Archive of Our Own ^beta

Act 1

Five Years old.

The last time Sapnap saw Dream’s face was one random afternoon when they were three, and five. Sapnap loved going to Dream’s house. The cottage was set at the top of a bare hill, speckled with flowers. It used to be a church or a town hall or something else, built away from the mainstreet and the rest of the homes, but it had been years since it had been used as one. The large wooden doors were set into a cream, weather worn spire, decorated with crown moulding at its peak. A window of stained glass depicting a masked man with a golden halo sat above the door, looking out from the small second story room that Dream slept in.

They would run through the long grass that surrounded the hill and hide from each other, darting between the wheat stalks; pouncing and rolling. Sapnap’s daddies never let him go outside by himself because they said he was too little, but Puffy would always allow Sapnap and Dream to go play tag by themselves for as long as they wanted.

“Why didn’t Bad and Skeppy take you to visit the baby with them?” Dream asked. They were lying in the dirt, Sapnap still brushing the ash off his clothes from where he had gotten too excited and sent off a few sparks that Dream had put out as fast as he could. Dream’s blonde hair moved up and down with his head.

“I didn’t want to go. Babies are gross.” Sapnap said shortly. He crossed his legs in his lap and began to rock restlessly.

“You’re a baby.” Dream said, poking him. “Puffy went to see him without me. She says that he’s a fox.” he brushed a hand over the tiny stubby horns that were barely peeking out from under his hair.

“But I thought Wilbur was a human?” Sapnap frowned.

Dream shrugged, “maybe the mother is a fox? Puffy said that Wilbur came back with just the baby, no wife or nothing. For the first time in years, he’s been back home, I can’t imagine what it’s like for his poor father!” he said. Sounding more like his adoptive mother than himself for a moment. Sapnap giggled.

“What’s his name?” he said.

Dream shook his head, “I don’t know. Who cares.” he grinned. “I'm hungry, race you!” With that he lept up and rushed towards the house, hooves clopping on the stones. Sapnap shrieked with laughter and raced after him on stubby legs.

Dream pounded his hand across the door first, panting and doubling over as Sapnap crashed beside him. He leaned against him, his skin warm. Dream pushed the door open and ushered him inside.

In the kitchen they found pumpkin pie, and ate it straight from the dish with wooden spoons.

“Are we going to go to your room?” Sapnap asked, licking the back of the spoon clean.

“Uhm,” Dream said, “how about we stay down here. I’ve got a puzzle or something.” he said. “Bad will probably be here soon anyway.”

“Okay!” Sapnap agreed easily, not thinking about how his friend’s voice trembled. He was only three years old, after all, and he couldn't notice things like that yet.

Eleven years old

There was someone new moving into Philza’s old house.

Dream had found a table outside of the flower shop that was perfect for staking out the newcomers. He watched as a brunette man and woman unpacked boxes for seemingly the whole afternoon. They were an average looking couple. Stunningly plain in palette and limbs, but decorated with scars and strange tapestry like clothing. He watched them with nervous trepidation. People had visited, and left, but no one had ever moved into town. And to be moving into Philza’s home. Dream had never thought he’d see the day when the old man left. But after his youngest son had turned seven, he and Technoblade had packed up their belongings and left on horseback. He had wanted to say goodbye, but he didn’t.

What if they were dangerous?

Sapnap fidgetted across from him. He had already flitted through the town, trying to entertain himself while he waited for Dream. Finally he had sat down at the second chair at the table with a sandwich and ate it sourly. His hair had darkened to a charcoal black in the past years and he was startling to rebel against Bad’s sweet nature. Dream was sure he was a negative influence on the boy.

“Want to go swordfight?” Sapnap asked. He crickled the empty paper from his sandwich noisily.

“No. shhh,” Dream muttered, peering at the house. The man and woman had both gone inside. Beside him, Sapnap lit the paper on fire, and watched it curl into dust in his palms.

“I’m bored,” he whined.

“Sapnap I’m bus-” Dream started to snap. He froze. A boy had come out of the house, stepping down the two cobblestone steps and stopping, looking each way. He was also brunette, and had a pair of huge glasses on with thick white rims. He looked incredibly regular, standing on the edge of the gutter in a blue sweater. He was older than them, maybe thirteen or fourteen.

Dreams feet itched to go over to the boy, but he stood his ground, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. Sapnap apparently didn’t have the same reservations as he appeared in Dream’s vision.

Dream stumbled forwards to try and stop him, but he was too far away, so all he did was trip a bit before falling into the conversation Sapnap had picked up.

“Oh,” Sapnap said, “this is Dream, he’s been watching you all day.”

Dream flushed from head to toe and smacked the younger boy, “No I haven’t! Haha, sorry, kids, you know?” He stammered awkwardly.

“I don’t,” said the boy. His voice was monotone and bored as he surveyed the duo. “I’m George.” He said, his face didn’t change, but Dream thought he heard the faintest hint of an amused smile in his voice. Dream wished he could see his eyes, the tint on his glasses was so dark that it completely concealed everything behind it.

“George,” he murmured. “I’m Dream.” he introduced. He grabbed Sapnap with a firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him towards him, “This is Sapnap.”

Sapnap grumbled at the manhandling.

The three walked through the town, kicking up the summer dust. Dream acted as a tour guide everywhere they went, informing George of where he could get free food if he was nice enough, who was hiring their age, where the best places were to play.

They found themselves under a plum tree, Sapnap climbing up in the boughs and throwing down the fruits to him, one of which he handed to George and took one for himself. He broke the purple skin with his thumb, the juice bubbled up around his nail and down his palm and wrist. It gathered on his elbow as rich yellow rivulets and he wiped it off on his pants.

Dream pushed his mask up to his mouth and bit into the plum.

The fruit was sweet, ripened in the warmth of the summer and soft like childhood. The inside was a buttercup yellow, deeping to a purplish red around the pit, as the taste grew more bitter. The taste filled his mouth and he savoured the taste on his tongue for a moment.

“What’s with the mask?” George asked and Dream realised he’d been staring at him, the plum still held in his hand.

The tree’s rustling leaves went still above them. Dream shrugged, as he finished chewing. He sat back and crossed his legs, “I like it.”

“It’s sort of weird.” He said bluntly. Dream reached up to touch the wooden mask, his throat closing uncomfortably. He figured it was about time the boy asked it. Dream knew how odd and downright creepy he looked. It had taken the other people in town ages to get accustomed to his new attire, but he had to wear it.

It wasn’t something he could explain.

He wished Puffy was here. She always knew what to say to take the attention off how weird he was. George was going to think he was strange and he’d lose the only chance he had of making a new friend.

Then George shrugged, “Doesn’t matter though.” he said, taking a bite of his plum. “I have to wear these glasses because I’m colorblind, they're sorta weird too.” he explained. He leaned sideways and bumped his shoulder gently against Dream’s. The contact startled a laugh out of him, and he could breathe again.

Sapnap dropped down out of the tree in front of them, landing on bent knees.

“YOU’RE BLIND?”

Fifteen years old

The woods were green and full.

There were birdsongs sounding from somewhere in the trees, the sun filtering in through the leaves and patches of blue sky smiling down. It was a rare perfect day in the middle of a rainy spring, when the sun baked the mud into soft earth and a cool breath of wind was carried down from the mountains.

Dream felt the sun on his shoulders and back, which he had recently been noticing that he had much more of than before. Puffy said he was going through a growth spurt. He felt stronger, solid. His horns brushed low hanging branches and his hooves padded the ground silently. In his hand, he gripped the leather handle of a dull sword.

He felt a tingle on the back of his neck and stilled. Dream looked carefully out of the corner of his eye. He grinned wickedly and spun, just as George leapt out of the bushes behind him. Their swords clashed with a resounding clang and George winced.

Dream had gotten better at reading his facial expressions behind the glasses since that first day, and he could see the panic on George’s face as he tried to plan a split second strategy to recover from his failed sneak attack. Dream brought his sword up, throwing George’s up in the air too and sending the boy off balance. He stepped wide to avoid falling over and jolted forward, bringing his sword up again.

The next few minutes were silent except for the sound of metal and heavy breaths. Finally Dream managed to hook his foot under George’s ankle and brought him down. He stood over him, sword pointed at his throat. George groaned and dropped his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing.

“I win,” Dream informed him.

George laughed hoarsely and pushed the point of the sword away from his face, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest. Dream sheathed his sword in his belt and offered a hand to George. He took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, except Dream used a bit too much effort, and he stumbled, falling into Dream’s chest.

Dream felt his face heat up as he steadied him and stepped away. He had never felt so grateful to the mask to hide what was written across his face.

George spun his sword and put his hand on hips, “can you show me that last move?”

Dream’s head cleared with the idea of instructions and he nodded, “the sweep? It’s pretty easy, it’s all about knowing where the rest of your body is in relation to your opponent.” he explained, walking back to where George was standing.

“You’re paying attention to my body?” George said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. Dream wheezed and shoved him again.

“You’re so dumb.” he laughed.

* * *

He ended up spending most of his free time that week either running through the woods or sparring with George. In fact, most of his free time in general seemed to revolve around the brunette. Providing nothing but substance to nurse the fledgling crush, Dream realised that he was developing on the other boy.

He found even in his free time his brain travelled back to George; the crush, he decided, was probably inevitable. He was sweet and funny and pretty and level headed in all the situations that Dream panicked in.

He didn’t think for a moment that the crush might be reciprocated, but he felt a soft sort of parently feeling towards his own emotions, cherishing them.

What could be more special than love?

Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who made this new discovery. Because one evening after he had parted from George, walking away from his house

(it had fully become George’s house in the time that passed. The soft coral that Philza and Kristen had painted the kitchen was now a robin’s egg blue, the family picture that hung above the fireplace mantle was now of George and his parents, the bedroom that Techno and Wilbur had shared was now decorated with vines from George’s horticultural endeavours and the floors were speckled with pockmarks from Dream’s badly aimed darts)

Sapnap ran across the road to walk with him.

The boy seemed fidgety, but he always seems a little fidgety as of late so Dream didn’t think much of it. They walked in companionable silence, occasionally trading remarks about how their week had been. Dream hadn’t realised that they hadn’t seen each other at all. Sapnap had gotten a new job as a stable assistant and was spending much of the sunlit hours with the horses. He seemed to have some sort of innate ability with animals, they loved him.

They reached Dream’s house faster than usual, it felt. Dream felt his shoulders grow tense as they neared the church. He could see the unlit stained glass figure staring down at him as he stood under the porch.

“You want to stay for dinner?” He said lightly. The two boys had spent so many years drifting between each other's homes that setting a third plate had become a habit in his house.

“Uh, no, Dad is making dinner tonight, I promised I'd be home in time.” Sapna said awkwardly. He wrung his hands and opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he said weakly.

Dream cringed, “I promised I’d help George collect mushrooms…you could come?” he said. George and Sapnap were friends, he couldn’t see George minding. Except he sort of wanted to be alone with George.

“Right, yeah, of course.” Sapnap spat. His tone had turned dark and Dream stepped back, startled.

“Wha-” he started.

“You know, I was your friend first. I know George is older and cooler and he’s good at reading and knows a bunch of shit about everything, but-” Sapnap exclaimed before stopping midway. His face was red and he looked like he was going to start crying, much to Dream’s dismay.

Sparks flaked off his hair and shoulders like little burning stars.

“I miss you.” he finished. His voice breaking.

“Oh,” Dream murmured. He grabbed the boy by the shoulders and wrapped him in a tight embrace, not caring about the black holes burning into the sleeves of his hoodie.

“Sapnap, I’m so sorry.” he said, “I never meant to make you feel like I didn’t want to be friends with you anymore.” he pulled back, looking the boy in his eyes. At that moment he felt the two years between them like an ocean. He felt decades older, and withered at fifteen, looking back at thirteen year old Sapnap, sniffling uselessly. “You’re my brother, Sap. I’m always going to want to be friends with you,” he promised.

He’d be a good big brother. He’d never let anything happen to Sapnap. Ever.

“How about we go to the woods,” he suggested. “We can play tag.”

“What about George?” Sapnap muttered.

“George is perfectly capable of handling himself.” Dream shrugged, “he’ll be fine without me.”

Eighteen years old

It had taken George quite a while to get used to him, actually.

Dream.

Everything about him was different than anything George had seen before. Which was saying something. Before they had moved to town, his parents had been adventurers, and they’d taken George to the far reaches of the server. He’d seen mermaids and hybrids of all sorts. His home was filled with spoils from explorations, ender eyes, nether stars and diamond swords. It had been their biggest disappointment that he turned out to rather read instead of experiencing this great wonders.

At eleven Dream was weird, a carved wooden mask and skinny limbs, all hidden inside a giant green hoodie. He was filled to the brim with dynamic energy. Constantly moving, changing - a fluid object.

At eighteen he was taller than George by a few good inches and had filled out into broad shoulders and strong arms. He could pick up George, and he did, constantly, whenever he thought he wasn’t walking fast enough. He still had the same energy as he did when he was kid, eager to help and please. He helped the baker carry bags of flour, he worked at Puffy’s flower shop in his free time, he was always ready to play with the neighbourhood kids.

“You’re like a puppy,” George had remarked one day, after Dream had collapsed on the park bench, sweating the summer heat. The kids he had been playing football with were shrieking and looking sticky. George hated kids.

Sapnap burst out into cluttered cackles on the bench beside them. He had been trying to do his homework, but had kept getting distracted by the game. Apparently some of the kids were actually quite good.

Dream had stayed spluttering and red for the good five minutes, before the children called him back.

There was something about him, however, that was further down than his cheer. Something dark and twisting. George didn’t know where he felt this strange intuition.

When he was ten his parents had taken him to a shaman.

She was a blonde woman with a large bosom and a wreath of something George was pretty sure he was allergic to around her head. She sat inside a large tent-like building that was sewed from several mismatched tarps of various colours and patterns. They were there because George’s parents were hoping to cure his narcolepsy.

They had stayed with the caravan that she was travelling with for several days. It wasn’t even a full afternoon before the women understood that George had no motivation to fix anything about himself, and decided to teach him about auras.

He had never gotten very good at it, if he had maybe the dark shadow inside of Dream would’ve been more apparent, more centralised. Perhaps he would have understood this shivering feeling when he stared at his friend.

It wasn’t much of a problem though, because it was hard to focus on the bad things about Dream.

There was too much of the sun in him.

“Can’t believe you're leaving!” Sapnap was blubbering. It was the same thing he’s been blubbering for the two weeks since Dream broke the news that he would officially be leaving town.

It wasn’t like it was a surprise, he had been talking for at least a year, discussing trading routes and bustling cities to visit with George’s parents. The Lores’ loved Dream, he was the son they never had.

Dream patted Sapnap on the shoulder good naturedly. He was grinning softly at his friend. Something twisted in George’s gut.

They were sitting around a bonfire that they had worked together to set up ages ago. Scooping out grass and leaves from the clear patch and building a thick rock circle around it.

The flames rose above them as they lounged in the dewy summer grass.

It was their last night together.

The Dream Team, three stupid kids that were drawn together through wild kinetic energy that tied them together across their differing age and backgrounds.

They had run through the woods, whooping wildly with Dream’s blonde hair shining in the setting sun, making him look like a shooting star. George had been mesmerised.

He looked at him now, sitting next to the fire in the twilight, Sapnap dozing beside him, his head pillowed in his arms.

Dream was alight. His mask was a dull orange in the firelight.

“I’m going to miss you,” George found himself saying. Dream’s head snapped toward him fast enough that George was surprised his neck didn’t give up and break.

“What?” He said, “did George Lore just express an emotion?” He mocked. George could picture the way his eyes would glow with mirth behind the mask.

“Shut up, idiot.” George bites, already regretting speaking.

“No no! Come on say it again!” Dream said. He leaned forward to George, getting in his space. George felt his face heat.

“Oh prime I take it back! Leave me in peace!” George shrieked.

“Come on!” Dream whined, “say you’ll miss me! You know you will!” He wrapped his arms around George’s middle, pulling him towards him.

George laughed and tried to scramble out of his grip. “You're gonna miss me sooo much!” Dream crowed.

“Get off of me you weirdo!” George laughed. “I hate you!”

“You love me!” Dream said back. In his arms, George stilled.

“Yeah, I do.” He murmured.

Dream froze. His arms tightened around George for just a moment before releasing him. George crumpled into the grass. He turned to face Dream, pitched forward on his knees, looking pained.

“I-“ George started. He could play it off. A friendly, platonic I love you, like Dream says to everyone. But he’d never believe it.

George was an adult. He didn’t make something up. Instead he just stared at Dream.

Dream started back.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Dream whispered.

George nodded, “You’ve mentioned.” He spoke softly.

He crept forward, ever so slowly, as to not spook the wild animal in the front of him, ichor horns and cloven hooves. He settled close enough to touch Dream and reached out, settling his hand on the crook of his neck.

His skin was flushed, and George could feel his swallows.

Dream’s hands clumsily followed, hovering over George’s waist for a breath before he made contact. His palms burned prints into George’s skin from over his shirt.

George’s hands crept up, and he rested a finger on the edge of Dream’s mask.

Under him, Dream froze for the second time.

“You can’t.” He said, his voice steady as a waterfall.

George sighed, and ran his thumb down the smooth side of the mask, “I know.”

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the place right below one of Dream’s eyes. Then he got up, and walked away.

Act 2

Eighteen years old

The house was snowy, a tiny cabin in a clearing. Dream had been walking since the sun had risen, and now it was starting its descent into the mountain cradle.

He had a flimsy parchment map clutched in his hands, which were red and shaky in the cold. He hadn’t been setting out to visit this far into the mountains, and didn’t have any of the correct equipment.

The cabin was glowing softly, looking like a fairytale. Lit by yellow candles and with gentle plums of smoke blowing out of the stone fire place

Dream stumbled to the porch and knocked roughly on the door.

There was a moment of resolute silence, in which Dream considered the possibility that no one was home, and he was knocking on the door of an empty house, and he would probably freeze to death. Then he heard shuffling from inside the cabin.

The wooden door slowly peeled open and suddenly, Dream was eye to eye with Technoblade.

He had changed drastically since the last time Dream had seen him, when he was twelve. His pink hair was long and tied in a simple plait that hung over his shoulder. His tusks were longer and sharper, protruding from the corners of his mouth. Just like Dream had gotten more goatlike in his adulthood, Techno’s piglin origin was clearer than ever.

His eyes widened nearly imperceptible when he saw Dream and he set the diamond axe that he was holding off to the side.

“Dream?” he said.

“Hi!” Dream said. “Can I come in?”

Being with Technoblade came surprisingly easy. The two both had quiet, sturdy personalities and they found quiet companionship within each other. Sitting by the fire, Technoblade read a leather bound novel about old Mediterranean heroes, and Dream sharpening his sword and drawing up plans for different buildings he planned on building.

Dream has decided that he was going to start a town, it would be a perfect little crook where all of his friends could live, and he could keep track of what would be going on with them.

Philza occasionally came to visit. The first few times he seemed increasingly surprised that Dream was there, and then again, as he was still there, and eventually something clicked, and he became a part of the routine.

There was another reason why Dream and Techno understood each other so well, but Dream didn’t initially realise it.

It happened one autumn afternoon, the sun above them and a cool breeze blowing some drifts of snow up to their farmland. Techno was dredging up the last of the potato crop, and Dream was flitting around, ripping leaves and hanging off the wooden fence.

“Hey Techno.” He said suddenly.

“Yeahh?” Techno said, sounding prematurely regretful to whatever Dream was about to say.

“What do you know about the gods?” Dream asked.

Techno turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him. “Where did that come from?”

“I don’t know. Just curious.” Dream responded.

“Well. There’s Kristen, obviously.” Techno started.

“Who?”

“You’d know her bett’r as the Angel of Death.” Techno explained.

“You know the grim reaper by her first name?” Dream said, not at all surprised.

Techno laughed and shrugged, “well, she is Phil’s wife.”

“WHAT?” Dream couldn’t help himself from yelling.

“Yeah; how d’you think Phil’s stayed alive this long, his exercise routine? She’s Tommy’s mum too.”

“Wow.” Was all Dream could summon.

“Yeah. She’s just a minor deity though, it’s not like Philza married Prime.”

Dream smiled and shook his head, “what else?”

“Why am I answering these questions?” Techno asked.

“Because you're knowledgeable and wise beyond your years,” Dream said.

“Fine. There’s Prime, obviously, Foolish, technically, XD, and the Blood God.”

Dream frowned, “I’ve never heard of that one.” He said.

Techno sighed, “he’s very old. Long ago there were civilizations built to worship his wrath, but as the world moved on, they left him behind. That happens to gods, they move back and forth in relevancy in congruence with how many people worship them.”

“So how do you know about him?” Dream questioned.

“What, he lives in my head.” Was all Technoblade said.

Dream sat up, “wait, what?”

Technoblade sighed again, looking annoyed, he stopped with the potatoes for a moment and squared his gaze at Dream, “Do you remember the old stories they used to tell us? About how some children were chosen by gods to live in their heads?”

“They were called vessels, weren’t they?” Dream added.

“Yes they were. I’m one.” Techno concluded.

“What does that mean for you?” Dream wondered.

“It means one day I’ll go crazy and kill everyone I care about.” Techno said simply. He went back to digging up his potatoes, “what’s why I live all alone,” he said over his shoulder, “well, used too.” He chuckled darkly.

Dream was too deep inside his own head to acknowledge the tease.

He wondered if Techno knew. He wondered what his fate would be. He didn’t ask any more questions.

He began to divide his days between the township and Techno’s cabin, as he continued to build out and welcomed more and more residents. Sapnap came and separately Bad and Skeppy arrived. Ponk, Callahan, Sam. Soon their little corner of the server was busy and bustling.

Tommy arrived, a few days ahead of Wilbur, Fundy and Philza, 16 and full of life. Dream had welcomed him, had ignored the way his mother’s magic swirled within him and made him burn. He did for as long as he could.

Tommy started it.

It wasn’t his fault. Not yet.

Twenty years old.

Foxes age faster than humans. Or goats, apparently. Either way, Dream didn’t recognize Fundy the first time he saw him in almost a decade.

Not that Dream was particularly close to Fundy when they lived in the same town anyway.

The man had grown tall and lanky, with bright red hair and rough facial hair. He had come into town with the rest of his cursed bloodline, smelling like magic and death even though Dream knew that he couldn’t possess any of the angel of death’s power, given that Wilbur didn’t either.

Although, Dream mused, it could be a recessive gene?

Fundy didn’t talk to him until they ran into each other at the community house. Dream was fixing a broken step in one of the stairs, set up with some planks of wood and his mask pushed up enough to hold nails in his mouth.

He felt the figure standing next to him before they announced themselves and waved absently, “sorry, you’ll have to go around.” He stated.

When the figure didn’t move, he finally looked up from his hammering.

“Oh.” He said. Fundy looked nervous and his ears were angled down, away from his face. “You aren’t here to like, get vengeance or something, right?” He laughed awkwardly.

Fundy’s eyes widened and he put a hand in front of his chest, “No! No!” He stammered. “I was going to ask if you needed any help.”

Dream looked at him for a moment before shrugging and turning back to his work, “Do you want to steady this board?” He suggested, and Fundy immediately leapt into action,

It wasn’t hard work, but with Fundy’s help? It certainly went faster.

The pair sat on the bridge after they finished, kicking their feet in the cool water of the lake. The summer heat was in full swing, and Dream shook out his tank top, unsticking the fabric from his back.

“Thanks,” he said.

Fundy rubbed behind his ear and smiled, “Yeah, no worries. It’s the least I could do after what my cousin did to your town.” He looked apologetic.

Dream shook his head, “it wasn’t your fault. At most it was Philza’s, for never teaching that kid how to behave.”

“Phil’s a great grandfather, but, yeah.” Fundy leaned back and shook his head. “He’s always had a more hand off approach to parenting. I mean, he let all of his kids move out at 16, Techno came back and turned out fine, but Wilbur had a kid and Tommy tried to start a war.”

“You don’t call Wilbur dad?” Dream commented, “oh fuck, sorry, that was probably insensitive-“

“It’s fine.” Fundy laughed coldly. “He wasn’t a dad to me, so I don’t call him that. He pretty much handed me off to Phil when I was born and then left.”

“I never met my dad.” Dream shrugged, “or my mum, Puffy raised me by herself.”

“I remember her a bit. She was nice.” Fundy looked sad, like he was imagining what sort of life he could’ve had. “Wilbur didn’t even ask if I wanted to leave with him. He took Tommy, though. He always liked Tommy better than me.”

“Do you know where he is right now?” Dream asked urgently.

Fundy looked at him earnestly, “Nope. Him and Tommy disappeared into the night. Good riddance.”

Dream kept seeing him around after that. In line at the coffee shop, bartering at the farmers market, chatting with people in the library. He’d always offer him a smile and a wave.

When Fundy asked him out, Dream figured that the worst that could happen was they broke up, because Fundy was nice and handsome and had attachment issues to rival his own.

They didn’t break up.

Dream didn’t know if he loved Fundy, but he liked him enough, so he said yes, and he helped plan the wedding and he picked out a lacy white dress.

They didn’t have a chapel in their town, so Fundy paid someone from a town over a mountain to come and build one with golden peaks and pearlescent white paint. It was huge and pristine and wasn’t anything like Dream’s old home.

Sapnap flitted around Dream, looking both proud and anxious, smoking like a bonfire. Wilbur showed up, Tommy nowhere in sight. He was cagey about where he had been, but for once, Dream didn’t really care. The voice in the back of his head was pleasantly silent, for once and he was relishing it.

He was getting married.

The night before, he had a nightmare about tinted glasses and blue sweaters and brown hair that looked nothing like Fundy’s red fur.

In the morning he woke up next to him and pretended it never happened. He was getting married.

Dream felt like he was half asleep while walking down the aisle. Everything felt soft around the edges, the officiant- Wilbur? Did he know that Wilbur was going to be the officiant? That didn’t feel like something that Fundy would have left out when he was explaining to Dream the plan, but he couldn’t remember…

Was that weird? Your horrible dad marrying you to a man who’d fist fought his little brother?

The shoulders of his dress pulled a bit, and the bouquet felt heavy in his arms, like he was holding a rock.

Fundy was smiling wide enough that Dream could see his sharp canine teeth and tears were gathering in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over at any time. Dream realised, with a start, he was crying too.

But he wasn’t sure why.

Wilbur was talking and Dream tried in vain to listen to what he was saying, he was sort of slurring his words, and Dream wondered if he was drunk, or high, “by the power invested in me by the state of server and this weird suit thing, I now pronounce you partners-”

God, what if this was a terrible mistake?

“In marriag-”

“I object!”

Dream whipped around, his vision clearing as gasps went up throughout the church. Some people were standing, looking around wildly, half open mouths. It didn’t take Dream long to locate the achingly familiar voice.

George stood in the aisle, rose petals crushed beneath his feet. He had changed in the two years they’d been separated, hair darker and a bit longer, his jawline sharper. He was beautiful.

Dream stepped back as he marched up to the altar and stood between Dream and Fundy. Wilbur leaned on the podium, smirking, “yeah, you missed the objecting part, we did that.” he snorted. He didn’t seem concerned at all, amusement flickering in his eyes. Dream didn’t even try and stop George from shoving him, saying,

“Oh, well, I object anyway.” as he did so.

George turned to Dream with all the passion and fierceness in his eyes as when he was kid, “Off the stage!” he muttered, pushing Dream towards one of the offshoot passageways that lended them the semblance of privacy.

Dream could hear Fundy behind him, but for whatever reason, he didn’t move to follow Dream and George. The panic of the gathered people rose and he could hear the buzz of gossip that would surely be spread to anyone who wasn’t already there by midnight tonight.

“George!” he said once they stopped, “What are you doing?” his voice broke then, the emotions that had been building inside him finally breaking out.

“I can’t let you marry him.” George said simply.

“No!” Dream hissed, “That’s not good enough! You left me two years ago, you can’t just show up now out of the blue and crash my wedding-”

“I love you!” George yelled. Loud enough that it dimmed the onlookers. Dream though he could pick out the hitch in Fundy’s breathing from everyone else’s.

Dream stared at George. God. it was rich, wasn’t it? The moment Dream thought he might have the briefest chance of a normal life, something came out of the blue to ruin it. He couldn’t even really be angry, because it was George and he had loved him since he was a kid and no one could ever change that or overcome that. Between George and Fundy, it would always be George.

But no. George was not allowed to barge into his life after two years like this. It wasn’t fair.

“No.” he said out loud.

“No?” George repeated, sounding confused.

“No. I’m not doing this with you right now.” he pushed away from George and back out into the commotion. Everyone stared at him. A few people surrounded Fundy, comforting him, Phliza had a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. Sapnap stood looking guilty.

Of course, Dream should’ve known that his friend was still in contact with George.

“I had to do this!” George shouted after him.

“It’s a mockery to the wedding!” Dream shouted back at him. Fundy crept forward, his face was stricken and betrayed. Dream only now saw the dark circles under his eyes from the endless nights he had spent planning the perfect wedding.

Prime, this wasn’t fair.

“Dream,” he whispered, his voice sounding hollow, “you don’t love him, right?” he smiled weakly on the last word. The tiniest bit of hope. Dream felt his heart pulse in his chest.

He didn’t know what to do. Lie? tell the truth and break his heart? In the end, he did the one thing he had always been good at.

He ran.

Later that night, he found George at a pub on the outskirts of the town and sat with him silently. He had a bag of clothes and the few important possessions he had kept with him from his childhood. They didn’t talk, but when the sun rose, they left together.

Twenty one years old

“George, I think these carrots are ready to be harvested?” Dream called to the cottage.

George poked his head out from the screen door and ambled down the stone path to the garden, he kneeled next to Dream and pushed his hands into the dirt, putting up a single large orange carrot, speckled with dark soil.

“Yup, these look ready,” he affirmed. Together they worked to gather them all, carrying armfuls back inside and dumping them into the sink.

“I’m going to make some carrot cake,” Dream mused, “and maybe some soup, we can freeze it for winter.”

“You do that,” George agreed, he patted him on the shoulder and headed to the living room, “I’m going to take a nap,” he muttered, collapsing onto the mossy sofa, sending a shower of dirt from the garden across the cushions.

Dream smiled fondly and started to work on washing all of the carrots, before setting aside which he would bake with and which he would keep fresh. He found that routine was his greatest saviour in this slow life. It kept the voice in his head at bay, the one that wanted to rip and tear. Recently, it had been stronger than ever, filed by letters from Sapnap on the state of the greater Dreamsmp and the new country that Tommy and Wilbur had apparently been working to construct.

The rudimentary planning of the two, one of which seemed to be developing anger issues and the other who, according to Sapnap, was definitely getting used, wasn’t yet a concern. Dream worried about what would happen if more people joined besides Dream’s strange little cousin.

(Of course, Tubbo wasn’t aware of their familial connection, which was only by way of adoption, and Dream wasn’t planning to tell him. Unless it became a need)

He couldn’t lose control of the SMP, he was the only thing standing between the citizens of the server and the greater forces that were seeking to destroy them.

He looked back to George, sleeping peacefully. He couldn’t lose this.

He made a smallish carrot cake, just enough for them to split (or more likely, for them to split and then Dream to relent the rest of his slice to George as well) then he cleaned all of his shoes he had used in the process, and then the entire kitchen beyond it, whipping down the wood of the cabinets and shining the faucet to a gleam.

After that, he went and watered all the plants, and sharped the arrow tips in the hunting shed. He didn’t use his sword anymore, there was no need to protect himself, and George was usually too tired to swordfight.

He was just finishing filling the feed bins for the horses when he heard a scream.

In a flash he was at George’s side, kneeling on the floor next to the sofa, the screen door rattling from where he had thrown it open.

“What's wrong?” He asked, his eyes wild and concerned behind his mask,

“I- fuck, sorry,” George stammered, he was shivering slightly, but didn’t seem harmed, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I had a nightmare.” He explained. “It’s nothing. It’s fine,” he said.

Dream stood and sat next to George on the sofa, wrapping an arm around him in a half embrace and letting him rest his head on his shoulder.

“What was it about?” He asked, “I always find talking about nightmares makes them less scary.”

“You have so much experience.” George snorted.

Dream did, actually, nightmares about his friends dying, Puffy getting hurt, the world ending. Most of his dreams were centred around a floating mask with XD written across it.

“Well,” George began, “I was looking for you, in the wood we used to play in as kids? And I saw someone up ahead with this green robe thing, and I thought he was you - but when I reached him he turned around and his mask was different and- and everyone got like. Really loud? And he was screaming and like, glowing? I think? I’m not sure, but it was very um. Upsetting.” George wrung his hands in his lap and looked up at Dream. “What?”

Dream’s blood turned to ice and he was looking at George through unseeing eyes. Carefully and gently, he pulled George into a hug, he pushed away his mask and nuzzled his nose in the crook of George’s neck. George let out a tiny gasp of air, then wrapped his arms around Dream and held him back.

He was crying.

Dream hated that he was making him cry. He thought he would have more time, maybe he would have enough time that he could live out a life with George before the Smiling God found him again.

He reached up, and placed a hand over George’s eyes. Then he pulled back and looked at him in a way that he hadn’t been able to through the mask.

“Can I kiss you?” He said quietly.

“Don’t ask, idiot.” George said.

Dream kissed him for the first time. Long and short and filled with a lifetime of want. It was a hello in place of a goodbye. When George kissed him back, Dream knew that he knew. His tears mingled with Dream’s on their lips. When he lifted his hand, George’s eyes stayed closed, his eyelashes fluttering on his cheek.

Dream picked up his mask and pulled it back on, and he stood from the sofa and went to the attic, where, through the boxes of winter ready wool blankets and clothes, he found a diamond sword.

George was sitting on the sofa still when he came back downstairs and they stared at each other for a long time.

“Be safe, Dream.” George said.

And that was that.

Twenty two years old

It was storming, the night Dream escaped from Pandora’s Vault.

Word spread like wildfire across the server.

No one knew where he had gone. Tommy was cowering with Philza, who had been manically resetting the protection wards around his house. Technoblade was missing in action, Ranboo was dead. Sam was laying low, incapable of standing the humiliation of the night.

Sapnap had been the one to tell George, and did so with the bitterness of a sharpened metal blade. Dream and him had lost each other a long time ago. Sapnap seemed happier now, he was with Karl, and maybe Quackity, although they didn’t talk much now, Sapnap seemed convinced that they were still married.

Karl could barely remember his name half of the time, growing more distant every time George visited him.

The wind and rain buffeted George up the hill, tearing at his clothes and hair. He dropped his glasses miles ago, left behind in some mud puddle, and the world was a swirl of blues and greys.

At the top of the hill, ensnared in clouds like an eye, sat the old church. It had been years since it had been lived in, and many more before since people had been on pews and bowed their heads.

The stained glass window was broken, shattered glass was sprinkled across the dried grass, and a chair was sitting in the middle of the wreckage, most likely thrown out the window in a fit of rage.

George pushed open the door slowly, the house was silent like a grave.

But George could feel the call, and he crept up the creaking wooden steps to the second floor. He could sense, almost, the aeons of times that he had walked up these stairs, happy and sad and every emotion in between, ready and hoping to find Dream sitting on his bed with a book, or at his desk looking for an excuse to not do his homework.
He’d never not wanted to see Dream. It was like he was a star and George was stuck in his gravitational orbit. Now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to find, his heart clenched with it.

Dream was crouched beside an empty bed frame, curled up like a dead insect.

When George entered the room, Dream shot up with the speed of an injured animal who was ready to bite. He was ragged, and George let out a horrified hiss of air from his lungs before he could stop himself.

He was horrible to look at.

His hair was grown out long and matted, dark brown with filth instead of his normal shining blonde. His horns - prime - his horns were broken and shattered in painful looking jagged ends. His ears too, were cut, the same way you’d mark cattle. The mask was cracked, and it looked like he had taped and glued it together with any number of sticky things, in some horrible, desperate attempt of…something.

When he realised it was George, he dropped the wooden club that he had grabbed, and it rolled to the wall with sickening slowness.

His shoulders drooped, and shudders raked through his body. George swept towards the room and together they sank to the floor, a mess.

“Why are you here,” Dream muttered dully.

“For you.” George said, spreading an open palm against Dream’s back and pulling him closer.

Dream pushed back, “what,” he laughed crookedly. “To kill me? It won’t work, I’m already dead in any way that matters.”

“What- Dream, why would I kill you?” George asked earnestly, his mind reeling.

“What else would you want with me George?” Dream asked. And in those few words, George felt all of hurt from the past months of separation, the guilt of not visiting him in prison flared in his stomach. He’d been to suck up with himself, sleeping near constantly, his nightmares had only grown worse since the cottage days.

“I want to help you.” George said.

“You can’t.” Dream said simply, he pushed away and made to stand, but George grabbed him by his ripped collar and pulled him back to him.

“It’s XD, right?” he said in a rush, “you were controlled, or, turned or- something by him, right?”

Dream froze, “how-”

“He told me.”

“What.” The voice that came out of Dream then was like nothing George had heard before, deep and guttural and animal-like.

“I mean, he didn’t say that outright but, he made hints and, I mean, Dream, I’m not an idiot, he looks just like you-”

“How long have you been seeing him,” Dream interrupted.

“Since, I don't know, in dreams, since I was maybe seventeen, he only started actually appearing to me after you left.” George answered. He didn’t understand why this information was so important.

“Fuck George.” Dream stood up and started to pace, “Fuck!”

“What?”

“He only started talking to you because I liked you, we’re fucking, connected, we feel the same emotions, I had a crush on you, so he got attached to you too, this is all my fault. I tried to stop it, I left you alone, I thought- but it wasn’t enough!” his voice broke and he doubled over, hugging his arms to his chest as sobs racked his body.

“But, Dream,” George stood, and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes, “don’t you get it? This means I can help you. We can go somewhere in the server where no one knows us, and we can tell XD to fuck all the way off.”

“You can’t do that, he is a god,” Dream said weakly.
“And he likes me, remember, he listens to me. I’ll tell him to leave you the fuck alone, and we can be safe and together.”

“It won’t work,” Dream said.

“It might work, I’m willing to try.” George continued. “Let me try,” he pleaded.

Dream sagged, and then laughed wetly, “Fine, fuck George, try.” he reached up. And with zero ceremony, ripped off his broken mask. His face underneath was red from crying, and his eyes were green.

He was smiling.