Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You know, Daz thinks to himself, it really should be much harder than it has been to lie to an entire server so thoroughly.

Since he locked Innit away again, he's been busy. He's gotten his enchantment removed, reluctantly settled on a therapist, moved into a group home while he figured out where he wanted an actual home, and started working on a little side project.

Okay, well– it's more like making a job for himself. It has not escaped his notice that learning anything about this clusterfuck of a server is a goddamned nightmare.

The flow of information is abysmal. If he were wanting to capitalize on that, he'd be thrilled they were making it so easy for him.

Unfortunately for him, he's trying to set up what's basically an unauthorized militia, helmed by a secret council of similarly batshit insane idiots.

He really can't afford for the public at large to freak out over little details like arming and training a large group of people. Even if it's in defense of a pretty well-liked kid, some will be uneasy about even more power being put in the hands of the Was-Taken family.

It would be understandable, but he really does need the rest of the server to be mostly chill, or at least unwilling to interfere, with his new life’s work. He can’t afford to have others up in arms about how it’s leading up to some kind of hostile takeover.

Though, to be fair, the Was-Taken family seems fairly well liked. Maybe it helps that every single resident, in some capacity, owes their lives to DayDream.

Goddamned time travel. He had to hide in a claustrophobia-inducing blackstone room to have a little mini breakdown when he heard the particulars of how Lucid and DayDream were the same goddamned person whose timeline had split when Vio decided to do some spite-based reformation.

He’d never really wanted to drink before, and the idea of being out of control scares him shitless, but it had been tempting.

Whatever. He’s going to continue the proud tradition of Sanctuary forcibly making things better by helming the soon-to-be-realized Welcome Wagon. There needs to be a coherent, comprehensive group in charge of making sure people understand basic shit about the server. The chaos is unacceptable and likely to cause a magnificent cockup cascade that ends in everything blowing up.

From what Daz has been able to gather, there was nobody willing and/or able to do it up until now. Those with better knowledge of the server all had their own shit they did or were simply…unsuitable for the task in some way. Newer people who might have more reason to want to are skittish, trying to work their their trauma and carve out a semblance of peace.

Not to mention the scope of the task. It needs someone smart, organized, able to adapt, and willing to be both stubborn and gentle.

Upon making a proposal for it to the server managers, the collective group of Orpheus, Zinn, Aryll, Aver, Helio, and Vio– a Wilbur-as-Tubbo (he’s not a whole hell of a lot closer to understanding how the fuck that works, even AFTER learning more about DayDream’s batshit life story), a Tubbo, a Ranboo (a very odd-looking endfolk who seemed utterly ignorant of basic endfolk mannerisms), another Tommy, and two Purpleds– had seemed near tears and looked at him like a hero.

He can’t say he hated that kind of attention.

It's a little funny that nobody has realized what he's actually like. He’d figured at least one person, the persistent thorn in his side notwithstanding, would sniff him out. Nope! They just seem sad that he’s so different from every other Tommy on the server.

Nobody would suspect that happy, bubbly, slightly dumb Daz, he with a heart of gold, is arguably one of the biggest potential threats the server has ever seen. Just the idea sounds insane, let alone it being true.

But it is. He’s smart– smarter than anyone has ever given him credit for. Admittedly, he's currently hiding it on purpose. It’s more effective to work from the shadows for…basically everything he’d have any interest in doing.

That's the deception that nobody has caught on to; he’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. A friendly smile and faux kindness hide a mind wickedly sharp with teeth to match.

Lucky for everyone, he’s not going to be using his false persona to slit all of their throats and make it stick.

Sure, that's only because he decided to abandon his original plan, but nobody needs to know that bit.

His priorities have changed. He's decided to protect, not destroy.

…Well, maybe a little destruction. If anyone fucks around, Daz is more than happy to sink his claws into their mind and rip them in half. They'll never know it was him. They'll only know that they’re spiraling into a nightmarish abyss of pain and suffering within the confines of their own head.

He’s good at selecting the perfect knives to bury into a person’s weak spots. He’s even better at digging until their regrets spill out like blood. It’s fun, in a strange way, to see someone fall to pieces because of him.

To get to a place where he can do that, though, he needs allies.

Allies like…Aster.

God, he’s fucking insufferable. The asshole very obviously doesn’t buy his act, despite Daz knowing for a fact he’s been talked to about it by more than a few people. Aster’s continued and annoying determination to find proof of his secretly evil intentions is driving him insane.

If Aster isn’t convinced to cooperate, the entire plan is dead in the water. Not just the Lee protection group, but Daz’s goals as a whole.

The two of them share a goal and several key life events. It’s not a lot, but it's enough to be an opening. Daz can’t afford to work on his own for this. The scale of the task, the different masks he’d need to don, and the price of failure are simply too incompatible with being a lone wolf.

If he can get Aster on board, that will be the biggest hurdle cleared. But the guy is not going to take what he has to say well for several reasons.

First, though, he has to get to a spot he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt is secure. He can’t risk someone walking in on him during the little chat they’re going to have.

It’s a long, boring trek through the nether on a ‘bonding trip’ to ‘work out their differences’, supposedly for Daz to show him something really cool he’d found. Theo had been utterly delighted by the idea, as had Achilles. The two of them had lowkey bullied Aster into agreeing, which is very fucking funny.

He fills the journey with chatter, putting on a show for the perpetual audience that is San that he’s completely and utterly forgiven Aster for any slights against him. He’s the dumb, bubbly idiot that tries to be everyone’s friend, and he can tell Aster hates it.

By the time he rounds a corner and gives a delighted, “Here it is!” Aster looks pretty much done with him.

“...A bastion?” Given that Aster’s ability to properly emote has been permanently dulled, it’s said with an impressive amount of dismay. “You dragged me through the nether for half an hour to see a bastion? Why?!”

Daz beams at him and grabs onto his arm. “It’s really cool, trust me– you have to see it,” he promises as he drags the other Tommy into the blackstone structure.

The second he’s gotten far enough into the bastion that he’s sure San can’t see them, he spins around. He drops both his hold on Aster’s arm and his own false persona in an instant, the cold calculation he usually hides now clearly visible.

“We share a goal; Achilles should be protected at all costs. I want to bring together those that feel the same way. There are plenty– he’s unknowingly done most of the work already. It’s really just a matter of making it something official, something concrete.”

Aster stares at him for several moments, and Daz notes that he subtly shifts the sword in his hand to be better able to swing it.

He flicks his eyes back to Aster’s and adds, “My Dream extended his hand to become my mentor during Pogtopia. He wanted me to be his co-admin, his equal. Or, at least, that’s how it started. I learned everything he knew. But you and I…?”

Daz pauses, pulling up his hoodie sleeve to show the bloodstone and gold scrollwork cuff that he wears in memory of what he’s lost. “We had the same breaking point. I made sure Dream regretted forcing my hand.”

The other Tommy really looks at the cuff for the first time. Though his expressions are muted, they still convey his surprise when he realizes what Daz means. “Tubbo.” It’s not a question, but Daz answers anyway. “Yes.”

There’s a deep breath from Aster, and then he gives a quiet huff of laughter. “...I thought you seemed off.” No fucking shit; the guy couldn’t be more obvious about it if he tried. “I could tell.”

Aster’s eyes narrow. “And, what, you can just…read me?” That just makes him roll his eyes; you’d have to be blind not to realize that Aster has some kind of issue with him. “I can read everyone, more or less, because I’ve spent a lot of time studying their tells. It’s not my fault none of you bothered to learn that language.” Daz watches Aster actively attempt to smother any microexpressions he makes, like that would make any real difference.

“You’re going to need to spend a long time staring at your own face before that might actually work. But that’s not why I dragged you out here. I’m the only person here who understands exactly the sort of risk that Lucid poses. Nobody else has learned, firsthand, the tools that that kind of admin can wield if he decides to turn against you.”

He sees the moment Aster understands his implication. “Yours was the same kind of admin. Then you were a–” “A mod, and before you ask, it didn’t transfer. I could understand enough of what Day and Lucid were saying to piece together that things are largely the same. Except Dream didn’t speak to the world. That part is weird.”

He raps his knuckles against the blackstone next to him and adds, “He could see everything in the same way, though. And was also blocked by this stuff. I’d bet mine was blocked by obsidian, too.”

Aster watches him for several long moments and then asks warily, “...What is it you want me to do, exactly?”

The smile Daz gives is a little unsettling, judging from the way there’s a slight tensing of Aster’s hand around his sword. “I want to make a group to protect Achilles, no matter the cost. Not everyone is as…devoted, as you are. But I see a lot of people who are lost, who are adrift, who need a purpose. With enough people, it doesn’t matter if half of them are there for other reasons.”

He can see the way Aster is trying to figure out his motives, and why he’s explaining so much. It makes him scoff, even as his attention is drawn by a nearby piglin patrolling.

His chest aches at the knowledge that the ones he knew are probably dead, or as good as. Dream…won’t last. He’ll die, slowly caving in on himself until he gives up or slips up.

Grief surges, fierce and violent as a tempest. Why, after everything he’d done, everything he’s sacrificed, did it come to this? Why does he have to live with the burden of knowing he was loved enough that it killed the one person he swore to protect no matter what?

…Why isn’t he allowed to have anything good?

“Kindness,” he says after a long moment of watching the mob, “is rare. Selfless kindness is rarer. Everything you want to call your own must first be ripped from the cruel, jealous, greedy grasp of life. Is it so impossible that I’m being honest about wanting to protect that impossible, delicate kindness that Achilles has?”

The cost to himself doesn’t matter. He’s a lost cause– too broken by now. It had been such a gradual change that he never noticed, but now, seeing other versions of himself…

He’s different, and not in a good way. A powerful way, sure, but that power is not good. Nor is it nice, nor even well intentioned. If he felt the need to, he could and would crush this entire server under his heel, one carefully spoken lie at a time.

The mind is easier to break than most realize. Everyone has cracks, flaws, openings– and Daz can’t not see them. If he wanted to, he could split Aster open and spill the contents of his worst nightmares onto the blackstone brick floor.

…He hates the sight of the block. It’s too achingly familiar, tied to too many memories of happiness and a home that he had finally grabbed hold of.

Then it was ripped away at the last second by the person who he had trusted more than anyone else.

“...And you need me for this,” Aster asks, slowly. “Yes,” Daz answers easily, trying to shake off the lingering, bitter grasp of his memories. “Do you really need me to list why?”

He judges he muted expressions on the other Tommy’s face and sighs loudly. Apparently he does need to do that. “Fine, okay then. Let’s start with you realizing I’m off– even if I did everything else myself, you’d ferret out the truth eventually. Next up is the fact I can’t and won’t do it myself. It’s too…big. What I want is a system where a select few people can gently tweak the workings of the larger group from behind the scenes. Not just the two of us, obviously. More will be needed.”

Daz idly pops his fingers as he speaks and watches the way Aster is reacting to his words. No excessive tension that indicates a spike in anger, which is good. “Next up is the way you’re smart, strong, respected, and already have a presence. If you give even lukewarm acceptance of a group like this, it’s lent a lot of legitimacy. If you actively reject it, then Theo would eventually take your side, then his family, then the rest of the server. If you’re a part of something like this but not the leader, the question becomes ‘well, why not?’ So I want you to be–”

Aster laughs once, disbelievingly. “You really think I’d let you make me a…what, empty figurehead?” With a withering look, Daz tells him, “No, dipshit, I want you to be the public head and one of the private ones.” “Ah, and exactly what duties is it that you want me to have?” Despite the muted emotions in Aster’s voice, Daz can hear his barely concealed contempt as clear as day.

It makes him roll his eyes again. “The answer to your actual question is equal but separate areas of power, with the rest of the group acting as checks, balances, and nth amount of other perspectives. Your literal question is, yes, being the one who people think of when they think of the main group. Other than that…at first, it’s figuring out how to organize everyone. I have ideas, but…well. People can be messy, and desperate people who need a life raft even moreso. The goal is to protect Lee, so there will need to be some sort of guard rotation. Then there’s making sure they can actually handle themselves in a situation where Lee is at risk.”

The other Tommy frowns faintly, clearly not having expected that. “...So an actual leader.” “Yes, obviously.” “And…what, you’re second in command?”

Daz gives a single, loud bark of laughter, and gestures emphatically at his pastel hoodie. “Bitch, do I look like I’m worth a shit in a fight?”

He pauses, gives a soft hum, and starts again. “No, sorry– do the active choices I’m making in shaping every facet of my fake personality make it seem that that person can actually fight? If your answer is anything but no, then you’re an idiot, and we both know you’re far smarter than you get credit for. No, no…I don’t plan to be part of the perceived inner circle at all. I will be drawn in by the lure of a growing group of people with a cause I believe in, but I’m really just there to make friends. I listen, I learn, I convince people to spill their guts to me bit by bit.”

For a few long moments, the two of them stare at each other.

Finally, Aster asks him, “...What’s your plan if I say no?”

Daz glances at the curtain of lava visible through an opening in the blackstone. Somewhere deep inside, there’s a push for him to jump into it.

He ignores it and looks back. “There isn’t one. If I fuck this up, then frankly…I’m not staying. I’ll…ask them to send me somewhere else. Start a cult, walk into the ocean, fuck if I know. I was already planning to die.”

Aster visibly flinches at the blunt statement, and Daz laughs again, humorlessly. “I’ve never been able to actually ask until now, but…what did your enchantment feel like?” “Pressure, sort of. It got worse the harder I fought,” Aster tells him. Then he asks, “...Yours?”

“Ah.” Daz sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pale yellow hoodie. Just the walk here has smudged it with ash and soot, perfectly conveying how little his fake persona gets his hands dirty.

He opts not to mention to Aster that from that description, there's a non-zero chance his enchantment was briefly stabilized into something close to his loyalty enchantment. It seems like he would take that information badly. Instead, he says of the pre-stabilized version, “...It was like being slowly ripped apart. Atomized, bit by agonizing bit. It…wasn’t meant for that. It shouldn’t have been used at all.”

He forces his expression to deaden and his voice to lose all inflection, because he’s not going to say anything more about it. He doesn’t want to get into that part of it, not now, ideally not ever.

“And I’m not explaining why that is. You have your secrets, I have mine. If you decide to tell them to me someday, fantastic. Good for you. Mine are being locked away where I never have to confront them again.”

“You had a hand in making whatever happened to you, didn’t you?” Daz stares at him, still emotionless. This is exactly the sort of reason why he needs Aster on his side. “I just said I’m not discussing it. Keep your theories to yourself. We don’t have to be friends or even like each other. It’s a mutually beneficial partnership to keep a bundle of sunshine with strong opinions on bandaids from getting within a hundred chunks’ worth of any actual danger. I’m the only one who can defend against Lucid, because I doubt even he is aware of everything he can do.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

Daz lets his emotions return with a soft huff of laughter. Prime, if only Aster knew the sort of things he’d seen and done.

He’s good at whatever he puts his mind to. If he decides to do something, he throws every bit of himself into mastering it. Fighting, code, manipulation– anything and everything that he chose to put serious effort into, he figures out how to do it as best as possible.

He had needed to, because first he had needed to make up for the deficit of having little to no guidance for…pretty much anything. After that, after he did have someone who actually gave a shit about teaching him, he needed to be able to stand proudly at Dream’s side. He had felt a burning drive to prove his worthiness to his once-mentor.

And more than a few of those skills had become useful in his efforts to show Dream exactly what kind of monster he had created.

He’s one who doesn’t have a heart, not any more. Not after his once-mentor had ripped it out of Daz’s chest and called it protection.

…As much as a part of himself hisses at him to plunge himself in the lava until he stops respawning, he can’t and won’t give in.

Not unless he’s miscalculated here. Not unless he’s thrown somewhere else entirely.

Not unless it would stick.

He smiles at Aster, a sharp thing that makes it clear that he’s nowhere near as weak as he’s pretended to be. “Let’s just say that I know admins. I know admin Dreams the best, and luckily for you– I’ve already proven there are enough similarities here that my experience is useful.”

Aster’s lip curls slightly. “You haven’t given any examples.” “Why should I? The way I see it, I’m already handing a solution to you on a silver platter. Who’s more dangerous– me, or the guy who can alter your soul?”

The other version of himself grips his sword and shifts his weight, but Daz darts forward to grab his arm. He hisses, “Don’t be stupid. If I respawn with my clothes fucked up after entering a San-proof box with you, you’ll get reamed out by at least half a dozen people. You realize it’d be really fucking easy to make you into an unstable, untrustworthy asshole, right? After going on a ‘bonding trip’ to show you a cool place I found, I get attacked. Nobody will believe your side of the story. That’ll compound your perceived crimes– until Theo, Day, and everyone else question if you can be trusted to be around Lee at all.”

He lets go and takes a step back. “If you’re going to reject me, at least give me a challenge.”

Aster’s blue-grey eyes are nearly mutinous. “You’re a sociopath.” “Nooo, really? I hadn’t fucking noticed,” Daz snaps back.

“You’ll slip up eventually.” “Hah! That’s funny. I spent months learning how to lie to the face of the person who knew me the best, picking apart his expressions and my own until I can just…”

Once again, Daz makes his face go blank. “It was a game. I’m good at games, and I’m better when I have a concrete incentive to play. You think you can beat me? In a game you don’t understand, against someone who’s already stacked the deck in his favor?”

With a scoff, Aster backs up half a step. “You’re underestimating me.” Again, he rolls his eyes and lets his emotions return. “Pot, kettle, black. If I was underestimating you, I wouldn’t have made this offer. Frankly, I don’t like you. The feeling is clearly mutual. But you’re a person that will make or break this. What do you think will happen if you reject me, and something goes wrong with Lucid? Do you know what it looks like when an admin loses his mind? Do you know how to circumvent an admin? Do you even know what admins can do?”

“Right, like yours told you–” Daz reaches out and grabs onto the front of Aster’s stupid sleeveless hoodie. “I was being genuinely, sincerely trained to stand by his side. I know more about admins than you could even dream of–” “It’s not like you’re one of them–”

Daz leans in, voice going quiet and intense, “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m the same as Day, the same as Lucid, the same as Dream. I have the same spark in my soul– the same capacity to create a server. I’ve used the same tools, felt the same instincts, and most important, know how they think.”

Aster has gone very, very still. “...Bullshit.” “Did you know that mobs love their admins? They love them so much that even the most hostile of mobs won’t attack their admin first. It’d be stupid if they did, anyway– the admin dies, the server dies, they die. It’d be suicidal. But some mobs…”

He steps towards a piglin, who snorts at him warily. Reaching into his inventory, he offers a golden carrot. In their own tongue, he tells them, <”A gift, as thanks for allowing us to be in your home.”>

The piglin startles, and then asks, <”You know our language?”> <”I learned from your kin. I was a young-god, bored and lonely. I found friends among your kin, and they were kind enough to teach me.”>

He makes a familiar gesture; hand outstretched, palm up, his other raised to rest over his heart. <”My sounder is lost to me, but I carry their lessons in my heart.”>

The piglin puts their crossbow away and makes the same gesture. <”I’m sorry to hear of your loss. We will mourn them, too.”>

Daz smiles. It’s been a while since he was able to speak like this; it feels nice. <”Thank you. Your kindness is accepted and welcomed.”> He pulls half a stack of glistening melon out, and says, <”While it’s small…I hope that you will use these to celebrate the health and happiness of your own sounder.”>

The piglin hesitates, but accepts the items. <”I’ve never seen these before.”> <”They come from the overworld. I wasn’t sure if I’d need to bribe anyone– my companion is…a bit slow.”>

They peer over at Aster. <”Has he learned our language, too?”> <”No. He, like most other players, was unaware of your rich, vibrant culture. I’m trying to make a deal with him, but he’s…stubborn.”>

They snort, nodding a few times. <”You did not seem to be getting along with him.”> <”He was saying things that angered me. He doesn’t see the value in the deal I offer, because he doesn’t know such a thing can exist.”>

Their next snort is less kind. <”Are you sure it’s wise to barter with someone like that?”> <”Unfortunately, his help is crucial. I just have to convince him that I’m speaking the truth.”>

A few moments of silence pass, and then Daz repeats his earlier gesture. <”Forgive me for my rudeness, but I need to return to my negotiations. He may grow impatient if I take too long.”>

Unexpectedly, the piglin reaches out to grasp his arm. <”Are you to become a god here?”>

It surprises him. It really shouldn’t, because the prospect of an admin who is so aware of their culture would be very appealing to them.

He shakes his head. <”No. They are unaware that I am able to be one. I want to keep it that way.”>

Despite their disappointment, the piglin bows their head. <”As you wish. I have only heard rumors of the one here, but nothing about him knowing us. It would have been a blessing, to have one as well-versed as you are.”>

They sigh, and lightly knock their head together. <”Well met, golden one. May your life be as rich as your hair.”>

A strange sense of loss creeps into his chest as the piglin walks away. He’s heard that farewell before– so many times that it almost makes him forget that this isn’t one of the mobs he grew so fond of.

He’s startled by Aster suddenly grabbing his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” <”That was–”> He blinks, shakes his head, and restarts in English, “Some mobs are fully sapient. Piglins are smart, with rich cultures and their own language.”

“And you– what did you talk to that one about?” He shrugs a shoulder; he’s not going to get into the details of his trauma with this asshole. “This and that. It’s not important.”

He pokes at the other Tommy’s chest. “What is important is that I’ve shown you about a dozen of my cards. I can’t force you to believe that I have a spark, or that I’m being sincere. But you should have some sort of idea that I’m not completely bullshitting you. Even if I am leading you into some elaborate trap– which I’m not, if I was I wouldn’t be talking to you like this– the fact is that I’m the best defense you have. That Achilles has.”

After a long moment, Aster sighs. Reluctantly, he asks, “...How many people is it that you plan on, for this group of…shadowy leaders? Secret cabal?” “Five. Large enough that things can be fairly easily divided without getting too messy, small enough that I believe I can actually train people in how to lie well.”

Aster bristles. “I can lie just fine–” “Not to anyone who knows how to really look. There aren’t that many of them, but the resident sleep paralysis demon is one of them. You really think you can fool him?”

The glare he gets, paired with a lack of rebuttal, makes Daz smirk slightly. “Yeah, exactly. He’s good, but he’s…soft. Used to power. But he’s also pulled in a lot of different directions. By the time he really thinks to look too closely, he won’t be able to find a single crack in the facade.”

He steps forward, shoulders thrown back, chin raised, and spine straight. It’s the posture of someone who is confident but not cocky about their skill. It’s the posture of someone who has drawn a line in the sand and won’t be budged for love nor money.

It’s a posture cobbled together from people he had admired, once upon a time. Techno-Schlatt-Wilbur-Dream, a quartet of those who taught him a bounty of bitter, painful lessons.

Family won’t be there. The real person is so much worse than the pretty image they show others. Those you love will hurt you.

And if you can’t defend them, your hard-won victories will be ripped away.

It seems it’s a posture Aster knows all too well, because he grips his sword tighter. “...You really are his student, aren’t you?”

Daz laughs once, without any humor. “Not any more. I’m the one who taught him, by the end.”

His smile falls away, the rest of the emotions following suit. “He was desperate to appease my wrath. He thought he could withstand it, power through it. No. He learned that you do not fuck with me and get to live in peace. If I had known I had another way out…I would have taught that to a few others, too. It was on the agenda. A shame they never saw just how right they were by calling me a monster.”

He extends a hand and asks, softly, “How much of a monster are you willing to become? I’m an impossible thing, and we both know it. There will never be another person like me, for better and for worse. Is your mistrust worth risking his safety and happiness? Is it worth the chance that he could become anything like us?”

Aster stares at his face, then flicks his gaze down to the hand being offered.

Even before he shakes it, Daz knows he’s won.

Chapter Text

You know, Aster thinks to himself, he really, really misses the fucking mask.

Or– whatever the hell Daz, the definitely-a-sociopath he’s joined hands with, wants to call his seemingly effortless ability to act. Now that he’s seen at least a peek at what skills his…whatever the fuck you would call their dynamic– now that he’s seen what Daz is capable of?

He was absolutely right to think he was suspicious as hell. He’s also rapidly risen the ranks to be among Aster’s least favorite people he’s ever had the displeasure of interacting with on a regular basis. The fact that Daz is supposedly on the same side doesn’t matter; he’s smug, calculating, and, perhaps worst of all, competent.

You’d think the last would be a benefit. No, actually; it’s really not. Because it means that Aster has a much harder time just gathering information on the schemes that the bastard has in motion so he can tell Theo about them. As annoying as he might be sometimes, his absolute devotion to his family is as much of a fact as his wings or his hair color.

Theo is blonde; Theo has wings; Theo loves his family.

The goal of shaking Daz’s hand had been to quietly get enough solid information to turn over to Theo, or possibly Day. It might still be– especially because Daz still seems to have a lot of secrets up his ugly, impractical, butter-yellow sleeves. The chance that Aster might be being manipulated just for fun isn’t impossible, either.

Fuck knows he’s not a stranger to getting yanked around for someone else’s amusement.

Sometimes Daz holds himself or speaks in a way that echoes Dream so strongly that Aster can feel hate rising up like bile. He verges on resolving himself to finally tell Theo everything. And then…Daz seems to realize that, because he does something to snap the rage in half.

Usually, it takes the form of actually fucking explaining himself. Daz has a habit of making moves on an invisible chessboard against potential enemies and roadblocks that Aster hadn’t noticed even existed.

When Daz does deign to walk through his thought process, Aster can’t even argue that those moves don’t make sense. The logic is perfectly, almost painfully sound. It’s just that he’s disturbed at how easily Daz seems to understand others, and more critically, how to exploit that knowledge for his own benefit.

This time, though, Daz just stares blankly at him.

Aster stares back from across the table in the room that they’re safely talking in. As he’s learned, pretty much everyone has at least one.

When an explanation doesn’t follow, Aster narrows his eyes slightly. “...Why is this what trips you up? You can’t seriously tell me you don’t already know who you want to be a part of this– whatever the fuck this even is.”

After another moment or two, Daz tells him, “I have candidates, and can explain why I think they’ll be good, but why the fuck would I just decide that on my own?” “Because you’re a smug asshole who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else,” Aster tells him.

Daz rolls his eyes. “You make it sound like that’s a hard bar to vault over. Most people are idiots.” “You’re proving my point.” “Because you’re right; I know I’m smug, I know I’m an asshole, and I know I’m smarter than a lot of others. Which is why it would be stupid to say we’re equal and then decide the other three fifths of the group on my own.”

It’s…weirdly reasonable.

And then Daz ruins it by popping open a nearby ender chest, withdrawing a half dozen or so folders, and dropping them on the table. “Here are my candidates.”

Aster stares down at the folders, and then slowly looks up. “...You’ve been waiting for me to ask, haven’t you?”

Daz beams at him. “Yes! And also doing research. Did you know that it’s really easy to get people to trust you if you seem like an idiot? It’s incredible. Nobody thinks ‘oh, this will be used against me’, they just assume I’m being nice because I’m a good person.”

Aaaand Aster has gone right back to hating him.

“You definitely aren’t,” he mutters under his breath, reluctantly starting to look through the files.

Daz laughs and agrees, “Obviously. But at least I’m the kind of monster that can listen to reason. For most things, anyway.” “And I’m sure that’s one of the reasons you ended up here–”

He doesn’t expect a butterfly knife to be opened and leveled at him. Every inch of the other Tommy oozes danger, despite his absurdly impractical clothes. It almost feels like the air shivers.

The expression he has is entirely blank– aside from his eyes, which regard him with open hostility. Daz’s voice is cold and clipped. “I have very few hard lines in the sand. Don’t ever imply I had it coming.”

A shudder goes down Aster’s spine. Is this how people fee when they talk to him? Because holy fuck, he feels a hell of a lot more sympathy for those unsettled by his muted ability to emote after seeing that.

After a moment or two, Daz sighs and expression returns to his face. He looks like he’s chewing on a lemon, eyes moving off to one side. “I’ve already told you what made me leave. I thought you, of all people, would understand.”

With a jolt, Aster remembers the thing that had made him decide to at least pretend to agree.

Right. Daz’s claim that they’ve both had their hands directly and unwillingly stained by the blood of their respective Tubbos.

Which…does kind of paint Aster as a gargantuan asshole here. Daz is evasive and cagey about a lot of shit. Throwing one of the few things he has shared back in his face is a nasty move. All but telling him that his Tubbo deserved to die is several lines too far for Aster.

“I didn’t mean– that’s not what I meant,” he says, quietly.

Daz studies him for a few moments, then huffs in annoyance. “Yeah, sure.” He clearly doesn’t want to delve into that topic, because he leans forward to spread the folders out enough that the names are visible.

“All of these people have, in one way or another, latched onto Lee as a liferaft. He gives them something that they feel they’re lacking. Nudge them the right way, any and every of them could turn into bedrock-strong allies who would choose death before they chose betrayal.”

Aster does a quick count of the names. “Six?” “Currently, yes. If we wait too long, some might find other, arguably healthier options. But there will also be new people cycling in, ones who are just as lost.”

His brow furrows a little. “...You said nudge the right way. What happens if that goes wrong?” “Everything blows up in our faces, we possibly get ejected from the server, and Lucid will be largely unchecked,” Daz answers, far too flippantly for Aster’s peace of mind.

“No pressure, then.” “Luckily, I’m good at watching others. A bit of a hobby of mine.” For a fraction of a second, Aster could swear a shadow crosses Daz’s eyes.

But before he can be sure it’s real or just the lighting, it’s gone. He knows that even if he had seen something and asked about it, Daz would deny it and likely evade any questions.

It’s not worth it. Let the guy keep his secrets about that; fuck knows Aster has plenty of his own.

His actions directly relating to Lee are much more important to dig into.

Aster flips open one of the folders and skims it. A Niki, it looks like; a merfolk whose pod had been cruelly slaughtered because they wouldn’t leave the bay they resided in. She had been the sole survivor because she had an argument with someone and left in a huff. When she came back a few hours later, everyone else was already dead.

Daz informs him, “She was close with a few of the younger merfolk. Two were the native Dream and Tommy. The only reason she returned rather than go down fighting on her thus far successful quest for revenge was that she was nearly fatally wounded. She heard Theo and Day’s voices and believed she was already dead.”

Fuck, that’s depressing. “So if she joined us, we’d be preying on the memories of her murdered loved ones.” “Yes.”

The easy agreement sends another shudder down Aster’s spine. That’s a fucking ugly road to go down, and he’s not sure he has the stomach for it.

He sets that folder aside and opens another at random.

A Puffy, this time. Despite the included picture being taken as she was turning away, it’s clear that something nasty happened to her. Her hair-wool and body-wool have patches that look wrong, one of her legs is prosthetic, and her horns are both broken.

Daz notes, “Shen is an Eggpocalypse survivor. She was the only one who made it out alive. A lot of guilt over it– especially over the Dream she knew. She saw herself as a mother figure to him, and when he was overtaken…”

“She thinks it’s her fault.” “Mhmm. I don’t know enough to be able to judge how rational that is.”

Aster’s eyes narrow a little. “But you have a suspicion.”

The other Tommy drums his fingers on the table a few times. Eventually, he sighs softly. “I think she played some part in it, yes.”

He’s not sure how he feels about it. Something about her raises Aster’s hackles; it feels like she would be a potential weak point.

If he’s going to be joining hands with Daz, he’s not going to be brought down by anything but turning that bastard in himself.

Sliding that folder to the far side, he grabs another.

Skimming the basic info, he feels his brows furrow faintly. “There’s two in this one.”

Daz tells him, “Khons and Aleph are attached at the hip– a two-for-one deal. Trying to bring only one of them in is stupid; they’d immediately flip on us. They’re cagey enough that I’ve had trouble learning much about them.”

He reaches across the table to tap on the picture of a gold-colored sheep hybrid and a dark-bristled piglin of some sort. They’re even less clearly visible than the Puffy had been, but their features are distinct enough that Aster remembers seeing them himself.

Daz continues, “They react badly to comments about their appearances, they don’t like many others, and they’re even more on guard around anyone who looks like a human.”

Upon reading the rest of the file, Aster is a bit surprised. Compared to some of the others, what Daz has been able to learn about these two does seem to be mostly secondhand info, but even that is sparse. Hell, a significant portion of the file is dedicated to theories.

Bringing in people who are that evasive sounds smart. It might take some doing to get them on board, but…fuck, as much as he hates to admit it, Daz is good at making things go his way.

And, well– he had to admit, a part of him wants to work with a Techno. He had been mythical, in a way. A legendary figure who could choose to act as he pleased.

The weeks that he spent working with him in Pogtopia had been nice. Sure, he was less thrilled about L’manburg getting attacked by withers, but…well.

In retrospect, the country was rotten to its core. Built on the backbone of Wilbur’s instability, the ruins of L’manburg should have been left well enough alone.

If Aster had been smart, he would have taken Tubbo’s hand and run as far and fast away as they could go. If he had, so much suffering could have been prevented.

Shoving that thought aside, he taps the file for Khons and Aleph. He’s seen enough– and something in his gut is telling him that this is the right choice. “I have a good feeling about these two.”

Unexpectedly, Daz smiles. It’s ever so slightly smug, like he’s gotten exactly what he wanted.

“Nice to know you do have a brain.”

Now, the real question– how long will it take before one or both of them tries to punch Daz in his stupid, bastard face?

Aster is looking forward to learning the answer.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t matter how many times they wake up in a bed instead of the ground or in a tree or a cave, it still feels distressingly surreal.

It doesn’t help that one of the only conditions for staying in this (supposedly) peaceful world, Sanctuary, had been to change their names.

They aren’t the only Dream and Techno that live here, not by a long shot. Thus, to save everyone the headache of constant clarifications, they had been asked to choose something unique for themselves.

That had been a bizarre conversation to have. Hell, the entire situation was weird; they were treated not just with kindness but with respect. They weren’t hybrids or animals or products; they were seen as people, with thoughts and opinions worth hearing and taking into consideration.

Almost nothing was asked of them; just the name change, therapy, and an agreement to try and peacefully settle disputes without resorting to violence. All of those terms were asked of everyone on the server, regardless of who they are, what they were, or how long they had lived there.

But finding new names was hard. They hadn’t been sure what to use as inspiration, nor how to even begin approaching it.

And then a child walked up to them.

Achilles, or Lee, he had called himself. He smiled at them with nothing but kindness and warmth. He had asked if they were okay, if they needed anything, if there were any troubles.

Dream had asked, a little warily, what he thought about them.

It’s a topic that has been the bane of their existence. They both stand out even among hybrids– Dream, a sheep hybrid with his metallic-sheened golden wool, dark gem-like horns, and brilliant green eyes; and Techno, a piglin with pitch black bristles eternally marred by scars that had healed over golden.

In a world where hybrids were little more than pets or amusements for wealthy humans, demons and elves, their unique appearances had been a curse.

So much of a curse that not even their fellow hybrids were willing to harbor them. Any attempts to seek refuge with them ended with them being sold out for a month, a week, a day of freedom for whoever handed them in.

Dream and Techno learned from a young age that there was no one to trust but each other.

Even that had been fraught; for weeks and months, they had both waited for the other to turn on them.

The tipping point had been on one of the many occasions when Techno escaped those who held him captive. The two of them had lost contact; Dream hadn’t even realized Techno was in the same place.

But Techno had heard Dream was there. And Techno, once he had escaped, had chosen to find Dream and break him out, too.

It only took a few months for Dream to have a chance to return the favor.

From then on, their wariness towards each other changed into an unshakable trust. Even though staying together meant a greater risk– two high value targets together meant more hunters– they would only stray when absolutely necessary or when forced to do so.

When a miracle in the form of three otherworldly travelers appeared and saved them from being captured and split apart again, then offered them a place in Sanctuary, there was only a little hesitation before they agreed.

The human-looking child who had walked up to them with bright eyes, who they both expected to comment on their appearances, instead furrowed his brow when asked what he thought of them.

Achilles Was-Taken answered with confidence, "Dream has kind eyes. And Techno seems like a good friend."

He squinted at them for a few moments, and then added, "If you're having trouble with names, what if you looked for ones for each other?"

It wasn't the last time that Lee defied their expectations, but it certainly left an impression.

That was how they settled on their names. Dream became Khons– from an Egyptian deity related to the moon– and Techno became Aleph– from the first letter of the Hebrew alphabet.

Since then, they’ve found themselves drawn towards the kid. It’s like a breath of fresh air to have someone, anyone, who doesn’t stare at them because of how unusual they look.

Currently, they’re at their house. It’s nothing big or fancy, but it’s in a quiet place far enough away from others that they can breathe a bit easier. The portal into the area is rigged with sensors, so they get alerts for anyone who tries to drop by.

Khons has been working on a redstone project.

Sure, they could just buy honey, or bread, or sugar– but they're used to being self-sufficient. And he’s been able to pick up at least some of the basics from the Redstone Alliance.

He’s not quite comfortable enough with them to consider himself a member, but…there’s quite a few hybrids there, and they’re friendly enough to try and teach him. Aleph doesn’t have the fine motor skills to dig his hands into the wiring like Khons can, but Khons isn’t great at moving the heavier materials without just drawing them into his…inventory.

That’s a weird concept to deal with. You can just scoop things up in a certain way, and they go inside of you in a special place so that they can be taken back out again. But, as Dee has explained during what Khons is reasonably sure was a slight mania born of being too tired and overcompensating with an ink-colored substance he claimed to be coffee, you can’t just do that all the time with delicate redstone work.

It can damage multi-block structures in such a way that the entire thing needs to be gutted and redone, and then you’ve spent days or weeks that have been thrown down the drain because you forgot ‘that redstone can be a little bitch sometimes'.

As weird as the rant and ensuing teaching had been, Khons did walk away with new knowledge that he’s been putting to work in order to create some small, automated farms for himself and Aleph. Aleph is, as always, in eyesight and ready to help if needbe.

At the moment, though, they’re both alert and wary because of their unexpected and sort of unwanted visitor.

Daz stands there, his impractical outfit and hair all but screaming that he doesn’t ever need to get his hands dirty.

He’s…nice enough, probably. He’d been helpful in helping them get their footing, despite being a human (or close enough) and clearly way too rich for anyone’s good. Money, in Khons’ experience, tends to make monsters out of men.

But the thing that's really throwing them off is what he wants from them.

When they both just stare at him in disbelief, Daz repeats, "I really want you two to be the ones at the head of hybrid outreach and orientation for the Welcome Wagon!”

Khons and Aleph make eye contact. Aleph tilts his head slightly; he’ll side with him no matter what he chooses. That’s been the norm, especially in Sanctuary, but it doesn’t really give Khons much of a cue of what he’d actually be able to comfortably tolerate.

In the silence, Daz fidgets with some of the many gold earrings shoved in his ears. His confidence is visibly waning the longer it takes to get an answer.

Slowly, Khons answers, "We're…not really that social." "All the more reason to accept, then! You'll get to practice, make friends, and get more familiar with the server. Sometimes I find really cool stuff because someone asks about a random thing," Daz counters.

"Kind of a lot to ask of us. We'd be on call pretty much all the time, right?" The point from Aleph makes Daz tilt his head. "I mean…kinda? But you'd get compensated." "In what? And how much?"

His face scrunches up. "I don't have a set figure in mind or anything, but…a base salary and certain hours you'd be expected to be available. There'd be overtime if you had to deal with urgent stuff that couldn't wait until your regular hours."

Khons narrows his eyes. "So you don't know what we'd get paid for– it just sounds like a job."

The guy nods. "I mean, yeah– or well, no– okay, it is a job, but I don’t know how busy you'll be, or what a sustainable rate for you two would be, so…I wanted to negotiate that part."

Well, that seems suspicious as hell. He must be trying to get them to agree to work for pennies. Khons opens his mouth to tell him that they’re not about to get conned to working basically for free, but Daz quickly adds, "With mediators, of course. People who can, like– see both sides, and help make sure it's a fair wage for you and the hours aren’t too demanding."

Reluctantly, Khons closes his mouth to think about that.

When he opens it again, it’s with a sigh that he asks, "...Who would be there?"

Daz keeps messing with his earrings– maybe they help him think– and admits, "Well…usually, it'd be Orph's department? But since he’s my friend and pretty much a human, that seems unfair. So I think Zinn would be better as a representative of the server. Or both? I probably should have asked them first, but I mean– I got really excited, because it's the perfect solution.”

A grunt comes from Aleph. “Solution to not botherin’ to learn about hybrids?”

There’s a gasp of blatant dismay. “No, no! I do know some stuff, and I wouldn’t not want to learn– I just–”

He seems to fold in on himself a little. Voice getting small, he mumbles, “I know some hybrids have been in really bad situations that…I can’t really help with. At least– not as much as you two could. Not everyone would need it, so it would mostly be just…being there for people who want to ask questions, but might not be comfortable with me or other non-hybrids."

His gaze is trained on the ground now, and his shoulders are slumped. “I don’t understand their trauma, just like they probably don’t understand mine, or you don’t understand Dee’s. You can know about it, but that’s not the same. I haven’t lived through it, so I’m not able to empathize on the same level.”

Uhhg. Khons hates that he feels a little guilty, because the explanation makes sense. If Daz had tried to guide them as if he did understand what they’d been through, he and Aleph would have been deeply insulted.

Aleph seems less affected by the hangdog look. “For someone who doesn’t understand cages, you’re trying awful hard to herd us into one.”

Surprisingly, Daz bristles. When his head snaps up, Khons notes that his pupils are a little dilated, and…he has a distinctly displeased spark in his eyes.

“I may not have been through what you were, but don’t think I’ve had an easy life. Everyone, every single person on this server, has been through some sort of hell. Sanctuary is for the lost, the desperate, those whose only other option is some form of death.”

A shiver goes down Khons’ spine.

The guy’s eyes narrow a little. “If you really hate the idea of getting paid to help people that much, I can’t force you to change your mind. I’m just trying to make sure people don’t fall through the cracks. I’m trying to make sure people don’t feel lesser, just because of who or what they are.”

He turns on his heel and starts to leave. Khons blurts out, “So– that’s it? You’re just leaving?”

Daz stops, and looks over his shoulder. His expression is incredulous. “I’m trying to prove that Sanctuary is a safe haven for everyone, not just people who look like me. How am I supposed to do that if I drag you into a job you don’t want? I’ll make it appealing, sure, but– what, am I supposed to twist your arm? That’s stupid. Just because you two are my top pick doesn’t mean you’re the only ones.”

Weirdly, the annoyed behavior makes the guy seem more approachable. He had been too…shiny, before. Always smiling, always helpful, always willing to talk to anyone he crossed paths with.

Being faced with evidence that he does actually have other feelings is both strange and a bit of a relief.

When he’s left through the portal, Khons glances over at the person who he would unquestioningly follow into hell, and who would do the same for him in turn.

There’s an unexpectedly thoughtful expression on his face. And then that gold-ringed, black-sclera gaze meets Khons’.

“...Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to…go to this– negotiation, at least,” Aleph tells him. Khons’s eyebrows go up. He knows that his companion is uneasy with people who are too friendly. It’s historically been a bad thing for both of them, but especially for Aleph.

He exhales softly. “...Yeah, we can…see what it’s like.” “And it…does solve the money issue.”

Khons grimaces a little. While there’s supplies and stipends given to every resident, neither are excessive.

For people who have never had a chance to have much more to their name than the clothes on their backs, the base level of comfort given to everyone should be more than enough.

And yet…Khons and Aleph find themselves continuously faced with the fact that any what-if-it-all-goes-wrong plans would be made easier to prepare for with extra money. While Sanctuary seems above-board, there’s no guarantee that it truly is safe.

Or that, if it is, it will stay safe.

Given the fact that nobody is forced to work, there’s always some sort of job that can be done. It’s just that the bulk of those sorts of jobs involve dealing with a lot of other people. Having been on the run for as long as either of them can remember, Khons and Aleph are reluctant to have to interact with a ton of strangers on a constant basis.

There’s no way Khons can stomach selling his wool. He’s had it stolen for as long as he can remember– the idea of strangers having and using it can push him into a panic attack on bad days.

Taking Daz’s job offer would require them to interact with strangers much more closely, yes. But overall, it would likely be less than what, say, deliveries or working on a store would give them. And if what Daz said was true, and they would really be more for those that were uncomfortable speaking to non-hybrids…

It’s not like it can hurt to at least consider it. They don’t have to agree to the offer on the spot, and if they get pressured to do so, they’ll know something is fishy and dip.

Chapter Text

Khons isn't sure if he's relieved or insulted when the meeting turns out to be held in a flower field.

But, well, the two of them are already there, as are the other people involved. Zinn, Daz, and Orph sit on a cheerful, checkered blanket, with baskets and plates already set down.

Daz spots them and visibly perks up further, waving cheerfully.

Aleph stares at him, and then glances at Khons.

A part of him is tempted to turn around and call it off. This feels more like a get-together than a meeting, but…well, it’s not like they can trick them into doing anything immediately.

And it does seem like they have food. If there’s plates, there’s food, right? That’s how it works, Khons is pretty sure. You don’t need a plate for food, obviously, but having plates without food is much stranger.

Khons is, perhaps a little foolishly, curious what the hell Daz brought along to butter them up.

Once the two of them sit down on the blanket, the blond starts pulling containers out. It…sort of seems like an impossible amount is coming out of the basket. He corrects himself as a box physically incapable of fitting in the dimensions of the basket is set down, there’s definitely an impossible amount in there.

Aleph nudges him. “Inventory,” he reminds him.

Ah, right. He keeps forgetting about that. So sue him– the entire concept is weird and surreal. A dozen blocks of solid metal can be smashed together, weigh nothing, and take up no space.

Zinn grins at them. “Glad you decided to check this out. You’ll like the food, if nothing else.” “I asked some other sheep and piglin hybrids about any sensitivities they have,” Daz says, dusting his hands off. Evidently he’s taken out all of the ungodly amount of food he’s prepared. “And about what kind of stuff they like in general. I don’t know for sure if you’ll like everything, but I tried to make a wide variety of stuff. I hope I managed to get something right.”

As Khons tries to figure out how to feel about that, Aleph asks, “Make? You cook?”

The guy evidently leading the ‘negotiations’ beams. “Yep! It’s one of the things I’m really good at. I’ve had a lot of practice, and people are happy when they have tasty food. Making people happy is…kind of my whole deal, you know?”

Huh. It’s weird to picture him getting his hands dirty for…basically anything.

Enough so that Khons asks, “What did you do that you have a lot of practice with cooking?”

For a moment, Daz’s smile falters. It turns a bit strained, and he laughs a little. “Ah…it was– it was one of the ways I could be useful.”

Orph winces so hard his wings twitch, patting the guy’s shoulder. “You don’t need to be useful here.” “Useful people are good people,” Daz murmurs, staring at the food he made. The smile has dimmed further. “Good people don’t need to be punished.”

That statement sends a chill down Khons’ spine.

He’s heard a similar thing from Aleph– though, not in a way that means his other half believed the things he had repeated. The tone Daz is using is one that implies he very much does believe what he’s saying.

Orph grabs Daz by the cheeks and firmly tells him, “Hey, hey. As much as I owe you my life for the Welcome Wagon–” “I would set off a nuke for you if that was needed,” Zinn agrees readily. From what little Khons understands about nukes and Zinn’s personal stance on them, that’s not the kind of statement he would make mildly.

“--Nobody needs to be useful. Not here. You do stuff because you want to, okay?” The firm statement makes Daz’s brow furrow. Not even attempting to escape from the hold on his face, he says, “But–”

Voice still firm, Orph continues, “Look at Theo. He doesn’t do anything useful, and yet he doesn’t give a single shit.” “Theo can fight and brings people back. People love him, and they should, because he’s a good person,” Daz argues.

What an absolute clusterfuck of a statement. The part of Khons that has been repeatedly denied and dehumanized– treated as a literal pet for rich fucks who wanted a strange and pretty hybrid for their own– finds a strange, unexpected spark of something familiar in Daz.

Human or not, it feels like he’s been denied agency of his own.

There’s a sudden shaking of Daz’s head, and he huffs, “I’m sorry, that’s– we’re not here to talk about that. It’s not important.”

Zinn sighs, shoulders slumping a little like he doesn’t have the heart to argue it right now. Which is fair– there are still days where Khons has the kneejerk reaction to be quiet and avoid others who could poke at him. Literally or figuratively, being observed was always a bad thing for him.

At least, for anyone aside from Aleph.

It’s hard not to consider him his other half. His best friend, the person who was the only one who didn’t stab him in the back for a few more moments of freedom.

Aleph is the first, the last, the only person that Khons would lay down his life for. He would follow him into whatever hell he needed to, because nothing would be worse than being split apart from him.

Daz closes his eyes, takes a deep breathe, and then slowly exhales it.

When his eyes open again, Khons can almost literally see that he’s put a mask of his own back on. Khons’ is a plain white one, though he’s decided to keep it off for this meeting.

…For now.

That bright, sunny smile is back in full force. Daz pulls out his communicator, then sets it down so that a large, shimmery display pops up above it.

Holograms, if Khons is remembering correctly? It’s something he’s been a little interested in, but he’s still wrapping his head around redstone. Plus the equipment to really use them is kind of expensive.

“So, like I said when I approached you– my primary goal is to have you two on standby to act as the primary point of contact for hybrids or others who might be skittish around a human. I’d also like your input on how to better cater to their needs in both short and long-term. Even if they don’t end up staying in Sanctuary, my hope is that we can help provide them tools to take into whatever new life they end up leading,” Daz explains, swiping at his screen to pull things up.

Aleph scratches his chin, seeming a bit taken aback. “...Noble goal you have.” “I’d like to think so, yeah! Nobody comes to Sanctuary without serious baggage, and I want to do whatever I can to not make it worse.”

Orph winces so hard his wings flinch again. Before Khons can ask, he admits, “Dee kind of shot Theo in the throat in retaliation for a prank. Daz was right there and nobody told him that lives are unlimited here.”

There’s a slightly manic edge to Daz’s laugh and smile. “I really want to be the last person that sort of thing happens to. Hence why I started the Welcome Wagon! I mean–”

The smile shifts to a more thoughtful look, and he gestures at both Khons and Aleph. “You two are from a place that don’t have an inventory. That, alone, is a complicated thing to explain to a traumatized person who is entirely lost. Management has a lot on their plate with just– making sure everything works? Newcomer orientation was kind of hard to juggle, and a lot of things would fall through the cracks. I’d know– part of my proposal involved researching what people had needed to learn, when they learned it, and how comfortable they would be with asking someone for help if they thought they needed it.”

Zinn winces, this time. “Didn’t feel too great to learn that people didn’t think we would or could help them, gotta admit. We knew it was an issue, but it’s hard to get someone to agree to that big of a task.” More cheerfully, he pats Daz’s shoulder. “And that’s why I would nuke someone for him.”

Sure, Daz had been helpful in learning the ropes of the place. But Khons’ doubt must read clearly, because the guy shrugs a little. “It’s hard to imagine, but it was bad. No rhyme, reason, or real…logic, to what got brought up when. It usually came down to the new person asking questions, and if someone is already uncomfortable and not really sure if they’re allowed to do that…”

He makes a soft noise of understanding. “So people kept quiet and were frustrated because they didn’t understand important things.” “Exactly! The new system isn’t perfect, but it’s much, much better. And I’m willing, even excited to improve it more! I know you two might seem like odd choices–”

“Meanin’ what?” Aleph’s question, despite its wary tone, doesn’t phase Daz at all. “You keep to yourselves so much that barely anyone knows who you are. But– and maybe this is just me being nosy– I think having something like this would help you both, too. Not just the money…though the money is nice to have.”

As if to show off, Daz fiddles with some of the gold earrings dotting his left ear. “It’s not a crazy salary or anything, but it’s a stable source of income doing a valuable public service that would expose you to new people and places. It puts you in touch with the community, and it’ll make people see you as more than…well, your appearances.”

Khons bristles at the statement. “You say that like our appearances are a bad thing.” “Of course not; that’s not what I meant at all! But you’re sensitive about them. I noticed when you were going through orientation that you…didn’t react great to anyone talking about what you looked like. I figured that instead of people knowing you for just what you look like, you’d want them to think about what you do.”

Daz takes a deep breath, looking a little more serious. “Aleph, Khons. Even if you decide not to take this offer, then I highly encourage you to involve yourselves in something. Right now, the only impression most people have of you– if they have one at all– is that you look different. That won’t change, can’t change, without giving them something else to focus on.”

Next to him, Aleph is tense as a bow. “We’re not puttin’ ourselves on display–” “That’s not what I mean. You’re barely even involved in the Redstone Alliance despite clearly being interested in what they do! There’s so much you could be involved in– book clubs, game nights, the arson and explosives club–” “We have a dedicated range and everything. Explosions are great,” Zinn notes.

He has to stare at the goat hybrid for several long moments. Khons has seen enough to know what burns look like.

But, well, that’s not really his place to ask about.

“--And that’s barely even scratching the surface! Sanctuary has a lot to offer you, but you won’t ever see it if you’re hiding and waiting for it all to go wrong.”

The statement is said too knowingly for Khons’ taste. He bares his teeth, and withdraws his mask to slide over his face.

“I don’t blame you for being scared of that. It scares me, too. But it helps to make friends. It helps to build a network of people who you care about and trust. There are people who would love to be your friends, if you gave them half a chance.”

Curtly, Aleph tells him, “We don’t need your preachin’. Weren’t you trying to make a job offer?”

There’s a soft sigh, and a slightly saddened look on his face. “...Right. Sorry, I just– it felt familiar in a nasty way.” He flicks through his hologram, and pulls up a large display. “I wasn’t sure what currency you’d be most familiar with, so here’s a rough comparison of what some of them would be, what the stipend is, and how much more the job is.”

Khons is glad for the mask, because the difference is staggering. “That’s–” “And, what, it’s all one payment?”

There’s a furrow of Daz’s brow. “...No? This is amount you’d be getting every month.”

As much as he would like to walk away from this after the preachy spiel, the idea of that much money is far too tempting to just ignore. “...Explain what we’d be doing.”

“Your hours would be standard Welcome Wagon hours– every day from eight am to four pm. Outside of those hours, if you’re called in for an emergency of some sort– someone who I can’t help on my own, or who needs you two specifically– there’s scaling overtime pay. The longer you’re called in for a single stretch during off hours, the faster that adds up. An hour might be at one and a half times your hourly rate. Six hours would be more like four times.”

Aleph repeats, “That doesn’t explain what we’d be doing.” “Right, right– sorry, wanted to be sure I got the payment clarified first. Mostly, again, it’d be being a reliable source that people can turn to if they want or need the help of a non-human. Aside from that, it would depend a lot on what needs to be done. Right now, it would lean largely towards helping me come up with plans for how to best help hybrids and other non-humans. Obviously, not all of you are the same. The needs of a blaze hybrid and a rock golem are very different.”

A very obvious loophole makes Khons hum in displeasure. “So you can basically just put us on whatever, and we have to do it.”

Daz grimaces. “...Not really, no? You’re able to reject things. But, like– you have to give some sort of reason for it. If you flat out reject everything, then I can’t really say you’d be doing your job. If you ever think I’m being unreasonable on that front, I encourage you to reach out to Helio and make sure I’m not screwing you over. While yes, technically, you’d be employees of the Welcome Wagon, I don’t want meek yes-men who do everything I say without question. I can’t help others as much as I want if I don’t have people to tell me if I’m doing something wrong.” He ruffles a hand through his golden-blonde hair, further touseling it.

“Anything I hand to you two will at the very least be discussed and collaborated on. Any grunt work– papers, going out and gathering feedback, making arrangements with places for events? I’ll be doing all that, too. I need people who won’t be afraid to call me out if I make mistakes. I’d rather look dumb in front of you than end up hurting people who are going through too much already.”

Surprisingly, Aleph seems to have untensed a little. “What if we decide to quit?” “You’ll have a month where you’ll need to help train whoever replaces you. If any further questions come up after that period, you can charge me for whatever time you spend on that. I’d obviously prefer if we didn’t part on terms that bad, but I’d also prefer we didn’t part at all. Ideally, you’ll be key parts of the Welcome Wagon from now on.”

Khons gnaws on the inside of his cheek. It’s…hard to argue that those terms don’t sound nearly perfect. Having to interact with others isn’t ideal, no, but being collaborators rather than mere employees is more than he expected he’d get.

In the lull, Zinn clears his throat. “Just so you’re aware, your base pay is actually about a third of what I make.” “Yep, same over here,” Orph agrees.

He chokes in surprise. “Wh– you two run the server!” “The Welcome Wagon isn’t just for new people. It’s a resource for anyone to go to at any time, with the goal of connecting people with the information and tools they need to be happy and healthy,” Daz says.

There’s a long sigh from Orph. “As far as we’re concerned, the Welcome Wagon is another arm of Management. Unhappy, confused people might lash out in some way. We knew that orientation was bad, but we didn’t realize how big of an issue it was until Daz came to us with proof– anonymous, we have no idea who said what– that it was leading to resentment and other nasty emotions. Since there wasn’t a good solution, even a lot of a therapists just…never brought those concerns forward. So paying you all well to prevent that from bubbling over is the least we can do.”

Daz smiles brightly. “It’s a lot of work. But it’s rewarding, and you’d be paid pretty darn well. I got some figures for what would get a comparable salary and…there’s not much. The closest would be some sort of specialized shop, but that’d be a lot more dependant on sales.”

Fuck, it’s so much more tempting than he thought it would be. He figured it would be easy to turn it down, or that it’d at least be something simple he and Aleph could do without having to deal with too much.

But the roles they’d play are much, much bigger than they anticipated.

When neither he or Aleph say anything for a while, Daz hums softly. “You’re free to think it over for a few days. I’d like an answer within a week, though. But, for now–”

He grins widely at them, popping open one of the containers on the blankets. “Why don’t you both grab some food? If there’s anything you really like, you can take the leftovers back with you.”

Chapter Text

When Daz tells Aster to drop an ender pearl into a block of honey, he does not immediately do so.

“Why?” Daz rolls his eyes at Aster’s incredibly justified wariness, and tells him, “Let me have my reveal, asshole. You’ll like it.” “I very fucking much doubt that.” “Either cooperate or I’ll find a way to make your next week a living hell.”

Aster glares at him, grits his teeth, and slams the glass-like ball into the block.

The jackass beams at him, spins him so he’s facing the other way in the cramped hidey-hole they meet in, and says, “Great! Don’t turn around.” “Why the fuck–”

Even though he ignores the demand and looks back nearly immediately, Daz is already gone.

Before he has more than a few moments to be baffled by the vanishing act, he feels the familiar tug of an ender pearl.

He staggers on his feet, hands reaching out to brace himself on a nearby wall.

After shaking his head a few times to clear it, he stares into what is very, very clearly a secret base.

The walls are lined in blackstone– both regular and gilded– there are quartz pillars everywhere. There’s even inlaid smooth quartz and glowstone on the floor. Birch furnishings, including a large, circular table in the middle of the room, only up the fussiness factor. There’s a nearly arrogant elegance to the place that raises Aster’s hackles.

Anything that looks this shiny has dark, ugly secrets underneath.

The fucking bastard in front of him spreads his arms, a smug grin making him even more punchable than usual. “Welcome to the headquarters of our secret organization! San has no idea where we are or what we’re doing, and thus, neither will anyone else.”

The urge to deck him grows. “You really think the fucking– perpetual surveilance system didn’t clock you coming out here and building this place?” He fishes his com out to squint at the coordinates.

Daz hums, turning to trail his fingers along the pockmarked walls as he starts to walk away. “I have my ways.”

They’re nearly half a fucking day away from the rest of the server. Trekking back and forth is going to be a special kind of hell, and Aster is near-violently reminded of the first time he truly “met” Daz.

He’d had an inkling beforehand, of course. Somehow, he had been the only person on the entire server to clock the manipulative little bastard being as such. Said asshole is currently acting like he’s done something impressive.

Really, it’s just stupid. Even if this place actually is as unknown as Daz is pretending that it is, even if his involvement was completely hidden– that doesn’t erase the fact that they’ll have to leave this place to go back.

“Before you get all pissy about the hike,” Daz suddenly says, glancing over his shoulder, “There’s stasis chambers here. Since you have some set up in Summer Hills–” “How the fuck do you know that?” “Paying attention! We both have stasis chambers that can be remotely activated to and from the HQ. Don’t think I didn’t notice you thinking I turned stupid, by the way– I didn’t come out anywhere near here until well after it was blocked out. I actually started work before I approached you.”

“Okay, but whoever you used–” “Isn’t going to snitch. Probably couldn’t, even if they wanted to. At least…not in a meaningful way.”

The cryptic bullshit is giving him a headache. “A lot of faith in someone you won’t even name.” “I have a lot of friends in a lot of places. They’re tricky to deal with, but it’s not impossible.” Daz pauses, cocks his head to the side, and hums. “Well– not for me, at least.”

Clearly the asshole isn’t going to admit who he’s blackmailing. It’s still a stupid, dangerous plan, but only slightly less so than what Aster had originally assumed.

“If this blows up in your face, I’m selling you out immediately.” There’s a gasp and a mocking, “Nooo, really? And here I thought you’d been won over by my charm and wit.”

Aster glowers at him, feeling one of his eyes twitch from the desire to slam his face into the too-shiny smooth quartz on the floor. Really, some blood splatter would do wonders to make him not want to claw his skin off at how sterile and wrong it feels.

…As well as how cathartic it would be.

Instead, he slams his eyes shut and takes slow, deep breaths the way his therapist had taught him how to do.

It’s fine. He can deal with this. He can deal with him. If everything goes to shit, he can rat the bastard out and claim that he only played along to get more info. Theo likes him; Theo would be on his side.

…As long as it didn’t involve opposing Daz without his stupid fucking mask being ripped off.

When he opens his eyes again, the asshole is watching him with a mild expression. “Reconnaissance is going great, by the way. Khons and Aleph have got enough of a backbone that they won’t snap in half– either from being pulled between us when we disagree, or from the pressure of maintaining the lie. They’ve already gotten their bearings and are pushing back on some issues. Even if I don’t immediately give, they don’t back off.”

He tilts his head in surprise at the status report. “...And you’re telling me because…” “Because you understanding them, and understanding them as I get a better feeling for them, is very fucking important.”

He narrows his eyes a little, and gets a roll of significantly more vibrant ones in return. “Unless things go to shit, we’re gonna be working with them pretty fucking closely on some pretty fucking important things! Believe it or not, things will be a hell of a lot easier on both of us if you figure out ahead of time what’s most likely to be the last straw that broke the camel’s back with them. We are talking about two cagey people who don’t trust others flat out, and extra don’t trust humans. Newsflash– we’re two humans! Or, close enough. We’re two humans planning to assemble and manipulate an armed group in defense of the safest six year old that probably ever existed. We’re two humans already lying to the rest of the server, one to a significantly greater extent than the other.”

As Daz explains, he’s gesturing with his hands with…probably the most animation that Aster has seen him genuinely express. He doesn’t count the acting; being an act, it’s not real.

It's kind of weird that he’s getting so worked up about this, of all things.

The bastard continues, “They are going to take this badly, and if you fumble the bag at the finish line I will drag you down with me, so help me fucking Prime!”

Aster scoffs, unwilling to verbally concede that he probably has a point on at least some of that. “You really think you can do that?” “You really think you can stop me? Remind me again which of us is a grumpy asocial loner with like, four people he willingly interacts with. And also which one of us is the person who has spent literal months making dossiers on the entire server, which one has been personally responsible for fixing unholy clusterfuck of newcomer orientation and resources, which one of us has made it a point to be at friendly and nice to literally everyone he meets to gain their trust–”

This is exactly why Aster wants nothing more than to kick his teeth in. “Stop bragging, you’ve made your point.” “Have I? Have I really? Because I don’t think you’ve understood the stakes.”

Unexpectedly, Daz gets into his personal space. There’s a flinty look in his eyes that makes Aster bristle. “It’s not just about us staying in Sanctuary. It’s about making sure that any dangerous elements are able to be identified, rooted out, and possibly eliminated before there’s more than the tiniest curl of smoke. If the Egg manages to get through, if another sociopath slips in, if we somehow get invaded–” Aster interrupts, “Sanctuary can’t be invaded.”

That's kind of the whole point. If they can be invaded, then the sense of security everyone feels is a false one. If that's true, then whatever shatters that peace would steamroll a lot of people before they’re stopped.

…Assuming they would be stopped, in the end.

Daz stares at him like he’s stupid. “Sanctuary is helmed by an admin and a half that don’t even fucking know piglins are sapient, despite the literal, actual server being similarly able to talk to them. Or, well, just to Lucid. Management didn’t realize just how upset people were about their shitty introduction to the server. The T3 are pulled in their own directions too, and usually exhausted after whatever new hellscape and/or insanity they get dumped into. If we factor in The Redstone Alliance because of the portals, you’re relying on their understanding of tech that they didn’t fucking invent or are able to power on their own to be our savior.”

He shoves a finger into Aster’s chest, and continues in a low voice, “Sanctuary is vulnerable. The entire purpose of our secret club is to make sure those vulnerabilities don’t become fatal. If Sanctuary falls, at best Lee will be traumatized. At worst, he’ll be dead. Hate me as much as you fucking want, I don’t give a single shit. You don’t have a choice in the matter, just like I really wish I had literally anyone else I could have chosen instead of you for this. Aleph and Khons, however, need a good fucking reason not to decide not to rat us out and leave.”

The preachy, snarky, arrogant tirade does absolutely nothing to make Aster willing to admit that he might have a bit of a point.

Instead, he snaps, “You’re the one who brought them up! If they’re so dangerous, why are you trying to rope them in?!” “Because we literally can’t do this with just the two of us. Firstly, we’ll kill each other without someone to get between us. Secondly, I’ll lose my mind if I can’t actually talk to anyone but you. Thirdly, this isn’t a problem unique to them! Anyone else we might consider will have a similar risk!”

Aster finally smacks his hand away. “You act like I couldn’t handle you.” “Bitch, you hate my guts and frankly, the feeling is mutual. You’re an idiot who has to be led through basic facts by the nose because you’d rather be pissy at me than admit I might have half of a point,” Daz scoffs. “And, for the record, no. No you can’t. Dream couldn’t handle me, and he abandoned everything he ever preached to try and ‘keep me safe’.”

That had been a detail Aster hadn’t heard yet. He curls his lip in distaste. “Any Dream who would enchant a person doesn’t have morals.” “I didn’t say he was smart or even a good person by the end. I’ve already told you– I planned to kill myself, ideally by having the people I most hated stab me in front of him, to completely destroy him.”

An odd, almost wistful look comes over Daz’s face. There’s even a faint smile.

“It makes me feel better to know he’s either dead or suffering beyond imagination right now. If there's any justice in the universe, he's still there, desperately hoping I'll come back. Maybe if he's there long enough, it'll erode his mind and soul so far that he just vanishes instead of going into whatever afterlife there is.”

What a chilling statement. As much as Aster would love to judge him for it, though, that's one of the few things he wholeheartedly agrees on.

But he’s at least a little curious about one thing. “...Erode? You really think you being gone will fuck him up that bad?”

He gets raised eyebrows. “I know it will. He didn't have anything else.” There’s a long sigh, and with visible reluctance, Daz mutters, “...Our base had blackstone floors.”

Five words that make a horrifying amount of difference. The circumstances of their first meeting are thrown into stark relief.

Theo had called him to check on Daz, because the poor guy had made Aver realize something that needed to be discussed immediately. Daz, Theo had claimed, was a good guy.

Seeing him huddled in the corner of the temporary bathroom, staring blankly at Lee, though? Every instinct he had screamed that he was not good; he was a dangerous person who needed to be eliminated before he hurt others.

He never stopped to question what had fucked him up so bad that he looked like that to begin with.

It's obvious he did once care about his Dream, because the venom and betrayal that Daz mentions with can only be from a different kind of hurt than what Aster went through. If Daz had only just learned that blackstone fucked up full admins like that…

Against his will, Aster feels a bit of pity for him. As much of a gargantuan asshole as he is, finding out everything went to hell because of the floor explained why he looked so instictively wrong.

But if he said anything remotely supportive, it would likely be taken as an insult. And equally likely result in Daz deciding to remind him exactly why he hates him.

So, instead, he sighs. “...Show me what you've set up here, then.”

He gets a few blinks of surprise, and then any unease gets folded away. With a smug little grin, his co-conspirator starts to rattle off a laundry list of what he’s managed to hide away out here in the middle of goddamned nowhere.

There are definitely worse ways the base of operations for their shadowy cabal of eventually-probably-five could be set up.

…Even if he’s not going to admit as such.

After all, Daz would never let him hear the end of it, and the last thing that bastard needs is something else to be a dick over.

Chapter Text

As much as Khons hates to admit it…he kind of likes working at the Welcome Wagon.

It’s been a few weeks since they started. For all that Daz can be too chipper and sunshine-y, he also has a surprisingly keen eye for details.

Of course, on its own, that's not enough. But he also seems entirely willing to listen to whatever feedback Aleph and Khons give him. Sure, he might ask questions or want to know why, but if he sees the merit in what they tell him, he's not too proud to change things.

It gave Khons a surreal sense of pride the first time he saw Daz putting something that Aleph had suggested into effect.

Not just because they were being listened to by a human– though, of course, that was nice. Being able to see others benefiting from something that came from the two of them made them pretty damn happy.

There are more people that pass through the Welcome Wagon than Khons thought there were. Only a fraction are actual new people, though; most are existing residents who need guidance of some sort.

Even though Daz fields most of the interactions, there have already been some cases where Khons or Aleph were sought out.

The two of them had been nervous and awkward, but every time makes it a little easier.

So, the next time he hears the soft jingle of the front door being opened, he looks up halfway resolved to help them, regardless of if they're specifically looking for him and Aleph or not.

He's met by the unexpected sight of Dee and Lee. The former surveys the building with a low whistle. “I dunno what I expected, but this place is pretty nice.”

That’s an understatement; it manages to look much more inviting than Khons would have imagined. Most of it is done in bricks and various colors of terracotta– though, white is the main color. There’s tons of windows everywhere and plenty of plants and other decorative flourishes to keep it from feeling too cold.

By now, Khons is used to that particular comment. “From what Daz has said, he was very particular about how it looks.” “Real stickler for details,” Aleph agrees, “Wouldn't think it to look at him, but he's pretty dang thorough.”

The guy himself comes out from the back, lighting up when he sees who it is. “Dee, Lee! What're my favorite kid and one of the scariest redstone people doing here? Surely you don't need my help– not with Lee's vibes.”

“I'd take offense on one of, but we do have some other heavyweights,” Daedalus admits. After lightly kicking the side of his brother's leg in what seems like a silent reminder to behave, Lee beams at him. “The vibes're why we're here, kinda!”

Khons can't help but smile at the infectious cheer that the kid has. It's different from Daz’s sunshine-y-ness in a way that he can't quite put into words. He’s not had oodles of interactions with the kid, but it’s hard not to have your day brightened when he pops up.

Daz perks up. “Yeah? What're the vibes telling you?”

Instead of going to him, though, Lee scampers past Daz to go up to Aleph and Khons. He sets a box down on the large half-circle desk that they use.

Curious, Aleph opens it up. Inside are a pair of gold earrings in the shape of a crescent moon and stars. The inner curve of the moon is made up of some sort of dark stone– it looks like a…geode, Khons thinks they're called?

They look like they were made for them. Lee explains, “I saw ‘em in Attie's store, and I thought of you! Not just ‘cause of the colors, but ‘cause Khons is a moon god. The Vibes nudged me to get them, but I think I woulda done it anyway.”

Among the many topics that they've heard about are the importance that certain people in Sanctuary place on jewelry. For some people, it's proof of a special bond– to the point where some stones or materials aren't really available to buy things with.

Nobody is stupid enough to sell things that imply they're besties with people like Day or Theo. It's just not done, because they're the types of people who would take offense to that sort of thing.

But…Aleph and Khons haven't really earned a bond like this with Lee, have they?

As if aware of what their confusion is about, Dee steps up to ruffle his little brother's hair. “Jewelry is only special when it's with that person's stone. Stuff that wasn’t even created with someone specific in mind is just a gift. For the record, Lee's stone is calcite. You'd know if you got a bond thing from him.”

The way Dee phrases that is incredibly ominous, but also a relief.

Aleph glances sidelong at him, and Khons realizes he's smiling. So, he says, “Thank you, Lee. It's really sweet of you to think of us.”

Adorably, the kid lights up like he’s the one who got a gift. He bounces on the balls of his feet, gushing, “I'm glad you like it! Sometimes the vibes are wrong, or at least I take them the wrong way, but they weren’t this time! I think ‘cause they're gold and black, they should show up alright on both of you? Can you try them on–”

There's a wince from Aleph. “Uh, sorry, but we don't have piercings.”

Khons grimaces, gently correcting, “You don’t have piercings.”

His other half makes a noise of understanding, rubbing his back in comfort. “But they're probably healed over by now, right?”

That would be nice, but Khons knows they haven't. They were made in such a way that certain ones can never close up. It was deemed too much of a hassle for one of his early captors to deal with the way they would heal over after just a few days.

Wordlessly, he takes one of the studs and puts it in his left ear without any effort.

Lee's smile has become a little concerned. “Is it okay that it's an earring? I bet Attie could make it something else, if you need…”

What a sweet kid. Khons reassures him, “It’s fine. Better to have something good about them, instead of just bad memories.”

There's a soft huff of relief from Aleph, who squeezes his shoulder in support.

Achilles studies them, then nods a few times. “‘Kay. You don't gotta stay quiet if it doesn't feel right, though.”

“But you'd be sad if we didn't use your gift,” Aleph points out.

He gets a firm, emphatic head shake. “If it's not right, it's not right. Just means I gotta figure out why it didn't work n’ try n’ fix it. Or if I can't fix it, then get something new. Dad n’ Attie are real, real serious about that. If you make something or get a gift, it's gotta be good for the other person. If it's not, then you're the one who messed up. Messing up isn't bad, though, ‘cause you can't always know everything. But it's not fair to get mad at the person you got the gift for, ‘cause it's not their fault you got something bad for them.”

Hearing that makes Khons smile more. He’s seen a similar attitude in Aleph, which just means that he’s even more endeared to Lee.

“Alright, alright,” Aleph says, grinning widely. “That’s real mature of you. If it bothers either of us, we'll see about makin’ it work.”

Satisfied with that answer, the kid bounds over to Daz. He tells him, “Can you bend down real quick?”

The guy readily does so. A fat, intricately woven circle of flowers is placed on his head.

Daz stands up, beaming at the kid. “Aww, thank you! What's the occasion, if there is one?”

“It’s ‘cause you're a really good, special person. You help lots n’ lots of people, especially Management. Orph has even threatened to write a song in your honor.”

There's a bright, delighted laugh. “I'm glad he's so happy! It's really because I want to help as many people as I can, though. What's the meaning of these flowers?”

Khons hadn't been aware flowers could have meanings. Daz has taken out his com, evidently to turn the camera on and study the circlet on his head.

Lee tells him, “Peonies for prosperity, good fortune, n’ compassion; geraniums for friendship, happiness, n’ positive emotions; n’ nemophila for victory n’ success.”

For a few moments, Daz seems to digest that. Then he says, “So…like, you're manifesting me getting good things for being nice?” “Yeah!” Lee looks excited that the reasoning was figured out so easily.

Even if Khons had a guide, he doubts he would have reached that conclusion.

With a chuckle, Dee affectionately ruffles his brother's hair. “He’s been really excited to give all of you those things.”

Without missing a beat, Aleph answers, “Khons n’ I are excited to have ‘em. Hard not to be flattered that he remembered us, out of everyone.”

Dee shrugs his shoulders, hands going into the pockets of his olive bomber jacket, which is heavily embroidered and covered in patches. “Lee remembers most people, somehow. No idea how he keeps everyone straight.”

The kid in question frowns at him. “But everyone is special, so I just gotta remember what that special stuff is.” “Some people are just really good at that kind of thing,” Daz notes, “Like– Lee is right, but also, it’s something to do with how your brain works. Probably, anyway– I’m not an expert on it.”

That gets a few laughs. Aleph teases, “You’d know, since you’re that kinda person.” “I mean, not to brag or anything, but it’s one of my strong suits. I get mixed up on details sometimes, but I try my best,” Daz sheepishly agrees.

There’s another grin from Lee. “N’ that’s why you’re the perfect person for this kinda thing!” He wraps his arms around Daz in a hug, squeezing as hard as he can for a few moments before letting go. “Thank you for helping everyone. Now, I gotta go give some gifts to other people, but keep being pog!”

The three of them wave to the kid and his brother as they leave. Once the doors close, they’re quiet for a moment.

“World would be a better place with more people like that,” Khons notes. It makes something warm and gentle stay nestled in his chest.

It’s…one of the first gifts they’ve ever gotten. Probably the first that’s purely cosmetic.

Sure, there’s the stuff they got when they first came to this world. But…those aren’t quite the same. They sure as hell aren’t unique, because everyone gets those things.

The earrings would never have even been brought to their attention if Lee never gave them to the two of them. But he saw them, thought of them, and went out of his way to make sure they didn’t feel burdened about getting them.

Daz smiles brightly at him. “Yeah, he’s a pretty special kid. We’re all super lucky he’s here. I’m pretty sure if anyone could fix every problem ever, it’d be him, solving it with kindness and love.”

Truer words have never been spoken.

Chapter Text

When Daz tells Khons and Aleph to follow him into one of the blackstone-lined rooms in the Welcome Wagon, neither of them think that much of it.

It’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened, after all; Daz occasionally just…likes to spend time in these spaces, secure in the knowledge that he’s not being spied on.

Hell, Khons doesn’t blame him for that. Thinking too hard about San and the information they hold still gives him the chills.

Once the doors are closed, Daz asks them, “If you had to choose one person who mattered most to you, aside from each other, who would it be?”

For a split second, Khons almost thinks it’s a joke. But…something about the guy screams that it’s very serious.

It doesn’t Aleph more than a moment to answer, “Lee.” Khons winces, suspecting that choosing a kid they haven’t interacted with all that much over the guy they work with day in, day out might be a bit rude.

Daz studies him, and something about it is…a little unsettling.

Still, he hedges his bets and says, “I mean…you’re a good friend–” “Khons,” Daz sighs, sounding almost disappointed. “I won’t be mad if you say someone other than me.”

Oh.

“...Lee kinda wormed his way into my heart, too,” he admits, still feeling guilty about it.

But Daz grins. “Yeah, he does that. I’m glad you decided to be honest.” Two honey blocks are set on the table, and an ender pearl is offered to each of them. “If you trust me, I should return the favor. Throw the pearl into the honey, and I’ll show you a project I’ve been working on.”

A part of him screams that it’s a trap, but…this is Daz. The guy has like– zero mean bones in his body. Trusting him, thus far, has pretty much only worked out in his and Aleph’s favor.

So, Khons takes the pearl and throws it into the honey. Aleph hesitates, but does the same.

Their…friend? Beams at them, scoops up one of the blocks– Khons’-- and carefully sets it in Aleph’s hands. “Hold this for a second. We’re taking a bit of a trip!”

He scoops the other block up and shoves his hand in his pocket. He vanishes in the next second, giving Khons a sinking feeling. “...’Leph–”

His other half vanishes, giving Khons a moment of pure panic. Aleph being gone means suffering and pain and humiliation will follow. When they’re split up, things become the worst they’ve ever been.

But he feels a familiar tug, and then he’s being crushed in a hug. “Daz,” Aleph growls, and the rumble of his voice soothes the fear that had started to bubble up, “You’d better–”

“I’ve been doing a lot of lying to you,” Daz tells them, and Khons hears the sounds of him climbing up a ladder. “About myself, about my goals, about why I wanted you to join me.”

Aleph demands, “Hey, I’m not done–!” “It’ll be best for everyone’s sanity if you come up. There’s a lot more room, for one,” Daz calls down from above them.

Another growl rumbles in his best friend’s chest, then Aleph asks him, “Are you okay? We can just–”

“I’m fine,” Khons sighs, breaking free from the hug. “We might as well see what this is even about. I mean…it’s Daz. This is probably some weird idea of a joke.”

Even as he says it, he can’t help but doubt that. Daz shows a hell of a lot of empathy for others’ trauma, and he knows that being split up is a huge trigger for the two of them.

The entire situation is strange, but they won’t get answers by standing around here.

He climbs up the ladder, Aleph just behind him.

When he reaches the top–

The room is….weird. Opulent, actually; quartz, gilded blackstone, countless little flourishes of prettiness that remind Khons too much of the places where he was kept in a literal cage.

But…it’s also got another person inside of it, seated at a large round table in the center of the room.

It takes Khons several long moments to place the guy. Aster, the one that often hangs around with Theo and Lee. He doesn’t seem to like Daz all that much, which makes them both being in on whatever this is even weirder.

Aster fiddles with a small hunk of wood and a whittling knife, the blade digging into the material with some serious precision. Not as much so as what Khons has personally seen Orph use for his carvings, but far better than either Aleph or Khons could do, themselves.

Daz spreads his arms wide, a sly smile spreading across his face. “Gentlemen, welcome to the meeting room for a special club. I could be flowery about it, but I’ll be blunt. Achilles Was-Taken is a special kind of person who needs to be protected.”

In clear disbelief, Aleph states, “Bruh, he has a whole dang family–” “Who are all pulled in way too many directions of their own. You think Theseus is really gonna notice if a handful of people get anxious about the kind of power his family holds? You think DayDream is the kind of person people can go to if they have an issue with him or his kids?”

Aster sighs, long and loud. “He’s decided that he’s building a militia.” “That’s underselling it. The group is meant to be–”

“I’m not fighting for anyone. Not any more,” Aleph warns. Daz raises his eyebrows. “It’s not just fighting. If anything, that’s only for if shit hits the fan. No, the main purpose is as a deterrent. If the kid gets upset, a tight-knit group of people get upset, too. People who have expressed a vested interest in keeping that kid happy and safe and know how to fight. That alone is gonna give basically everyone pause.”

Khons frowns at him. “I didn’t know you cared so much about him.” “That’s on purpose. If I’m absurdly, openly pro-Lee, I won’t be able to hear about potential fires that need to be put out.”

His frown deepens. “And by put out you mean–” “Subtly resolve whatever the actual issue is, because Achilles is special. It’s easy to crush the heart of someone who cares so much. Not everyone is decent enough to avoid such an obvious target.”

There’s another sigh from Aster, who looks vaguely bored with the whole thing. But, as far as Khons recalls, he’s got something messed up with his face and voice. He probably struggles not to seem bored.

“Daz is an asshole who nobody else has figured out is an asshole.”

That statement gets a huff of disbelieving laughter from Khons. Sure, this whole reveal is kind of weird and offputting, but it’s still Daz. “Are you sure–” “Oh, no, I am,” Daz agrees, blinking at them. “I mean– fuck, I literally have been monitoring you two to see if you would actually be a good fit for this since before I approached you. I’m just a really good actor.”

His jaw drops.

Aster shoots his– whatever the fuck Daz is– a dirty look, and gets a smug smirk back. “Star here is pissy every single other person thinks I’m a sweet, wholesome, slightly ditzy guy.”

It’s Aleph who steps forward, chin raised. “Betrayal, huh.” “Opposite, actually,” Daz argues, “because…think about it. Think about how little you suspected me. If I wanted to keep lying to you, it would have been easy.”

“We won’t be your pawns,” Khons warns, bitterness twisting in his chest.

There’s a look of disbelief. “...Pawns, of which there are many, will never have any clue of what I’m actually like. If you really want to compare yourselves to chess pieces– which you shouldn’t, it’s a boring game that’s easy to win– then…hmm. Queens, maybe? Barring some catastrophic events…you two, Aster, I, and one other person are the only ones who can see the full picture behind the group and the server.”

Khons glances at the other doors in the room. “And who’s the other person, then?” “Dunno. We haven’t picked them yet,” Daz replies.

Aster rubs at his temples. “I fucking hate you.” “The server would be halfway to a hellhole without me. It’s not my fault you’re a salty bitch with no sense of humor.”

Holding both hands up to stop the bickering, Aleph demands, “What d’you mean you haven’t picked them?”

Daz finally sits down in one of the chairs, reaching up to toy with his earrings. “If I want an actually unified council, it’s really fucking dumb to choose every single member by myself. If I wanted, as you put it, pawns, I don’t need to go through all this effort. Check your coordinates.”

Warily, keeping an eye on the other two as he does so, Khons pulls his com out. It takes him a minute to find the display for it, but–

They're so fucking far away from anything. How did Daz even get here the first time..?

“San has no idea this place exists, let alone who might come and go. I have friends in strange places,” Daz informs them.

What an insane statement. There’s no way that’s possible. He opens his mouth to say as much, but is interrupted by Daz continuing, “I can assure you…they won’t be saying anything. The more important part is that if I wanted to? I could have kept lying to you two forever. I could have, at any point, decided you weren’t suitable for this part. But I didn’t. I’m putting all of these cards on the table because I genuinely believe you two are the right fit for this. You’re being given admittance to a secret council for a group that, ultimately, is dedicated to the safety of the entire server. You’re being shown the real me, the person that I’ve hidden from everyone else. And not to be, in your own words, pawns.”

He gestures across from him at the two empty seats. “You’re equals. Just like in the Welcome Wagon– actually, even more than there? What you say matters. There’s no greater or lesser power here. Whatever role you decide to have in the public part of the group is up to you. If you decide to only technically be members or not be affiliated at all, that’s your call. Hell– that’s what I’m going to be doing. As far as anyone else will know, I’m really just in it because I like Lee and I like making friends.”

Khons swallows. Just like the offer to join the Welcome Wagon, this is too tempting to outright ignore.

But Aleph asks, “What happens if we go to someone about this?”

There’s a slight tilt to Daz’s head. “That’s not ideal, obviously. Best case scenario, I have to stage some sort of bitterness or insanity on your part. Worst case scenario, I truly get found out.”

Khons’ other half presses, “And if that happens?”

A soft sigh escapes someone who Khons had considered a friend. “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d stay, if it came down to that.”

…So Daz is, ultimately, resting his fate in their hands. If they rat him out, then there’s a chance that he could leave the server entirely.

Again, he swallows. After a moment, Khons manages to ask, “And…if we– if we just keep quiet? Without joining?”

Aster seems a bit surprised. “That seems weird. Why would you do that?” “I don’t– I’m just trying to figure out what our options are, okay?”

The guy smiles faintly. “Yeah, fair enough.”

After a few more moments, Daz answers, “I’d probably bribe you into silence and find someone else to fill your places.”

That…seems surprisingly reasonable. Enough so that Khons hesitantly sits down– though chooses to place himself next to Aster instead of Daz.

Aleph almost immediately takes the other seat. He asks, “Why us?” “Hmm?” “You said you had your eye on us from the start, pretty much. So…why us?”

“Notable fondness for Lee, not having many attachments– and certainly no strong ones– other than each other, clearly able to keep secrets, and…” Daz pauses, wiggling the fingers he’d already ticked off.

Aster supplies, “And a gut feeling. Of the people he nominated, I felt…I dunno. You two felt right. Kinda like how it felt when I chose my name. It was like I was just waiting to realize something that was always meant to be.”

Unexpectedly, Daz nods. “Of the eight people I make dossiers for, none of them felt as right for the job.”

Dossiers? It takes Khons a moment to remember what that word means, and he feels his expression twist into a scowl. “You have a file on us?”

“I have files on a lot of people,” Daz answers, “But I stopped writing things down when we decided to see how suitable you were.”

His other half demands, “Then show us.”

There’s a weird, smug smirk that Daz gets, and Aster glares at him while withdrawing a folder and handing it over. “Yes, you were right, congratulations.”

“Right about–?” “You two wanting to see the file,” Daz answers, a little too cheerfully for Khons’ taste.

Deciding to ignore him for the moment, he opens up the file.

It’s…surprisingly empty. Most of it is basic facts, with the last few pages being just a series of questions and speculation.

Unimpressed, Aleph demands, “And the rest?” “That’s it. You really think I’m dumb enough to leave a paper trail of sensitive information? Once you’re satisfied with that, I’m going to destroy it,” Daz scoffs.

Several more folders get set down, and then slid over. “For reference, here’s some of the others I was considering.”

Even without opening them, Khons can tell they’re much thicker. He knows it’s probably rude, but he can’t help but open one and peer at it.

There’s…a lot more information. Plenty of it is stuff that he probably shouldn’t know about, like the trauma that led to these people coming to Sanctuary and even, in a few cases, triggers and allergies.

“You know some of this about us, though,” Khons points out. Daz agrees, “Mm-hmm. But it’s dumb to write it down. I told Aster some of it– but mostly so he knew not to say something incredibly upsetting.”

Said person sighs. “He insisted on doing that, actually. I can guess some of why, but I don’t know for sure.”

Aleph sounds wary. “Like what?” “You’re from one of the fucked up worlds where hybrids are slaves and don’t want to watch Manhunts. Analogies and metaphors about cages or leashes are also a bad idea, even if I can relate better than he can.”

When Khons squints at him, Aster raises his eyebrows a little. “I was enchanted like a trident with Loyalty–” “It makes the weapon come back when it’s thrown,” Daz clarifies. Seeming to ignore that, Aster continues, “And I had to obey that monster’s orders no matter what. Mostly, those orders were to shut up, stay out of his way, and sometimes hurt others. I was made to watch my own funeral, silent and behind a mask. I was called the same thing that his armor and weapons were– Nightmare. I was a tool he used and took his issues out on.”

He can feel Aleph straighten up a little. “...Then all those scars are–?” “From him, mostly. He had a lot of issues.”

A shudder goes down Khons’ spine. He’s too familiar with the permanent, golden marks etched into his only companions’ hide. The more serious the wound, the more golden it healed.

There’s a lot of marks that rival Khons’ wool in their brilliance.

The four of them are quiet for several long minutes.

His first instinct with Daz, mistrust, was evidently correct. Just…not in the way he thought it would be.

As powerful as Daz wants to make them, he also did a hell of a lot of lying and manipulating.

Actually, that might be the part that really stings. They were probably mocked behind their backs; their sincere efforts to help and enjoyment in doing so laughed at as stupid and naive.

The only saving grace is that, from the sound of it, the only people aware of the real Daz are within this room.

That means it wasn't targeted; he wasn't making a fool out of them, specifically. But that doesn’t rule out that he did think they were dumber than others, because of how closely they’ve worked together.

He grits out, “So all that bullshit about how the only good people are useful people, that was all to, what– make us look stupider? Make us think you’re a different flavor of fucked up than you clearly fucking are?”

Daz, instead of agreeing or even laughing it off, seems a little taken aback. “...What?”

Evidently even less willing to be diplomatic, Aleph snaps, “All the stuff about how useful people are good people, and good people don't need to be punished. Was that aimed at Orph and Zinn, or at us?”

Aster makes an offended noise. “Fucking Prime, what is wrong–”

“No, that's…just how the world works. If you're not useful to someone, they don't care about you at best, or at worst, resent your worthlessness to them. Sure, different people feel differently, but nobody is nice for no reason.” Daz seems baffled, like it's a fundamental law of reality the three of them simply haven't noticed. “People just don't like hearing that. Easy to paint it as a facet of trauma and seem worse off than I am.”

Of all the answers Khons might have expected, that was not one of them.

Aster seems even more upset. “You literally sold– all of fucking this on Lee's kindness!”

Daz scoffs, kicking his feet up and waving a hand dismissively. “He's different. Something about him is special– normal people don't act like that. That's why that mindset needs to be protected.”

Impossibly, every word he says makes him seem more fucked up in a radically different way than way Khons had thought.

Wonderful.

Aster holds his head in his hands, looking a few seconds from having an aneurysm. “You cannot be fucking serious.”

There’s a dismissive, almost patronizing eye roll from Daz. “For someone who went through so much shit, you’re awfully fucking naive. Nothing is free. Anything you want to call your own is at someone else's expense. People claw down the person at the top, because people are selfish, greedy, and cruel.”

As much as Khons can't entirely refute parts of that, calling it a cynical worldview is an understatement.

Aleph gives a low whistle. “Have you considered doin’ your therapy right?”

A bark of laughter comes from the fucked up jerk across from them. “Fuck no! They'll just use it against me. I can’t afford the scrutiny– not from the therapist, not from San.”

You know what? Khons can't even argue that point. Nobody would trust him, and rightfully so.

Evidently satisfied he’s proved his point, Daz withdraws a strange little knife and starts spinning it. It twirls hypnotically; open-closed, open-closed, dancing over his fingers like it belongs there.

It's oddly beautiful, he can’t help but think. For all of the ways Daz is alarming, there's a certain elegance in his cleverness.

Both Khons and Aleph have spent more than their fair share of time having to be five, ten, twenty times smarter than anyone gave them credit for. As grating as it was, they could get away with more if they used the image of hybrids being stupid animals.

In that aspect, maybe Daz isn’t entirely alien, after all. Given his…everything, it’s beyond obvious he’s got some kind of horrible, fucked up past.

But a lot of the glimmers they’ve gotten of that past have been through the lens of his shiny, stupid persona. The only real way to know more is to ask, Khons supposes.

“So– explain what your actual deal is.” The question makes Daz hum in thought. “...In what way?” “What’s the real reason you wound up in Sanctuary?”

He’s quiet for long enough that Khons almost thinks that he just…won’t answer.

Instead, there’s a soft sigh. The knife spins faster, threatening to do serious damage if he fucks up its twirling for even a second. “You have a general idea of what admins are, right?”

He grimaces and nods. The concept of some sort of near-divinity, capable of reaching into a person and altering everything about them, is fucking terrifying.

Daz, evidently unsatisfied with that answer, tells them, “Admins are both an innate thing and a role you step into. An admin– at least, this type of admin– is bound to their server in perpetuity. It takes a god to undo that. Gods don’t tend to offer that kind of deal up easily.”

Yeah, he’s pretty sure he can guess where this is going. He hazards, “...And you ran up against an admin.”

A sharp, almost manic bark of laughter and bitter twist to the guy’s expression make Khons jump.

The knife finally stills abruptly. “An admin,” he says, voice low, “ran up against me.”

Something about the air raises the his hackles. Aleph subtly leans forward, like he’s pushing Khons ever so slightly behind him. “So…you’re more dangerous than an admin.”

Daz gives a loud exhale, his posture deflating a little. “I was training to be an admin. The only other one he’d met, apparently. I was happy. I was excited. I was stupid, and I lost everything.” He pulls the sleeve of his hoodie up to show a bracelet that Khons has noticed before.

“Dream used an unstable project to enchant me with Loyalty. He forced me to kill my best friend. I manipulated my original server into a hunt to kill us both, set the stage so that I would rip away the only thing he gave a shit about. If they somehow let me down– fuck knows that would have been likely, they were all idiots– I was eroding the fragile scraps of Dream’s sanity. The more orders, the faster the enchantment would have killed me.”

As if he hadn’t just described something horrible and terrifying, Daz gestures at Aster and cheerfully notes, “Unlike the other poor fuckers enchanted like that, mine had to be stabilized first! DayDream looked about ready to hurl when he got a good look at my code. I don’t blame him– it was a wreck.”

Aster winces. “Don’t imply I had any choice in what happened to me.” “I wasn’t, I was just using you as a reference for the kind of poor fucker I meant. Nobody wants to be leashed like that.”

Pieces snap together, and through the haze of discomfort about pretty much everything Daz just told them, Khons says, “When you talked about cages–” “Yeah. Every second, my soul was being…corrupted, I guess? Worn down? Definitely fucked up– the magic was rapidly killing me. It was a miracle, sort of, that the T3 showed up. Since being able to literally turn my back on him and walk away would hurt Dream more, I seized on the chance they gave me. It was only afterwards that I kind of had to…find something to do with myself.”

Aleph whistles. “Bruhhh…that’s messed up.” “Isn’t it just? He did the only thing I could never forgive him for. Even after the enchantment…if Tubbo was able to walk away, I would have cut ties with him. I would have become an admin in an empty server with them, and I’d have made my peace with it. In trying to cut off a reason for me to leave, he made sure I had every reason to do it. I wanted him to look out on the ruins of everything he sacrificed, only to end up even more pathetically, wretchedly alone and miserable than he ever thought he could be. I vowed to choose death before defeat; blood and pain repaid a thousandfold.”

There’s a shrewd look his Daz’s eyes as he gestures between Khons and Aleph. “I’ve seen how close you two are. Look me in the eye and tell me that any price would be too high to get revenge if each other was murdered.”

A pained noise escapes Khons, and Aleph immediately pulls him into a hug. “Hey, hey– it’s okay. I’m right here.”

It takes several long, horrible moments for that old fear to be beaten down again.

“I don’t want to think about that anymore,” he mumbles.

From what Khons can tell, his other half must be glaring at Daz. “It wasn’t a threat or anything. I’m just–” When he finally glances up, he sees an odd expression on the guy’s face.

Instead of the million questions he could ask, he instead takes a deep breath and focuses on, “So it’s not going to fuck you up, having another Dream you’re working with? You clearly hate yours. Not that I blame you, but…”

Daz blinks at him a few times. Evidently accepting the out, he tilts his head. Puzzled, he says, “No? You’re not him, just like Day isn’t him, or Spark, or Lee. There’s too many differences to accept you’re the same.” He grimaces and adds, “If it was an issue, I wouldn’t have included you in the candidates.”

Right, the files still strewn over the table. Khons closes the ones still open and pushes them aside.

“And, like I said– I had a good feeling about you two,” Daz adds. “Mmm-hmm. As much as I hate to agree with him…on this? Yeah. Even the stuff about hating our original Dreams, and you very clearly not being the same. I just…went with my gut.”

“Gut can be wrong,” Aleph notes warily. Aster shrugs and jerks his thumb at Daz. “My gut was right about him, no matter how many times I was told that, no, he’s fine, that it’s just him seeming weird because he’s so different from me.”

Entirely too cheerfully, Daz tells him, “It’s not my fault nobody thinks they can be lied to.” “You’re a freak and an outlier.” “And you’re still salty nobody believed you. Even Theo and Lee took my side, and it absolutely kills you that you can’t parade me in front of them and say, look, I was right.”

His smug arrogance makes Khons kind of want to deck him. Just…one really good hit to his face, that he’d then have to try and lie his way out of. It would really do wonders to make Khons more willing to assist in this entire scheme.

As if he’s aware that Khons and Aleph are debating the merits of ratting him out, Daz props a hand up on his chin. He notes, “You’d be quietly given untold power, you know. Power being used not to hurt others, but to make sure Sanctuary remains a safe haven for countless residents. Think about it– really think. What would happen to everyone here if Sanctuary fell?”

There’s a harsh exhale from Aleph. Khons has to swallow hard, too– because he’s suddenly, horribly aware that if everything suddenly went to shit, he doesn’t know what would happen to them.

Even assuming they were able to leave the server…then what? Where would they go? By now he’s got enough of an idea about how the portal system works to know that if there was an emergency evacuation where even seconds mattered, there would be no guarantee the place they wound up would be even remotely hospitable.

But if they were able leave into the…universal hub, or whatever, of this world, even that posed issues. There’s no telling if they would be able to find a server even a fraction as understanding as Sanctuary, or as willing to work with them.

And who’s to say that another admin wouldn’t do much, much more fucked up things?

Daz nods to himself as if he knows what Khons is thinking. “Exactly. And we’re going to make sure that never comes to pass. The function of this hidden council is to ensure that any potential problems are taken care of. It could be as little as making sure hurt feelings aren’t able to fester, or as big as having a way to sound the alarm if the Egg was ever able to take root here. Hell, if in some crazy scenario Sanctuary was invaded, our goal is to make sure the server gets through it in one piece.”

Brows furrows, Khons asks, “And…you’re going to do this through a group to protect Lee?” “Achilles Was-Taken is the human embodiment of sunshine. He’s literally supernaturally kind to everyone. There’s no better rallying point, and no better excuse to form a trained militia under. What– are Day and Theo really going to argue they don’t want to have a group sworn to protect their youngest? With goddamned Aster, the only person able to get anywhere close to matching their devotion to said kid, at the helm?”

The man in question faintly makes a face. Daz continues, “If it was anyone else, yeah, maybe they’d be wary. But again, it’s Aster. They trust him enough to let him hang around Lee largely unsupervised. Hell, Lee himself adores him. And if Aster pitches it right, they might even be excited about it.”

This time, it’s Aleph who’s curious. “Okay, I’m gonna need you to clarify what you mean by that.” Daz replies, “It’s an innocent enough banner that would let people who want to learn potentially objectionable things could gather under. Things like actual combat training, or having a ready-made social group, or just having a good reason to get up out of bed every morning. Having the excuse that it’s for a righteous cause, and it being a group thing, would mean that it feels safer to do. If Theo and Day are on board, it being lowkey endorsed by two of the most respected people on the server is going to make it even more tempting.”

This radical shift in the reality of who Daz is keeps having startling new twists. By now, Khons has spent enough time working alongside him that he can see some of the same philosophies shining through in this that he’s seen in how the Welcome Wagon is run.

One question, above all others, is vital to really understanding this entire deal, though.

“Why are you so fixated on Lee? What made you decide that he’s so special?”

Daz studies his weird little rainbow-tinted folding knife, one that Khons vaguely remembers him mentioning he got as a gift from Theo. Despite not looking directly at them, it’s clear that he’s getting his thoughts in order.

Finally, he sighs. “I was being trained to become the closest thing a mortal can get to being a god. I wanted it for…a lot of reasons. Admins aren’t really human; we’re…built a little different. We have our own set of instincts and drives, and for the first time in my life I found someone who understood. He threw it all away because he got paranoid. He betrayed me in the only way I couldn’t ever accept. When the T3 found me…like I said; I was already planning to die.” His expression is oddly forlorn, and there’s a wistfulness in his tone. “I went from nearly a god to less than nothing. I didn’t know what to do; everywhere I turned I saw something that reminded me of everything I lost. Everything I rejected, in my need for revenge.”

The knife gets slowly turned over, and Khons can see the reflection of one bright cyan eye in the blade. “And at my lowest, after I realized one of the worst facets of that betrayal…Lee showed up. And he kept showing up. It’s– it’s really not all that complicated. I needed something, anything to make me get up and keep going. He’s a sweet kid whose kindness saved me. Is it really that weird that I want to make sure he stays safe and happy?”

At this question, Daz finally looks up at them. There’s a gravity and what feels like sincerity to his expression that catches Khons off guard.

Even without looking at Aleph, he can tell that his other half is even more surprised than he is. “...Are you sayin’ betray so much ‘cause you know it’s one of my issues?” “It’s one of mine, too. Better a beggar with integrity than a hollow shell of a king. Nothing is worse than a traitor.”

Aster’s tone is surprised. “Does that have anything to do with being an admin?”

Unexpectedly, Daz flinches. “...Does it matter?” “Maybe. You can’t just bring up admins being inhuman and move on,” Aster says. “You already think I’m a freak. I don’t feel like giving you more of a reason to feel justified.”

The jab is unexpected– not just to Khons and Aleph, but to Aster as well. His eyes thin slightly, and he studies Daz. “...That’s a weird way to look at hating you because you’re a giant fucking asshole. Who made you think like that?”

And Khons gets a close up view of what happens when Daz does get pushed too far. In a deeply disturbing sort of ripple, everything gets wiped away. His posture relaxes to what Khons can only describe as neutral, his expression becomes similarly blank– hell, even his eyes seem void of emotion.

Voice perfectly monotone, Daz says, “That’s not a subject I’m willing to discuss.” “You can’t just–”

“This is your last warning. Drop it, or I’ll redirect the conversation in a way you’ll hate. I’ll give you a much more pressing reason to resent me. Don’t make me do that,” Daz tells him.

If anyone had said even an hour ago that Daz was capable of inspiring fear, Khons would have thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard.

But he’s now looking at someone who makes every single instinct scream that this is possibly the biggest danger that Khons has ever encountered.

Even Aster seems deeply uncomfortable with this side of him. “...Fine. If you’re gonna be that stubborn about it.”

And emotion returns to Daz, who smiles with just enough chill that it sends another shiver down Khons’ spine. “I will be, yeah.”

Daz turns to regard him, then. His smile is a little apologetic, and he says, “I’m sure you can sympathize with having shit you really don’t want to drag out into the open.”

It’s…not a terrible point. But it’s brought up a question that Khons kind of needs an answer to, even if it risks pissing him off. “Is…is the whole– that thing you just did…is that an admin thing?”

There’s a slight widening of his smile at that. “As far as I can tell, Lucid can’t do that, no. Nor Day– who is actually kind of a shitty liar. It’s fascinating, because I don’t think he realizes how bad he is. I’m pretty sure I can do it because I’m me, not because I’m an admin. But it’s not like I have a wealth of data points. I’ve met between two and three other admins, depending on how you want to count Day and Lucid.”

“And they’ve all been Dreams,” Aleph notes. Daz nods. “Mm-hmm. Makes it even harder to figure out. Who knows– there might be another admin right under our noses. Or, well, under my nose. If anyone knows what an unaware or hidden admin looks like, it’d be me.”

Huh, that’s…kind of weird to think about. Khons asks, “So you didn’t know you were an admin?” “Nope. I didn’t even know admins were different. It can be easy to overlook if you don’t know what the signs are.”

How can he not be curious? “...And what are the signs?”

Daz is quiet for several long moments, like he’s trying to decide how to answer. Finally, he sighs, “...I don’t want to get into that right now.”

Given he just saw what happens when Daz gets pushed further than this, Khons winces. Aleph hums, and asks, “Is that a pause, or a polite way to brush it off?”

The corner of Daz’s lips quirk upwards. “I’m not sure yet. But we have plenty of other things to take care of without digging into all of that.”

Taking a deep breath, their technically-boss continues, “There’s a lot that we need to decide on. First and foremost, though…”

He studies the two of them intently, and asks with gravity, “Have you decided what you’ll do, yet?”

There’s no point in asking what he means; Khons and Aleph are both aware that he’s asking if they’re in or not. And, if they’re not in, are they at least not going to cause problems.

“Dunno. We need time to think about it,” Aleph tells him. Khons nods, grateful that his other half is there.

Aster and Daz both seem unbothered by this. “If you need anything, feel free to text me. Especially if it’s about how fucked up he is,” Aster tells them, handing over a scrap of paper with a com number scrawled onto it.

Khons goes to put it in his pocket, but Daz says, “I’d really rather you just put it in your coms now. It would be weird if anyone else found it, and we do have a perpetual camera watching everything at all times. Even if San doesn’t immediately think it’s weird…what about if they look back later?”

That’s…a fair point, even if Aster grimaces at it. Khons pulls out the device and gets to the contacts menu. It’s not exactly expansive– even if you included the people he has saved from the Welcome Wagon because they might need to talk to him in particular, it’s only about fifteen.

Aleph does the same, and then pushes the piece of paper towards Daz. He smiles, and then gestures towards the files. “Done with those?”

Since Daz has already said he’s going to get rid of them, Khons chews his lip for a long moment. He can’t really think of anything else he could do with them, though, so he looks to Aleph.

His other half nods, closing the files and passing them over.

Daz beams at them. “Thank you, Aleph. Now…let me show you the joys of high-tech trashcans. And also the rest of the headquarters, I guess.”

Chapter Text

They’re sitting on the roof, letting the wind tug at their hair and the sun warm their skin.

It’s peaceful up here; it’s easier than dealing with the problems of the world under their feet.

Daz closes his eyes and just…enjoys the company.

But, seemingly just to spite him, he can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. He groans and opens his eyes again, tilting his head to look at his best friend.

Tubbo is looking at him, an odd expression on his face. Before Daz can ask what’s wrong, his best friend sighs.

“Yeah…it’s probably for the best, you know?” “What is?”

“That I’m dead.”

Those words rip the veil of calm away from him, and as he shoots upwards, reaching out, Tubbo scoots away. With a scoff and a sneer, he mutters, “I thought I’d never be rid of you, but finally someone else was dumb enough to pay attention to you. But of course, it had to come back to bite me in the ass.”

Contempt colors his best friend’s words and he says, “The best part about being dead is that I don’t have to deal with you any more. Whiny, clingy, broken, greedy Tommy; you can’t ever be happy with what you have. All you do is take, and take, and take. Everyone who meets you can tell there’s something wrong with you; that’s why nobody who knows the real you likes you, you know.”

Thunder booms again, and it sounds like the muffled screams of his once-mentor and Innit blended together. Lightning flashes, and he sees Wilbur, silhouetted by the faint light from Pogtopia as he stands between Tommy and freedom.

“I tried to fix you, but you wouldn’t even try to let me. Maybe if you had, I could have cared about you. Oh well; at least we don’t have to deal with you any more,” his brother laughs, and slams the door shut.

The darkness of the closet is so absolute that it rips into his soul. He screams, and screams, and screams, clawing at the tiny gap that is the only thing keeping him from suffocating.

Innit laughs mockingly at him, like the freedom you stole from me? We both deserve to die like this– alone, forgotten, and in agony. Because it’s all your fault, Tommy.

“It’s all your fault,” Dream’s voice murmurs, sounding mournful. “All I wanted was someone who understood me…someone who wouldn’t abandon me. But it wasn’t enough that I needed you– you needed to be the only thing in my life. You ripped out everyone and everything else, but I wasn’t allowed to want you all to myself. Wasn’t I a good person, before you sunk your claws into me?”

He had been, hadn’t he? Dream was kind and helpful and good, unlike the tainted, broken thing that pretended to be a real boy and called itself Tommy.

Everyone who has escaped the curse of his love has only done so by being smart enough to reject him.

It’s better if we stay here, then, Innit murmurs, and it feels almost like a clawed hand cards through his hair. We can stay in the dark until we finally die. That way nobody else needs to suffer. It’s the kindest thing for them. After all– don’t we monsters belong in a cage?

It makes a fair point; the only reason anyone likes him is because of his lies. And, really– who is he kidding? The biggest threat in Sanctuary is himself.

Aster realized that immediately, and that was only when his mask had slipped a little. How long before everyone else realizes that he’s a monster, inside and out?

Crawling into a hole to die is the only way they can be happy. It would be the only truly good thing he’s ever done.

“--Z? Daz, you’re kinda freaking me out–”

He bolts upright in his bed, heart pounding so hard he feels like he’s about to pass out from it.

He’s soaked in sweat, and he can feel the tremble in his shoulders as he looks up at Khons.

The sheep hybrid’s ears are pinned back in obvious concern, and from his stance it looks like he had shaken him awake.

Aleph stands just behind him him– would likely be in the room, but the small area Daz uses as a ‘house’ is cramped with just one person. Two is pushing it, even if Daz is laying down, and three is out of the question entirely.

It’s temporary, hopefully. He’s just…reluctant to pick a place and move out of the back of the Welcome Wagon.

Something in his gut tells him that he needs to wait. Fuck only knows what he’s supposed to wait on, but he can’t ignore it.

He’s tried, and also failed miserably. All he can bring himself to do is use his absurd salary to hoard areas of interest.

Sanctuary’s ruthless determination to be fair to others extends even to their stance on real estate; the cost gets exponentially larger the more places you’re hanging on to.

Nobody really wants to deal with someone deciding to form a monopoly and shut everyone else out of an area. Even in Daz’s case, where he can afford the dizzying fees, he would be stopped dead in his tracks if he tried getting everything in a specific area.

The people under Zinn who handle housing seem increasingly uneasy with how often he grabs somewhere new. Currently they’re tolerating it because they’re spread so far out, but he’s pretty sure they’re going to try to get him to make a formal contract that he’ll give up the other areas when he does finally settle on a place to live.

Khons looks concerned, likely by his silence. “Are you okay? I know you don’t really like anyone coming back here, but you’re pretty late, so…”

He looks up at the clock, which does, indeed, say that he’s nearly an hour late to open up the Welcome Wagon.

Awesome. He loves looking like an incompetent flake who can’t be trusted to do his damn job.

“It’s fine,” he sighs, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Slept hard, I guess. I didn’t even hear my alarm.”

One of the luxuries he did spring for with this fucking shoebox is it being lined in blackstone. He really can’t stomach the idea of San watching him even when he sleeps.

Bad enough that he has to deal with it the rest of the time, but when he’s vulnerable…no. No, he drew the line there, and spun enough bullshit that his therapist was relieved that he wanted to have that little haven.

It’s great for when nightmares rip him open like that. They’re frequent and miserable, but it’s been a while since he had one that bad.

What, was it the night after he was forced to kill Tubbo? He’d dreamt that he buried himself in that grave alongside him, and had to watch as the steadily rotting corpse begged to know why he did it, what he had done wrong to make Tommy hate him that much–

Daz forcibly slams the door shut on that memory. He can’t afford to linger on how badly that had fucked him up right after one of the worst nightmares he’s had since coming to Sanctuary.

Khons is still staring at him, an unfamiliar expression on his face. Slowly, clearly after choosing what to say, he says, “No, Daz. You’re not fine.”

The ugly thing in his heart screams in protest, and in a desperate attempt to stop himself from showing more than he wants to– more than he can afford to– he goes blank.

The sheep hybrid shudders, but insists, “You can’t just shut down and pretend– whatever you’re going through, can’t you at least talk about it with us?”

He has to put effort into keeping his voice neutral and calm. “It doesn’t matter.”

Annoyance and disbelief twist Khons’ face– signs he’s getting sick of him already– and he says, “I can literally smell your fear, asshole.”

Hmm. That’s…not ideal.

“I have plenty of plausible reasons I could have horrific nightmares. Nobody is going to look too closely–”

Aleph heaves a long, tired sigh. “Bruhhhh…we’re not worried about your cover, we’re worried about you.”

He just blinks at him. It stings a little that they don’t think he can bounce back from this, but, well, he can’t really control that. All he can do is reassure them, “I’ve handled worse. I don’t break easily.”

As Khons makes a strangled, frustrated noise, Aleph looks flabbergasted. “D’you…seriously not get why we’re worried?”

“...If I get outed, the two of you will get dragged down with me. In an absolute worst case scenario, you could get expelled from Sanctuary entirely. It’s normal to be worried–”

Suddenly, Khons lunges and grabs his shoulders. “Oh my fucking– we’re worried about you because we care about you as a person! You’re our friend, no matter how secretly insane you are or how frustrating you can be, you’re–”

The mask of his calm snaps, and he grabs Khons’s forearms. “Don’t,” he says, fear bubbling up. “Caring about me is stupid. Worse than stupid, actually, it’s fucking sui–”

The way Khons stares at him makes him realize he’s said too much. He abruptly gets out of bed, not caring that he’s just in an undershirt and boxers.

“Nevermind. Look, I’m– the nightmares aren’t usually that bad. I’m fine.” He yanks open his drawers, grabbing his clothes. “But I definitely need to shower, I feel gross.”

“...Daz,” Aleph starts, slowly, and he hates that it makes him tense. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mutters.

The piglin hybrid ducks into the room that absolutely isn’t made to accommodate this many people being inside of it. Expression serious, Aleph asks him, “How many friends have you had?”

“That’s not important,” he snaps, feeling his skin start to crawl from the way he feels like a sardine in here.

Khons edges back to the doorway to give him a little more room, but it’s still too much.

Aleph sighs softly, pityingly. “Man, I’m getting the impression it does matter. What, are we talking, like…five? Ten? Smart guy like you probably–”

Because he’s being pushed on something he doesn’t want to engage with, but knows that they’re not going to give up, he finally snaps, “One, okay?! Only one. Everyone else wasn’t a friend.”

The back that had been stabbed so many times is firmly against the wall as he tells them, “Now let me shower and get past all of this, or I swear to fucking Prime I’ll make you regret it.”

Whatever his expression is– his head is buzzing too hard to really have a good grasp of what his face is doing– seems to convince them that it’s not worth pressing him any further on this.

They look sort of sad, but at this point Daz is glad for it. The less they try to connect with him, the less likely it is that his curse will reach them.

The entire time he does his morning routine on autopilot, he tries to impress his will on the world in the form of trying to channel his intent.

Allies, they’re just allies. I don’t care about them beyond how useful they can be. They aren’t my friends. They don’t know me well enough to actually care about the real me. There is nothing for the curse to latch onto. There’s no reason for them to be hurt. I don’t want them hurt because it would be annoying to deal with replacing them, not because I care.

With even more force, as he’s aggressively toweling his hair off, he focuses on, Allies and nothing more. I am alone. I will always be alone. Even Lee is just an excuse. Nothing and no one matters to me, not really. If I needed to, I could kill them and only be annoyed I wasted all that time.

It’s the only truth that matters, because he can’t afford for any other truth to exist.

O

Chapter Text

If you had asked Aster if he ever thought he would be a good leader, at no point in his life would he have said yes.

Unfortunately for him, a key part of Daz’s master plan involves Aster publicly leading what's essentially an armed militia.

Prime, how has that bastard conned him into this?

Aleph notes, casually, “You look like you're considerin’ a dip in lava, without takin’ any fire res.”

He can't help but think of how he had once stared down into a molten sea, Dream’s hand on his shoulder. The grip had been bruising as the masked monster kept him from acting on the impulse to jump into it.

It's not your time yet, Tommy.

The memory of that ominous statement raises his hackles a little.

“No,” he says, accidentally using a little too much force. He's had to halfway relearn how to speak; if he uses what feels like a normal amount of emphasis, everything he says sounds monotone. Ditto for his expressions; he has to do what feels like over-emoting to convey what he’s feeling.

…And even then, he still looks kind of bored with everything.

It’s frustrating; he either sounds like an asshole because he doesn’t emphasize things enough, or he sounds like an asshole because he puts too much emphasis into his words.

Being at an okay level is hard at the best of times, and nearly impossible when he’s not in a good headspace.

Given a large chunk of his time is taken up by Daz and his insane plans, he’s kind of set up for failure on the front of looking reasonable.

Then again, Khons and Aleph are now getting a good look at the real Daz. They can’t possibly blame him for being so out of sorts now that they’re dealing with that jackass when he’s not the gaudy idiot he pretends to be…right?

Khons flinches, and it’s impossible to miss how Aleph subtly leans forward– like he’s putting the focus on him. The black and gold-bristled hybrid whistles and drawls, “I was just askin’.”

He winces, but by now is aware it’s more visible in his body than in his face. “Sorry, it wasn’t– it’s not you. The whole…” Aster gestures at his face, and emphasizes, “thing? The, uh, the only way I get any kind of emotion in anything is doing too much. Easy to fuck it up and actually go too far, though.”

The two of them study him, likely trying to figure out if it’s a lie. He says, “If I had an issue with you, I’d say it. I’m not Daz.”

There’s a bit of a baffled expression from Khons. “I mean, his whole– everything is kind of weird, yeah, but he’s…not that bad? Not really?”

Aster stares at him, opens his mouth, and then sighs. It’s not worth trying to get him to understand that depths of dickishness that the guy is capable of. They might get scared off by it, and that’s kind of a bad thing for everyone.

“I’m not gonna argue about that. The rest of my point stands, though.”

He gets a hesitant smile, and gives a little one back.

From the way Aleph’s ears perk up a little, that must be a good thing. Unbidden, one of Daz’s points about them comes back to him; they’re a united front, and favor with one gives you favor with the other. Getting on one of their bad sides, meanwhile, means getting on both of their bad sides.

Aleph scratches at his chin and asks, “Y’know, I’ve been wonderin’. What happened to do that t’you? Your expressions, I mean. If it’s not a sore subject…?”

It’s nice that he’s being given an easy out if he decides he doesn’t want to talk about it. For random people he’d probably avoid doing that at pretty much all costs, but…these two are, most likely, going to be working closely with him from now on.

Might as well give them the truth.

“My version of the loyalty enchantment was powerful. Trying to disobey was like everything was exploding and imploding at the same time. But, at the end, I…” His brow furrows faintly, and he says, “I was forced to kill the only person I cared about. And…I knew it was the best chance I’d have. So I fought. Against the enchantment, against Dream. I think fighting against it broke something.”

Aleph’s head tilts a little. “Did you kill him?” “Fuck no. I just wanted to piss him off enough to make him kill me. Pretty much worked, too; I was barely alive when the T3 showed up.” Aster huffs softly as he continues, “I was sure they were a hallucination I was having while I died. Wasn’t even conscious when they brought me back. I only woke up much later, after Vio had treated me.”

A soft noise of sympathy escapes from Khons. “I can’t imagine being so…”

He shrugs a shoulder. “It is what it is. Things are better now– great, even. I wish my face and voice weren’t broken, and that Tubbo was here, but…this is pretty much paradise, aside from that.” And aside from Daz, but he’s not going to mention that part.

Khons smiles, a little wider this time. “Sanctuary is a pretty good place, yeah. I don’t think my wool has ever been this long before.”

Because he’d been warned that the two of them are sensitive about their appearances, he’d avoided asking anything about that. Khons in particular looks strange; his wool is golden to the extent that it glints in the light like it’s metal.

But it can’t be actual gold, because Aster can literally see it being compressed by his clothes.

He nods. “Must have been easier to hack it off when you’re on the run, right?”

They both seem a little surprised at that question. After a moment, Khons asks, “Did…do you not know why that’s such a big deal?”

After a moment of racking his brain for anything that he’d been told, he shakes his head. “No? Should I?”

The two of them glance at each other, and then Khons tells him, “It would be taken from me. Whoever was keeping me prisoner would steal it, use it however they wanted. I never had a say in it.”

Well, fuck! He had no idea that was the case, but based on their surprise, Daz absolutely does.

He’s not sure if he’s happy about something like that being hidden from him or not.

“That’s fucked up,” he finally replies. Aleph nods a few times, agreeing, “It’s real messed up. Kind of weird to see it go up in flames, after everythin’, but…it’s not like we can do anythin’ else with it.”

Aster frowns. “Is…there a reason you can’t use it?” “I’m not selling–” “No, no, I figured that much. I meant, like…if it’s wool, can’t it be spun? And if it can be spun into yarn, it can be made into stuff.”

Khons shudders. “I don’t trust anyone to do that.”

“You have Aleph, don’t you? Spinning and knitting can be taught, and then you can have an extra fuck-you to those monsters. You’re using the thing they wanted so bad for you and your loved one.”

There’s a long moment where they both stare at him, and then Aleph tips his head back and gives a long, hearty laugh. “Holy heck– how did we not think of that?” “It’s– it’s really obvious, in hindsight.”

It feels nice that he was able to help them a little. “Can’t blame you for that. Hard to break out of certain mindsets on your own. And, hey– if you need a really secure place to stash the extras, there’s always here. For all his many faults, Daz isn’t dumb enough to touch it. And even if I did care about your wool enough to steal it– which I don’t, because that’s weird– I have too much to lose by pissing you two off. Outside of your ender chests, this is probably the safest place it can be.”

Aside from the mysterious helpers Daz evidently used, nobody outside of their group has any idea this place even exists.

Khons hums softly. “I…don’t know about that. At least, not yet. Still kind of…” He gestures vaguely, wincing a little like he feels guilty.

Far from being offended, Aster just nods. “Fair enough. Just thought I should mention it, you know?”

There are two relieved smiles in return, and he gives a small one back. “Nice that you’re pretty chill. Still weird to meet humans like that…no offense,” Aleph notes.

Aster snorts. “None taken. Wouldn’t have believed there were good Dreams until I met some…or even for a while after that.”

Suddenly, both the hybrids turn their attention to the hidden entrance down into the stasis chambers. The ladder down is usually sealed up by part of the wall, but when someone is here, they just leave it open until the last person leaves.

After just a moment, Daz’s head pops out. That tracks; as much as Aster has been learning, he can’t possibly train himself to be as good as two people with innately heightened hearing.

The bastard looks tired, which is nice. Daz hauls himself up and groans, “Sorry, there was a semi-emergency at the Welcome Wagon. I wound up needing to help someone despite technically being closed.”

Khons frowns a little. “Oh…sorry we weren’t there. Should we have…?” “Nah, it’s not a big deal. Annoying to deal with, but you’re off the clock. I’d rather have dealt with it myself than have gotten you two wrapped up in it, too. Star would get all pissy if he was kept waiting this long all on his own.”

Aster rolls his eyes. “You act like you know me.” “Pot, kettle, black,” Daz scoffs as he sits down in his chair.

Probably trying to keep the peace by changing the subject, Khons asks, “Alright, so…what was it that you wanted to see us all about?”

The bastard grins, and says, “Since you and Aleph are joining us, that means we really need to set certain things in stone. Like the game plan for getting the public-facing group set up, how we'll be interacting with it, that sort of thing.”

He grimaces a little. He knows that he'll be ‘leading’ the group, which feels surreal and wrong.

Aster isn’t a leader. He doesn’t even like existing in public, let alone having to guide others.

“Would've thought you'd be excited,” Aleph hums, looking right at him. “But you're not.”

Yeah, he definitely needs to explain himself on that front. “I…don’t think I'm leader material.”

Daz makes a face. “Seriously? You don't think you're cut out for it?”

Arms folding over his chest, Aster huffs, “Don’t rub it in, asshole.”

There's an exaggerated eye roll. “Wow, loving how little credit you give me. No, dipshit, you're more than capable. You've just never had the chance to prove it.”

He scoffs. “Look, I know you need me there–” “If you weren't cut out for it, I wouldn't have you there. Setting you up for failure is really, really stupid, even if it'd be cathartic to see you crash and burn.”

Daz leans forward, forearms resting on the birch table. His gaze is weirdly intense as he insists, “If you actually apply yourself and don't give up like a little bitch, you'll thrive. You've spent your entire life following. It's time to step up and prove you’re better than everyone who looked down on you.”

It's surreal and kind of off putting to have Daz compliment him, but…

At the same time, it’s hard not to take comfort in that certainty. He says that Aster will succeed as if it's as obvious as grass being green or the nether being hot.

Those nearly painfully vibrant cyan eyes study him like Daz is reading a book. The bastard smirks and taunts, “Or do you want to let Dream and everyone else who fucked you over win? Are you going to give up and accept their version of you? Are you really as useless and weak as they thought you were?”

The taunt makes his blood boil.

His entire life has been spent running or being under someone's boot. Guards, Wilbur, Dream– to them, he was a tool at best. Usually, though, he was just an annoying gnat to swat down…assuming they noticed him at all.

Despite knowing he's doing exactly what Daz wants, he growls, “I'm not weak.” “Then prove it. I'm not even throwing you in the deep end; until you get your footing, I'm going to be guiding you.”

He blinks in surprise. He…kind of assumed Daz would make him do it on his own. “Why?”

The bastard, his ally, blinks right back at him. Like it's obvious, he says, “You’re the foundation of this plan. If you fail, if you fall, everything else goes down with you. And, funny thing– I hate losing. So I'm going to make sure you succeed.”

…Weirdly enough, that's sort of comforting. Daz isn’t going to fuck him over, because it would only hurt them both in the long run.

There's a soft scoff. “And I do actually have some perspective on this. It'd be nice to use that training for something.”

Right; Daz has mentioned a few times, usually fairly vaguely, that he was being taught how to be an admin.

As much as Aster would never say it out loud…Daz is smart. He's a sociopath and disturbingly good at manipulating others, sure, but he wields his intelligence with expert precision.

And…if Daz can be fucked up enough to lead by manipulating everyone, why can't Aster lead sincerely? Why can't he claw his way up to not just be on Daz’s level, but surpass him?

Hell, he's already decided to get strong enough to kick Theo's ass. Why not add this asshole to his list of benchmarks?

“...Fine. I'll be the best fucking leader this server has ever seen,” he declares.

Daz looks pleased at that answer.

There's a slow, soft clap from his side, making Aster remember that the hybrid duo is still there. “Wow,” Aleph breathes, sounding completely sincere, “That was inspirin’.”

The bastard laughs and gives a mock bow. “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

Khons looks impressed as well, but instead of commenting further, he asks, “So– does the group actually have a name? I’ve been wondering about that…”

Daz leans back in his chair, shrugging. “Not yet. It’s better to have that be a group discussion than a mandate. Again; I’d rather us all work together than just handing down mandates from above.”

That attitude is one of the reasons Aster can’t quite bring himself to turn what he’s learned into Theo or Day. He, and now Aleph and Khons, aren’t just peons doing Daz’s bidding. They’re able and expected to debate and put forth their own ideas.

Maybe a part of his reluctance to rat Daz out is that…if it all works out? Aster will have a hell of a lot of power.

Power is a luxury that he’s never really tasted before. It’s one thing to have a strong, well-liked friend, but…having his own source of it, and having enough that nobody would be able to step on him ever again…?

Prime, the idea is too tantalizing to give up on. Not unless it seems like everything is falling apart anyway, at least.

The two hybrids seem intrigued. Aleph scratches his chin and asks, “So…what, we’re just– discussin’ the name of the…what’d you call them, again? A militia?” “Mhm-hmm. My opinion is that it should be a respectable name, instead of something like Burn Baby Burn. Joke names have their place– and lord knows the arson and explosives club needs to as non-threatening as possible– but I think it’s best to use something that seems at least sort of respectable,” Daz explains.

It’s a fair point.

Khons taps his fingers on the table, seeming deep in thought. “...Well…their purpose is to protect, right? So shouldn’t the name reflect that?”

Leaning forward a little, Aster nods. “I agree.” “Ditto,” Daz hums. Aster continues, “But it’s also a group that would be able to fight, if they needed to. Defending and attacking, as needed. Shouldn’t the name include that part of it, too?”

Again, Daz dips his head in a nod. “Also a fair point.”

Huh, it’s kind of nice that he’s not pushing back on any of Aster’s points thus far. That’s…pretty unusual, honestly? He’s usually pretty bristly, if not semi-antagonistic at times.

But then again, it’s not every day that something as involved as this is discussed. Come to think of it, Daz was pretty cooperative when the two of them chose Aleph and Khons, bar some snark.

…He’ll have to reflect on that later.

For now, he watches as Aleph scratches his head “...Y’know, it’d probably be easier if more than half the team grew up around books. I don’t know that I’m smart enough for this.”

Immediately, Khons leans over and puts an arm on his shoulder. It’s kind of sweet that when one of them is upset, the other’s first instinct is to offer supportive touch.

“Hey, you’re plenty smart. I definitely couldn’t have come up with even half the shit we did, let alone been able to pull it off,” the sheep hybrid says, tone firm like he’s not going to take any sort of rebuttal.

Aleph chuckles, patting his– they call each other friend and other half seemingly interchangeably, so Aster isn’t actually entirely sure what they are to each other?

Aside from deeply, utterly, entirely vital. They can’t handle even thinking about being apart; that much was proven when they were officially offered a place here.

A fond, nostalgic smile is on Aleph’s face. “I dunno, Moony. You setting up a trap and stealing all the hunters’ swords wasn’t my idea.” “Oh, please– they were stupid, it was easy to set them up. I couldn’t dream of taking one of those giant shields and flinging it like you did! I just about got lightheaded thinking about trying that. Or maybe that was because of the looks on their faces, hah–”

Aster straightens up at the exact same time as Daz does. Something Theo told him not too long before he decided to make Sanctuary his home is echoing in his head. I’ll be their sword, shield, n’ whatever else they need to stay safe n’ happy.

Though he opens his mouth to say as much, Daz beats him to the punch. “When I really decided to fight for Lee, I made a promise to myself. I swore I’d become not just a sword for him, but a shield that’s pretty uniquely suited to defend him against a rogue admin.”

Much like how it had been when Aster looked at Aleph and Khons’ file, something in the back of his head sighs softly in relief. Like there’s an itch that has finally been scratched; like the universe is pleased that they got to the point already.

Slowly, he says, “Theo said, to him, the name Theseus means that he’ll be Lee’s shield, sword, and everything else he needs.”

The two hybrids look at each other, and then Aleph starts laughing. “Heh! Nice to know I can help with this kinda stuff, after all. Even if it’s more…roundabout.”

Daz snorts, and says, “Well, I mean– stranger things have happened. I picked my name from my bracelet, after all.”

Over the time he’s known the guy, Daz has worn a lot of jewelry. Mostly it’s earrings; he crams a ton of them into his ears, and he changes them constantly.

But that bracelet has never changed. It’s there, even if it’s not always visible.

In his gut, Aster knows that it’s a quiet memorial to his Tubbo. From what little Daz has said…the loss of him was more than he could take.

So, knowing that Daz’s response to Dream’s cruel betrayal had been to choose death…yeah, it makes perfect sense. Someone that devoted choosing to use that bracelet, functionally a miniature gravestone to the only person he seems to still care about from his original reality, as the basis for his name isn’t a huge surprise.

“Heh? Didn’t Atlas just give it to you ‘cause it was the nicest thing you’d ever held?”

Daz scoffs at that statement. “I functionally co-owned a server, a bracelet isn’t really going to top that for pricetag. That’s also the lie I give to explain why I never change it to something else; why did you think I showed it when I explained what my deal is?”

The other Tommy leans back in his chair, pulling his sleeve up to expose the usually-hidden bracelet again. “I wear it as a reminder of what I’ve lost. Tubbo and I used to have bandanas we wore– I made his, he stole mine. But when I buried him, I left it with him. I…was sure Dream would destroy it, if he saw it.”

Despite how deeply fucked up of a statement that is– not that Aster can’t relate, of course– Daz gives a soft chuckle. “And since I was sure I’d be dead soon and then the server would die when Dream killed himself in grief, I figured it was the only sort of burial I’d get. I could apologize to him when I saw him again.”

….Oh. Well, then.

He takes back his earlier thought– that is deeply fucked up.

Khons looks absolutely horrified. “So– you thought he’d destroy the memento of your dead friend, the guy he made you kill?” “A-yup. Lost his fuckin’ mind at the end. Or the middle– hard to tell. He snapped after the hostage situation, though.”

…He hasn’t heard anything about a hostage situation.

“The what now?”

Daz looks at all of them, seeming surprised for a moment. “Did I not–?” He seems to wrack his brain, and then hums to himself. “Ah. I guess not. So, I got held in a one block-sized cage and had splash pots thrown at me as a form of torture. New L’manburg was trying to lure Dream out to kill him, and I was easy bait. Fun fact; splash pots can soak into fabric if you use enough of them. I don’t recommend tasting poison that way, especially with instant health on top of it.”

As if he’s not describing something that really should have killed him, Daz wrinkles his nose. “Sometimes I swear I can still taste the sugar and rot. Really wish I could have forced them to experience it too, but, well…I had bigger fish to fry shortly after.”

“Fucking– wait, wait.” Aster stares at him, trying to figure out what the fuck is going on. “I thought you were close with Tubbo. Now you’re saying you wanted to–” “Oh, no, he wasn’t a part of it. Nor was he president. We never retook L’manburg, though it did still get blown to bits by Wilbur as a petty fuck-you. No war, no reclamation, and no justifiable reason to remove the existing chain of power.”

It takes him a moment to realize the implication, and he breathes, “Oh fuck no, you’re not saying–” “President Quackity, proving that his basic bitch lust for power at all costs transcends realities, was the bane of my fucking existence. If I had thought I’d be able to get away with it, I’d have killed him on my way out.”

Sweet fucking Prime, that’s horrifying.

For him, Quackity had been a pretty good guy. He’d been friendly and nice, but…after the time he’s spent in Sanctuary, he can’t be sure that it wasn’t just an act.

An awful lot of Quackities seem to enjoy torture, after all.

Daz shrugs. “I can’t do much about it now, of course. But, hey– I get to have that in common with DayDream and the majority of the other Dreams in Sanctuary! Quackity tortured me for power, by all rights I should be dead, and it’s only through godly intervention that I’m alive.”

It’s such a fucked up image that it reminds him a little too much of how his own Dream liked to poison what little food he was given.

They both knew that it was drugged, but there would be some form of punishment no matter what. So, Aster usually just…had to eat it.

Most of the time, the side effects were worth not starving. Sure, Aster was more than familiar with hunger, but Dream would make him do physical shit– including and especially being beaten up– to push him to the point of collapse.

Knowing that he shares that sort of experience in some way with Daz is kind of fucking with his head. He has to lean his head on his folded arms and take slow, deep breaths.

In, out; in, out. Focus on that’s around him– namely, the floor under the table.

He’s usually too caught up in something to really look at this area. Plus looking too closely at the pretty, shiny room makes him want to do literally anything to make it less skin-crawlingly pristine.

So, he’s known there’s a pattern in the floor, but since it’s the worst possible material– smooth quartz and fancy glowstone– he’s avoided looking at it or thinking too much about it.

But now he’s looking.

Slowly, he raises his head and says, “...I’d better not be right about what that shape under our feet is, Daz.”

A slow, victorious grin spreads across the bastard’s face. “I thought you’d never notice! Don’t you like the theming, Star?”

Every ounce of sympathy he felt has evaporated in the face of his outrage. “You put a fucking star where we sit! WHY?!”

Somehow, impossibly, that shit-eating grin gets wider. “What else would I put for the very spot that the Council of the Star meets?”

“...All that talk about choosing the name together–” “Oh, no, the public group’s name remains a collaboration. But only a handful of people will know about us, and that means I can use it to piss you off.”

Beaming, Daz tells him, “Besides! It’s really fucking obvious that in the unlikely event we somehow got exposed, if there’s secret heads of the Swords and Shields, you’d be among them! It’s stupid to not lean into that. Plus, once we have five members, the four-pointed star lets those hypothetical sleuths think there’s only four people. A secret fifth person wouldn’t even cross their minds.”

Khons sounds a little dazed– likely by the whiplash, which is exactly how Aster feels– as he says, “But there’ll be five chairs.”

“Hmm? Oh, no, not out in the open.” Daz scoffs, jerking a thumb towards a random section of the wall. “Once that last person gets picked, I’ll be stowing my chair when it’s not actively in use. No point in being paranoid by half, after all!”

Aster has to thread his hands in his hair and grip tightly, because otherwise he might give in to the urge to lunge across the table and choke the bastard into a respawn.

He seethes, “I hate you so fucking much.” “Aww. I’m glad we’re back to normal, then!”

Despite not looking up, he damn well knows that Daz looks smug and exactly like the bastard he is.

And because he has a decent idea of what Daz’s mindset will be, he knows that he’s not going to let go of Council of the fucking Star.

Chapter Text

Well…after weeks of them slowly working out the exact details of how to make the pitch, Aster is left with the unwanted and unenviable task of being the one to convey that pitch.

A lot is riding on his success. He’s spent countless hours with the others– mainly Daz, though Aleph and Khons were present to curb their urge to ruin each other’s day and/or faces– making sure he didn’t just passively agree with them, but understood every single detail.

It pains him to admit that Daz is actually pretty fucking good at what he does. Even his ability to read and understand others had been used to catch when Aster wasn’t fully following. When that happened, the bastard would adjust his explanation. If it took him three, five, seven times until it clicked, then that’s what he did.

In some ways, he feels…stupid. Stupid, useless, and a hindrance to the scope of the plan that has been laid out before him.

But, see– even that, if he disagreed with something? Daz found a way to get him to admit it, and they would discuss it.

So…what the fuck does he bring? If he hadn’t clocked Daz as being a potential threat, if he wasn’t close with Theo and Lee…he wouldn’t be a part of this. It’s only because of who he knows and a chance glimpse of Daz at his lowest that he got this far.

He, himself, is nothing.

And saying as much just got him a scoff and an eyeroll. “Don’t be stupid. I could have shoved you out and put anyone in your place, if I really wanted to. Are you seriously going to tell me you think less of yourself than I do? Because that’s pathetic. Even if you have to fake it, fake it until you can rub it in my face that I thought too little of you.”

Aster had asked him, “But what makes you so sure? You don’t even like me.”

“Since when does people liking you mean jack shit? You’re a Tommy. More than that, you’re a stubborn bastard who has been through shit that would break lesser men. But if you back down now…well. They’ll be right, won’t they? That you’re a weak coward who can be pushed around and controlled. A mere dog, only fit to do the bidding of whoever holds your leash.”

Bright blue eyes intense, Daz’s voice had dipped lower. He had asked, “Or are you fine with that? Is your grand aspiration to be nothing more than a pet for those with real power? Wagging your tail won’t save you and yours. Unless you seize your destiny with your own two hands, you will forever and always be under someone’s heel.”

He hadn’t known how to respond.

It’s always unnerving, how Daz seems to find the exact thread to pull to make him want to fight. To prove that, yes, he is capable of everything that’s expected of him and more.

But…that confidence dies after a short while. How can it not? For as much as he wants to, he’s– he’s barely keeping up with just the explanation of what the plan truly is. Actually executing on it…

His thoughts are cut off by Theo landing right in front of him.

As always, his friend does so with barely any effort. The other Tommy grins widely, wings folding against his back as he asks, “Hey, big man– s’up?”

Right; eyes on the prize. It’s do or die– or, well, do or get called a spineless coward by Daz.

“Uh…it’s a bit of a– it’s a little weird to explain. But I…I think I know what I want to do. Here, in Sanctuary, I mean– like, what project I want to put my time and energy into.”

Theo perks up, grin growing. “Hell yeah! Fuckin’ shit, man– I was getting kinda worried. You spending all day on your own was really fuckin’ making me think I’d need to say something to your therapist–”

Affronted, he asks, “The fuck? You would have ratted me out?!” As if it’s obvious, his friend scoffs, “Uh, yeah? I do the same to Dad. People I care about act in fuckin’ worrying ways, I rat ‘em out in a heartbeat. S’ not healthy to have nothing…not that it fuckin’ matters, since you decided! So, what is it?”

Uhg, he can’t even be angry about that; hearing that Theo cares about him and would do the exact same thing to DayDream makes it weirdly endearing.

Instead of delving further down that line of discussion, he sighs and rolls his shoulders. “It’s…it’s weird, like I said. But I think it’s important.” He takes a deep breath and begins, “A lot of people are scared to do certain things. Even if they want to, even if it would be good for them…they don’t think it’s safe to do them.”

Taking the bait, Theo frowns. “Like what?” “Learning to fight, for one. Not everyone has a you they can lean on. Sure, some already know…but wouldn’t it be better to have someone who can actually, you know, dedicate their time to that?”

“...I don’t fuckin’ disagree, but I didn’t really fuckin’ peg you as the type to want to do that. No offense, but…” “It’s– it’s not really my main goal, no. Just kind of…trying to kill a few birds with one stone kinda thing. Let me just– so, one of the reasons people are scared of that kind of thing is because of you.”

His friend blinks several times, looking baffled. “The fuck am I a factor for?” “Theo. Theseus. Look me in the eye and tell me that people have ever crossed you and gotten away with it,” Aster sighs, leveling him with a long look.

A dark glint flashes in Theo’s eyes. His lip curls and he mutters, “Some of ‘em fuckin’ got away with it for long enough.” “And enough people know that, or at least have the gist, that they don’t want to risk pissing you or your family off by seeming like a threat. Even if that means they feel weaker, they can’t afford to make you guys mad. Your family is rivaled only by Vio’s in sheer scope of influence– if you said that someone needed to go? They’d be removed.”

“We wouldn’t fuckin’ do that for no reason–” “But they don’t know you, Theo. That’s my point– you can say you’re fine with it, but how many times have they heard that before? How many times have they been told one thing, and then been caught in some sort of trap or backtracking?”

Uneasiness enters Theo’s body language. In fact, he starts pacing a little, clearly unhappy at the idea that people are scared of him to that extent. “So, what– you have some fuckin’ plan, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t be bringing this up.”

He takes a deep breath. “The big thing that you want, that your family wants, is to protect each other. The big thing that everyone else wants is to feel safe. The big thing I want…” He spreads his hands, raises his chin, and finishes, “Is to keep Lee safe. We can solve all of those in one fell swoop.”

Theo stops and stares at him. “...What?” Aster takes a step forward. “I want to found a group with the stated goal of protecting Lee. With your family’s blessing, the rest of the server can feel at ease in learning to fight. It gives them more than just that, though– a ready-made social group, a structure to their lives, a worthy cause to get them out of bed every day.”

While his friend stares at him in shock, he presses, “I went to the Welcome Wagon and asked them how many people are just– not in any sort of group. A lot, Theo. A lot of people don’t see anything they want to do with their free time. If they have nothing else…for as long as they need it, they can have a place to belong. And– really, wouldn’t it make you and Day feel better, too? I know you both get worried about him. I know you both trust me, to a…a frankly humbling extent.”

With a shake of his head, Theo huffs, “Look it’s– it’s real fuckin’ sweet you care about him that much, but I really don’t think anyone else would–”

“Theo, you wildly underestimate the charm your baby brother has. You also underestimate how badly some of us need something, anything, to believe in. He’s given a lot of people hope– the first real hope for a better life that we’ve had in a long, long, long time. I don’t think anyone else will be as…sincere as me, no. But I don’t think I’ll be the only one who’s sincere at all. I think plenty of people would gladly sign up under his banner.”

There’s several long moments where Theo gnaws on his thumbnail. His eyes flick back and forth as he studies the ground, seeming to listen intently. The Fates must be weighing in, giving their input on the matter.

He smiles softly. “And, I mean…Sanctuary would be better off with a group that’s trained and willing to fight against anything or anyone dumb enough to test us.” “Sanctuary is fuckin’ safe, that’s not a concern,” Theo mutters, clearly not entirely focused.

“I think so too, obviously. But would it really hurt to have another safety net?”

Aster reaches out and grasps Theo’s hands in his. He squeezes them and tells him, “We both know this lives and dies on the approval of you and Day. If you two say no, then I can’t do jack shit. And…I really want to do this. I think I’d be good at it, and I think it’s good for the server. I think it’s good for everyone else, too. And I’ve heard you get better when you try and teach stuff, instead of just learning.” A wry, faint smile twitches up, and he teases, “I have to get good enough to kick your ass somehow, after all.”

An exasperated laugh escapes his friend. “Fuckin’ shit– since when are you so good at this kind of thing?” “Uh…to be honest?” He winces, and sheepishly admits, “I might have had a little help from Khons and Aleph. They know what all goes into groups, and I kind of…needed some guidance.”

Another huff of laughter comes from Theo. “...Shit, though. It’s not…a terrible fuckin’ idea. I don’t have final say, but–” “Do you want me to make my pitch to your dad, or do you want to do it yourself?”

Theo hums, though he’s grinning a little. “...Ehh. Old man’ll have fuckin’ questions for me, n’ probably for you, too. Better I start it, yeah?” “I’m not going to argue, you know him best. Definitely going to thank you with takeout, though.”

“Now that’s how I really know you’re serious,” his friend chuckles. Aster doesn’t exactly get takeout often, and almost never when he’s the one paying for it. Paying for someone else’s takeout is unheard of. Especially when that person is Theo– someone with more than enough money, compared to the basic universal income that Aster has. “Alright, alright– don’t fuckin’ celebrate yet, let me talk to him.”

Aster waits until Theo has disappeared into the house he shares with his Dad and Lee to sink to his knees in a crouch. He exhales hard, adrenaline making him shake a little.

Halfway done. Now for the other, more stubborn part of the equation…

======

Sitting in Day’s section of the main house’s study, facing said man across his desk is…certainly an experience.

Aster has become used to the jovial, upbeat side of the man; the side that teases his sons and cooks dinners big enough to share with guests, expected or not. The winged, immortal Dream no longer feels like an active threat to him.

Or…he didn’t. Right now, all that good-natured humor and gentleness is missing.

Instead, Aster is face to face with a version of Daydream who feels like a coiled snake. He’s not attacking, but the very air screams that this person is dangerous, and Aster had damn well better tread carefully.

Day’s fingers tap lightly on the marred surface of his desk. Ink, scratches, scuffs, and traces of glitter are embedded in the oak wood. It is very much a piece of furniture that is used, not kept pretty and pristine for the sake of aesthetics.

He can’t help but think of the table in the…Council’s…headquarters. The birch wood still looks too clean for his taste.

“I’ll admit, I’ve grown kind of fond of you. You remind me of myself in a lot of ways,” the immortal starts, slow and even-toned.

It still raises the hair on the back of Aster’s neck. From where he’s sitting random straight and tensed like a bow on the loveseat across from Day, he feels so very much like a cornered prey animal.

“But I’m not sure I’m fond enough of you to authorize you building an army, supposedly for Lee’s sake. I don’t like the implications of using him as a figurehead for combat,” Day continues, tone getting even sharper. “Convince me why I should let you do that.”

The implication that this is his one and only shot isn’t even subtext. If Aster fucks this up…

He really doesn’t want to dwell on how that would work out. The prospect of having to tell the other three members of their little group that he failed miserably isn’t pretty.

Thank Prime that Daz insisted on making sure he understood every single aspect of this plan. And, on top of that, because they’d made the cover story that it’s something he’s worked with the Welcome Wagon on, he gets to use their style of evidence.

Aster takes a deep breath and withdraws a sheaf of papers. He slides it over, and then flips his own copy open. “People are terrified of learning to fight. They see your family and believe that any attempt to strengthen themselves will be perceived as a challenge, or even a threat.”

“Sanctuary is safe. We’re selective about who can go to other worlds, too, especially ones that could be dangerous. They don’t need this,” Day answers.

“Strictly speaking? No. They don’t need the skill.” “...Then why are you bringing it up?”

He shakes his head lightly. “It’s not about needing to fight. It’s about feeling safe. They want to be confident that, if shit hit the fan? They aren’t helpless again. They want to be able to defend themselves and their loved ones, their home, their way of life. But more than that, they’re afraid of you and yours.”

Aster gestures out the window at the rest of Summer Hills. Nearby is Dee’s forge, which slowly billows smoke up into the air. In front of that is the house that Dee, Orph, and Perce share– a house that Aster knows for a fact sees more than its fair share of extreme pranks.

“I don’t fault you for being strong. Fuck, I admire it! I admire that you’ve made sure your family can withstand anything. You and your sons are pillars of the server. Nobody would even joke that you aren’t all vital to it,” he laughs. “But at the same time…nobody is willing to upset any of you. The price for doing that is too high. For better or worse, you are seen as being above everyone else.”

There’s a long, tired sigh from Day. He runs a hand over his braids; one of his self-soothing gestures. He has a lot of those.

Fingers idly toying with some of the beads woven into his hair, Day tells him, “I know. I know we’re intimidating. That’s kind of the point.” “But in this case, there needs to be a ballance. Day– I’ve talked to a lot of people. I’ve watched them and how they react to Lee. I’m not the only one who cares for him. He reached out a hand to us at our lowest, when we had nothing. The small kindnesses of bandaids, flower crowns, cheerfulness, and disturbingly accurate vibes became the foothold we needed to claw out of the pit we’d been in.”

His hands flex, and he gives a soft, muted laugh. “As crazy as it sounds, he’s done basically all of the legwork. Lee is adored. I want to give you and Theo peace of mind– I know you worry about him. All of you are usually busy, and Lee wants to see everyone and everything. You don’t feel comfortable just letting him wander on his own yet. This group, whose stated goal is to keep him safe, can help you.”

Day’s eyes narrow. “I’m not going to hand him off to just anyone–” “Obviously not. We especially don’t start there. Escorting him would be for those who have proven capable and dedicated.” “And who would approve them?”

Aster tilts his chin up. “I bring forward potential candidates, and you or Theo greenlight them.”

“I can’t help but notice you’re switching the goal of the group. You want it to be a safe place for people to learn to fight, but it’s also devoted to helping Lee,” Day notes. He doesn’t sound pleased, which is a bad sign.

But he can’t back down now; too much is riding on this success.

“Why can’t it be both? I, personally, want to keep Lee safe. I want him to not be restricted in what he can do, where he can go. I want him to be able to spread his kindness to those who need it. But I know that not everyone feels the same way. Not everyone would be as– as intense about that. So, for them, the draw is that they have a justification for learning to fight.”

He flips Day’s packet open and taps the page. “I got help from the Welcome Wagon to see how people felt about a fighting-based club. The consensus was overwhelmingly that they would love it…but they’re hesitant about upsetting you. A group with your explicit blessing would be the perfect answer. And because it’s such a wholesome cause, with seemingly little stakes…who would argue it’s a bad thing?”

Voice sharp and eyes on the paper, Day huffs, “Seemingly little? You say that like you think there would be an actual threat here.”

Aster scoffs. “Nobody really understands how the dimensional travel works. We have no guarantee that there won’t eventually be an edge case where someone is able to break through. Or, maybe worse, someone just gets dumped here. I don’t think it’s crazy to want to plan for a scenario like that.”

He gestures at their feet and continues, “I’ve seen the bunker, Day. Are you, of all people, seriously going to tell me that you wouldn’t feel better if there was a group who knows how to fight and is explicitly dedicated to Lee, who would be ready to leap into action to protect him? And not just him; protect everyone.”

There have been many, many, many hours he’s spent with Daz, going over acting and mannerisms. He knows, more or less, how to act in certain ways.

So he dons a mantle of confidence; chin kept up, shoulders square, gaze steady. “The stated purpose is to protect and help Lee. But the ultimate goal is to make Sanctuary as a whole a tiny bit better, because this is my home now. I’ve seen a problem that I don’t think anyone else can easily fix. This is the best solution I can think of. This is the solution that lets me help them, help Lee, and help you and and Theo. And…”

He falters for a moment, but takes a deep breath and pushes on. “And it helps me, too. It gives me a reason to feel proud of myself, instead of like I’m a waste of space. I know– I know Sanctuary doesn’t do the whole worthiness shit. I don’t think anyone would really complain if I just joined a club or something. But this feels right. It feels as right as my name, as right as accepting Lee’s bandaids, and as right as choosing Sanctuary as the place to finally put down roots.”

Day watches him. It’s impossible to tell what’s going through his head, nor how he’s feeling about this. For all that Daz bitches about the man having a terrible poker face, Aster can’t read him for shit.

Then again, Daz is a freak and an outlier in dozens of ways. His idea of what is and isn’t easy to do should be taken with several blocks’ worth of salt.

A pattering of familiar, light footsteps make him turn to look as Lee stomps into the room. He stands in front of his dad and puts his hands on his hips. “Daaaaaaad,” the kid who has no idea just how important he’s become huffs, stomping his foot, “Stop being a jerk! Aster needs to do the– the thing he’s doing. S’ important.”

Ah; Lee’s vibes must have kicked in. It’s a bit of a relief that they’re confirming that, yes, this is the correct path.

Day frowns at his youngest son. “I don’t know–” Lee reaches up and grabs his dad’s face, smushing it and tugging it down a little. “You gotta say yes. It’s a big, big, big, big, big deal.”

Right before Aster’s eyes, he watches the resistance crumble. Lee’s insistence is something the doting father can’t seem to bring himself to ignore.

There’s a little sigh, and Day’s eyes slide over to Aster. The man doesn’t bother to remove his sons’s hands from his face as he says, “...I’ll let this happen on a trial basis. If I don’t like what you’re doing and shut you down, that’s the end of this idea. I expect this to be done right– keep working with the Welcome Wagon.”

Aster can’t help but grin like a fool. Or, well– as much as he can. Though he’s learned to compensate for his fucked up ability to emote, it’s still there. “You won’t reget this. I’m going to prove this is the right thing to do.”

The root cause of the discussion beams, going over to Aster and giving him a big hug. “Congrats, ‘Star!” There’s a pause, and then Lee squints up at him. “Uh…so what’d I help with, exactly?”

Oh boy. He wasn’t exactly expecting to need to explain this right away, but, well…

He does owe it to the kid.

======

Daz waits until he finishes helping someone at the front desk to look at the message he got over fifteen minutes ago.

The text is short, sweet, and to the point; just a checkmark.

Success and smugness blooms in his breast, and he catches his coworker and co-conspirators’ eyes at the other desk.

They smile back at him, because they all understand the meaning of that single character–

The Swords and Sheilds have cleared the biggest hurdle, and thus can begin being formed in earnest.