a smile.  He could be supportive.  He could celebrate them despite his own feelings.  He could – and would – be a good friend, but not pack.  They'd proven well enough that such a connection – as fanciful and lovely as it might be – was not what they actually had.  Maybe George was close to Bad and maybe the Wastakens were almost like a second set of parents, but Dream and Sapnap themselves were responsible for nothing. 

It didn't hurt, and if it did, that was a hurt that would be addressed later.

For now, he'd get rid of this cookie, and then he'd get his work organized for his meetings, and if he happened to run into Dream or Sapnap, then that would be- it'd be fine.  He'd make it fine.

George nibbled absently on his second cookie as he looked over his work, spreading it out on the table.  He hoped he looked composed when he walked to the tent.  That was just what he'd need, more rumors surrounding him, if he could just have a normal day-

He jolted, cookie dropping from his hand when a sudden burning sensation blossomed in his chest – fierce and quickly exacerbating.  It pulsed, then intensified into a furious fire that seemed to melt George from the inside out, and in a second his legs went limp, all strength sucked from them as he collapsed forward against the table, slamming it with his aching chest before he slid off, crumpling on the ground in a clumsy pile of limbs.  Hot-cold-distant and pain-pain-pain battled beneath his skin, and it took George far too long to realize that he must have just ingested a poison. 

A powerful, deadly poison.

He barely had enough coherence to register that much before the pain was taking over – a striking agony that left him breathless, back arching with what little strength he had left in an unyielding reflex as his tail lashed back and forth in spasming flails behind him.  Everything hurt.  Everything ached.  From the tips of his ears to the very soles of his feet, George felt as though he was being slowly torn to pieces, a heat intensifying so acutely it almost felt cold.  It was never enough to even out, though, never enough for George to become numb to it, to block it out in its entirety.  As weak as he felt, he was perfectly capable of registering every sensation as fierce trembles gripped his frame, a sort of seizure setting in.

He needed help, needed assistance if he even wanted a chance of survival, but he was entirely out of control.  There was always Foolish – but did he want the totem hybrid to see him like this?  He’d already gone through so much – but George didn’t want to die either, and this was- he was dying- he was dying.

“George?” a voice seemed to echo from a distance, one he couldn’t focus on if he tried, too busy dragging in painful breath after painful breath, lungs burning from the exertion, even the simple rise and fall of his chest multiplying negligible sensations into an unstoppable agony. “Ge- we’re so- we-”

The voice was cutting out, words becoming too difficult to process over everything else – or maybe George’s brain was simply melting, perhaps he was burning from the inside out, until there was nothing left but a worthless corpse.  His ears were flooded with the furious pulsing of his blood, over which he only heard vague sounds that morphed into something like alarm, something he registered because it mimicked his own internal conflict so pointedly, because it could vocalize what he could not, the panther hybrid too occupied with the steadily more difficult task of breathing.

“George!” he heard, and that was Dream, Dream was- a hand tried to steady his head and George screamed at the resulting burst of electricity that had his muscles tensing in objection, tears burning in his eyes and that was what they were, now, there was no denying or declaring them anything else, this was simply where he was, what he may always be, and he was dying.

He could only hope that he wouldn’t hold onto his consciousness for much longer, that fate would be kind enough to surrender to a dark oblivion.  Hope that they would hide his body before Foolish ever came back, or Philza, or Techno.

Hope that Dream would take care of Jack, that Connor could move forward well on his own, because George wasn’t going to be able to.

Chapter Text

Arriving in the emperor’s tent wasn’t supposed to go like this.  Dream had a ring box ready in his pocket – there were so many worst-case scenarios in his head, but this had never been one of them.  How could it be?  How could he imagine George – how could he imagine someone he loved – in such painful agony?  He could barely fathom it.  This wasn’t- they weren’t supposed to be attacked like this, the security for this tent was supposed to be the best, and George had somehow gotten attacked regardless?  What was happening?

“Dream,” Sapnap said, voice low, shaky, but most pressingly scared, the blaze hybrid staring at George with open terror while the panther hybrid flailed against the rug, body wracked with uncontrollable spasms.

He was scared, and he was Dream’s second.  Dream was – right, he needed to be in charge.  They couldn’t both afford to panic right now.

“Sapnap, go to the closest medic tent and grab the highest-ranking doctor they have on hand.  Tell them it’s for an extreme form of ingested poison-”

“I-” Sapnap’s lashes fluttered in a confused daze, his eyes – red and gleaming with a familiar sheen of emotion – still trained on George. “I- I don’t-”

“Sapnap.” Dream made his voice harder now – firm, but not angry.  Strong enough to break through whatever panic spiral Sapnap might be facing. “I need you to go to the medic tent.  George needs you to go to the medic tent, do you understand?  We cannot carry him there; we need a medic brought here.  It’s important.”

They were wasting precious seconds they didn’t have, and yet Dream didn’t snarl at the blaze hybrid, painfully aware of what he must be going through.  Dream wanted to be right there with him, wanted to be stuck in disbelief, in the certainty that this couldn’t be happening – there were so many potential hang-ups and oppositions that could have gotten in the way of them explaining themselves, but this was never supposed to be one of them.  Dream wanted to will it away too, wanted to think it was all a bad dream, but George was counting on them.

“Yeah, I can- just keep him alive,” Sapnap managed, and then he was stumbling out of the tent, and Dream knew that would raise some concern with the soldiers but right now he couldn’t care, he couldn’t care because his focus had to be on George who had screamed when Dream had jostled him – screamed with no sound, hoarse shouts as his unseeing gaze widened with a new rush of tears. 

Dream knew what he had to do to help, had a solid understanding of how he needed to proceed, even though he knew how much it was going to cost his resolve, could only hope that George wouldn’t be coherent enough to remember it.  With a heavy heart he fumbled for the storage pouches stitched into his own belt until he found the small pouch dedicated to potions.  They were a precious commodity – with ingredients costly to farm and even more scarce in times of war, which was why Dream used his sparingly.  He was grateful he had now, grateful that he had gotten here in time and was a high enough rank to possess both healing and rejuvenation potions.

They would see George through, he hoped.  They had to be enough.

He didn't think, he didn't have time for such luxuries.  There was only action, only a tried-and-true routine that had been so well practiced it was embedded in his bones, same as it was for any other officer of the Antarctic Army.  On instinct, his mind went through the routine for poison – get the afflicted soldier in the recovery position (and block out his flails and screams at each movement, his head spasming harshly from side to side, the veins on his neck throbbing), uncap the potion – preferably have someone hold them off to the side but that was a privilege Dream didn’t have at that exact moment.  He had to settle for setting them out of range of George's uncontrolled limbs before moving onto the next step – open the potion pathway.  If it had been a splash poison he could have poured it on, but it was clear from the crumbs on George's lips that he'd ingested something, meaning Dream would have to pour it into his mouth, which at this point meant prying his jaw open and keeping it that way. 

There was more of that hoarse screaming when he did so, as though George's muscles protested any movements other than what the poison dictated they follow.  George struggled against him, trying to get away from the force that was adding to his pain.  Sharp teeth dug into the sturdy material of Dream’s gloves, quiet croons leaking from George's mouth, but Dream had to block it all out.  Had to bypass and repress the immediate and firm rejection and conflict of his instincts – those that sought to protect George a direct contrast to those that understood this necessity, the chaos further enhanced by the prominent wound inflicted by George's stricken expression and ceaseless tears.  

One firm breath to steady himself, the most he could allow, and then Dream grabbed the first potion – healing to address the initial wound – and poured it in his mouth. 

The response was immediate.  George's back arched, body tensing, forcing Dream to pin him into submission while George tried to dislodge the bottle.  It seemed that his body was in a state of hypersensitivity, making the healing sensation of the potion register as something unbearable.  There were some poisons designed like that – created specifically to be just as painful to cure as they were on their own, and of course George would be afflicted with one of those, his cries intensifying as he tried to spit out the potion. 

Dream didn't let him.  He did everything he had to, everything he'd been trained to do – forcing George's head back and clamping his nose so he'd have to swallow.  George whined – a broken, heart wrenching thing – but he still complied, gasping when Dream pulled the bottle back as though he'd just overcome a monumental task (and he had, he'd done so well, he'd fought so hard, but he wasn't finished yet).  He was still crying, cheeks red and eyes irritated with constant moisture, tears streaming down his face in constant dribbles as he gave the occasional thrash, the poison likely making the healing potion burn like fire.  George's hands struggled towards his chest, claws extended as though he wanted to dig the pain out, forcing Dream to pin him further, to utilize every inch of his added height, of his extra strength, to immobilize him.  And through it all, George's sounds of distress filled his ears and it wasn't fair, Dream shouldn't have to do this to the one he wanted to be his alpha, it shouldn't have to be like this.

He reached for the second potion.

"What's going on?" Connor burst into the tent just as Dream was struggling to keep George's mouth open while avoiding the deadly claws whose accuracy and coordination was increasing as the effects of the potion continued to spread.  The hedgehog hybrid – quick as always – didn't force Dream to answer him as he sprinted into position, pinning George's wrists down so Dream could give him the rejuvenation potion. 

There were more protests, more screaming, eyes that slowly gathered coherence that narrowed in betrayal, George aware enough to detect their scents, to know they should be friends yet unable conceive why they would be afflicting him in such a way.  As terrible as it was, it did seem to make him hesitate, and it was such a remarkable show of trust.  From George, who was so angry with Dream and Sapnap, who despite that still seemed to believe, deep in his instincts, that Dream would only be doing this to help him.  That was- it meant so much, it offered so much hope, but only if Dream could get him through this.  Only if he survived. 

"Can we give him a sleeping potion?" Dream asked between intermittent rumbles of support and comfort, of love that George leaned towards greedily, so desperate for any amount of reprieve and knowing that Dream could offer it to him. 

"No," Connor said, voice hard as he confirmed what Dream had already suspected. "He might not wake back up again." 

They couldn't give him any additional potions – not when medical help was on the way.  They'd followed the standard procedure – one health pot, one rejuvenation.  They couldn't risk giving George anything else at the risk of it negatively reacting with the unknown poison. 

Fuck, were heads going to roll when this was over.  There would be justice. 

"You got him?" Connor asked as George nuzzled more pointedly in Dream's direction, the knight surrendering to his instincts and bundling the panther hybrid against his chest where he wanted George to be, where he needed him to stay for now and always. Dream nodded and Connor moved on, quickly locating and separating the tampered goods George must have consumed to be left in such a state. "The stupid cookies," Connor hissed as he wrapped them in a clean handkerchief, careful to get each and every crumb. "They didn't go through proper channels; they were a gift.  They were supposed to be a gift and someone took advantage of that." 

"We need to narrow down who had knowledge of that transaction and find out what they had access to," Dream said, mind falling into the safe default of being a commander as he continued to rumble to George, holding as still as possible as the panther hybrid's spasms died down so as not to exacerbate his pain. "If they were able to get access to some of the poisons we've confiscated-"

"Clear for medics!" Sapnap shouted just as he herded a trusted medical team into the tent, face flushed with exertion and pupils narrowed into angry slits that indicated just how close he was to falling into his protective instincts.  There was something in his gaze, something that communicated a certain need, and at once Dream felt torn between George and his second, from where he was and where he felt he needed to be.

Thankfully Connor was there in an instant, easing George from his arms. 

"I've got him," Connor said, gaze certain. "I'll watch over my brother; you take care of Sapnap." 

"Thanks," Dream said, and with an extreme force he pushed on, making his legs move towards Sapnap with his head held high, shoulders back, every inch the commander he needed to be.

When he got close enough, Sapnap bared his teeth with a bloodthirsty hiss.  It was an anger that was not directed at Dream, not a challenge, but a bid for commiseration. "We apprehended the culprit," he snarled, making Dream go tense. "He tried to escape through the Nether portal. Might have succeeded too if bribes from a disgraced family were worth anything."

It must have been a pack that was newly fallen from grace then – perhaps one of the noble houses that had sided with Schlatt.  An aristocrat operating by the rules of an old world that no longer applied to them.  It was privilege tried and true, the worst aspects of the noble system brought to light in how unfortunately untouchable some of them had been – at least if they were confronted by average citizens rather than other nobles.  It was a crisis of class struggles that Dream would ruminate on another day, but for now he shoved down the minor terror at the idea of their target almost getting away and settled into the certainty that they had been caught, that they would face punishment for their crimes. 

Sapnap led him to the Main Command Tent where the current guards on rotation were working overtime in keeping interested passersby on task and clear from the area to make room for those who actually needed to be there – Dream and Sapnap making a clean cut through their parted ranks, none daring to question their presence.  Dream understood the clamor now, with the snarled expletives being hurled from inside, sounds of pointed protest, of claimed innocence falling on the ears of those trained to do only their duty.

Their duty was not to judge, was not to condemn or declare innocence, but to keep hold of their charges so the higher-ranking officers could take such actions.

And Dream was more than ready to do so.

"You are – at the very least – charged with dereliction of duty," the on-call major drawled, tone firm but making no effort to rise over the snarled protests, an easy show of dominance and disinterest.  It didn't matter if the culprit heard them or not – he was the least-relevant in these proceedings.  At this point a court martial was but a mere formality, but Dream would ensure the process was airtight, that it was performed perfectly, that there was not an ounce of wiggle room for this fallen noble's family to give an objection, no gap or weakness they could attempt to exploit.  He would give them nothing. 

He paused just before he entered the proper court area and beckoned the closest runner to him with a nod, giving them murmured orders to retrieve the head of the Second Knight Squadron.  He knew Hannah hadn't set off yet on her next mission – she would be a fair neutral party in all this, back up Dream's claim in Philza's absence.  

"Dereliction of duty in times of war is an even more substantial infraction-"

"Your evidence is circumstantial at best," the voice snarled, breathless as though he'd been at it for a while – but there was also the smallest thread of fear there, and that was condemning enough in itself, settled Dream's thoughts on the matter before he even breached the court martial area.

Of course, that was before he actually got eyes on the assailant, and when he did, an obvious sort of logic fell into place.

It was Gregory Davidson – the prodigy alchemist and youngest of the Davidson clan.  If Dream remembered correctly the panther hybrid had been on the cusp of having his license suspended for cutting corners during his medical research.  Dream had briefly talked to Bad about it when his mom had been deliberating how to spin it in the public eye.  They'd been sure to keep the proceedings of the Davidson family away from George since he’d left them.  Unless he asked, there was no reason to burden him with their foolishness, even if they were making a slow and steady downfall now that they'd disowned George.

They had no idea that many of their good graces came from George's connection to them, that it was his allies that had helped them prosper, that hadn't wanted them to reflect badly on him.  If Dream had known half the shit they had put George through he would have made a deal with Eret to adopt him much sooner so the empire could wash their hands of the awful clan, but as it was, they had thrived far longer than they should have.  Dream had corrected his own mistakes in regards to Gunnar – having allowed him to make it through one too many promotions, and he knew Wilbur had been the main investor in most of the second eldest's businesses.  He'd immediately sold his shares and withdrawn his people, leaving it evident what had been making those businesses prosper the way they had, and of course Eret had shielded the eldest brother – softening the worst of his slights and faux pas.  All of it had stopped when George had left them, and the family – once thought unstoppable, once certain to rise to a proper county – had been demoted back into a Barony, was disgraced, financially ruined, and pushed into a corner.  It was likely why Gregory had been cutting corners in the first place, desperate to make some kind of breakthrough to which his name could be attributed, something that would gain him new sponsors, that would revitalize the Davidson name, would distract the nobles from their recent, numerous, humiliating defeats. 

He hadn't accounted for Bad, who had been the one to protect him up until George's disownment.  Bad, who'd been keeping a close eye on him, who'd been waiting for the right moment to strike. 

The hearing that would have stripped Gregory of his license was held the same day Philza had declared war, and as such, Gregory was allowed a second chance.  Take the demotion to an apprenticeship, march with the army and assist the medical corps and they would consider allowing him keep his license as a junior practitioner – a step he had entirely bypassed the first time around.  Allowances again, once more made for him because of George.  He would have to act as an assistant for one of the masters he had likely pissed off over the years, but with hard work and a rigid dedication to the rules and systems set out for him there was hope that he might once again obtain his old position. 

That was no longer the case. 

"The two soldiers you attempted to bribe verify each other's testimony," the major countered, a cool edge to his tone betraying the anger he must be working so hard to mask. "And once your fellow medics arrive, we'll use their testimonies to determine your potential to obtain the deadly chemicals." Before Gregory could sputter a protest, the major's gaze shifted to Dream, firing off a quick salute as he passed over control of the proceedings with a respectful bow. "This apprentice was apprehended attempting to abandon his post, sir, utilizing bribery to access restricted military assets."   

"That's three violations in itself," Dream noted, and only then did Gregory seem to fully process his arrival, gaze widening as he noticed Sapnap by Dream’s side. "I'll take control over the proceedings from here, major."

"Yes, sir," the major said, giving another salute of affirmation. 

"What- you can't- he's bewitched them," Gregory snarled. "You can't try me!  There's favoritism!"

"Speaking out of turn, lack of decorum, and disrespecting an officer are also violations," Sapnap drawled, hardening his tone into a diamond sword, arming himself appropriately for battle.  They could do nothing for George's treatment behind them – that was completely out of their hands.  They had to trust that their medic teams would see him through, that they'd gotten to him fast enough, that he hadn't consumed enough poison to properly kill him. 

In this, they were united. 

"Officer on deck!" the major announced – something they had likely done for Dream and Sapnap as well that Dream had been too focused to hear – which heralded the arrival of Hannah and her second in command, the dryad hybrid offering Dream a quick salute before her attention refocused on the major who rattled off the listed offenses, as well as the ones Sapnap had noted earlier. 

"We're waiting for testimony from his medical team," the major continued. "As he was the only one so fiercely determined to escape, we consider him our greatest suspect.  He has the knowledge, means, and motivation for the assault."

"Means?" Hannah pressed, and Dream allowed her to take point as much as his instincts protested it, knowing that when others wrote their reports of this day it had to be Hannah leading the charge with Dream as a supplemental supporting figure.  Everyone knew George was claimed by the Wastakens and the royal family, by the Halo family before that.  As Gregory said, Dream and Sapnap did have blatant favoritism.

Hannah didn't. 

"Pardon my language, Lieutenant, but he's a mouthy little shit," the major offered. "He's been on mess duty for the past two weeks because of it."

Hannah's gaze narrowed. "He never should have been allowed near the royals' food preparation area though."

"That would be our fault, Lieutenant," a new voice who Dream recognized as one of the heads of the kitchen staff spoke up, a sorry looking apprentice standing beside him. "The accused spun a sob story about wanting to pass his brother a note, begged private here to trade shifts with him." 

"I violated our code of safety and should be punished, sirs," the apprentice said, eyes wet with tears as they stared at the floor. "I'm so sorry, I- my brother fell in the last push, and I just thought-" Their ears pinned flat against the sides of their head. "I would give anything to talk to him one last time, so I traded shifts, sir.  It's- it's my fault." 

As successful as they'd been, as formidable as their army was – losses still happened.  They were terrible, they were unfortunate, and they fought to mitigate as many as they could, but this was an army.  The expectation that not all of them would make the return trip home was expected among the knight squadron.

It was likely a bit harder to wrap your head around if you were a chef though, no matter how much training they had. 

Hannah's expression was neutral, but Dream knew the depths of her character and how she functioned, trusted her implicitly because he would not have promoted her to her position otherwise.  As such, he knew the apprentice had nothing to fear. 

She confirmed this a moment later. "A month of cleaning duty for violating the basic safety code."

The apprentice was flabbergasted. "But I- the poison."

"You did not administer it," Hannah said. "We leave the guilt to the guilty.  As you have only violated the safety code, that is all you shall be punished for." She offered a respectful nod. "Your testimony is appreciated, you're dismissed." Her gaze softened, and then she curled a hand into a fist, pressing it against her chest. "I'm sorry for your loss.  May the stars welcome your brother into their hold, that he might guide us through the night with pride."

"T-Thank you," the apprentice whispered, remembering to offer a clumsy salute before the kitchen head guided them away, one arm curled around their shoulder. 

Dream made a note to check on them later, to offer his own condolences. 

Just because death was expected in war does not mean it should not be noted. 

"So," Hannah said, turning her attention back towards Gregory. "Do you have a motivation for needing access to the vice secretary's food that isn't attempted murder, or will you yield with grace?" 

They didn't even have to wait for the medic team to give their testimony, Gregory condemned his fate for himself, seeing that he had backed himself into a corner through which there was no escape.

He snarled, thrashing against the hold of the two knights that gripped him in place, teeth bared but doing nothing to hide the open fear in his eyes. "You should be thanking me!" he snapped, the flush in his cheeks intensifying into a dark crimson. "What I did was a gift to this empire!  I'm a hero!" 

"Take him away," Hannah said, expression as dark as the wells of Dream's fury, somehow managing to hold her own temper in check. "I've heard enough." 

"You've seen what he's done!  He's bewitched the emperor!" Gregory continued to shout, desperately beseeching them as he was dragged away. "A bastard like that has no right influencing Philza's mind!  You hear me?  He's a bastard, the shame of the Davidson family – just look at his fur!" 

"Shut him up," Hannah called after them, and Dream didn't know what they did but Gregory was silenced moments later, going out with the absolute lack of decency and grace that Dream would have expected from him. 

And then there was silence.  A painful tension as those around absorbed Gregory's parting words.

Crowd control, Dream had to- he needed-

"We do not listen to the words of idiots," Hannah said – her tone firm, final. "We do not listen to the words of murderers who attempt defamation on their targets when they fail to kill them, do you understand?" At once, the surrounding personnel nodded. "If I hear even the slightest murmuring of his nonsense outside this tent – forget mess hall duty, the lucky soldiers involved will be shipped right to the front lines, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir!" the soldiers shouted, and it was good, it was done. 

There was a reason Dream had chosen Hannah, and her intimidation factor may or may not have everything to do with it.

"Excellent," she murmured, teeth bared with one last show of force before she turned her attention towards Dream, crossing to him in a few quick strides. "I'll have the medics he worked with sent to the treatment team as soon as they arrive," she informed him – anger dissipated in favor of a clear professionalism – focused down to the last detail. "I'll handle the investigation myself, make sure they document everything.  He's going to get a full trial back in the capital." She bared her teeth once more. "We'll draw it out, make it slow.  It's what he deserves." A forced exhale, and only then did Dream begin to see some of the exhaustion seeping into her features. "Is George- did he actually..."

"I got some potions into him," Dream said. "They're working on him now." 

There was no telling if he'd survive, though.  Not until they knew the exact poison, and even then, it might be touch and go. 

"I'm sorry," she said, offering condolences that Dream would accept from few others. "You go be with him if you need to.  We've got things from here, Commander."

"Thank you," Dream said, and he knew she understood just how deeply he meant it, how he could never hope to articulate the depths of his gratitude. 

He was the Commander, one of the highest-ranking individuals here.  He couldn't afford to break; he couldn't afford to hurt.

He had to be strong.

But for the moment – for now – his allies would share the load so he and Sapnap could be weak.  They needed this time, now that the threat had been settled. 

They needed to decide what to do next.

~:~

The first thing they did once George was stabilized was relocate him to the closest medical treatment center.  The runners had been active in the meantime, traversing the camp and collecting the most competent team in terms of poison treatment.  They had the best of the best gathered in one space quietly, subtly.  Despite Gregory's display, the soldiers had done their duty to protect their comrade's privacy.  The story had been ruthlessly stifled, to the point that the emperor's tent had been invaded, straightened, scoured for any other potentially hidden treats that Gregory may have gotten his grubby hands on, and then just as easily abandoned without anyone else being the wiser.  As of right now Foolish – who had been out training engineers for most of the day – was still unaware of the terrible events that had occurred within the confines of his tent.  Though it may be a betrayal, Dream decided to keep that information from him for as long as possible.  At least until they had more information on George's condition.  Until they had the confirmation that he would survive. 

Dream and Sapnap had spent the past few hours waiting in the private visitors’ section of the medical area.  Their entire portion of the tent had been closed off with additional privacy curtains, extra guards posted, all unnecessary personnel redirected as needed.  Dream and Sapnap spent painstaking hours pacing or cuddling, clinging to each other, looking at the rings, and doing it all over again when Connor joined them, the hedgehog hybrid alternating between periods of terrifying stillness and ceaseless pacing, always quick to turn and stare at the divider, the mess of them waiting for any kind of news. 

"It takes an hour and a half to do a full chemical analysis," Connor muttered to himself. "It will likely take half an hour more to disregard the benign components.  Thirty minutes more may go to antidote synthesis-"

He kept muttering it under his breath like a mantra, and Dream had to wonder how helpless it might feel, to be capable of such speed but still being tied as ruthlessly to the clock as the rest of them. 

It seemed to take forever for the doctor to approach them.  There was a chance that Sapnap was cradled in Dream's lap when it happened, that Connor was quietly working his way through sword forms.  It was a definite fact that they all sprang to attention when the doctor arrived, Dream lifting Sapnap in a familiar carry before he remembered that Sapnap might feel better facing this information on his own two feet and deposited the blaze hybrid on the ground accordingly. 

She waited for them to settle before she delivered the news, something Dream might have snarled at were he not so stressed.

"He's stable," she said, and those two words alone lifted a terrible burden from his shoulders, left Dream feeling like he could actually breathe, a familiar heat burning in his eyes because George was stable, he was stable. "We got him out of the dangerous period and he should make a full recovery."

"Oh fuck," Sapnap said, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes as he turned to bury himself in Dream's side, hugging on close. "Thank Prime.  Thank Prime." 

"You don't look happy," Connor said, and it took Dream a moment to realize that this was aimed at the doctor and not Dream and Sapnap, who were most certainly happy. "Is something wrong?" 

"There is a complication," the doctor allowed, making all of them tense once more. "While we're certain the poison has been nullified and the worst of the damage restored, he seems to have fallen into a coma."

"For how long?" Connor pressed before Dream could so much as process that, because what? 

Comas were- those didn't actually happen.  They had potions to help with that stuff.

"We don't know," the doctor said, cutting straight to the point. "We haven't seen anything like this before and we can't risk giving him too many elixirs after his body has sustained so much chemical damage.  We feel that the best thing to do at this point would be to let the coma run its course."

"Even though you have no idea how long that could be," Connor said, voice completely devoid of emotion, likely too overwhelmed to process his own responses as well as deal with that information. 

"We suspect it will be no more than a few months at most," the doctor said, the words hitting like a punch to the gut. "If he hasn't woken up by then it would be safe enough to wake him with a potion, but until that point, this may be what his body needs to fully heal.  Time to repair." She let out a quiet sigh, consulting her clipboard. "Of course, this is the best analysis we're able to determine ourselves, but considering his condition, I think it would not be unwise to send him back to the capital.  They have better facilities there and may be able to help him in ways we can’t right now." 

"That's..." Dream began, swallowing the ugly part of him that wanted to declare how much he hated that idea.  He didn't want George to go, he wanted George here, in his line of sight.  He wanted to apologize, he needed to propose.  Properly, to at least one of his hoard. "That's what's best?" 

"We believe so," the doctor said, and to her credit she seemed to sympathize with him.  Seemed to understand how they were hurting. "I know it can be daunting to consider him taking such a journey in his current state, but the temporary risk offers far more reward than leaving him here."

"We'll have to move soon, regardless," Connor said, gaze distant as his mind wandered twelve steps ahead of them. "If we have to relocate him we may as well send him home, where Bad can look at him."

"That's... yeah, that- okay," Dream said, Sapnap letting out a small unhappy sound as he reluctantly nodded his own agreement. "He should- he should go home.  He did his duty; he should go home." 

"We need to write a letter," Sapnap whispered. "Pick a team to accompany him.  Medics." 

"Someone has to break the news to Foolish," Connor said. "To- to all of them." He ran a hand through his hair. "Philza and Techno are due back tonight, right?" He ducked his head with a curse. "They might already be here." 

"Then we should tell them," Dream said, giving the doctor an appreciative nod. "Please begin preparations.  We'll have a guard accompaniment ready within the hour."

"Best to move at night," Connor said. "It'll be heatfall during the Nether.  Best time to go through it."

And they didn't want to delay more than they had to, but it was good that they had the other excuse at the ready. 

"You should write notes for the others," Connor said. "I can handle their majesties-"

"Sirs," a runner – gasping for breath and face flushed with exertion – burst through the tent flaps, a guard hot on her heels. "It's- It's Lord Foolish." 

Dream's stomach plummeted down to his feet, ice flooding his veins. "Was he poisoned too?"

"No." She shook her head, and he should be relieved but he couldn't be, not when he'd been a knight for this long, not when they kept getting hit with one complication after the other. "It's worse," she said, eyes gleaming with a desperate sort of anxiety. "He's been kidnapped." 

"The fuck he has," Connor snapped, and then he was gone in a rush, likely off chasing down the lead because Foolish couldn't have been in the tent that long, there had to be a trail.

Dream growled, ready to fight for his own redemption.  Techno may have been able to outrun him but Dream was a hunter, a tracker, he could track down the cur that dared to kidnap George's father, one of the men he'd pledged his loyalty too, his extended packmate. 

"Go get him," Sapnap whispered, and Dream realized that was what he'd been waiting for. "I'll take care of George; you get his dad back."

"With pleasure," Dream growled, pausing only long enough to trade nuzzles with Sapnap and then he was off, he was gone, ready to claim some sort of victory that day. 

He was tired of fools messing with what was his.

He would show them that Wastakens were not to be trifled with.

Chapter Text

Dream touched down at the rendezvous point just outside camp, anger burning in his veins and a righteous fury settled low in his stomach.  It wasn't often that he was allowed to utilize his wings – it was a risk rarely warranted for his family's protection – but using them to seek one of the men he had pledged his service to, the father of a close packmate and hopefully soon-to-be-lover, was a most fitting allowance.  Besides, he’d made sure not to be seen.  Hadn’t explained his personal patrol route – had simply been trusted to carry it through.  

Despite the allowance, though, he'd had minimal luck with his tracking.  While they'd located the few obvious exit strategies the kidnappers had intended with ease, there had been no sign of Foolish at any of them.  They were being interrogated now, and while Dream doubted that would be a pleasant process, his instincts told him that there would be nothing to be found in that quarter.  Foolish was somewhere else, and yet despite his enhancements, despite his skill, he'd come up with nothing.

With a snarl, Dream banished his wings back to the magical subspace they usually resided in, the rune on his back granted to every full-blooded Wastaken doing its job with a warm hum.  It didn't take long to right his clothes, not that he was particularly worried.  He had a strong suspicion that his rendezvous partner was already aware of his abilities – he was too clever not to be – and a moment later Connor blurred into view, coming to a crushed halt as his feet dug trenches into the dirt with the force of his momentum. 

"Nothing?" Connor panted, mouth parted as he took in desperate gasps of air.  Dream wasn't entirely positive how Connor's ability worked, but he believed it came hand in hand with an increased metabolism.  Immense bursts of speed were useful but costly in terms of calorie intake, and Connor had been pushing himself as of late.  Dream would have to carry him back to camp and make him eat a proper meal before they pushed forward. 

"I couldn't see anything from up top," Dream confirmed with a harsh exhale.  He clamped one hand around Connor's shoulder as a sort of preventative measure, and it went to show how tired the hedgehog hybrid was that he simply leaned into it, his posture wavering with a dangerous sway. "They must have been planning this for a while."

"None of this adds up," Connor griped, his nose scrunching in distaste. "How did they sneak a guy inside?  How did they know when to strike?  Foolish had been sharing a tent with George, how did they know he was alone?" 

"They had inside help." It was the only thing that added up in Dream's mind, something that sparked his fury anew.  

Connor paused – it was a development he would have come to on his own had he been given enough time, and with a low hiss, a string of curses spilled from his mouth. "You're fucking right," he muttered, not so much as glowering when Dream wrapped an arm around his waist to take most of his weight. "That's the only way it adds up.  They had a mole."

"Or we had a defector," Dream said, thinking back to a mouthy little shit that hadn't quite known when to stop. 

"Gunnar left through the nether portal, I saw it myself," Connor said. "Didn't keep enough of an eye on Gregory, though.  We thought he'd procured the poison from some of the confiscated supplies, but if he actually had outside help-"

"They could have coordinated," Dream said. "You heard him, he thought he was doing the empire a favor by getting rid of George, thought he'd bewitched the royal flock somehow.  Maybe Foolish was just an allowable sacrifice in the grand scheme of things since he'd already fallen for George's charms, they may as well get him out of the way, right?"

Dream could scarcely understand it, but it wasn't for Dream to understand.  This was the work of a lunatic, and there was no coherent logic or reason to their actions.  There was only the twisted views they came to apply to the world and whatever justifications they could invent to support that. 

Dream cursed quietly to himself, but didn't panic.  There was a good chance Hannah had already uncovered this plot in the course of her investigation.  There was the slightest chance Gregory might know the attacker's exit strategy, though it seemed unlikely.  He was merely a disposable pawn in the grand scheme of things, an insignificant distraction to be used and abandoned at will.  

"We have a good idea how they got in," Connor mumbled. "That doesn't explain how they got out.  They couldn't have used the nether portal, there are no underground mine passages they could have used.  Every angle was accounted for." 

"Clearly not every angle," Dream murmured. "Once you eliminate all possibilities – whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

It was a lesson his father had taught him many years ago once he'd started teaching Dream the intricacies of hunting. 

There was clearly something they weren't seeing. 

Connor thought this over quietly. "It's almost as though he vanished into thin air." 

"Then maybe that's what happened," Dream said. "Foolish has magic now, right?" It was a well-guarded secret Techno had shared with them with Foolish's permission in case there should be some sort of magic-based attack that could target the totem hybrid. "Maybe they used that to teleport him out.  They have an extensive black market, right?  We've mostly encountered poisons, but who knows what other stuff they've been experimenting with." 

"It seems like the best assumption we can make right now," Connor said, allowing a grim nod. "We'll have to storm the capital."

'That was going to happen regardless, they simply moved up the timeframe," Dream said, baring his teeth beneath his mask. "Philza and Techno want blood." 

"As though we're any different," Connor muttered and for once, they were perfectly in sync, the two of them aware of what needed to be done, of the challenges that waited before them.

Dream nodded once more, a final confirmation before he moved on. "We need to get back to camp," he said, giving up on subtlety and gathering Connor in his arms.  The hedgehog hybrid went with a put upon sigh, but otherwise didn't argue. "We need to get some food in you and then we need to help plan the final attack." 

"Take them down at the knees before they can deliver an ultimatum," Connor said. "Make their one advantage useless." 

"They will burn."

"Oh, we'll do worse than that," Connor laughed, and Dream knew they were both somewhat manic with their exhaustion at the moment, but there was only truth to their words.

Manburg had started this war. 

Now, the empire would end it.

~:~

They were adjusting.  While the marquess had no interest in holding a grand party to introduce Jack to the world as the Manifold he rightfully was – mostly because that was something Jack himself had no desire for – he did at least want to have the official records declaring Jack's passing reversed and to file the proper pack forms once more so Jack could be appropriately connected to his birth family. This led to a very important sit-down discussion that had involved all the adult members of Jack's pack that were present – Quackity, Eret, Wilbur, and the marquess acting as pack elders while Bad, Skeppy, Jack, and Josh were the younger generation.  Ponk was present to facilitate, and Jack had been somewhat confused about the tension in the air until Quackity had turned to him with a smile that wasn't as relaxed as it normally was. 

"We would like to proceed however would make you most comfortable," the duck hybrid began. "So please know that the questions I'm going to ask imply nothing in regards to how we ourselves feel.  They are simply to best determine your wants, because that is what we want to cater to."

"Okay," Jack said, anxiety thrumming in his chest. 

While he was grateful for the clarification, he couldn't help but be somewhat concerned as to what would be of such a serious nature to warrant the preface. 

"Okay," Quackity echoed, and that time his smile seemed a little easier, a genuine response of happiness. "As of right now, you are a member of House Quackity.  You are Techno and I’s eldest son."

"Yes," Jack said to indicate he understood.  And then, in an immediate show of disregard for the care Quackity had just shown him, his anxiety took over, running away with his mouth. "Do you not want that anymore?" 

"We want you to stay our son more than anything," Quackity said, immediately easing the tension in Jack's shoulders. "But we wanted to know how you would like to proceed.  You're allowed to be a member of both our houses – a Quackity and a Manifold – but we didn't want to make any assumptions.  So." His smile widened. "What would you like to do?"

It widened because he had a fair idea of what Jack had thought was the inherent path forward the moment he himself had learned the news. "I would like to stay both, please." 

"Then we shall adapt your paperwork accordingly," Marquess Manifold said, and when he smiled it was with pride, because Jack had made a good choice.  He'd made the choice that was best for him, and there was no shame or hurt feelings in that.

He was now officially Jack Manifold-Quackity.

He liked the sound of that.

"When the war's over, we really should have a formal debut for you," Quackity said at the small teatime reception after the fact where they all celebrated Jack's new papers out in the garden, where they could watch the pups play. "Something small, though.  With just our families."

"We'll spin it as exclusive," Wilbur said, throwing Jack a wink. "Don't worry about what anyone else would think, it'll be your party.  You deserve to be celebrated."

He deserved to have what should have always been his.  A debut would present him in the eyes of the public as an adult member of his pack, and while Jack technically qualified for that now, debuts were also intended to indicate an interest and receptiveness to marriage proposals.  Which was just- that was something they'd tackle later, Jack decided.  One problem at a time, thanks. 

"Perhaps you and George can share a debut," Eret offered quietly. "I haven't broached the topic with him yet, but if I want to properly cement his position as my heir, he needs to be debuted as an Essempi." 

"I think I'd like that," Jack decided, and wondered if they could debut Connor as Techno's heir as well. 

Knowing him, the hedgehog hybrid would somehow find a way to get around it. 

Jack had questioned George about debuts once when Jack had gotten to that subject with his etiquette teacher.  That was how he'd learned that the Davidsons had never given George a proper debut party.  His had been held with the Wastakens alone in the privacy of their manor. It had been the one time he’d allowed them to use their influence for his benefit – not that they shared details of his party, but that they made sure the public was informed of the fact he’d had one, therefor allowing himself to be taken seriously by his coworkers. 

A noble without a proper debut was a terrible slight.  Even Sapnap had one after Bad was awarded his barony. 

Jack himself didn't care so much about such stuffy rules, but he did want George to be celebrated, and he liked the idea of a party that had all his favorite people.  Perhaps they could keep all the food handheld too, even if he had gotten much better with utensils over the past few months. 

Jack was taking a new path forward as they patiently waded through the war, and while he hadn't told his family everything, he knew that he would get there in time.  Just- he wasn't sure if he was ready yet.

Maybe after his debut, though.  That felt like a safe date to set.  He could discuss it with Ponk later, after Connor came back.  He had time now. 

It was all well and good, until suddenly it wasn't. 

One evening, Jack and the rest of the Manifolds, plus Skeppy and Quackity, were looking after the pups, having a relaxed picnic dinner in their lounge before they moved onto games and bedtime, a tradition that Josh and the marquess stumbled through as best they could.  Jack and Skeppy handled bath duty while the other blaze hybrids tucked the pups into bed, the marquess dusting off his oration skills to make story time a grand affair.  It had felt safe and comfortable, but halfway through story time they had gotten a visitor. 

It was Niki – who was always welcome, of course – but it was clear that she was on duty as she took up her position by the door with a smile, trading greetings and goodnights with all the pups before they returned their attention to the marquess. 

Their security detail had been increased, and that would only happen for a handful of reasons.  Either there was an active threat on the royal family or something had happened and the extra guards had been put in place for the elders' peace of mind. 

They had to hold out until the pups were properly asleep before they found out which, Niki staying behind to guard the pups while they went out in the hall and found Sam with a trident, of all things – something that seemed to be laden with redstone – more alchemy than runes.  Without hesitating, he passed Skeppy and Josh sheathed swords, weapons that both protectors immediately attached to their belts.  It was hard for Jack to keep track of things, especially when Quackity was already getting ushered in a different direction by his own guards, something that left Jack antsy. 

"This is a precaution," Sam explained to Jack as he got down on one knee, and belatedly, Jack realized he was offering the bearer an opportunity to be held if he so chose, and once he was aware it was an option Jack didn't hesitate to pick it, cuddling close and taking comfort in the immediate rumbles Sam shared with him once Jack was securely balanced against his side. "There's no active threat, but there has been a development." He was sure to look each of them in the eye. "I've been ordered to place you under lockdown in the crown prince's suite.  The others are safe and accounted for."

It was a relief that Sam understood all the questions they would have asked, that he offered the information up front before he and his guard detail accompanied them to Bad's suite, which already held one of Jack's nests.  Jack wasn't sure if that was the reason it was selected or not, but when they arrived, there was no Bad to be found. 

"After the emperor's and the bearer's suite, this has the best security," Sam explained as he motioned for them to get settled.  No one moved and Sam sighed, walking \ towards one of the armchairs and taking a seat, shifting Jack so he could curl up safely in his lap.  The trident was set to the side. "I'm sorry for the scare."

"I think we all just want to know what's going on," Skeppy said, gaze locked on Sam even as he took a reluctant seat on the couch, Josh settling in beside him and Jack's grandfather claiming the other armchair. "What kind of development puts us all on lockdown?" 

"It's Foolish," Sam said, which didn't make any sense because Foolish wasn't here.  He was at war, except- had he been- "We believe he somehow activated a latent totem ability and teleported here from Manburg," Sam explained. "The strain of which almost killed him.  Bad and Ponk are treating him for magic exhaustion now.  He's stable, but they're keeping an eye on him.  He's in Wilbur's room." 

That was a lot of information, most of which was refusing to make sense in Jack's brain. "Foolish is here?"

"He teleported," Sam repeated, but his voice was gentle when he did so. "We're not sure how.  We think it was some sort of deep-rooted survival instinct that activated under stress."

"That's... not great, with the almost-dying thing," Skeppy said, brow furrowed as he worked his way through that information. "But that's not enough to put us on lockdown.  I could see us getting relegated to our own rooms for the night to stay out of the way, but putting us all in one place means there was an active threat that breached castle defenses." His gaze locked on Sam's. "What aren't you telling us?"

The creeper hybrid sighed again. "When Foolish teleported, we suspect he was attempting to get away from an enemy combatant.  Somehow, he managed to teleport his attacker as well." 

Jack tensed. "Is he-"

"The enemy soldier is dead," Sam interrupted, cutting off Jack's panic before it could truly start. "He never touched Foolish.  He was only affected by magic exhaustion." 

"And he's stable now," Josh repeated, likely a reminder that this story, as scary as it could potentially be, was ultimately a happy one. "So we're on lockdown for their peace of mind."

"Essentially," Sam said, nodding and adjusting his grip as Jack cuddled closer, soaking up the low rumbles reverberating through the protector’s chest.  Foolish had almost died.  He was okay now, but that didn't change the fact that they'd almost lost him.

"Wow," Skeppy drawled, dragging a hand over his face. "This sucks."

No one argued with him.

It was a tense evening with them fumbling their way through their usual routines as best as they could, borrowing clothes and making new beds, Jack painfully aware of the stress and heartache that was occurring a mere suite away.  He wanted to go and hug Eret, wanted to offer Wilbur supportive purrs.  He wanted- he wanted to give them bearer support, not just blaze, but he held that back. This was where they needed to be.  This was where they were wanted.  Hopefully, they would get better news in the morning. 

And they did. 

"Foolish is okay," an exhausted Wilbur informed them, dark bags under his eyes. "He woke up last night.  He's a little weak, but he should make a full recovery." 

"That's awesome," Skeppy said, and while he meant it, Jack could tell there was a certain tension to him that they all felt. "Why do you look terrible?"

Oh, right.  That was it. 

Wilbur sighed. "He's mad at us," he admitted this as though it were a shameful thing – where Jack himself was only confused.  Why would Foolish be mad? "He wants to run off back to war, but we won't let him.  He thinks we're questioning his capabilities or something instead of worrying about the fact he almost died." He ran a distracted hand through his hair. "He refuses to see any of us." 

No one said anything for a long moment. 

"Well, damn," Skeppy eventually huffed. "I know war changes us, but I wouldn't think Foolish would be eager to get back there."

"I don't think he cares about the war so much as Phil and Techno," Wilbur sniffed, saying the names with derision.

It was something Jack had noticed when he had the capacity to pay attention to such things.  It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to realize that all the royal flock adults that had been left behind were mad at Phil for taking Foolish with him to war. 

In his defense, Jack had been going through a minor emotional breakdown.  He had other things going on.   

"You should talk to Ponk," Jack offered, because he had a strong feeling that Wilbur was maybe registering personal wounds for something that likely wasn't personal at all.  Wilbur probably felt that Foolish valued Phil and Techno's wellbeing over his own, or that Foolish favored the two protectors over the rest of them when Foolish likely wanted to reassure two people he greatly cared about that he was, in fact, okay, and appearing before them in person was the best way to do that. 

"Maybe after I've cooled down a bit," Wilbur allowed, throwing Jack a tired but sincere smile. "Either way you'll need to avoid my half of the bearer's suite for the time being.  We're respecting his space." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "We'll probably have to relocate the pups to Sapnap's suite again." 

"I can make that happen," Jack volunteered.

"And I'll lockdown access to all nether portals," Sam added. "Just to be safe." 

It was then that Jack learned that Foolish was a crafty one – Sam sharing a few stories of the totem hybrid’s ingenuity (usually accessed in his quest to earn more sweets) before the protector left to tend to the Nether portals. 

And so they had yet another interesting day. 

The fate of Foolish's attacker was kept locked tight – surely Wilbur's handiwork considering the fact that there wasn't so much as idle speculation in regards to them.  Drista informed Jack – in between her guard rotations – that there was news of some sort of development at the castle, though no one knew what, or to what degree of severity.

"I'm amusing myself by spreading as many conflicting rumors as possible," she informed him with what he knew would be a wink if he could see behind her mask. "Mom gave me permission.  As of right now no one knows if Bad and Skeppy finally chose a wedding date or if Lord Eret and Lord Wilbur have finally gotten over the will-they, won't-they part of their relationship with a most enthusiastic zeal." 

"That's- is that true?" Jack asked, cheeks flushing hot at the very thought of it.

"Who knows?" Drista giggled. "But I wouldn't be surprised if it was.  Those two have way too much UST for there not to be something there." She bumped their elbows together. "Let me know if you have any rumors you want to spread.  I could always use help." 

“I think Tommy's new bear is named Clementine," he offered. "And Fundy's declared war on Brussel sprouts."

"He's a smart one, that Fundy," Drista replied sagely, and it was a nice, light interaction in comparison to the stress of yesterday.

It was a reprieve Jack would hold onto later, when Sam collected them once more. 

The protector didn't make them wait before he cut right to the point. "Foolish is gone," he said, expression grave. "He utilized a secret teleportation room in Philza's suite we didn't know about." 

"Oh." Jack blinked, but he just- he didn't know how to feel.  There was sorrow, mostly.  He'd wanted to see Foolish.  He had hoped the peacekeeper would stay. "Is Eret okay?" 

Sam normally wasn't one for excessive displays of emotion.  He was a reserved individual who emoted in minimal, subtle ways.  Jack suspected this was a survival mechanism he had built for himself when his brother had passed, especially considering the fact that he himself had been one of the prime suspects despite being a teenager at the time. 

This time though, there was a slight thread of tension before Jack caught the sympathy and sorrow in his gaze, nothing but a sincere display of empathy.

"No, he's not," Sam offered simply. "Quackity and Wilbur are with him now." 

"Do you think..."

Did they want company?  Jack couldn't quite make himself ask.  He wanted to, he wished he could have that reassurance, but he understood that might be a direct contrast to what Eret needed.

Sam's sympathy increased, and he leaned forward to offer Jack a soft nuzzle. "I think he would be comforted if you looked after the pups," Sam said, and that was always a privilege, that was always a gift, so Jack wasn't disappointed.  This was what Eret needed them to do right now. There would be time for hugs later.

At least, Jack could hope.

And then one day later, they received an unexpected guest through the Nether tunnels.

~:~

Jack was supposed to be working but the stress of not being able to properly help the elders of his pack left him useless for the afternoon, and not even the prospect of learning redstone or building techniques from Sam could pull him from his funk.  The creeper hybrid didn't seem to mind, simply holding one arm out so Jack could cuddle close to his side, letting out the occasional discontented rumble against the material of Sam's tunic so he wouldn't disturb Josh.  He knew the pups felt similarly restless – always so sensitive to unease and changes within the pack dynamics, but Puffy was doing a great job distracting them.  Jack knew he would only detract from whatever positive mood she had managed to kindle within the small hybrids, likely send them snowballing into anxiety and restlessness once more, so he held back.  Skeppy was with Bad – both he and Jack agreeing that the crown prince shouldn't be alone right now – and they were trapped in a perpetual state of distraction.  There was literally nothing they could do.  None of them knew where the teleportation rune was located, none of them knew how to follow Foolish with magic.  Eret had sent out a team of runners through the Nether to follow up the crow messengers they'd sent earlier, but even they would take some time.  The nether tunnels were faster, but with the army out at war, they had fewer qualified personnel on hand to navigate them.  

Realistically, they didn't have any of a high enough rank and training caliber to travel the nether, but Eret made do, and they all hoped it would be enough. 

Jack had done many unpleasant things in his life, but this was a new sort of unease.  Normally he only had himself to fear for, but now there were so many others, and while he was used to feeling helpless, this balance was completely different. 

He was fine.  He still had nice things.  And yet it still hurt.

Ugh, he hated it. 

And then Skeppy came stumbling through the door, looking as exhausted and listless as Jack felt. 

It could only be more bad news.  It seemed to be the way of things.  Jack had reconnected with his birth family and discovered his past, he'd gotten things better for Josh, Sam was now staying in the royal wing, so of course more bad things had to happen.

(Deep down he knew it wasn't true.  He knew life was sporadic and random with the challenges if felt inclined to hand out, but for the moment he allowed himself to be annoyed as he pretended to believe in this grand formula, because that made it easier to manage).

"Who is it now?" Jack asked. "Who got hurt?" 

"I hate that we're down to this," Skeppy admitted first, and they spent a short moment commiserating with each other, because it wasn't fair but life wasn't fair and they both knew it so there was no point in getting worked up over it. "It's George," he said finally, and for a moment, Jack couldn't breathe. "He's stable, he's going to make a full recovery-"

"Where?" Jack forced himself to ask, voice lighter than he intended, so delicate, so gentle when inside he was screaming because George-George-no, not George- it should never be George. 

"Bad's office," Skeppy said. "Our runners encountered his guard contingent coming back through the Nether-"

Jack did not question, he simply ran, grateful that Sam hadn't been carrying him at the moment because nothing could have stopped Jack from scrambling out of that room, the bearer tearing down the hall as fast as his legs could carry him, heedless of the noise or chaos he left in his wake.  He ran and ran and ran and ran and he knew there were others behind him but it didn't matter, all that mattered was getting to Bad's office, and-

Niki was there, standing guard because this was George and George was important and so was Bad and she was one of the best so of course she was present, why wouldn't she be present, and Jack liked Niki but she was getting in the way, she wasn't- she wasn't letting him- 

"Bad's finishing up an examination now," Niki was saying when Jack finally listened back in, and he had the feeling that this wasn't the first time she'd made that statement. "Your older flockmates are in there – they need a moment of privacy-"

What.  What?  What would it matter what they- none of that made sense.  Why was she talking? Why was she trying to stop him?

"You shouldn't have told him yet," he heard Niki say. "They need time right now." 

"He deserved to know," Skeppy countered, making Jack realize she'd been chastising the golem hybrid. "That's his protector, he deserves to be in there." 

"The Lord Consort ordered-"

Jack didn't care what Eret ordered, he didn't care what Wilbur or Quackity or anyone else ordered.  He didn't care about titles, he didn't care about etiquette, he didn't care about any of it, he just wanted George.

"Surely an allowance can be made," Sam was saying, because he was there too, and Josh was there, and who knew who else. 

"I'm sorry," Niki said, and to her credit, she at least seemed sympathetic. "They just need-"

Jack hissed at her. 

A bearer hiss. 

A bearer hiss he felt deep in his core, a righteous fury that had been beaten out of him at Boomer's estate because it didn't matter if he objected or if he didn't want it or if he was unhappy.  If anything, they thought it was funny when he hissed and cried and refused them.  Jack's bearer language had never been helpful to him, not once, but in this moment he had no other way to articulate himself.  He needed to be in there.  He needed George. 

The hallway fell into abrupt silence.  Niki stared at him with wide eyes.

Jack hissed at her again.

That seemed to do the trick.  It was what she needed to move into action, stumbling out of the way as she murmured apologies Jack neither cared about nor heeded. He pushed into the private medical area, chest heaving, ready to do battle with anyone else who dared stand in his way.  The office proper was empty, as was the area with Bad's worktable, so Jack bypassed both in favor of the private treatment room and low and behold there were his elders, Quackity and Wilbur cradling Eret in the middle, Eret who was crying, and Jack would get to him later, he would, but right now he only had eyes for one person. 

Eyes for only one and he was on the bed, eyes closed, almost deathlike. 

It was only the subtle rise and fall of his chest that indicated any sort of life but Jack clung to it, trailing forward like a moth drawn to the flame, nose scrunching at the insufficiency of the treatment bed.  It was by all means quite luxurious but that didn't make it proper, didn't mean it had everything it should be.  George needed more blankets, more pillows.  He needed familiar scents and textures and he needed- he needed more color to his cheeks.  He needed to be awake.  

But he was sleeping. 

Jack didn't even know what was wrong with him.

"It's okay," Bad said quietly, making Jack pause. "I finished my exam; you can do what you need to."

Jack didn't have words right then, he'd lost them, so he simply nodded his thanks, moving forward with a single-minded focus.  It wasn't until he was slipping off his shoes that he realized he was going to join George in the bed, but when he did it felt right, his head resting on George's chest and there- there was his heartbeat, a steady bu-thump, bu-thump, bu-thump. 

As long as that was there, things would be okay.  They could be okay. 

"He was poisoned," Bad said, making Jack pause. "We cured him, but he's going to be asleep for a while." 

"H-How long?" Jack forced himself to say as he clutched on tight to George, wiggling himself beneath the protector's arm.

"We don't know," Bad admitted. "I'm sorry.  It will be a few months at most."

So there was an end date, at least.

That was enough for Jack. 

"Thank you," Jack murmured, allowing his eyes to drift shut. 

His protector had been hurt, had been poisoned, and he was stable, he was safe, he was just- he was sleeping.  This wasn't fair, it wasn't how he should have come home, but they said he would recover.  He just needed to sleep it off.  A few months seemed like a long time, but Jack had certainly waited longer for less. 

He took in a noseful of George's scent, lashes fluttering lightly against his cheek.  He'd missed the real thing.  The enchanted material just wasn't the same. 

"Good protector," he purred in Bearer. "Strong protector.  Wanted-wanted-wanted." 

George didn't say anything back, but that was okay.  He'd done his duty.  He'd protected Jack, he'd protected all of them, and now it was Jack's turn to repay the favor. 

He would protect George, and that was that. 

It was his greatest honor.

Chapter Text

They won the war.  

Not that this was surprising.  Not that this was unexpected.  Manburg was always going to lose and Sapnap suspected they knew that, it was simply a matter of when and how much damage they could do in the meantime.  They'd given it their best, but the empire's army was relentless, and with Philza and Technoblade at the helm, the fall of Manburg had been all but inevitable.

There were other things that had been unexpected, of course.  The withers – withers – things that Sapnap had only ever heard tell of, and it was one thing to hear what he'd thought were exaggerated stories of their rotting auras and another to experience them first hand.  He'd never even gotten that close and he'd felt horribly shaken, but as one of the few hybrid's with long-range attacks he'd done his best, building his flames and taking to the night sky to shoot them down, protecting their archers.  He only caught flashes of Dream's efforts in his peripherals every once and a while, the tall protector wielding his magic in long waves, and while neither one of them could maintain their pace, each of them had taken at least one wither down on their own.

Considering how much damage they could withstand; it should have felt like a triumph.  Instead, there was only dread for the dozen or so other withers still bobbing in the sky. 

For the first time since the war started, Sapnap had begun doubting the certainty of their victory, began to fear that this would be the battle where they suffered heavy losses, all their hard work up to this point disregarded as useless flukes.  This was what Manburg had focused on, and of course it had.  This was where the bulk of their nobles were.  This was their last-ditch effort.

And then there was Foolish.

Foolish, who had somehow freed himself, who knew how to wield lightning, apparently, who took out half a dozen on his own.  Foolish returned and with him the rallying courage of their army, and when the last wither fell they stormed the capital, imprisoning and finishing off the last of their opposition until at last, the flag of the Antarctic Empire was raised from the tallest peak of the castle. 

It was over.  They'd won. 

It was hours before he saw any of the others – they had so much work to do.  Rescuing trapped slaves and disarming any last surprises Manburg might have had in store for them.  Running down every last corrupt politician and rewarding the few that had been working with Philza for years to mitigate the damage of Manburg.  One last evening of chaos, and just like that, it was over.  The war started by Schlatt's allies, the kingdom they should have conquered decades ago – at last, it was put in its place.  Wrongs had been righted, and they had a new future ahead of them.

One Sapnap would work towards one step at a time. 

It was in the early hours of the morning that he finally found his dads in the new command area – one of the large, centralized government buildings that they'd taken over and repurposed.  Foolish was passed out, sleeping on a cot piled with blankets – not Phil's travel nest, but a thrown-together homage to it.  The trident he'd been using to channel his lightning was clutched loosely in one hand, and he hugged a pillow that seemed to hold both Phil and Techno's scent in the other, nuzzling close to it with contented snores.  Across the room, Phil and Techno were crowded over a command table – seeming dirty and perhaps slightly singed as they traded a soft conversation, but they were ultimately victorious, riding the wave of their adrenaline as they worked.  Mostly though, they were whole and uninjured, which was all Sapnap could hope for.  Upon his entrance they both perked up, making their way towards him with wide smiles. 

"My little flame," Philza greeted, pulling Sapnap into a tight hug as he nuzzled the blaze hybrid's shoulders, Techno wrapping around both of them with a pleased rumble. "You did so well, sweetheart.  And I hated you being out there, I won't lie about that, but you did so well." When he pulled back he was smiling so wide the sides of his eyes crinkled, gaze bright and gleaming even if he bore signs of exhaustion. "I'm so proud of you.  We're so proud of you." 

"Took out a wither all by yourself," Techno rumbled, greeting Sapnap with a light headbutt. "There will be songs of your glory." 

"Foolish did all the heavy lifting," Sapnap admitted, ducking his head with a flush. "Compared to that-"

"His triumphs do not lessen yours," Techno interrupted, his voice firm. "You can both be grand heroes, much like Dream is.  Speaking of-" He straightened, glancing towards the door, and who but Dream ambled through and Sapnap – he'd only seen him in glances at a distance, knew he was okay, but actually getting to see him up close felt so much better.  "Greetings, Commander," Techno hummed as Sapnap wiggled out of their hold. "Excellent work out there."

"Thank you," Dream said, breathless and distracted, and even though Sapnap couldn't see his face he knew the other protector was looking at him, gazes locked on each other as the steady pulse of alpha-alpha-alpha buzzed in the back of his mind. "I- Sap-"

"I'm here," Sapnap said, the two of them meeting in the middle with a rough exhale, maybe grappling onto each other with a bit more force than necessary but they'd done it, they'd protected their pack, their home, their empire.  They'd done it and they were safe. "Are you hurt?"

"Just some bruises," Dream hummed, tucking Sapnap's head under his chin properly so the blaze hybrid could feel the vibrations of his comforting rumbles emanating through his chest.  A pause, and then Sapnap realized the alpha was taking off his mask, letting it rest near the top of his head so Sapnap could see him properly. 

And that was- oh, that was better.  Now he knew for sure.  Dream looked as tired as he felt, but he was there and smiling and even if everything wasn't okay yet it felt like it was on its way to getting there. 

"There you are," Sapnap murmured, reaching up to cup Dream's face between his hands – physical reassurance, but his skin was as cool as ever, his scales generous if slightly smudged with dirt, and for someone who'd been working nonstop to protect their soldiers, to serve their emperor, he was just as handsome as ever. 

"Yep," Dream hummed, that vibrant green gaze locked on Sapnap. "Here I am." 

They didn't talk about it, they didn't have to.  It seemed natural to close the distance between them, trading a soft, reassuring kiss that made Sapnap's instincts hum with pleasure.  Dream was safe and he was still here, he still cared, his alpha was okay and still wanted him and Sapnap was happy-happy-happy. 

It wasn't until they were pulling back, intent to dreamily stare into each other's eyes for who knew how long, that the moment was broken by a carefully cleared throat. 

With that, they suddenly remembered they had company, and then Sapnap remembered who their company was and there was a very good chance that his face was as red as a tomato when he turned around because his dads had- he'd just- in front of his dads.

"So," Techno began with an amused chuckle, cutting in while Phil looked mostly stupefied beside him. "Anything you want to tell us?" 

Yes.  Of course.  So many things. Sapnap had supportive parental figures that would actually listen to him and now that the war was over he wanted to make the most of that, maybe get some help sorting through the mess of his thoughts because things had been going so fast, there were so many developments and he wasn't entirely sure what to do with all of them and it'd be nice to organize and process everything-

"Sapnap and I are engaged," Dream offered, and sometimes- sometimes Sapnap wondered why he even let Dream talk at all.

That seemed to snap Phil out of his stupor. "What?" he snarled, the forceful call almost entirely drowning out Techno's "Heh?" beside him, and definitely making Foolish startle awake across the room. "You what?"

"It's a long story," Sapnap sighed. "And we should probably start at the beginning-"

"You proposed without asking permission, you little shit," Philza hissed, and then Sapnap found himself gently shoved to the side as Dream darted out of the way, because Philza had lunged at him, was lunging at him, because he was apparently out for blood. "You didn't even court him!  My son deserves honor and procedure and consideration, not some slap dash-"

"I really didn't mean to!" Dream yelped as he jogged around the room, surprisingly agile with his dodges as he maneuvered around a severely pissed off Philza. "I mean, I wanted to- but it was a sort of- I kissed him in public-"

"I'll have your spine," Phil snarled in Protector, pupils narrowing into angry slits, claws extended as he chased Dream down. "You dare sully Sapnap in such a way?"

"It was the heat of the moment!" Dream offered. "He almost died-"

"You almost let him die?"

"You know," Techno spoke up quietly, ambling his way beside Sapnap. "Initially I wanted to help him, but he's sort of digging his own hole at this point."

"Yep," Sapnap sighed, despairing and yet utterly incapable of not feeling fond. "That's the guy I'm gonna marry." 

"Not any time soon," Philza snapped, pausing his efforts to chase Dream to regard Sapnap with a level look, which was hard to take seriously when he was now perched atop the command table, his wings mantled in an angry pose. "The number of hoops he's going to have to jump through to make this up to you-" His head snapped to the side where Dream may or may not have been inching towards the window. "And what about Jack and George?  The courting overtures you were making towards them?  Are you so flighty that you would completely disregard-"

"We're going to include them!" Dream burst, fumbling for his pocket. "We- there's a plan, we just- the war-"

"We can concede that there were some extenuating circumstances, Phil," Techno said, finally cutting in to give Dream a break. "Why don't we try listening to the whole story before you start thirsting for blood?" He waved vaguely towards Dream. "We already know he'll do anything and everything needed to restore honor to all families involved.  You're not going to have to strongarm him."

"I will," Dream said, leaping at the chance eagerly. "Whatever you need.  I'll fix it, and when George wakes up-"

"What?" Foolish spoke up, now fully awake as he sat up in the impromptu nest. "Sorry, what's- why are we shouting?" He focused in on Dream. "And what's wrong with George?" 

Sapnap paused, but all the elders looked just as confused, just as-

They'd been out of camp.  Foolish had been kidnapped before he likely even knew what happened and Philza and Techno had gotten back in time to be distracted by that.  

They didn't know what happened to George at all.

Dream's shoulders fell, because he'd figured it out too. "Maybe you guys should take a seat," he began, tone soothing but firm. "We need to all get on the same page." 

Foolish looked like he wanted to protest, but he held himself back at Sapnap's sad look, instead distracting himself by climbing into Techno's lap, all of them crowding around the command table, and then-

Dream spoke.

~:~

"Jack," a voice said from nearby, and Jack scrunched his nose, displeased with the disturbance.  Skeppy had come by earlier with nesting materials that Jack had used to improve George's bed – to make it proper and comfortable – and he pulled the current blanket he had wrapped around his shoulders – Dream's, by the smell of it – up over his head so he could better block them out. "Sweetheart?" the voice said, and Jack liked that voice, he knew that voice, he trusted that voice, so he wasn't sure why it was bothering him now.  "Darling, I know you care for your protector, but you can't spend all your time in the nest with him – it's not healthy." 

Jack poked his head out from the lovely cocoon he'd made for himself – the parts of him not snuggled up next to George safely swaddled in the scents of his pack, which would be an acceptable substitute until they returned.  He located the source of the disturbance – Wilbur, on the other side of the bed – and hissed at him before retreating back into his burrow of comfort. 

He heard Wilbur sigh, then felt the bed dip, like Wilbur was settling down on the other side. "That's not going to work on me," he informed Jack, because he was committed to disrupting the pleasant haze Jack had established for himself. "You won't run me off like you did Ponk." 

Had Jack done that?  

His brows furrowed as he tried to remember, and there was a vague recollection, though things were admittedly hazy.  He knew that meant he was likely more in his instincts than his coherent mind, and it was bad for that to happen for a prolonged period of time, but in the moment, he just didn't care.

Or he did care because he liked Ponk.  Ponk was an ally.  Ponk gave him tools to articulate himself, to help deal with his trauma.  He shouldn't hiss at Ponk. 

"Sorry," he offered in Bearer, shifting his blankets just enough so Wilbur could see his eyes. "Sorry-sorry." 

Wilbur's gaze softened. "He knows you didn't mean it," he said, which was a relief. "But perhaps it would help to hear it from you yourself, which would require getting out of the nest."

No, nope.  Absolutely not.

Jack hissed, then ducked back under the blanket, clutching onto George closer. 

Wilbur sighed again.

Jack had the feeling they'd been doing this for a while, but he wasn't the best at retaining information right now.  He wasn't sure if this was what George would want him to do, but Jack couldn't think of another way to respond.  George was vulnerable.  He needed care and protection. He was Jack's protector, so Jack should be the one to look after him.  It should be him feeding George broth and sponge bathing the panther hybrid and brushing his hair and he was only allowed to do one of those things and for all the others Skeppy had to hold him back while he hissed and snarled and no one listened to him because Jack wasn't a trained medical professional which seemed like a lot of garbage and he could be if he wanted to, why were they all ignoring him?  He thought bearers were supposed to be special but he'd always known he was a bearer that wasn't special, that was just how it'd always been, and he was pretty sure none of this was related to the medical professionals that left the room in tears more often than not. 

In the end Bad was the only one Jack begrudgingly trusted to look after George.  Everyone else was on thin ice, especially Ponk, who’d tried to make him leave the room that one time maybe. 

Insanity.  It was so dumb; he wasn't even sure why he'd dare mention it.

"We’re worried about you," Wilbur said, which was stupid because George was the one who was sick.  Jack was just fine. "It's not good for you to be in your instincts for prolonged periods like this." It also wasn't good to eat cake every night but Jack had every intention of doing just that when George woke up so maybe Wilbur was just going to have to come to terms with some things. "You might not come out."

Jack didn't need to come out, he needed George.  And maybe Connor.  He missed Connor, but then there was also-

Gah, why was his pack so big?  It was so hard to keep track of them all, and Jack could barely help a fraction of them. 

There was a beat of thoughtful silence. "Josh is worried," Wilbur said, his voice casual. "I'm not sure if he's been eating-"

Immediately Jack jerked upright, eyes wide as a burst of panic rushed through him. "Baby hungry?" he asked, clutching the blanket close to his chest. "Baby okay?" 

"You'd have to check on him to know for sure," Wilbur said, because he understood that only a bearer could make an adequate deliberation for themselves and Jack was torn, torn because Josh might be hungry and that was his baby and Josh shouldn't be hungry and if he was hungry what if Tubbo was hungry?  But no, Tubbo had Quackity to look after him, Quackity was a good bearer that people listened to, but Jack was just himself and if he told them to feed Josh they might not listen but he couldn't leave George-

"Bad and his team are on standby for anything George might need," Wilbur continued, as though sensing the path of his thoughts. "He has a personal guard rotation at all times.  I promise, nothing will happen to him." Jack hesitated – how could he not – and when he did so Wilbur simply nodded, sliding off onto the floor and pressing a curled fist against his chest. "I swear it on my honor," he pledged, and Wilbur – for all his duties and distractions and burdens – had never lied to Jack, even if that might have been easier. "He will be okay, and he- I don't think he would want you to ignore your brother."

He wouldn't, was the thing.  Jack knew that because George had spent the majority of his life being the ignored, neglected brother.  Jack couldn't perpetuate that process, not if George was the reason.  The panther hybrid would never forgive him. 

He swallowed hard, then gave George one last nuzzle. "I will come back," he promised with a purr, and then he got to work extricating himself from the nest, rearranging it so that it was perfect for George, as perfect as it could be when he was still sleeping.  Jack wanted to move fast but he still had to exercise care, so that was what he did, and when he was as satisfied as he could be, he straightened, regarding Wilbur with a nod. "Baby?" 

"They're in Quackity's office," Wilbur said, and that was enough for Jack, who took off on unsteady legs. He'd barely left the nest since George had arrived – only to relieve himself and when Skeppy made him so he was a bit unsteady, his muscles stiff from reclining for so long, but that was a cost he gladly paid for his protector.  He ignored the pins and needles in his feet and clumsily marched forward, and when Wilbur appeared and offered out his arm, Jack didn't hiss at him.  The piglin hybrid was helping, even if he was only helping Jack get away from George rather than stay with him.  It was an irritation Jack pushed off in favor of focusing on the short trip, and soon he was stumbling into Quackity's office once more, where the full team was together – Quackity, Ant, Tina, and Josh.  Even Eret was there, though he seemed more focused on cuddling Quackity than working. 

Jack ignored them, making a beeline for Josh.

"Baby hungry?" Jack asked, looking over Josh in a nervous flutter.  His cheeks did seem a bit thinner. "Baby eat?  Baby needs food." 

"I- yes," Josh said, blinking out of his stupor. "Yes, I- would you- would you help?"

As though he even had to ask.

Jack hugged him close, letting Josh tuck his head underneath Jack's chin. "Good-good, baby, yes," Jack purred. "Love-love-love you." 

"Love you," Josh rumbled back in Protector – what a sweetheart, what a good bean.  Jack was so very lucky to have him.

"I think we can stop for an early lunch," Quackity declared, and then there was a scramble of movement that ended with them out in the gardens, and the pups were there too – Tubbo!  Tubbo was there! And he let Jack hug him and even let Jack feed him while he fed Josh and it would probably be the best thing ever if George wasn't in a coma and Connor wasn't gone. 

But George had a team taking care of him and Connor would come back, so Jack didn't have to worry.  Everything would be okay. 

He had to focus on what he could contribute, and what he could do was this.  He could feed Josh and Tubbo bites of meat pie and ruffle their hair and offer them nuzzles and it could be good.  Jack needed- he'd have to talk to his grandfather about Josh.  Packs were about teamwork and Jack needed his grandfather to do a better job looking after their baby.  Or maybe Jack could keep Josh in the room with him and George – that was a good idea.  Then he could take care of both of them, and even if George was asleep, Jack could still make introductions, they could cuddle together because they were family – he'd keep Josh on his other side, it'd be fine. 

Jack was deliberating between whether or not Tubbo needed another scone (he knew he wanted one, but that wasn't the same as needing it), trying to determine what time it was and where the pups were in their schedule because if they had training soon he didn't want Tubbo at the risk of getting nauseous whereas if he had study time he ran the risk of falling asleep if Jack gave him too many pastries, so maybe they should switch to berries or something or maybe he was fine – maybe just a candy?  It was a special occasion, of course, it had to be a special occasion because they were outside in the sun instead of inside, at the dining room table, and-

"Oh," Jack said, awareness flooding in as the past few days of his instinct-laden self came rushing back to him in a vicious blur, halting his efforts to clean the crumbs off Tubbo's face. "Oh no." 

"Are you back?" Tubbo asked, leaning back into him happily, likely because they rarely did this – rarely did it because Jack didn't want to overstep or give himself away and here he was, doing both of those things. 

"I'm back," Jack said weakly, managing to bite back a flinch at the immediate swell of relief that rushed over the gathered crowd, all of them looking a bit haggard because they'd been dealing with a very unhappy bearer for the past few days, and- He buried his face in his hands. "I hissed at so many people." 

"You were upset," Josh offered quietly. "We all understood." 

Jack sincerely doubted the number of nurses and medics he'd sent running in tears understood, and he was hit with a fresh wave of guilt, something he couldn't have possibly registered in the moment. "I just- I'm not used to anyone paying my hisses any heed," he admitted, glancing up from the shelter of his hands.  He needed them to understand it hadn't been intentional. "They usually just ignored it." 

"Jack, we understand," Skeppy repeated, and at least he seemed to mean it, even if it didn't help any.

Bearers were rare things, rare because they were powerful.  They could be great boons to any pack for their ability to smooth over and facilitate inner-pack dynamics.  Because of this, they'd been given biological tools to intrinsically help them in this process.  Hissing was a sort of crowd control measure, a last resort.  Something that should only be used to express extreme wrong.  The fact that he had barely ever heard Quackity hiss at anything went to prove that.  

At Boomer's Jack couldn't help but hiss, trying to do anything to protect himself.  Of course none of them had listened, so he just- his instinct self was quick to resort to it, he guessed, and now that he was surrounded by allies rather than assailants it actually did a lot of mental damage. 

Jack had done a lot of damage.

"I'm so sorry," Jack offered anyway, because they needed to know. "I never would have- if I'd..." He trailed off with a swallow. "I'm sorry." 

"You really don't need to apologize," Wilbur spoke up, his voice gentle. "You've gone through some very terrible things that fundamentally changed how you and your instincts interact with the world.  We understand that, and it doesn't stop us from loving and supporting you." 

"Even if I lied?" Jack asked, because now that he'd dealt with the initial horror that was his hissing, the bigger one remained, the ravager in the room that he'd kept from most of them for so long. "About being a peacekeeper?" 

"Jack," Quackity began, his gaze gentle, and Jack wanted to flinch because here was Quackity – the amazing bearer.  Here was Quackity, who Jack would inevitably be compared to, and he knew it was an issue they'd already addressed but now everyone else understood just how lacking Jack was in comparison. "Just because we're pack doesn't mean you owe us every secret.  You told those who you were ready to tell, and I'm sorry that decision got taken out of your hands for the rest of us, but I speak for everyone when I say that we have and always will be honored to have you as a part of our pack no matter what your second sex is.  Peacekeeper or bearer, you are ours and we love you." 

For a moment, Jack didn't know what to say, foundering as he tried to formulate some kind of response.  It was the same well of support they'd always given him, the same kindness.  He'd lied but they didn't care.  He was allowed his privacy.  They still loved him. 

His focus was redirected by Tubbo turning in his lap, shifting so he could view Jack properly. "Hey," he began, tugging on Jack's tunic.  It was one of George's. "When you came with us- did you- did you want to be my mum?" 

Jack inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he hugged Tubbo close to him, his heart throbbing in his chest. "I love you very much," he said, because that had always been true. "But I knew I wasn't in a place where I could raise you.  I knew I couldn't take care of you the way Quackity could, but I didn't want to let you go either, so I just- I followed."

"Oh," Tubbo said, like he was processing this.  Still, he leaned eagerly into Jack's attentions, and when Jack finally made himself pull back, the small hybrid looked up at him with a kind smile. "And now we're brothers," he declared cheerfully. "That's still good, right?"

"That's great," Jack laughed, tears warm in his eyes, blurring his vision slightly. "That's really great."

"Good," Tubbo said, deftly nodding. "Now that I've got a bearer for a big brother, I've got to train extra hard so I can fight off everyone who's not worthy of you." He sniffed, looking towards Skeppy. "I expect your help in the meantime since mum won't let me learn how to make explosives from Sam yet." 

"I will gladly do that," Skeppy said, smiling wide. 

"You won't have to worry about that," Wilbur said, words coming in a rush. "Worry about any unwanted overtures, I mean.  Your secret has been kept in strict confidentiality and even if it does get out, you aren't going to be approached by anyone you don't want." 

"I think Dream can help with that," Skeppy said, bumping shoulders with Josh before his gaze shifted to Jack. "Not sure how much you retained, but the war's over.  They took the Manburg capital and everyone's safe and sound, including Foolish."

"Oh." Jack blinked.  He hadn't even realized, his instinct-self had been so focused on George. "That's great!  Are they coming back soon?" 

"Best estimate is a week and a half," Skeppy said. "They have to set up the new government, get Manburg properly incorporated, and then we can all be together again." 

Sort of.  Almost.  But not quite, because George was still sleeping. 

Jack's expression fell, the blaze hybrid unable to hide his sudden melancholy. "The poison," he began, looking at each of them easily. "Do we know the full story?"

"It was George's youngest brother," Eret said, his tone hard. "I should have had his license revoked outright as soon as we detected a hint of connection between Schlatt and the Davidsons-"

"It's done now," Wilbur interrupted, resting a comforting hand on Eret's shoulder. "We can only keep a close eye on the ones that remain.  They won't be getting near George again." 

How awful, that George had been attacked by his own family.  Jack couldn't even think about hurting Josh like that, and they'd only spent a fraction of their lives together.  It did make him think of the ways he'd accidentally hurt his younger brother, though, and Jack turned towards him with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry I shut you out," he said. "I just- I really needed to be with George, but that doesn't mean I love you any less."

Josh blinked, as though surprised, and then melted into a smile. "You don't have anything to apologize for, as far as I'm concerned.  I know you care; you left his side just to feed me."

"Thanks for going along with that, by the way," Jack said, embarrassment flooding his cheeks with heat. "I appreciate it."

"No problem," Josh laughed. "I really don't mind, especially if it got you to come back to us." 

"I'll have to be careful when I go back in there," Jack said, bashfully scratching at the curve of his ear. "Maybe if I go with you, that will be enough to keep me present.  Or I can take paperwork or something." 

He thought the ideas had merit, but there was no denying the quiet consideration that fell over the crowd, their expressions pulling into something neutral.  All of them, even-

Wait, Sam wasn't there.  Why wasn't Sam there?

"Tubbo," Quackity spoke up suddenly, nodding towards the play area in the distance. "Could you go play with your brothers, please?  We need to have that adult conversation I told you about."

Tubbo considered this for a moment, then let out a gusty exhale. "Fine," he muttered, reluctantly clambering out of Jack's lap. "But please be nice." 

"We'll be as nice as we can," Quackity promised, and that seemed to be enough for Tubbo, who offered one definite nod before he gave Jack a quick hug, headbutting his shoulder before the small hybrid jogged off to the other side of the garden, one of the guards that lingered at a respectful distance dutifully following after him. 

It was not a comforting setup, nor was the way the group shifted their focus onto Jack, who didn't like where this was going. 

They said everything was fine.  The war was over, no one else had gotten injured.  What sort of grown-up conversation would they need to have that would require such solemn faces?

Wilbur cleared his throat, pulling Jack from his spiraling thoughts.  "We didn't really cover this," he began carefully, as though preparing for a war meeting. "But you've been deep in your instincts for the past three days." 

He was- that long?  Jack had been vaguely aware of time passing, but he hadn't realized it had gotten that bad.  He'd thought it'd been a day at most. 

"As you know, it's dangerous for hybrids to stay in their instincts for too long," Wilbur continued. "They might stay under, might go feral."

"But you guys got me out of it," Jack said. "With Josh." 

"We got you out of it by distancing you from George," Eret corrected, as though there was a difference. "Right now, your bearer instincts are... understandably concerned for your protector.  But because of your formative bearer years-"