Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Life isn't quite what Wilbur thought it would be when he was a kid. Well, okay, he couldn't actually remember what he'd thought life would be back then. But he probably thought it would be worse than this. Wilbur couldn't honestly remember a lot from his childhood. He could have been the mayor of L’Manberg or king of Skewed Myth Point for all he knew! But that didn't matter. Past was past, right? What matters to Wilbur is that right now, life is a dream! Not like the scary ones Tommy tells him about where potatoes come to life and beat you to pulp, or a giant egg takes over your city, or someone chases you with a fork. No, life is a dream where everything is just as it should be. Wilbur smiles softly to himself, humming some tune he has never heard under his breath. He holds a blue morning glory up to his nose and drinks in the sweet scent. Grinning, Wilbur flops back, lying in a field of assorted blue flowers. This is his favorite place in all the world! Soft blue hues stretch in as far as his eyes can see, cute striped bees buzzing happily over their feast. A gentle breeze kisses the blooms as they wave a greeting to the sun’s warm rays. And Wilbur lies in the very center. He's worn a patch where no flower dares to grow, but Wilbur is okay with this. It's his spot to reach up towards the sun with them.
A peaceful sigh escapes his lungs as Wilbur shuts his eyes. The red behind his eyelids taunts with something he's never known, and Wilbur frowns a little. This seems to happen every time he closes his eyes. It's almost like….no, he doesn't remember anything. He can't. Something is blocking his memory, and Wilbur thinks that may be the best part of this dream life. He doesn't have to remember. He doesn't have to think. He doesn't have to be.

The sun has faded over the horizon when Wilbur's eyes finally fly open. A frowning face framed with golden curls glares holes in him. He yawns groggily, smiling at the boy.

“Good morning, Tommy!”

His voice has a lot more energy than should be possible after a few hours of napping. This only makes Tommy groan in frustration, holding a hand out to help Wilbur up. Wilbur eagerly grabs Tommy's hand, grunting to his feet with a bright grin. Tommy crosses his arms, glaring at Wilbur.

“Dad wants you home. It's dinner time.”

Wilbur’s face falls. Not at Tommy's words, but at the state of the sky. It's so dim! They'll miss the best light show in the world! Wilbur gasps in horror, grabbing Tommy's wrist as he begins to run through the flower field the opposite direction of home.

“Wilbur, what the heck?! Home’s the other way, idiot!”

Wilbur nods frantically as he drags Tommy along on his mission to watch the sunset from the highest spot in all of SMP, L’Manberg Lighthouse.

“I know, Tommy, but we'll miss it if we don't go now!”

Tommy utters a sound of confusion from behind Wilbur. He doesn't understand the importance of this! Life can't be perfect without this incredible view, and Tommy always misses it! No wonder Tommy is sad all the time and angry, he's never seen the beauty of a L'Manberg sunset! Wilbur tears through the small coastal town of L’Manberg, considered the slums of Simple Myth Point. The town doesn't have much glamor to boast of, but the lighthouse is its crown jewel. It overshadows the rest of L’Manberg in its sheer size and rustic beauty. Cracked brick snaked with reddish vines topped with a bronze light cap. And the light itself remains a beautiful constant. A reminder that nothing lasts forever, but it sure can withstand a lot before it ends. It's almost poetic how much Wilbur sees himself in a lighthouse. Wilbur smiles to himself at this thought. It's kind of funny, really! He giggles gently as he drags Tommy up the spiral lighthouse staircase. A few muffled curses sound from behind as Wilbur shoots Tommy a disappointed side glance. Tommy returns with a sheepish hang of his head, eyes sparkling with frustrated mischief. At the top, Tommy nearly doubles over in exertion. Ah, Wilbur remembers his first few times running up these stairs. It takes quite a bit out of you.

“Wilbur! I will freaking end you if you do anything like that again! Why did you do that?! What you think you can just grab me and drag me all over SMP because ‘Oh, I'm Wilbur I'm the poor man who can't remember his own name and I'm going to make you be happy because I just want to! I'm sooo freaking nice! I-”

“Tommy, look.”

Wilbur cuts him off with a soft and simple request. He stands at the lighthouse railing, pointing out over the water. Tommy looks. Wilbur can hear Tommy's breath catch in his throat. Tommy slowly approaches the rail, and they both lean on the cool metal, staring in wonder at the fire streaking across the sky in bursts of reds, oranges, and pinks. The sun has taken the form of a big reddish-orange ball just glowing on the horizon. Reflections of the sunset dance along the water, and trees lining the coast are beautiful in silhouette. It's breathtaking. It always is. And Wilbur is so glad he has Tommy to watch it with this time. Tommy seems glad too, despite the rather rude trip here. Yeah, Wilbur should make that up to Tommy. But right now, it's time to let go of everything and just watch nature's wonder unfold. Wilbur silently leans into Tommy, resting his head on his brother's shoulder. Tommy leans back, and they just exist, basking in the glory unfolding before them.

By the time the boys return home, stars have begun to paint their stinted scenery on the canvas of the cosmos. Dinner is cold, and only two servings remain. Sam’s booming voice berates the boys for being late, grumbling at Wilbur's mumbled excuse of the sunset. Tommy defends Wilbur because he won't defend himself, and Wilbur looks on the verge of tears the entire time. Really, a grown man crying over another man raising his voice. Pathetic.Tommy scoffs, yet deep inside, he wants to cry himself every time he dares to think about it. To have lost so much that you give away what you have left. You intentionally lose yourself because you're afraid of holding on to what you don't think you deserve. That's what had happened to Wilbur. Tommy actually had no idea where Wilbur had come from when he showed up shivering on Sam’s doorstep one day. Tommy had invited Wilbur in because it was crazy cold outside! No one should be out in that kind of weather, especially in the thin yellow sweater Wilbur had been wearing. When Tommy asked the man’s name, he'd cheerfully answered
“Someone called me ‘Wilbur’ today, so I think that's my name!”
Tommy had blinked at the man in confusion until Sam stood in the doorway staring at Wilbur in a mix of confoundment and smug pleasure. Sam had told Tommy that they would take Wilbur in, and that had been that. Wilbur had waltzed over to Sam and introduced himself to Sam in that annoying chipper voice of his, and Tommy had made up the guest bedroom to be Will's. Life had been pretty interesting the past few months having Wilbur around. Sam had explained how Wilbur had “phantomized”. His mind and emotions had become so painful and overwhelming that he'd just stopped fighting. I'm doing so, he'd let oblivion take over, forgetting his past, his troubles, and his family. He'd effectively forgotten everything that made him who he was. Wilbur’s family, whoever they were, hadn't come around to collect him, so he's been one of theirs ever since.

Chapter Text

Disgrace, to have fallen from favor in someone's eyes, to be seen as the sum of your mistakes, to be rejected for wrong choices in your past. It's a vital tool in society. Many use it to build a wall around themselves or those they choose to be afraid of. Many use it to build a mask for themselves so others don't associate them with the one they choose to thrust into the Hell of disgrace. Still others use it to tear out their own hearts so the world forgets they have them. It's an age old practice, one Kristen is painfully familiar with. Each of her three sons, her husband, have fallen into it in their own time in their own way. She yawns, stretching in the morning cool. Mornings were always her husband's favorite, but she couldn't stand them. Perhaps it’s the avian within him that makes Phil an early bird….or at least it was. The worst part of her family’s disgrace is that she doesn’t know how it came to be, or where it led them. Her husband is presumed dead, her eldest son has lost himself, and her youngest has been missing for the greater portion of his life. She pauses, thinking of the other. Technoblade isn’t their son by blood or adoption, but Kristen and Phil have always considered him one of their flock regardless. No one knows where he came from, and no one knows where he went those 3 years ago when he fell into the societal disgrace of abandonment. And so, Kristen waits. She waits for the stars to burn out, or for her boys to return, whichever day comes sooner. She rubs her eyes as coffee trickles into a single cup. Honestly, she might need a whole pot today. Mountains of paperwork await in her office and her employer doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Kristen sighs, setting the now finished coffee maker to fill a pot. She grabs the already made cup and turns towards her office when she notices something on the counter. Curious, she approaches the cloth-wrapped parcel. Gingerly, she reaches out, poking at the intrusive object. It’s warm and pliable to the touch, and is accompanied by a wafting smell of fresh baked bread. Kristen smiles knowingly. She unwraps the parcel to be greeted with three soft rolls steaming invitingly.

“Thank you, Niki.”

She speaks to the air, bewildered when the air speaks back.
“Any time.”

Kristen nearly drops the precious package on the floor as she whirls around. A young woman with hair the same rosy pink as the son who ran lounges on her living room couch, halfway through her own fresh roll. She flops her feet to the floor, sporting a playful grin.

“It’s about time you stocked your fridge, Kristen. You can’t live off potatoes and coffee alone, no matter what Techno would tell you.”

The sparkling pools of Niki’s eyes nearly spill over, but she keeps the banks in check, sinking her teeth into the soft bread in her hand before gesturing for Kristen to do the same. Kristen takes her coffee and a roll of her own to the couch, sinking down beside her son’s friend(and maybe Kristen can’t help seeing her as a daughter sometimes). She sighs as she takes a bite. It’s hot, but it’s impossible to resist Niki’s baking. The sweet flaky bread awakens Kristen to the gnawing hunger she had hoped to ignore, and she finishes the heavenly morsel a bit faster than she had taught her sons was polite. Niki snorts beside her, finishing off her own piece.

“We’re going grocery shopping before lunch.”

Kristen nods, sipping from the cooling cup of blessed caffeine resting in her palms. Niki lets her take a few more sips before blurting out,

“I have a lead on Wilbur.”

The porcelain mug shatters on hardwood floor, discarded coffee seeping through the cracks. Kristen’s heart nearly races out of her chest as she tries desperately to convince herself that she heard what she thinks she heard. She might have a chance to bring one of her disgraced family home to grace. The world seems to have toppled on its head. She turns her head to Niki, flames reignited within her eyes.

“Tell me everything.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Tommy, come on! He’ll catch up!”

A high-pitched voice rings across the overgrown wildflower field, laughter singing out behind it. Light brown hair flows behind the teen tearing through the beauty, leaving crumpled blooms in her wake. Drista glances behind her, stopping when she sees Tommy isn’t following. He’s taken a detour around the field, a fierce look on his face. Drista frowns running to the edge of the natural collection of technicolor beauty.

“What are you doing?”
Tommy looks up, glaring daggers into Drista.

“What’s it look like, Idiot?”

If this was anyone but Tommy, Drista would have been taken aback at the brashness in his tone. After a few months of dragging each other around the small portion of the world Tommy had permission to traverse(and maybe a bit beyond that), you learn to get used to the mannerisms of your company. Besides, it’s not like Drista’s a shining example of etiquette. In most situations, it seems to work in her favor. She huffs dramatically in indignance.

“And why, pray tell, are you taking the long way when we’re literally breaking almost every one of your dad’s rules and trying to be back before lunch? We can’t lose The Depresso Express if you slow us down! What’s so special about these flowers that we can’t just y’know run through them?”

Tommy’s glare flares up in intensity and he looks away, stomping forward on his makeshift pathway.

“You’re leaving an easy trail. Besides, Will probably stopped following us a while ago.”

Tommy grumbles, glancing back. An expression akin to guilt flashes over his features. Drista just rolls her eyes and runs ahead, kicking at the helpless blossoms as she makes her way to the edge. The entrance to a dark forest looms in front of her as she waits for Tommy to catch up. When he trudges up next to her, Drista grabs his wrist, giggling at his loud protests while she drags him through forbidden territory. They’re so close. If she can just get Tommy away for long enough she can make her brother proud. Looming spruce and oak reach leafy arms towards the two troublemakers. The trees themselves seem to stare down, casting judgement on the intruding children. Drista’s breath quickens, her chest tightening as a long abandoned town greets them. Drista collapses to a sitting position, catching her breath as Tommy sucks his in beside her. She watches, intrigued as Tommy slowly crosses through the gate of Logstedshire, the ghost town said to hold secrets that would run your blood cold. Tommy stares, entranced at the town, face spelling nothing but horror. Drista forces herself to her feet, curiously following. Tommy runs his hand along the hewn logs that make up the town’s wall. He hugs himself as he walks the streets, stopping before a two-story cabin that looks far past its prime. Drista watches closely, fiddling with something under the knee-length moss green coat she’s wearing. Tommy blinks a few times, just staring at the cabin. He seems to make a split second decision before bursting into the cabin. Drista simply follows in silence. The inside is a whirlwind of devastation. Wooden furniture lies splintered, the walls and floors littered with slice marks. Something putrid lays scattered on the kitchen floor beneath an overturned table, remnants of a meal that would never be. Drista cocks her head, wondering what secrets these boards could tell. Echoing steps bring her attention back to Tommy, who’s started up a staircase that Drista hadn’t noticed before. Tommy lets out a whimper halfway up the staircase as one of the steps snaps beneath his weight. He catches himself on the rickety banister and quickly ascends the rest of the way. Drista strains to catch up, taking care to step over the gaping dust pit of a broken step. The staircase leads out into a hallway with three bedrooms. Tommy goes to the far one and opens the door. It’s empty, nothing but dust and oak. He quickly shuts the creaky door and moves to the next. This one is furnished. A small bed with an ornately carved frame depicting massive wings over its head stands in the far right corner. A small homemade guitar lies on the floor beside it, headstock separate from its body. Tommy gently kneels in front of it. It’s not much more than a wooden box with a hole, strung with twine. A length of leather tied to each end serves as a strap. Various yellowed papers lay crumpled around the room. Tommy picks one up, couching at the dust it spews. He squints in the low light from the room’s small window. Drista stands over his shoulder, struggling to make out any writing on it. It seems to be a poem of sorts? Whatever it is, it’s half scribbled out and clearly discarded. Tommy drops it abruptly and stands, nearly knocking Drista off her feet. She protests, but Tommy only moves to the bed. A faded yellow blanket is splayed over it, a home sewn plush laying on a lumpy pillow. Tommy gingerly takes the toy, turning it over in his hands. The shape is hard to make out at first, but in Drista’s esteemed opinion it looks like a black and white whale that got stuck in a paper shredder and pasted back together haphazardly. Tommy hugs it to his chest, a shuddering breath blasting more dust into the room, causing both to fall into fits of coughing. Waving away airborne dust, Tommy drops the whale back on the small bed and the two make their way back to the hallway. Drista quickly shuts the door behind her, shutting the disturbed cloud inside. Once she can finally breathe again, she notices Tommy has stopped in front of the last and largest door. If she had to guess, Drista would say it’s the master bedroom. Her suspicions are confirmed when Tommy takes a shuddering breath and creaks the door open. A king-sized bed graces the middle of the right wall sporting the same carved wings as the one from the last room. This one, however, has a few roses carved into it as well, and its bedspread is smoothly layed out, a deep emerald green. A cracked window sets in the back wall framed by deep violet drapes that caress the floor. A half rotten dresser sits on the left wall. The two enter the room. Drista notes that Tommy seems to be shaking. A stab of guilt passes through her. No time for that now. She fiddles with the metal thing strapped to her belt once more, itching to be done with this. Tommy kneels in front of a nightstand that hugs the edge of the bed nearest the far wall. Drista stands behind him. This is her time. The dagger feels heavy in her hand, cold metal biting her conscience. She grips it tighter, biting her lip. No one would find him here. Drista could be done and over with this and disappear the same way she had appeared and no one would know the difference. She summons all the confidence and insecurity she needs to form determination and slides the knife quietly from its sheath. She bends over, the knife concealed within the folds of her coat.

“Get out. Get out of here! What have I told you about these woods, about this place, Tommy?”

Drista nearly drops the knife on her own foot as she stumbles backwards, managing to keep it out of sight as she restores it to its spot on her hip. Fear courses through her veins as she stares up at the glaring green-haired man standing in the bedroom doorway. In front of her, Tommy leaps to his feet, eyes wide, stuttering.

“Da-Dad! I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have left-”

Tommy yelps, fumbling for excuses as Sam grabs him by the arm, dragging him down the hallway, out the stairs, and out of the cabin.

“We’ll talk about this later, Thomas.”

Tommy goes silent. As Drista gets over the initial scare, her expression turns to a scowl. Did he have to ruin her plans like that? It’ll be who knows long before she can drag Tommy somewhere secluded again. She grits her teeth. Dream would be disappointed. He would have finished this mission in a few days or weeks and Drista had failed for months. She nearly growls in her frustration.

“How did you find us here?”

Sam lets out a low growl as he side-eyes Drista with deadly warning. Steam curls from the gas mask that permanently covers the bottom half of his face. Local rumors said he’d been in a tragic accident and needed it to live. Local rumors aren’t all that reliable, but Sam had never once spoken about it. They nearly reached the entrance of the woods by this point.

“Found Wilbur by the flower field. He was almost choking himself to death crying over a trail of crushed flowers that led to the forest. Wasn’t very hard from there.”

Drista’s eyes spit fire. Wilbur. He’d been her biggest roadblock since the beginning of the mission. Clinging to Tommy like glue, the ghost of a man was hard to shake. It felt like a miracle that he hadn’t followed them today. Well then, Drista would have to repeat the stunt over and over until the results changed.

~~~~~~~~~~

A set of glowing purple eyes peer through clouds of hazy dust into an abandoned bedroom. A tall figure crouches on a log jutting out a little too far from the side of a cabin, eyes trained on a two story window. Wind whistles through a flapping cloak stretching out behind him. He cocks his head and disappears in a cloud of purple that dissipates into forgotten air.

Chapter Text

Niki stands from Kristen’s couch and begins pacing the floor.

“You remember the kid with black and white hair and two colored eyes that comes to the bakery a lot?”

She pauses, waiting for Kristen to confirm.

“The tall one who always looks like he hasn’t eaten in a month?”

Niki nods, continuing her nervous pacing as Kristen moves to clean up the coffee spill, listening intently.

“Well he has always seemed a bit odd to me, and not because of his looks. He comes in often and buys more than enough bread for him and the one roommate he told me he has. Yesterday when he came in, though, he bought even more than normal. When I got curious and asked him why, he just said that he likes to feed the strays and the ghosts, smiled, then walked out with his bread.”

Niki stops pacing to look Kristen in the eyes as her hand freezes over a piece of shattered coffee mug. The pause only lasts a moment before Kristen continues placing debris in a brown paper bag.

“What does that have to do with Wilbur specifically? He could mean just about anyone in L’Manberg.”

Niki sighs, flopping back onto the couch. Kristen had a point. But it didn’t hurt to hope, did it?

“Nothing specifically, but if Ranboo is hiding someone, isn’t there a chance it’s him? He’s the only one we’ve lost that hasn’t specifically been seen leaving L’Manberg besides Tommy. It’s the most likely conclusion, right?”

Deep down, Niki knows she’s picking at straws here, but anything could mean something. Kristen silently deposits the mug’s remains in the garbage and mops up what coffee hasn’t soaked into the floorboards. She pours herself another mug and sits back down on the sofa.

“Maybe, but what can we do about it? Follow him home? Barge into his house like a search party and figure it out ourselves? Ask him outright?”

Niki’s shoulders slump. What can they do? Right now it seems the only answer is to wait it out. Her expression hardens. They’ve been waiting for four years! Isn’t time for a little more action? Besides, she didn’t get Kristen’s hopes up just to let them stagnate.

“I have an idea, but you might not like it”

Kristen only smiles at Niki in confidence, hope finally growing wings.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sam, any updates on Tommy?”

Sam glares at Dream across the black stone meeting table.

“Not until you tell me why your snake of a sister is still parading around with my son!”

Dream rolls his eyes. The black makeup tattooed around them gives them the illusion of being sunken in, and more black ink draws a permanent smile over his lips. It’s unsettling at best, but right now, he thinks it just makes Dream look punchable.

“You know Tommy’s not your son, Sam. He’s a player in this game just as much as Drista is, and he’ll play out his role soon enough.”

Steam rises from Sam’s mask, hissing with his fury.

“That’s exactly what you said about Halo, and LOOK WHERE HE ENDED UP!”

Sam slams his fists into the table, jolting Dream and his cohort Punz back in their seats. Rage boils within him at the memory of his late son. A flash of black hair, a flood of red, a loss too great to name. Dream leans across the table as Punz stands, pulling out a grisly sword, his signature golden medallion clangs against the blade as he leans forward at the ready. Sam’s glare digs deep into Dream’s eyes, staring down the madman who holds his life in chains. Dream’s signature smirk transforms into something more sinister.

“He played his role perfectly.”

As the last rope of tolerance snaps within Sam’s chest, he stands. He lunges. Sam shouts with pent up rage and insatiable agony, hands grasping at Dream’s throat, crushing with all he has. A blow to his armored back nearly sends him tumbling off Dream, but he holds his ground. Something in Dream’s neck cracks, his eyes wide in fear.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE, DREAM? AM I THE MONSTER YOU WANTED TO CREATE? DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S MORE DANGEROUS THAN A MAN WHO HAS NOTHING TO LOSE? A MAN WHO HAS THE WORLD TO LOSE AND WILL CROSS ANY LINE TO KEEP IT SAFE!”

A sudden blunt force blow to the head sends Sam reeling, collapsing on his side as his body goes slack and the darkness takes over for the red that is left in his mind, leaving the hazy imprint of a white-clad swordsman on his eyelids.

~~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur knocks softly on Tommy's bedroom door. He hadn’t meant to get Tommy grounded for a week! But Sam had been unspeakably angry. Wilbur had left in the middle of the screaming confrontation. As much as he wanted to be there for Tommy, he couldn’t bring himself to stay in the room without shutting down. Tommy didn’t need to deal with that on top of it all. So instead, he ran. He always ran. That had been how he’d gotten here in the first place, hadn’t it? Wilbur was always running, running from the darkness, running from fear, from pain, from himself. No matter how oblivious he could be, the past would never be silenced. It would chase him down no matter what corner of SMP he ran to until it wrapped its chilling fingers tightly around his throat, dragging him back down into the suffocating void that screamed regret. Running was selfish, but it kept him alive. He couldn’t give his brother much, but he could give him that. A muffled voice called through the bedroom door.

“Go away!”

Will’s face grows sad.

“Tom, I just want to apologize.”

“Apology heard. Go away.”

Tears spring to Wilbur’s eyes as he just stands there. What could he give to Tommy to help him if not himself? A few moments pass in silence. A muffled groan of frustration sounds from Tommy’s room, waking Wilbur from his self-induced stasis.

“Will, are you still out there?”

Wilbur has a bit of a habit of hovering around Tommy’s door when he can tell the boy is upset. Somehow, he usually gets through to him.

“Yes, Tommy, I’m here.”

“Come in then, but shut the door when you do.”

Wilbur brightens. Tommy does want to see him! He quickly enters the room, making sure the door is shut tight behind him. Tommy is lying face-up on his rumpled crimson bedspread, clutching a paper like it’s a ticket out of death. Wilbur sits on the bed next to him, awaiting explanation. Tommy sits up and thrusts the paper into Wilbur’s hands.

“I found this in the cabin in Logstedshire. Something feels familiar about these people, but I can't for the life of me figure out why. Sam doesn’t let me around L’manberg, so I don’t know anyone except you guys and Drista, so there’s no reason for them to look familiar, right?”

Wilbur furrows his brow and glances down at the paper in his hand. He freezes, staring. It’s a family portrait. A shorter man with blonde hair stands next to a woman with flowing, wavy, brown, and dressed in royal purple. The man’s massive black wings stretch behind in a gesture that seems more loving and protective than for looks, as the feathers are slightly bristled. His smile seems strained as he stares straight ahead. The woman’s gaze is pointed downward, her hand resting on a mop of golden curls belonging to the bright-eyed toddler standing on her toes. The man rests a hand on the shoulder of a taller boy whose curls share his mother’s brown. Wilbur’s hands begin to shake uncontrollably, his heart thrashes against his ribcage. Blood rushes in his ears as his mind flashes hazy images blurred in static. In the depths of his mind’s eye, a golden-haired toddler sobs over a broken toy. The wind whips his hair, the world beneath him small as strong arms hold him tight. A kind voice hums as a man with wings of midnight strings twine on a small spruce guitar. A woman smiles as she hands him a steaming cup of hot chocolate. The world spins as a hand breaks through the air in front of Wilbur’s eyes. Tommy’s voice sounds like it’s underwater.

“Will? Will! What's going on? Come back to me, Wilbur!”

It’s too much. He’s falling again. He can’t let this be true, be him. So Wilbur does the thing he knows best, he runs.

Chapter Text

Ranboo skitters through musty alleyways cradling a basket heaped with fresh bread and muffins from Niki’s bakery. He needs to get back quickly, or at least to a place where he can teleport home without being seen. Usually that isn’t too hard, but today Ranboo can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Warily, he twists and turns through every alleyway, hoping to lose whoever seems to be following him. The boring of their eyes seems relentless, but the feeling mostly dissipates as he rounds a corner, landing at the small hovel of a home he and Tubbo share. Their chosen place of dwelling sits on the outskirts of L’Manberg, between the town and its predecessor, Logstedshire. The building itself is a worn down cabin made to be reminiscent of Logstedshire’s style. It isn’t much, but it’s home. The late afternoon shines warmly on the rugged wood as Ranboo throws open the door, quickly slamming it shut behind him. He sets half the bread on the kitchen table, concealing the other portion beneath his cloak as he frantically searches the house. Tubbo shouldn’t be home for another few hours, but it can’t hurt to be too careful. Ranboo sighs in relief when his search turns up unfruitful. He goes to the locked door that stands as if untouched at the back of the bedroom closet. Shoving various articles of his and Tubbo’s clothing aside, Ranboo checks the door to make sure it’s safely locked. He keeps the key with him at all times, so he doesn’t see any reason it wouldn’t be, but again, it can't hurt to be too careful. Once his check has produced satisfactory results, Ranboo grips the basket of baked goods and teleports in. He is greeted by a startled yelp, and a lumpy pillow flying towards his face. He lets out a warble of surprise as he instinctively teleports out of the way, giving the culprit the stink eye. Wilbur sits, pouting, insisting desperately that his fear was not the funniest thing in the world to the pink haired man wheezing with laughter on a pile of blankets stacked in a corner of the dank cellar. Ranboo smiles a little. At least they seem to have gotten over their resentment for now. Their initial reunion this morning hadn’t exactly been smooth sailing. Ranboo places the basket on the ground, sitting next to it in silence as he ponders the late morning’s events.

He’d found Wilbur in the lighthouse when Ranboo had gone to check that the light was still in working order. The last keeper had disappeared, and the house at the tower’s base rendered unlivable, so Ranboo had kept the pillar of safety active for the past few years. Ranboo had been about to leave the light tower when he heard a pounding sound seemingly from the other side of the light. Concern and confusion had danced a rushing tango within him as he investigated the noise. Wilbur had been standing on the railing, not in front of, on it. It was clear he had just climbed up as he struggled to steady himself. Ranboo had frozen, not wanting to startle Wilbur over the edge. He stood there watching Wilbur scream into the wind as he grappled with options of what he should do. Before he had reached a decision, however, Wilbur had climbed down, turning immediately to face Ranboo. Their following conversation had been strange to say the least. Wilbur had been clearly running from something and wanted to lay low. He fidgeted with his coat sleeves whilst assuming an aire of overconfidence. His expression was fierce, yet his eyes betrayed him, swirling basins of distress flickering blue specks bursting on brown irises. In the end, Ranboo had offered him a spot to hide in his cellar in return for the promise of full confidentiality. Neither would speak of the other or what they knew, and Wilbur would not be alone, agreeing to keep the full confidence of the cellar’s current occupant. When they’d reached the cellar and Ranboo had locked the door behind them, he’d been made aware of a fatal stitch in this plan. His current cellar-dwelling housemate happened to be Wilbur’s estranged friend- brother maybe? Ranboo wasn’t exactly sure what they were, but they’d clearly been close in the past and ripped apart, either by conscious action or circumstance. Wilbur had frozen at the sight of Technoblade. Techno had nearly gone feral, Growling at Wilbur before scolding Ranboo for bringing him down there. Ranboo, being the non-confrontational ball of nerves that he is, had fled to the bakery.
Now here they sit side by side, Techno reminiscing over a time that Ranboo had only heard legends about despite it not being long ago. It has long been considered taboo in L’Manberg to speak of Logstedshire, punishable by….well no one knows what happened to those who did. And according to his basement roommate, here were two of its past citizens said to have been lost to time. Ranboo’s anxious hum grows to a roar as he wonders what tales and horrors these cellar walls conceal.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wakes with a splitting headache on a floor that’s hard enough to have caused it. Groaning, he pushes himself to a sitting position. His head throbs and swirls, his stomach imitating the motion.

“Woah, Mate, better stay on the ground for a bit, you’re in pretty rough shape.”

A gentle hand presses firmly on Sam’s shoulder, guiding him back down; a hand cradles his head, softly protecting it from further harm. Sam grimaces, relenting to the gentle force. He opens his mouth to whisper, but is met with a trilling sound of clear disapproval.

“Hold on, you need something to drink.”

Rustling is heard for a moment as whoever is in the room with Sam seems to be getting just that. The strong arm from before wraps around Sam’s shoulders, Cradling him in a warm hold. Something cold and rough is pressed to his lips, and Sam strains, his throat eager for refreshment. The water he is rewarded with is lukewarm and tastes of dust and sand, but it’s relieving nonetheless. He groans as the stranger sets him back down on what feels like a thin blanket for a pillow. His head feels like it’s being crushed under a press and his eyelids like they’re made of titanium. He forces them open just a crack. The world above him is a blur of black, purple, sandy, and orange. It doesn’t take long for his head to scream louder from the action and Sam lets his eyes fall closed again.

“That’s alright, Mate, we can talk like this.”

The accented voice cuts through some of the clouds swirling around Sam’s mind and he brings himself to speak.

“Where am I? Who are you? What are they doing to Tommy?”

A loud chirp fills the space followed by a long silence. Is Sam talking to a bird? Is he going crazy? He has to have hallucinated or dreamt that, right? Somewhere vaguely in the back of his mind Sam remembers legends of a man with wings of coal, but maybe that was a dream too. The voice speaks again, but this time it’s tone is fainter and filled with rasping hopeful question.

“Tommy? Who is Tommy?”

Tommy. Tommy is Sam’s son that he stole! Wait no, he’s not supposed to say that. Tommy is the child that lives with Sam and the ghost, and he is definitely not Sam’s son, but he should be! No, that just got worse. Sam can’t seem to find a fitting explanation in his jostled brain, so he works with what he has. A garbled mess is still something, right?

“Tommy….my boy. Not my boy, but someone else’s boy. I don’t know who’s boy he is, but he’s my boy! And Dream’s going to kill him with Drista, and then my boy will be gone! Nonono, they can’t have my Tommy who’s not mine! He’s my boy! They took my Halo and now my Tommy? They can’t do this! Dream can’t take him from me, not my sunshine boy!”

The mumbled mess of words that spews from Sam’s mouth stains the floor of wherever he lays. It soaks into the cracks and serves as their mortar. Sobs intertwine with them in a sorrowful melody whispered by the very walls that surround them. The voice shakily cuts him off with a whisper.

“He’s alive. That- it has to be! I’m not losing my mind, I was right! I have to be! Dream has him.”

The last sentence is spat as if it were the vilest of poisons. Rustling sounds beside Sam again and the voice seems to move upwards, growing firm, yet hints of a tremor still slip through.

“Mate, I need you to tell me everything you know about Tommy, Dream, and this Drista.”

Oh, he can do that! He knows a lot about them! But it’s supposed to be a secret. But the voice is nice and it helped him, so Sam supposes he can tell at least something.

“M’ Tommy is the nicest boy. He’s loud and makes me scared and angry, but he’s definitely my boy! He looks like……like the sun kissed his hair and gave him its light inside. That’s what I always tell him! Dream gave him to me when he was a tiny little Tommy. Dream is the angry bossman. He makes me pick people apart to see what’s inside them and then make their insides look like his. He- he wants to kill my Tommy! He sent his Drista to do it and she almost did! That snake almost stabbed him at the Crowfather’s house! I’ll beat those two to a pulp! They’ll look like my Halo when I’m done with them!”

Sam suddenly bursts into tears again, and a hand pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“That’s all I need, Mate. Thank you. Now get some rest, we have a son to rescue.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Technoblade never dies.

Low growls rise from Technoblade’s throat at the sight of the last man he ever heard say those words. The last man to wish them not to be true, and the first to say he did. Forgiveness is not one of the words flying through Technoblade’s mind among hissed mental whispers as Wilbur invades on his solitude. Techno levels a glare at the tall teenager who let the snake into his garden.

“You shouldn’t have brought him here, Ranboo.”

The boy sheepishly looks at the floor, mumbling something about bread before vanishing in a cloud of purple dust.

“Ranboo, wait, don't leave me with him!”

Technoblade lets out an angry grunt, punching the pillow beside him. His hand reaches through to the hard stone beneath, but he disregards the stinging in his fist. If anything, it distracts him from the pain of his still healing wounds. The kid is pretty skilled as a healer when he isn’t bringing Techno problem children. Techno forces a glance towards Wilbur and nearly snorts at his state. Will stands at the cellar door where he was left staring at Technoblade, his face a distant twisting cloud of shock, confusion, frustration, and guilt. None of these things are ones Techno wishes to discuss at the moment. Knowing Wilbur, he will anyway. Better get things over with right away if this was going to be his life for who knows how long. Technoblade clears his throat, unsure of how to approach the subject.

“So, you’ve met Ranboo?”

Wilbur blinks, collapsing to his seat , still dazed. Silence. Techno coughs to break it.

“Well then, how’s Kristen faring lately? I meant to go see her, but I uh….got caught up in a thing or two. Turns out this monarchy doesn’t take well to plots against it.”

He laughs awkwardly, an attempt to relieve tension. He needs Wilbur to start talking, to spill the guts he threw at Techno the last time they spoke. Wilbur only looks at Techno in fearful confusion before coughing, a thick blue liquid flooding from his lips onto the cellar floor. Oh. Wilbur can’t remember. If he’s coughing up blue, then it’s only a matter of time before……Techno shouts in frustration, launching a pillow across the small cellar, wincing when his shoulder screams in protest from lying unused. Blood roars in his ears as he wars within his mind. Somehow these types of battles have always been the hardest. Not even a near fatal injury could delay them. He has two options here, to help Wilbur remember what he knows of their shared past. Or to watch the man he’s seen as a brother die in front of him. Wilbur’s last words to him ring in Technoblade’s mind:

“I know they say ‘Technoblade never dies’, but maybe just this once he should!”

A searing blade slices through his heartstrings, shouts for blood raging like an ocean storm in his ears. Techno lets out a guttural cry, clamping his hands over his ears as if it will drown out his thoughts. The tempest only roars louder until a cold touch on his hand breaks him from his mind’s own torment.

“Are you okay? You were screaming.”

Technoblade blinks at the blue-stained hands covering his own, gently guiding them downwards to his lap. Wilbur clasps Technoblade’s hands in his own, and raises his concerned gaze to meet Techno’s. As two prodigals’ eyes meet, a shiver runs down Technoblade’s spine, and his decision is made. Wilbur’s eyes have faded from their warm brown to balls of softly glowing blue covering their entire surface. Trickling threads of blue stand out around them like an unwelcome infestation. He gives Techno a soft smile as a gesture of comfort. The suddenly real prospect of losing his brother yet again tears a hole in Technoblade’s bitter resolve. It’s started already, and he’s realizing that any time would be too soon.

“Wilbur?”

The ghostly form of Will cocks his head at Techno.

“Am I Wilbur?”

Technoblade’s heart screams in his chest, far too long silent.

“Always have been”

Chapter Text

Mountains of digital paperwork loom before Kristen as she stares at the files on her computer screen. It’s all reports on citizens of L’Manberg with odd observations. She’d taken the job of Secretary to the royal scientist for one reason, and that wasn’t because she loved to do paperwork. Truly, she didn’t despise it, but it wasn’t exactly her preferred career choice. The real reason Kristen had taken the job was the rumors. Multiple L’Manberg citizens have disappeared in the past 13 years since her young son was kidnapped, and three of them are hers. Back when Tommy was taken, a few rumors formulated around the tragic death of a child in the royal council. The cause was never confirmed, but the king at the time had blamed another council member, the fierce military commander known as ”The Crowfather.” Kristen only knew him as Phil. He’d told Kristen that the child had been the son of the Royal Scientist, Samuel Dude. Tommy had disappeared that night. 10 years later, Phil had disappeared on a business trip with Wilbur. The next day, Technoblade had run away, and only a few weeks after that Wilbur had disappeared as well. Kristen had come to believe that she was cursed, or maybe she was the curse. Regardless, when the position as secretary to the Royal Scientist had come up. Kristen had jumped at the chance for information. To her surprise, she seems to have found a well of it. As it turns out, the so-called “Royal Scientist” is a scientist of the mind. His research includes testing the limits of the mind, and excessive experiments with blue and phantomization. Eerily enough, Kristen gets the feeling she’s just solved all of L’Manberg’s missing persons cases except a few of her own. This information comes in the form of a list of test subjects. Her eyes widen with every entry.

Ranboo Beloved - R712

Phantomization was interrupted resulting in a hybrid. Hair and eyes retained half their color, as did the subject’s skin. Subject retained half their memory, false memories cause confusion and are the only way to further the phantomization process without excessive strain to the subject that would likely kill them.

Mutated Ability: Teleportation

Status: Alive

Dream Smile - D777

Phantomization completed successfully. Performance flawless.

Mutated Ability: Projected illusions

Status:Alive

Quackity Nevadas - Q776

Phantomization completed with complications. Subject showed themself headstrong, blocking a portion of Blue’s effects. Still needs work.

Mutated Ability: Foresight

Status: Alive

George Smile - G404

Could not withstand first injection of Blue.

Mutated Ability: None

Status: Dead

Karl Jacobs - K612

Phantomization nearly completed. Subject grew unstable, phasing between multiple timeframes. All further experimentation terminated.

Mutated Ability: Time Warp

Status: Unknown

Skeppy Rhinestone - S404 - Previously S014

Phantomization failed. Testing sabotaged and subject could not withstand the aftermath.

Mutated Ability: None

Status: Dead

Sapnap Smile - S611

Phantomization in process. Results expected positive.

Mutated Ability: None

Status: Alive

Wilbur Craftsoot - W013

Phantomization nearly complete. Subject grew unstable, but was mostly stabilized at the loss of facilities. All further experimentation terminated. Currently kept under close observation as subject’s phantomization has been deemed purely natural. Currently provides nearly the entirety of the laboratory’s Blue supply.

Mutated Ability: None

Status: Alive

Beckerson - B000

Phantomization in process, results expected negative.

Mutated Ability: None

Status: He’s a fish. What the heck. WHY ARE WE TESTING BLUE ON A FISH?!!!

Chills run down Kristen’s back as fire flows through her veins. So that’s where one of her boys had gone. She grits her teeth as she navigates to the main text broadcasting site for national news. As secretary, she is expected to manage social media for Sam among other things until he can get a designated social media manager. Well she’s about to manage it, alright! Kristen copies the list, seething, and pastes it to a royal broadcast media post. As her finger hovers over the key to send the message, she’s abruptly interrupted.

“Kristen! Look!”

Niki comes barreling into Kristen’s office waving her phone in her right hand. She shoves the communicator towards Kristen, jittering excitedly. Kristen leaves her message unposted as she reads the text on the small screen. It’s a recent royal broadcast. Only council members and herself have access to post there. She quickly reads the post. It’s an announcement to the entire nation of the reinstatement of SMP’s king one week from the current date. Kristen screws up her nose in disgust. King Jay Schlatt has been nothing short of a hypocritical tyrant. Only an express few know of his crimes, and most of them mysteriously disappeared leaving Kristen as the only remaining. Logstedshire and L’Manberg had been united for decades before his actions, and none would dare speak of the day that had changed. Kristen looks up at Niki, who is shifting excitedly in front of her.

“Why are you acting like this is a good thing?”

Niki’s eyes sparkle.

“Because no one will be at home. The whole kingdom will be at the reinstatement. And did you see down at the bottom? It says all members of royal staff are required to attend a celebration gathering at the palace after the official ceremonies! Wouldn’t that be the perfect time for me to investigate Ranboo and you to investigate the palace?”

Huh, Kristen guesses that would be beneficial. The risks are naturally higher for her than they will be for Niki, but they’re risks she’s willing to take. She gestures to Niki to read the document she’s found, sharing in her gasps of horror. Kristen elects not to share the document just yet so as not to jeopardize their mission.

“You’re right, Niki, it’ll be the perfect time. Knowing what we know now, I think they’re both playing games here. How will you find Ranboo’s house?”

Niki hangs her head a little, apprehensive.

“I may have followed him home from the bakery yesterday. He lives on the far side of town.”

Kristen gives her a reproachful look.

“Niki! That was dangerous! What if you were seen? What if the royal guard had seen you? I can bet they wouldn’t take kindly to a random citizen trailing one of their project people.”

Niki’s face hardens into a glare. Her fists clench at her sides as her glare fixes on Kristen’s computer screen.

“They didn’t see me. I was fine. Are we on for the plan?”

Kristen nods sullenly.

“Yes. In the meantime, I think Sam and I need to have a little chat.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Punz glares at his phone before glaring up at Dream’s smirking face.

“You’re making me go to a party?”

Dream chuckles, wincing a bit as he rubs his neck. He’s dropped the illusion of normality, and Dream’s skin and hair nearly shine in an ashen white, his eyes actually glowing the same hue. The makeup around his eyes and lips are the only real things he shows anyone but Punz. Dream shoves his hands in the pocket of his emerald green hoodie.

“Think of it as a diplomatic mission. I need you to be an escort. You see, our prisoners are growing restless and I fear they’ll do something drastic. I need you to make sure they don’t.”

Punz’s scowl deepens.

“I don’t follow.”

Dream sighs dramatically, placing a hand on Punz’s shoulder, which he shrugs off.. Dream’s haunting eyes gaze into his own, and Punz matches the blank stare with stubborn boldness.

“I need something to happen at this party, Punz. An accident, a public execution, I don’t care! But I need them out of my way. Make sure Tommy’s there too, he’s been a hindrance far too long. I need all of them, everyone from Logstedshire and anyone they care about.”

Well that’s not exactly how Punz expected to be spending his week, but a job is a job. This one sounds like a pain already though. He wonders how long it'll take for him to regret taking this one. Punz puts away his phone and crosses his arms, his gaze not leaving Dream’s icy stare.

“Fine, but I need a raise.”

Dream laughs like this is the funniest thing Punz could have possibly said to his deal. Punz doesn’t catch the amusement.

“HAH! For your troubles, you can have a spot on my team for good. I’ll give you a steady sizable paycheck and you’ll do what I ask, sound like a deal?”

Punz’s scowl slips into a grin. This job just got a whole lot better.

“You have a deal.”

Dream walks past Punz, gesturing for him to follow.

“Good. Now come on, I need security for this. Oh, and Punz?”

He pauses. Punz stares, waiting for instruction.

“I need Technoblade alive.”

Dream’s countenance shifts, static covering him as he puts on his socializing face. Punz follows as Dream leads him to a large building near the center of L’Manberg that displays a massive sign reading: “Las Nevadas Casino: Bet on the Crown!” They walk straight through the bustling venue, Dream rushing Punz to the back with his hood pulled tightly over his head. They reach a reserved room where Dream goes to a door behind a bar, knocking five times in rhythm. The door is swiftly swung open by a man with an endlessly chipper personality. The man, who introduces himself as Charlie, leads Dream and Punz to an office tucked in the far back of the casino. Charlie ducks out of the room as soon as they enter, shutting the door behind them. A large mahogany desk sits along the back wall of a handsome study. Sitting in a throne-like crimson plush chair is someone Punz has worked with many times in the past. Quackity lounges, watching the two enter with glowing pupil-less indigo eyes. An ashen white akin to Dream’s covers his skin and hair like jaundice, a stark contrast against navy blue clothing.

“Dream! Punz! Great to see you two again. What business do you have for me this time?”

Quackity greets with a professional smile. He leans forward in his chair, gesturing for the two to sit in armchairs set in front of the desk. Lavish. Dream shakes Quackity’s hand before sitting, and Punz follows suit, but remains standing behind Dream’s chair, eyes fixed on the man before them. Dream speaks up first.

“Quackity! Great to see you too, man! How’s business been?”

Quackity shrugs, a proud smile crossing his face.

“It’s been fair, quite a few of your citizens seem to enjoy wasting away their lives in my casino, so I can't complain too much.”

That was odd wording, “your citizens”. What makes the citizens of L’Manberg belong to Dream? Punz glances at his employer for clarification, but Dream only laughs. Quackity chuckles along with him, stopping abruptly after a few moments.

“You didn’t come here to talk about my business, Dream. So what’s yours?”

Dream’s smile matches the lines of his painted one.

“I want to give you a promotion, Quackity. You’ve clearly proven yourself quite capable as a leader. I mean, look at this place!”

Dream gestures to the tastefully decorated office space and the casino around them.

“The point here is, I need a new Schlatt. I’m sure you’ve heard of our oh so beloved king’s fate, Quackity, you have ears everywhere. Well of course that still leaves me in charge, but I’m not one for a spectacle, you know what I mean?”

Punz does not know what Dream means in the slightest, but Quackity seems to, nodding along curiously. Dream continues.

“So I need another King. I want you to be my figurehead, Quackity.”

Quackity’s smile doesn’t waver as he clasps his hands together on the desk between them.

“You need a face to hide behind. So you can do what? Would L’Manberg really listen to a casino owner as their king? I’m flattered, honored, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy, Dream.”

Dream and Quackity seem to be head to head in a staring competition as Dream rebuts Quackity’s arguments without a beat of hesitation.

“They’d listen to you, Quackity, because you wouldn’t look like a humble casino owner to them. You’d look like Schlatt. I can make you sound like him too. As for my plans, those remain my own business.”

Quackity scoffs at the word “humble”, but seems to consider the offer.

“What’s in it for me, and who will run my ‘humble’ casino?”

He makes quotes in the air on the word “humble”.

“You’d still run Las Nevadas, you’d just do it with an extra paycheck and make appearances as needed. Are you in, or are you not?”

The office room is flooded in silence, tension is so thick you can taste it as Quackity mulls over the proposition. Dream holds his gaze, motionless. A few long moments pass before Quackity leans back in his chair, holding a hand out towards Dream.

“I guess L’Manberg’s under new management.”

Dream shakes Quackity’s hand, a sinister glint flashing in his eyes for such a small moment it nearly goes unnoticed.

“You've made the right choice.”

Chapter Text

Frantic footsteps echo in Tommy’s ears as he tears through the lavish Dude family house on the outskirts of L’Manberg. Empty. No one is around to hear Tommy’s frantic breathing, panicked calls. The house is completely devoid of life aside from his own. He turns on his heel, running back out through the front door.

“DAD! WILBUR!”

Tommy wears his voice raw as he runs across the fields surrounding the house, speeding down the well worn path around Will’s flower field. His breath catches in his throat and he nearly chokes as his feet pound on dry soil, echoing in his mind. He can barely even scream as he chokes out two names, two people, two memories. Tommy doesn’t think as he lets his feet take him down the eerily familiar path to the cabin. Maybe they’d come to see for themselves. Splinters soar as Tommy kicks them aside in yet another unfruitful search. This can’t be happening. They have to be around here somewhere! Sure, it’s not unlike Wilbur to disappear for a period and never speak of it when he returns. Sure, Sam works long days in the palace laboratory and misses dinner more often than not. Logically, Tommy understands that this is probably exactly what has happened and he’s wasting his fear on nothing, but emotionally this is different. It’s nearly sundown and Sam promised an early night. He’s had to stay late and back out on these promises before, but has always done anything he can to keep them. It feels off. Then Wilbur had stormed out. Tommy had never seen his brother that upset, and Wilbur was prone to breakdowns over the simplest of things. This time he’d seemed almost angry, guilty, desperate. Everything about that terrified Tommy to no end, so he dropped onto a dust infested couch and placed his head in his hands, willing them to both be okay.

“Are you done yet?”

A familiar female voice echoes with a tone of boredom.Tommy whips his head up to be faced with none other than the person who first led him here, Drista. She stands at the far wall. Her expression is blank, eyes cold and unfeeling. A chill cuts through Tommy simply at the sight of her, then her words hit. He scowls, rubbing his eyes.

“What do you want, Drista?

She takes a step closer and an alarm goes off in Tommy’s mind. Drista holds her hands behind her back as she pierces him with a scrutinizing stare.

“I was hoping to see you here again, Tommy.”

Another step. Tommy shifts on the couch, itching to run from the puppet that looks like his friend.

“Yeah, well I was just about to leave, so-”

“Don’t go, Tommy. I haven’t shown you everything about this place.”

A third step, another, Drista moves slowly and steadily towards Tommy, who shoots up from his spot on the couch.

“Yeah well I think I’ve seen enough. Thanks for the tour, Drista, but I’ll be on my way.”

A spot of reflection moves on the back wall in time with Drista’s steps. The sun shines through the open door and its nearby window, glinting off something behind Drista’s back. Tommy wishes he could have missed that detail, while relieved that he didn’t. His suspicions of the reflection’s origins are confirmed when Drista whips out a silver dagger, leveling it at his throat. Well at least he was right.

“Oh the tour isn’t over yet!”

Drista’s face melts into a sadistic smile.

“You haven’t met the floor.”

Tommy vaults over the couch, putting it between himself and Drista. He’ll be no match in this fight. He’s Tommy, the biggest man ever, but he will never fight a woman, especially if said woman is brandishing a weapon while he himself is left weaponless. He could never. Tommy’s hands press against cold logs as he glances around for any kind of escape. Great, he’s both metaphorically and literally backed himself in a corner. What a wonderfully terrible predicament! Drista lets out a low chuckle as she slowly traps her prey.

“You’re far too trusting, Tommy. It always had to come to this.”

As cool metal presses against Tommy’s throat, he glares at Drista in defiance. Maybe if he lets her monologue he can buy time, praying that someone will see him. Realistically, no one comes to Logstedshire, but every shred of hope is still a chance.

“I never liked you, Tommy. You were too much like me, but do you know where we’re different? You care. You care far too much about far too many. You care about your first family, and you can’t even remember them! Why else would you be here? It drags you down, Tommy. The hands that you care so much about will drag you under and drown you. This world is cruel. Only those who match that cruelty can survive it. My brother always says that attachment is the biggest weakness, but do you want to know a secret, Tommy?”

Tommy can feel Drista’s hot breath as she lean close to his face, her grin twisting across it.

“He learned that from me.”

Tommy spits in Drista’s face, bracing himself for the final slice, but it doesn’t come. A sudden force launches Drista behind the couch and into the wall. Frozen in shock, Tommy now faces a young man dressed in white, a golden medallion hanging heavily from a gold chain around his neck. Tommy grins, stepping forward to thank the man, when a heavy sword nearly takes off his head. He yelps and rolls to the side, barely missing the swing.

“What the heck man?! Who even are you?”

The man doesn’t respond as Tommy runs towards the couch, vaulting over it in an attempt to get to the door. Tommy is jerked backwards with a force that nearly chokes him. Looking up, he barely manages to dodge a swing from Drista’s- battleaxe? When did Drista get a battleaxe??!
“PUNZ, YOU GET AWAY FROM MY TARGET!”

She screeches, swinging repeatedly at Tommy, who barely manages to keep himself intact. The man, Punz apparently, only makes his own advance on Tommy. Tommy scrambles to his feet and tears towards the door. He slams into the doorway as he rushes through, and someone’s blade narrowly misses his shoulder as he stumbles forwards. Tommy has to get help, he can’t run forever. Well his house is a no-go, since Will and Sam are gone, so Tommy has one option, he tears through the flower field and makes a beeline for the bustling town of L’Manberg. Once in the city, Tommy shouts again for his father and brother to no avail. People on the streets jump out of his way, scattering in terror of his assailants. They’re gaining ground. Tommy’s lungs are on fire and he’s slowing considerably. His only hope is to lose them, but that chance is growing steadily slimmer if Drista’s shrieks are any indicator. A silver dagger embeds itself in Tommy’s left leg and he cries out, dropping to the ground with such force, his nose slams into unforgiving concrete. This is it, he’s out of options. Tommy turns his head to stare his attackers in the face, but the world goes fuzzy and purple before shifting entirely to an unfamiliar room and a familiar face.

~~~~~~~~~~

Drista screams in pure frustration. Of all the frustrating targets, did this one have to be hers? Punz growls behind her,, and Drista whirls to face him, sword held tightly in front of her.

“Punz, I told you to stay away! Was your last failure not enough?”

Drista slices the air in front of the mercenary in warning. The man’s stance does not waver, only fueling Drista’s rage. Punz shrugs.

“Your brother paid me more.”

Drista’s teeth grind as she sets Punz on fire with her eyes. The impudence! The insolence!

“Can I offer you LITERALLY ANYTHING not to meddle with my missions?”

Punz only smirks.

“Maybe don’t get us both arrested.”

Drista blinks and glances around the streets. Royal guards flock in from nearly every side. Drista growls in frustration, sheathing her sword on her back. She glances back to Punz, who salutes, turning on his heel to climb to the rooftops.

“You owe me a dagger, Punz!”

She calls after him as she makes her own escape in the opposite direction.
Drista pulls out a master keycard, letting herself into L’Manberg’s maximum security prison. Pandora’s vault was made as a true masterpiece of genius by the royal scientist who doubled as an engineer and prison warden. Sam knows the ins and outs of this place better than anyone, and Drista has learned as much about it as she can. Replicating his keycard hadn’t been much of an issue with the help of a hired tech master. Drista seethes as she makes her way to the main cell. Curtains of synthetic molten fire part for Drista’s entry as she reaches the inner room. Sitting in Pandora’s main cell are two of the most feared and powerful individuals in all of SMP, and Drista’s two biggest threats. Against the back wall sits Sam, the prison’s architect, and the Crowfather himself. The man’s massive wings alone are enough to make any grown man cower. Phil carries an aire of intimidation even with sunken features and grimy overgrown locks hanging over his face. Drista lets down the door to the cell and stomps inside, glaring straight at Sam, who cowers from her gaze, refusing to meet her eye.

“Sam, what was that? Dream tells me you tried to choke him out, care to enlighten me as to why?”

Sam mumbles something incoherent and stares at the floor. Drista strikes black and purple stone with the blade of her battleaxe, making Sam jump back.

“Is that an answer or an excuse, Sam?”

He glances up, mumbling “An excuse”. Drista kneels down to meet Sam at his level, leaning on the hilt of her axe.

“Look at me, Sam.”

He glances up at her for an instant, his gaze retreating quickly back to the floor. Drista pulls back her arm, slapping Sam across the face.

“I SAID LOOK AT ME!”

Sam’s terror-filled eyes meet hers and she drinks in the feeling as blood trickles from where his temple connected with the cell wall. Ruffling feathers and twitters of indignance reveal Phil’s agitation. Drista ignores it. She grabs Sam’s jaw on the straps of his ever-present mask as he cries out.

“You had one last chance, Sam. Don’t you know what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you?”

She lets go of Sam roughly, shoving to her feet with one last condescending look at the pathetic excuse of a man.

“It bites back.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Grunts of pain and frustration fill the small cellar as Technoblade leans heavily on the ghost’s shoulder. His legs are screaming in protest, but he needs to get back up, he has so much he needs to do.

“Alright, I think I’ll be fine to stand on my own.”

Wilbur hesitates, but Techno waves him away, leaning on the cold stone wall. The ground swirls and his head throbs, but Technoblade presses through. He reaches his leg out to take a shaky step, then another and another until he drops back down, exhausted and nauseated from the pain still shooting through his legs. It’s a wonder they move at all after sustaining such burns. Lava, even synthetic, tends to be highly unforgiving. Wilbur rushes to Techno’s side, helping him to a more comfortable position.

“How did this happen, Technoblade? Who hurt you like this?”

The ignorantly soft concern hinting at tears sounds so unlike Wilbur that Techno has to take a breath to recollect himself before answering.

“Well it was partially my own fault. I know you don’t remember him, but Phil, your dad and my best friend, is stuck in this high security fancy prison because people are afraid of him. I tried to break him out a while back, but it didn’t go so well. I uh, underestimated how well the warden built it. You see, there’s a curtain of synthetic lava that covers the path to the cell where they’re keepin’ Phil, and it goes down a lot faster than I expected it to. I got out of there, but I don’t know much about healin’ burns, I'm used to stab wounds and such, so they got infected. Ranboo brought me here and nursed me back to health, or whatever this is. The burns are just about gone, but I haven’t used these old legs in so long they're goin’ stiff on me.”

Wilbur nods sadly. He opens his mouth to respond to this when the cellar’s population suddenly doubles. A flustered Ranboo lays an injured boy on the cellar floor before teleporting away, returning a moment later with first aid, and bandages. The boy lays on his side, a silver dagger protruding from the back of his left calf. Ranboo works quickly, removing the dagger and staunching the bloodflow. Techno stares at the kid intently, taking in his features as Ranboo expertly wraps a bandage around his leg. The boy’s face is twisted in pain, but Techno can make out sky blue eyes. His hair lays in tousled ringlets of the same sandy blonde of Phil’s, now partially stained from a puddle of blue on the floor. That’s kind of gross. Something in Techno’s heart flutters at the sight of the kid. If Tommy were still around, this boy would look exactly like him. Techno glances to the side where Wilbur has been sat in silence. Techno’s heart jumps in fear. Wilbur’s face is ashen, not like he’s gone pale out of terror, but it’s literally turned white. The drain of color is stretching down Wilbur’s neck. Please no, not this, not now! Techno grunts, pulling himself between Wilbur and the other two. He grabs Wilburs hands in his own.

“Hey, hey, Wilbur, come back to me! You- you can’t leave now, not yet, not ever. I don’t know who this boy is to you, but I know you’re afraid to remember. You can’t run from us, Wilbur, you have to remember! You can’t give up on us! Please, we can’t lose you again.”

Wilbur blinks glowing blue orbs. He turns his face to Techno directly, the action looking like a magnet forced from attraction.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it! Come back to me, Wilbur,”

The white stops its course, but doesn’t retreat. That alone is enough to make Techno sigh in relief. He pulls Wilbur into an awkward hug. Wilbur lets out a small whimper and grips Technoblade tightly, sobbing into his shoulder. After a few moments, Ranboo clears his throat behind them. Technoblade turns. The boy with golden hair is staring wide-eyed at both Technoblade and Wilbur, and Ranboo is staring at the floor, wringing his hands.

“Um, is it okay if he stays here for a while? He was, um, being chased by the top two mercenaries. I think it’s best if he lays low. Are you two okay with more company?”

Technoblade nods. Ranboo flashes a smile and claps his hands together.

“Great! I’ll clean that up, then leave you to introduce yourselves!”

Ranboo takes a rag from the first aid box, and quickly wipes up the large puddle of blue staining the floor. He surveys the cellar for more, his gaze landing on Technoblade.

“Oh, you have some on your shirt. I can try to find you something else and wash that for you.”

Techno waves Ranboo off, shaking his head.

“Nah, I've worn it longer with worse. I’ll be fine for a while.”

Ranboo chokes a bit.

“Oh, um, well that’s concerning. You’re sure? Blue can stain pretty bad.”

Technoblade shakes his head again.

“So can blood. I’ll manage”

“You’re absolutely certain? I- I wouldn’t want you permanently staining-”

“Ranboo, it’s fine, won’t Tubbo be home soon? You’d better go up.”

Ranboo jolts a little at the reminder and frantically gathers the things he brought down.
“Oh, right! I have to get this cleaned up before he does!”

Ranboo disappears in a flurry of violet and the three remaining are left staring at each other in uncomfortable silence. The boy stares, then scratches out in barely a whisper,

“Wilbur? And Tech- Technoblade?”

He seems stunned in disbelief. Techno nods.

“Yep, in the flesh. And you are?”

The boy blinks, tears shining in his eyes.

“I’m Tommy.”

Techno’s heart tears itself apart and melts back together all in the same breath.

Chapter Text

A staticky figure stands watching as a scientist scrambles for results. A kid with icy blue hair sits strapped to a metal chair, glaring at the scientist. The staticky figure notices movement. Someone is running up behind the scientist. Another kid dressed in black and red barrels into him.

“Daddy please, he didn’t hurt me on purpose!”

The scientist grunts, attempting to peel the kid off him.

“Halo, go back to Sapnap. You shouldn’t be down here. Daddy’s working.”

The little boy only buries his face in the scientist’s coat, wailing.

“Let Skeppy come with me! Please, he’s sorry!”

The Scientist grunts in frustration, grabbing Halo by the arms. He kneels down, holding the boy away from him.

“I’m not going to hurt Skeppy, okay? I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t hurt you again. Now you need to go back to Sapnap. He’ll take care of you until Skeppy can come play.”

Halo’s sobs fade to sniffles and he nods. The scientist wraps the boy in a hug as a slightly older boy with orange eyes and brown hair comes puffing into the lab. The scientist lifts his head from his son’s hair to glare at the kid.

“Get him out of here, Sapnap. We’ll discuss this later.”

Sapnap doubles over, catching his breath.

“Sorry- he’s- your kid is really fast, Sam!”

Sam stands, carrying the child in question in his arms.

“You’re almost a grown man, you’ll figure it out.”

He snaps. The door to the laboratory bursts open again, and Sapnap shrinks back from the approaching figures. Halo hides in his father’s lab coat, while Sam shifts glances from a teenage Dream to his tween sister. Dream speaks up.

“Sam, you know our deal.”

Sam stutters, taking a small step back.

“I- I’m sorry Dream, he won’t be down here again! Sapnap let-”

Dream holds up a hand, cutting Sam off.

“This is on both of you. How was the kid able to get in so easily, Sam?”

Sam’s face flushes. He steps back again, clutching a now whimpering Halo close to him.

“I’m not sure, I keep the main doors locked!”

Sapnap stands statuary, Sam sends him a pleading look. Dream steps closer to Sam and Halo.

“Looks like you didn’t”

Sapnap cuts in.

“They were locked when I got here, I don’t know how the kid did it!”

Drista sends Sapnap a withering glare. Dream stares Sam in the eyes, static suddenly making Halo vanish. Sam cries out in surprise. Dream only smiles.

“Oh, I guess he didn’t. You let him in, Sam.”

Dream gestures to the seat where Skeppy had been moments before. Struggling in his place sits a sobbing Halo. The boy’s cries for his father wrench the watcher’s heart as he stands powerless to change the scene before him. All color drains from Sam’s face. He reaches to slam his hand on the button to release his son, but Drista reaches him quicker. Sapnap disappears into static. Sam grasps at the air, struggling with all his might against the girl’s hold, but she holds a blade to his throat. Dream turns to look at Sam, hand hovering over the lever that controls the subject’s injections of blue. The numbers on Sam’s monitor show that Dream has upped the percentage. That amount of blue would kill the child in moments. Dream stares Sam straight in the eye.

“I never needed just a genius, Sam. I needed a monster.”

The staticky figure closes his eyes as the most unspeakable horror unfolds. He quickly flips through a book in his hands. Screams of pure agony ring through his mind as the swirling vortex of time pulls him away.

~~~~~~~~~~

The line between a desperate father and a man-made monster is a blurry one. Even Phil is having a hard time seeing it as he listens to Sam’s tale of tragedy. He finds himself unable to forgive the man for keeping him locked away in this prison cell with barely anything to keep him alive, and for keeping his son hidden away for so long. Yet he can’t find it within himself to hate the man either. He was fighting for his own son, and when that was taken from him, Sam fought to avenge him. Only six months after Halo’s death, Dream had brought him Tommy to watch over. According to Sam’s narrative, Sam had grown quickly attached to Tommy and grew to see him as his own son. It was his care for Tommy that had kept him from just taking the boy back to Phil and Kristen. As much as Sam understood in his own way the pain that Phil was going through, it wouldn’t have been safe for Tommy. Dream hasn’t ever been known for patience and mercy. He would have found someone else to hide Tommy for him, and without Sam’s advocacy, likely would have taken him out of the picture far earlier. Yet Phil could never get back those 11 years he never got to watch his youngest son grow up. To be robbed of a life is to be robbed of a piece of your heart, and that piece will never grow back the same. Phil and Sam sit in silence, each struggling to formulate a plan. The last prison break hadn’t gone according to plan, and Phil often worries about how Techno has fared since then. Phil shifts his feathers, trying to find a more comfortable position. He manages to shove Sam with one of his wings by mistake. He’s too used to being alone down here. As he settles back down, the curtain of lava suddenly parts to reveal a visitor. Sam tenses beside Phil. Sapnap stares at the ground as he enters the inner cell. He shifts from foot to foot before addressing Sam.

“Look, I’m not great at words like Dream is, so I’m just going to get on with it. Sam, I’m sorry. I wasn’t there when it happened, Dream had me out in a meeting with Quackity, but I should have known he was going to pull something like that. I-”

Sapnap blinks back the tears that begin to spill to no avail.

“I loved him, Sam. That kid was the brightest thing in my life. Heck, I was only a few years older than him! I thought of Halo as a little brother. You were like a father to me. So when it happened, I couldn’t live with myself. I didn’t want to. I- I started to let go of my memories, my brothers, Drista, you, and especially Halo. I thought that maybe if I forgot them, then it wouldn’t hurt so much and I wouldn’t hate us all like I did. For a while I blamed you, Sam. If you’d never done these experiments, maybe Dream never would have done it. As soon as I heard it was Halo in that chair, every second you spent in that lab felt like an injustice.”

Sapnap clenches his fists, expression hardening.

“Because it was. It opened my eyes, Sam. We were always wrong. We were cruel! We were monsters, and Halo never deserved that. So I hid. I hid from it all and I almost let myself forget everything because I couldn’t see myself as anything more than the monster under his bed.”

Sapnap turns to Phil, a small smile breaking across his face.

“Then I met Phil. He saw me as more than that. He brought me back to myself and helped me see myself as more. So when he disappeared too, I couldn’t just sit around. So I went to my monster of a brother, Dream, and played back into his hand. I never showed him my cards, but the stakes were high. He told me you’d stopped your experiments when he entrusted you with Tommy. He scoffed at you, suspecting you’d grown soft and remorseful. I hoped you had. I knew it was true the first time Dream tried to take Tommy away from you. You would have given anything to keep him safe. I tried to help you, Sam. I talked Dream down countless times, I changed his mind. And then you had to go and stumble upon a breakthrough. I’ve known phantomization can happen naturally since it almost happened to me, but I was afraid of what you would do with that information. It’s in your nature to be curious. I guess l was right to be afraid. When you reunited Tommy with his brother, you thought of it as a good thing. But I saw through it.”

Sapnap’s eyes light with rage, his body shaking.

“You went right back to your old twisted way of justifying your crimes when you found Wilbur. Sure, you saw Tommy as a valuable human life, but you never could see Wilbur the same way. I thought you were better than that, Sam. I thought you’d changed! I wish I was right.”

Sapnap levels a piercing glare at Sam. Phil stands, placing a hand on Sapnap’s shoulder. He lets out a sad coo, suddenly catching the young man in a warm embrace. Sapnap melts into the hug, sobbing into Phil’s shoulder. Phil rubs calming circles into Sapnap’s back as he lets all his pent up emotion flow. Sapnap pulls back, rubbing the tears away from his eyes.

“Mate, thank you for all that you’ve done for my family. You’re always welcome in our home.”

Phil guides Sapnap to sit against the wall. Sam appears to be mumbling to himself in the corner. Phil goes over to him and taps him on the shoulder. Sam jumps back, wild eyed, throwing his arms up.

“Woah, Mate, it’s just me! I’m not going to hurt you. Talk to me, Sam. What’s going on here?”

Phil’s demeanor grows stern, feathers bristling behind him.

“What’s this talk about Wilbur? What did you do to my son?”

Sam seems to cave in on himself as he grasps for something to offer.

“I- I’m sorry! I just thought…..”

“You just thought what, Mate? I’m asking for answers, not apologies.”

Sam cowers farther back, quaking.

“I just thought I could fix it.”

Phil’s wings ruffle in impatience, intimidating the man further.

“What were you trying to fix?”

Sam sobs, grasping at his own hair.

“Everything! Fran, Halo, Tommy! In another world maybe she didn’t leave me. In another world they could’ve even been friends! Halo didn’t need me, he needed his mother, but I couldn’t give him that! I couldn’t even keep him alive! A- and I thought maybe if I could find whatever Dream was looking for, then I could get into his head. He wants control. That’s what all these experiments were for. Wilbur was so close! The perfect subject. And I thought ....I thought if I could get in Dream’s head, get closer to him, then maybe I could get my hands on The Revival Book. This was all for them, I- I only wanted them back! You want Halo back, right Sapnap?”

Behind Phil, Sapnap scoffs.

“Not if it costs others their lives. Do you have any sense of humanity left, Sam?”

Sam hangs his head, resigning himself to silence. Phil turns to Sapnap.

“I appreciate you coming, Mate.”

Sapnap nods.

“There’s another reason I came to see you.”

He stands and walks halfway towards the cell door, turning to look Phil in the eye.

“I don’t have much time left to visit, but I have a plan to get you out of here and get Tommy back for good. Dream still thinks I’m on his side, but he’s not getting away with all this. He’s reinstating Schlatt in a week. It won’t actually be Schlatt, obviously, but it’ll look like him. Dream thinks that’s the moment he will have won, so obviously we can’t let him. But his love of theatrics will be his own fall. He wants your family gone. It’s his last big power play. He’s hired one of the top mercenaries to carry it out, but I think that’s your big chance. You down to crash a party with me, Phil?”

Phil grins, hope spilling into his eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tubbo slams the cabin door shut as he enters he and Ranboo’s home. He tosses his work bag to the side, groaning as he flops face first on the sofa. Today was brutal. His boss was in an irate mood, so Tubbo had served as a punching bag for the owner of a cafe that barely ran without being shut down. On top of that, his side job has garnered a bit of traffic and he’s being commissioned for a big project due by the end of the week.

“Tubbo? You okay?”

Tubbo groans, turning to face his roommate.

“Long day at work.”

Ranboo nods sympathetically.

“I made spaghetti and pancakes.”

Tubbo snorts. Ranboo is the only one he knows who eats those things together. He won’t deny it’s not a terrible meal combination.

“Sounds good, Boo. Just let me clean up.”

Ranboo chirps and disappears, leaving Tubbo to find his own motivation. He groans again, pulling himself from the couch to the shared bedroom. He freshens up and sits down at his desk, pulling up the blueprints he needs for the big project. Right away he notices a few flaws in the design and sets to work revising. Tubbo works late into the night, as he always seems to do. Ranboo doesn’t question the project, but he does bring Tubbo a plate of dinner, which he slowly chips away at through the night. By the time Tubbo gets to bed, he’s nearly fallen asleep on his desk anyways. He floats into slumber, his mind still at work on the new project.

Chapter Text

Nearly five days before the reinstatement. Niki can't deny it's making her nervous beyond measure. So many things can go wrong, and she knows neither herself nor Kristen are prepared to lose another person. So the two of them have spent the day busying themselves with what they can. Kristen had searched the royal database for any information on Sam, and found his address, along with an obituary for his son, and the date he picked up each test subject. As suspected, the date marked down for Wilbur lined up perfectly with the date he'd gone missing. Kristen and Phil’s anniversary day. Absently, Niki wondered if that had anything to do with the timing. Wilbur has always been overly sentimental when it comes to his family. Kristen had gone to Sam's address and found the house empty, front door standing wide open. Inquiries around L’Manberg and the palace hadn't brought up a single trace of the man. Most suspected he was holed up in his lab. Since no one but Sam has access to the lab, no one can check, so no one knows. Niki spends more time than she'd like to admit pacing the back room of her bakery. Ranboo hasn't come around since the day she followed him home, and business has been exactly ordinary. Naturally L’Manberg as a whole has been abuzz about the reinstatement. Rumors have been circulating about where Schlatt has been for 6 months, and most are unseemly. It seems the population of SMP are not overly fond of the man who holds the power. Niki can't say she's surprised, he's never been exactly benevolent. As a business owner, she's not a big fan of heavy taxing and absurd regulations. Why should some king get to say what kind of cleaners she uses on her countertops? The man is clearly only out for control, and control is a dangerous thing to have. Niki sighs, letting her worried energy burst out on a batch of bread dough that needs punching down. She's staying late tonight, and she thought she'd take the time to bake an extra batch of sourdough to take to Kristen in the morning. Kristen could use the company, and Niki could use the emotional release of baking. As she slides a full pan into the oven, a small jingle sounds from the bakery's door.

“Sorry, we're closed for the night.”

She calls back over her shoulder. An empty level voice answers from the other side of the counter.

“I wasn't asking.”

Niki carefully shuts the oven door, wiping her hands on her pastel pink apron as she turns to face the insistent customer. The man staring back at her holds an aire of cool confidence as he stares Niki in the eyes. He doesn't make a move to speak or even to look at the few baked goods left over from the day’s sales. The sunset through the door’s window glints burning orange off a golden medallion around the man’s neck.
Niki struggles to keep a welcoming tone.

“Can I help you, Sir?”

The man nods, pulling a sword from his back and levelling the blade at Niki’s throat.

“You can bring me to Kristen Craftsoot and keep your mouth shut.”

Every muscle in Niki’s body tenses. She feels for the long knife she usually keeps concealed on her person, but the man is quicker. He leaps over the counter, grabbing Niki by the arm, twisting it painfully behind her back. She cries out, kicking him in the knee as he grabs both her wrists in one hand. The other holds a smaller blade to her back as the man shoves her forwards.

“Start walking and make it quick. I don't have time for casualties.”

Trembling, Niki steps forward, leading the man out the bakery door. Her brain scrambles for any location she can take the man other than Kristen's house. Obviously she's not going to lead him there, but if she feigns enough fear, he'll believe she is. Fortunately, Niki doesn't have to think long before a knife embeds itself into her attacker's arm. He curses, loosening his grip on Niki, who kicks him away, wrenching herself free of his grasp. A figure in dark clothing barrels into her attacker, knocking him off his feet. The figure wears a mask over the lower half of his face, but he gestures for Niki to run. As the two men wrestle on the ground, Niki bolts, taking off in the direction she was already facing. Yet before she reaches a foot of distance, something collides forcefully with her head, and everything goes black in an instant.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Yes, there you go! Good job, Technoblade!”

Wilbur smiles, clapping his hands together. Technoblade is walking much better now, and the boy named Tommy (his Tommy?) is healing well too! It's only been a day, but any progress is good! Wilbur smiles in oblivion as Technoblade teeters, avoiding a new puddle of blue. Wilbur keeps coughing it up, and it's not very fun. It's pretty, but it makes Technoblade and Tommy look sad, and Wilbur doesn't want them to be sad! He should ask Ranboo for a bucket to keep it in. Technoblade walks over to Tommy who boos loudly at him.

“Imagine flexing that you can walk. Laaaaame! Why don't you walk right out of this celler, leg man?”

Technoblade towers over Tommy, smirking.

“ No, I'm not lame like you, that's kinda the point.”

Tommy feigns utter offence, a hand dramatically on his chest.

“Oh! How could you wound me like this, Technoblade? I'll have you know, I got this injury in the most manly un-lame way possible!”

“You were running from the only woman to ever chase you.”

Technoblade deadpans. Wilbur snickers a little, earning him a glare from Tommy.

“That's so not true!!”

Tommy screeches.

“I get all the women, Technoblade. I bet you scare all the women away with your grumpy voice and pink woman hair. They think you're one of them so they stay faaaaar far away.”

Technoblade makes an insulted noise, stroking his frazzled waist-length braid.

“Excuse me, this is a man’s hair. Do you not know the ways of war, Tommy? An emperor needs long hair to assert dominance. It can work the same way for a warrior. You're just jealous because yours can't grow this luscious and intimidating.”

Tommy snorts, shaking his head as he shifts his position against the wall.

“I doubt anyone sees your hair as intimidating, Tech-no-blade. Besides, I could grow my hair to the floor if I decided to, I just want to look manly, unlike you!”

“It wouldn't be very far to get it there.”

Tommy’s screeching grows louder than Wilbur thought possible.

“Screw you, Technoblade! I'm definitely taller than you when I'm standing up. I could totally take you in a fight.”

Technoblade wheezes with laughter, nearly doubling over at this. Tommy just looks like an angry toddler.

“What, it's true! I could take you!”

Technoblade nods, still laughing.

“Uh huh, sure you could, kid.”

“I'm not a kid!”

Tommy shrieks back, indignant. Technoblade kneels down in front of Tommy, an amused grin covering his features. He reaches out and flicks Tommy in the forehead. Tommy squawks, flailing his hands at Technoblade, who stands back up, backing out of the way.

“What was that for?!!!”

Tommy demands. Technoblade crosses his arms, smirking. Wilbur struggles to stifle a fit of giggles.

“Well first off, your form is terrible. Sitting lamely against a wall will get you killed. Second, your attacks are aimless, you'll never get a hit in. And thirdly,”

Techno produces the silver dagger Tommy brought in with him. Oh, last Wilbur knew, Tommy had that strapped to his hip. Tommy seems to think the same thing, frantically patting down his clothes before glaring up at a grinning Technoblade, who flips the knife in the air before pointing the tip straight down at Tommy's face.

“You let your guard down.”

A chill runs down Wilbur's spine as the ghost of a far distant memory flashes through his mind. He suddenly finds himself grateful that Technoblade is in his corner.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sapnap watches the white-clad hitman leap between rooftops as he flees the scene of attack. He stares for a moment before frantically glancing up and down the street. He hopes Niki made it out of the scuffle alright. Sapnap tears through back alleyways to Kristen's house nearby. The kitchen light is left on and the front door unlocked, so he lets himself inside.

“Kristen! Niki!”

Panic suddenly clutches at Sapnap’s throat as his calls are met with silence. He runs to Kristen's bedroom door, prepared to throw it open, but it opens on its own before he can touch the knob. Kristen stands groggily blinking at Sapnap.

“What is it?”

She drawls, stifling a yawn. Red hot humiliation cuts through Sapnap’s still growing panic, slowed only by his relief at seeing Kristen.

“Has Niki been here?”

He blurts out, panting. Kristen squints at him, clearly confused.

“No, she doesn't usually barge into my house and wake me up when she knows I'll be asleep. Why?”

The clear tone of irritation is not lost on Sapnap and he bites his lip, jittering nervously.

“I just want to make sure she's alright, and your house is the closest place she'd go. I haven't checked hers yet.”

He adds sheepishly. Kristen seems to perk up at this, concern lining her brow.

“What do you mean? Did something happen?”

Sapnap shifts worriedly, panic still clawing his breath away.

“I saw someone leading her this way from the bakery. They were holding her at knife point. I fought them off, but I didn't see where Niki went.”

Kristen disappears back into the bedroom, emerging moments later. She's holding a knife of her own and shoes cover her feet as she pushes past Sapnap.

“Then we'll find her together. Come on”

Sapnap nods, quickly following Kristen out the door he left wide open. He silently apologizes, shutting it behind him as the two rush up the street to Niki’s. Panic only grips Sapnap tighter when their search comes up unfruitful. His mind can't seem to focus on anything but the fear that his friend is gone. Kristen, who's always been far more level-headed than Sapnap could hope to be, suggests seeing if she went back to the bakery, and the two set off back the way they came. As they pass Kristen's house, however, the scent of smoke burns their nostrils. An orange glow dances in the shadows as the two pick up speed, willing it to be some building that doesn't concern them. Sapnap stops abruptly in front of Niki’s beloved bakery. Cruel orange flames leap from windows shattered by the heat’s intensity. Thick black smoke barrels from the roof, a signal of destruction. Sapnap stands frozen, unable to bring himself to move. Shouts from Kristen eventually break him from his shocked stupor as blasts of red and blue light announce the arrival of reinforcements. Kristen leads Sapnap across the street where they sit on the curb, watching the bakery fall to nature's cruel whims. The rest of the night is a blur for Sapnap, but the one thing he remembers is that the bakery was empty, the fire said to have started in the kitchen with the ashes of a single baking loaf of bread left unattended

Chapter Text

Soft sky blue eyes, brown scruffy hair, mischievous smile. The face tilts back, laughing merrily. The sunset sheds a warm glow that reflects on the goofy sunglasses George wears on the front of his shirt. He leans to Dream, elbowing him. 

“Dream, do you think Sapnap will be able to find us?”

George's eyes glitter playfully as he grins at his twin brother. Dream sighs. Sapnap was always way overprotective of his younger siblings. It was fun to mess with him since he'd get so riled up every time. You could always expect a reaction.

“I'm sure he's tearing the place apart looking. Drista will probably find us before he does.”

At the mention of their younger sister, George’s smile fades to something worried.

“What's wrong?”

Dream prods, now worried right along with him. George sighs, shaking his head.

“She worries me, Dream. Has she seemed off to you lately?”

George turns back to Dream, searching him deeply for an answer. Dream shrugs.

“Not that I've noticed, why?”

George had always been the more emotionally intelligent of the two. He always seemed to be able to tell what was going on with someone. In a way, Dream envied it. Yet when he saw the extreme extent it made George worry and drained him, Dream wished it away. If anything it was George who seemed off. He needed a good twenty-four hour nap. George cared far more about far more people than Dream could even think of. He'd help the elderly cross the street, he'd pay for someone's drink who walked into a cafe behind him, and he tipped generously. Dream scolded him for it, as they didn't exactly have vaults of cash to give away, but George always said he'd rather live in poverty if it meant someone else didn't have to. As far as Dream was concerned, George did live in poverty. He worked long hours at the bakery, often needing Niki to kick him out at the end of the night. He got up early to walk through L’Manberg’s public park, making sure the homeless were fed before his work shift. George took such good care of everyone else that he was constantly forgetting to take care of himself. Tonight wasn't any exception. Niki had made him go home early, and Dream had jumped at the opportunity to make his brother relax. The two had snuck out of the house, making their way to L’Manberg lighthouse. The keeper, Fundy, had disappeared, and George and Dream often stood leaning against the railing wondering if they could catch whoever had been taking care of the place since then. They'd never seen anyone come or go, but the light was always lit. They planned to go out in a storm when one came to try and catch the phantom keeper when they changed the light to red for danger. George sighs, staring straight ahead over rippling waters.

“Well she's seemed off to me. She's been running off to who knows where and comes home later than I do. I hear her come in most nights. And she's just been more……distant, closed off. I don't know. It just doesn't feel right to me. You know what I mean, Dream?”

George turns to face Dream. Static shifts over his form and his eyes suddenly glow indigo, the color dripping from them down his cheeks littered with white cracks. Blue floods from George’s mouth. A glitching voice intertwines itself with his twin’s.

“You should really smile more, Dream. I swear, I’d have to paint one on you to ever see it.”

The lighthouse begins to crumble beneath them. Dream grabs the railing, but the brothers both lose their footing. Dream reaches out to take hold of George's hand, but only grasps at air. A heart-wrenching scream tears through the night as the ground swirls, a whirlpool of black and glowing blue. 

“GEORGE!”

Dream shrieks his brother's name, but George is consumed by the twisting writhing void. Dream still feels himself falling, but when he lands, the hellish vortex is replaced with a white tile floor. His right hand lands in a pool of blue, and his left in a pool of red. Dream looks up to be met with lifeless sky blue eyes. He screams, skittering backwards, slipping in the bloody blue mixture. George sits strapped to a chair, his eyes are wide open, a horrifying floodgate of red, and his parted lips spew a waterfall of blue. Each nostril pours one of the two life-altering fluids. Dream sobs, moving as far away from the sight as possible. The body of his brother is covered in static again, and is suddenly replaced with a green haired man standing over Dream. Tendrils of smoke rise from holes in a gas mask covering his mouth as he glares down at Dream. 

“You did this!”

Sam shouts.

“I asked you to stay away, but you didn't listen! I needed him empty, but you gave him too much to remember!”

Raw agony bursts from Dream’s chest as his skin feels suddenly like it's being iced over, and blue smothers his vision.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Ranboo, I'm home!”

Tubbo calls into the stale air. No answer. He scowls. Tossing his work bag on the couch, Tubbo makes his way through the house, searching for his odd shy roommate. Nothing. A little worried, Tubbo pulls out his phone, sitting down on the bed as he dials. As he prepares to press the “call” button, Tubbo pauses. Muffled voices float to his ears. Scrunching up his forehead, Tubbo follows the sound. It gets louder when he nears their clothing closet. Tubbo knows there's a door hidden in the back wall, but they hadn't been given the key when they bought the cabin. How someone seems to have managed to get in without a key is quite the mystery to Tubbo. He fiddles quietly with the knob. As he expects, this does nothing. He presses his ear to the door. He can barely make out a few voices, but only one sounds familiar. Ranboo? How'd he get in there without a key? It's not like the guy can teleport, right? Tubbo snorts at the ridiculousness of the thought. He perks up however, when he hears his name. 

“Tubbo should be home later tonight, but I'd better get this cleaned up before then.”

Tubbo’s eyes widen as he realizes that Ranboo is about to leave whatever room hides behind the mysterious door. As silently and quickly as possible, Tubbo bolts to the living room, flopping himself down on the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

“Tubbo! Oh my stars, you scared me! You're home early!”

Tubbo raises his head, faking a yawn.

“Yep, I've got some stuff I need to do on the PC tonight, then I have a work trip for the rest of the week.”

Ranboo cocks his head.

“A work trip? With the cafe?”

Tubbo shakes his mess of sandy curls.

“Nah, just a trip with some of my coworkers. Business is slow, and we get the rest of the week off so we can be ready for the rush my boss is expecting at the reinstatement.”

It isn't a complete lie. Tubbo and the rest of his coworkers are getting the week off, it's just because the cafe officially shut down today and they all lost their jobs. But if Tubbo can get this other project done before the reinstatement, then he can set them up for a very long time. He just needs to be on site to build the contraption, and doesn't want to drag Ranboo into his situation. After what he just heard though, he's not so sure he'd trust his roommate with the kind of information that surrounds this job anyways. 

Ranboo nods, seemingly deep in thought.

“Okay. Do you need me to pack you some food?”

Tubbo shakes his head, wandering to the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

“Nope. I've got it covered. Thanks though.”

He sips the cool water, taking his work bag before going to his desk to get to work. That went over a lot easier than he expected. He only hopes the rest of this job goes that smoothly.

~~~~~~~~~~

Four days until Quackity’s establishment as figurehead king. Punz stands alert as Dream paces the floor. Quackity lounges on his makeshift throne, following Dream with his eyes. Quackity sighs, leaning forward.

“Your pacing is irritating, Dream.”

In all honesty, it makes Quackity want to slap the inky smile off his face. Dream only waves his hand.

“It helps me think.”

Punz doesn't miss a beat as he deadpans.

“You'd think you'd do a lot more of it then.”

Dream pauses to glare at Punz.

“I will fire you.” 

Punz smirks as Dream goes back to pacing. Quackity rubs his temples.

“So what is it you're stuck on, Smiley Face?”

Dream grunts in frustration, raking his fingers through tangled hair.

“How do we get them all in one place, Quackity? Punz couldn't even capture the kid!”

Punz jumps to defend himself.

“I would have gotten him just fine if your little sister hadn't been so petty!”

Dream scowls at Punz.

“Who’s being petty? She was supposed to get rid of him months ago. I’d be pretty frustrated if someone tried to swoop in and take my kill after that long.”

Punz scoffs.

“At that point you'd deserve it. Besides, your little science project took him, and now we're back to square zero because we don't even know where he is!”

Dream growls. Quackity sighs again like a tired parent watching toddlers squabble over a broken toy. He holds his hands up.

“Alright! We get it! All three of you are petty children who can't beat another child in a footrace even with an advantage. On to the business at hand. Punz, who did you say took Tommy?”

Punz slouches akin to a disgruntled teenager.

“That two-faced kid. One of Sam’s little projects. R-something, I think? Sam hired me to bring him to the lab back when he started his weird mad scientist stuff.”

Quackity nods thoughtfully, the gears turning in his mind.

“R712. I remember him. Something went wrong and he disappeared from the lab. I didn't know he was still alive, but it makes sense. I remember overhearing Sam say that he could teleport.”

Dream nods vigorously, still wearing the same line into the carpet. Quackity glares at him, taking a deep breath. Dream speaks up.

“Sam got almost full control of him. I've always wondered if he still uses that even when the kid is just living as a citizen. It's a dangerous idea, but definitely not one I’d put past Sam.”

This is news to Quackity. It's good news though, as it sparks an idea.

“Then we need to get Sam to make R712 bring us the kid.”

Dream hums in acknowledgement of the idea.

“We locked him in Pandora's. Sam and Drista are the only ones who know how to run the place and get us in.”

Quackity leans back in his chair, still watching Dream, agitated. Punz speaks up. 

“I might have someone who can get us in. I'll need the funds to pay him though.”

Quackity nods in approval. Dream nods like a madman.

“Yes! Good! I can provide that.”

Punz pulls out his phone, shooting a text as Quackity snaps.

“Dream, for the love of EVERYTHING GOOD, stop pacing in my office, or get out!”

Dream flips Quackity off and takes the latter option, Punz following close behind.

~~~~~~~~~~

A notification flashes over Tubbo’s phone as he unlocks the door to the palace’s laboratory. It's a message from his new employer. Quickly, Tubbo taps on the message. The message reads, 

“Can you get us in here without setting off any alarms?”

Attached is a file. Intrigued, Tubbo opens it. His jaw drops at the sight of the very blueprints he's been scrubbing SMP to find, Pandora's Vault.

Chapter Text

An ear-piercing screech fills the small cell as a claw sets another mark in the stone wall. Three days until Phil can finally see the sky again. His nerves buzz in anticipation, wings aching for exercise. He paces the small cell in maddened circles, claws tearing through his sleeves. His chest roars in anticipation, eyes wide in unrest. Birds weren’t made to be caged. He huffs, sickening seconds dragging on through the waiting.

“You know, pacing faster won’t make it come any sooner.”

Sam’s hoarse voice echoes on dark stone. Phil pauses to give the man the look that spells death.

“Shut it! Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t you lost enough to your own ignorance?”

Sam stares at the ground, but doesn’t shrink back at Phil’s harsh tone. Phil struggles to keep himself in check. It’s never a good idea to start a fistfight in an enclosed stone room. No one would be there to pull him off the man who took his son. Phil clenches his fists until his claws draw blood, keeping Sam under his fiery gaze. Sam avoids eye contact entirely. They remain this way until Sam speaks up in a low and level voice, meeting Phil’s eyes with the darkened burgundy pools of his own.

“It should have been Tommy.”

All at once, everything within Phil’s heart and mind breaks. Every string holding him back snaps as he lunges at Sam, wings flaring with the fury of a man who has nothing left to lose. Talons curl around Sam’s throat, crushing in their force. Sam cries out in pain as his shoulders slam against cold hard stone. Phil lets out an agonized shrieking scream, throwing Sam across the cell, dangerously close to the imposing curtain of lava just as it parts. Muddled voices surround Phil as he’s grabbed by the arms, forced to the back wall, screeching at the monster lying prostrate before him. Through blurry tears, Phil notices the figure of a boy standing wide-eyed at the mouth of the cell. He looks so much like he’s imagined his Tommy would that Phil falls to his knees, sobs choking in his throat as he floods the prison walls with crowing cries for the ones he has lost and pleas for freedom, for blessed reunion. His wings droop behind him, lining the back wall of the prison cell, a few feathers dipping into a small rather insanitary pool of water in one of its corners.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy grunts, leaning heavily against the cellar’s stone wall. He stubbornly waves away Wilbur’s outstretched arm.

“I don’t need help, Will, I’m fine!”

Wilbur mumbles an apology, backing away. Technoblade snorts from where he stands against the far wall.

“Be prepared to catch him, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s eyes widen as he shuffles a little closer to Tommy, who glares at Technoblade.

“I won’t need it, I’m the biggest man there is!”

Tommy’s hand slips against the wall, shifting his entire body before he catches himself. Wilbur lets out a yelp as Techno chuckles.

“Sure you are, Baby Brother.”

Tommy growls, straightening himself.

“And how long did it take you to get up, Technoblade?”

He retorts. Techno only continues laughing.

“First off, not near as long as you think. Second, both legs were nearly burnt to a crisp, that takes a lot longer to heal than one measly little stab wound.”

Tommy scoffs.

“Oh excuse me for not being used to stab wounds, Almighty Warrior Technoblade!”

Grumbling, Tommy turns towards the staircase leading towards the cellar’s exit door. He takes a few shaky steps along the wall before he reaches the first stair. His lower calf already feels like it’s on fire, but Tommy just grits his teeth. No need to give Techno more fuel for Tommy’s pyre. Wilbur’s shaky voice calls out to him as he lifts his injured leg to ascend the first step.

“Tommy! Are you leaving?”

Tommy shrugs.

“Have neither of you even walked up these stairs?”

Confusion ripples through him. How long have these two- apparently his brothers- been down here? Neither have given him any clue as to how long it’s been, and it’s growing concerning. And that’s from someone who was stuck on the same property for eleven years. Technoblade sighs behind him.

“Seriously, how long do you think I’ve been down here? And may I remind you, Tommy, I was literally physically unable to walk until yesterday. Wilbur, on the other hand, wouldn’t inconvenience a fly if it insulted him to his face.”

Wilbur nods in agreement to this. Tommy rolls his eyes as Techno makes his way to the base of the stairs.

“Besides, I wanted to lay low. Ranboo’s given me everything I’ve needed, and I trust him. He doesn't want his roommate knowing we’re here, so I don’t want to mess that up and break Ranboo’s trust. Not after everything he’s done for me.”

Tommy silently starts ascending the stairs. Halfway up he lets out a hiss of pain, pausing to get ahold of himself. A rough sigh from Technoblade ascends behind Tommy, and strong arms wrap themselves around him, sweeping him off his feet bridal-style. Tommy loudly protests, secretly grateful for the relief. Techno sets him back against the wall. Tommy crosses his arms, sticking his middle finger out at Techno, who ascends the stairs in Tommy’s place. He sits on the top step, smirking down at Tommy who huffs in annoyance.

“Wow congratulations, Big Man, you can walk up a flight of dusty old stairs. Your butt’s probably covered in dust.”

Techno shrugs.

“More than you can do.”

Tommy launches into a string of insults as Wilbur tries to calm him down, eventually succeeding. Technoblade is howling with laughter at Tommy’s childish frustration. After a bit, he stands, a curious look on his face. He turns, reaching for the door handle. It doesn’t seem to turn. He jiggles it, pushing on the wooden door with his shoulder. The door doesn’t budge. Techno turns back to the other two, confusion lining his brow.

“It’s locked.”

Tommy moves to stand, waving away a hovering Wilbur once again.

“Let me try.”

Techno stares flatly at Tommy.

“Sure, when you can make it up the stairs.”

Tommy scowls, but sits back down. As much as he hates to admit it, Techno does have a fair point, and Tommy isn’t exactly excited to tackle the insulting staircase again just yet.

“Still trust Ranboo?”

He quips, and Techno’s expression hardens. He turns back towards the door and begins pounding on it with his fists, shouting,

“Ranboo! Let us out of here!”

Nothing. Suddenly, the cellar feels suffocating. Now that Tommy thinks about it, how were they getting fresh air in there? Had they been breathing the same stale air that whole time, or was there a vent somewhere? His throat feels like it’s closing up. Tommy’s fingers claw at his chest. They’ve been trapped down here to die all along! Does Ranboo work for Drista? Does he work for Sam? Is Ranboo going to bring him back? The icy sensation of something touching his face brings Tommy out of his panic with a gasp. Wilbur is kneeling in front of him, a hand placed gently on Tommy's cheek. His blue eyes flicker.

“It’s okay, Toms. Techno’s getting us out of here.”

Tommy’s heart leaps. Wilbur couldn’t remember him when he was brought down here, and Techno doesn’t use that nickname for him. He smiles at his brother’s concerned face. At least one thing feels right. Yet as suddenly as the moment came on, it passes. Wilbur’s face lights up in an uncannily cheery smile, and he jumps back from Tommy, standing.

“See? Technoblade has an axe!”

Tommy didn’t think this day could get any more shockingly strange. True to Wilbur’s word, Techno has begun hacking away at the locked door with a battleaxe, swinging with the fury of a caged animal. Tommy’s jaw drops as he stares dumbfounded. Where in the world had that been this whole time?! What is it with people in this town and just owning random axes? As if on cue, Wilbur pipes up.

“Technoblade keeps the axe under his cape to hide it from Ranboo!”

Tommy turns to stare blankly at Wilbur, before shifting to stand. Techno has completely demolished Ranboo’s cellar door at this point, and has stepped through the rubble. Tommy makes his way to the offending staircase, this time accepting Wilbur’s offer of a shoulder to lean on. What crazy twist does his life have in store this time?

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dream, help me hold him back!”

Punz launches towards Phil, grasping the arm of the agitated avian. He digs in his feet, dragging Phil back towards the cell’s back wall as Dream takes his other arm. The man’s shrieks ring in Punz’s ears as he feels Phil’s weight go limp and he drops to his knees. Choking sobs entwined with crows of sorrow flood the small space, burning in Punz’s chest. His breath quickens. The only time he’d ever seen someone that desperately broken was….Punz glances towards Sam. His eyes widen in alarm at the sight of the royal scientist lying prostrate, a small pool of blood beneath his head. Punz drops his hold of Phil, stumbling over feathers as he rushes to check for Sam’s pulse. Dream walks up beside him, sighing as he kneels.

“Is he dead?”

Punz shakes his head, turning Sam over to his back. Blood flows from his nostrils, and cakes his hair into a gnarled mess. Sam groans, blinking his eyes open. Dream’s mouth is pursed into a line.

“This seems familiar, now doesn’t it?”

Punz’s expression darkens.

“He needs medical help, Dream. We should at least move him to a different cell for safety.”

Dream stands, walking to the cell entrance.

“Look, I don’t care what you do with him, just get what we need.”

Sam struggles to sit up, avoiding the gaze of the wide-eyed avian in the corner. Punz rushes to help him.

“Hey Sam, think you can walk?”

Sam grimaces, but huffs out,

“Yeah. Yeah, I should be able to.”

Punz helps Sam stand, slinging an arm over his shoulder. They take a few steps, exiting the cell. Sam sways a bit, but between himself and Punz, they make it across the bridge, Dream and Tubbo following close behind. He has to admit, Punz had forgotten that they’d brought Tubbo with them. Ah well, the kid has to grow up sometime. The four reach a ground floor cell, and Punz sets Sam on a cot in the far corner. Sam lays back, groaning as he clutches his head. Punz turns back to Dream, who is standing by the cell door, Tubbo hanging back behind him.

“He still needs medical. We can’t just leave him here with nothing.”

Dream waves his hand dismissively.

“Well we’re not freeing him if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve waited too long for this chance. He gave me the perfect excuse. Attempted murder is a crime, you know.”

Anger rises within Punz at Dream’s sheer lack of care for his fellow man. Those glowing white eyes devoid of humanity flicker lazily to his own fiery blue.

“Dream, just get the man a doctor. Do you even know any?”

Dream scowls, turning away.

“My mom was, but you should know why she’s unavailable. Plus there’s no way I’d call her in now. I’m sure Sam will be fine.”

Punz takes a deep breath. He needs to retain control of himself. They really don’t need more infighting on their hands, and he’d rather walk out of this prison a free man.

“He’s still losing blood, clearly dizzy, and I’m sure he can’t have completely healed from the last fight he got himself into. You sure there’s no one? In all of L’Manberg not a single soul knows anything about healing? How are we all still alive?”

Sam groans from the cot, croaking out a name as he holds his nose, which still trickles with blood.

“Ranboo.”

Punz whips his head towards Sam while Dream stares flatly at the injured man.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Punz smirks at Dream, crossing his arms in victory.

“Looks like our job just got easier.”

He turns back to Sam.

“Sam, can you make Ranboo come to the prison? You know how to run this place, can’t you just make Ranboo let himself in?”

Sam hums thoughtfully.

“He’d need a keycard. I don’t know where you put mine, but he’d have to know this prison pretty well to figure out how to get in with it.”

A shuffling sounds behind Punz and he turns to see Tubbo shifting on his feet as he stares at the floor. Dream claims to have the keycard on him, but searching his person, comes up unfruitful. Punz grins.

“You have it, don’t you, Tubbo?”

Tubbo gets a fierce look on his face, then nods sheepishly, producing the warden’s master keycard. If looks could kill, Dream would have murdered Tubbo where he stands. Punz chuckles at Dream’s frustration. Tubbo could not look more confused and uncomfortable. Sam makes a choked noise of frustration.

“Hold on, the kid can teleport! Why didn’t I- ugh, my head! That’s probably why. I can get him in here.”

Sam shifts to a sitting position, his back against the cell wall. Tubbo backs out of the cell, wringing his hands.

“Uhh, if you’re bringing Ranboo here, can I go? He can just, um teleport you guys out, right? Besides, I need to uh, get some stuff done for Punz.”

Dream nods, following Tubbo out.

“I’ve seen enough here. Punz can take care of this mess.”

Dream shoots Punz a pointed look before walking off after Tubbo. Punz watches them leave, making sure they’re out of earshot before turning his attention back on Sam. He sighs.

“How bad is it?”

Sam shrugs, wincing.

“My head still aches from the other day, my shoulders feel a bit sore, and my nose obviously got hit pretty hard. Doesn’t feel broken though. The dizziness is annoying, but not horribly bad. My mind feels a bit fuzzy though.”

Punz nods. The two stay in silence for a bit. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it isn’t perfectly comfortable either. Punz offers a question, breaking it.

“Can he feel you?”

Sam shrugs.

“If he needs to. I won’t control him. I’d be just like her.”

Punz nods his head in agreement.

“I know. That’s good.”

Another beat of silence passes before Punz adds,

“You think he can tell if you get hurt?”

Sam’s expression changes. He seems suddenly exhausted, overburdened with a decade of guilt.

“He used to. I’m not so sure he would anymore. I think he’s found a lot more of himself these past what, thirteen years?”

Sam shudders, turning to face the wall.

“Poor kid. He shouldn’t have to live like this.”

“Well he’d better show up sometime, I have important things that need done before the instatement.”

Sam nods, then winces and leans his head gently against the wall behind him.

“He’ll come. He might not want to feel me anymore, but I can still feel him. He cares too much to let us disappear.”

A sudden flurry of purple floods the cell, a concerned Ranboo at the center. He rushes to Sam’s side, immediately evaluating his wounds. He asks the severity of his condition, and Sam answers him as he had Punz. Ranboo disappears, reappearing moments later with a small bucket of water, antiseptic, and two rags, one damp, one dry.

“What happened?”

He asks as he inspects Sam’s nose for breakage. Punz listens as Sam tells his side of the story. Ranboo makes a pained warble.

“Why did you do that? Did you not expect him to attack you? You know how avians get in captivity.”

Sam holds the dry rag to his decidedly unbroken nose.

“Yeah, I did. Punz needed to be able to convince Dream that I shouldn’t be there. That was the only way we came up with.”

Ranboo hums with concerned acceptance as he cleans dried blood from a scrape on Sam’s temple.

“Poor Phil. He’s lost so much, and then to have it this close dangling in front of him? Even I might beat someone up in that case.”

Sam sighs, guilt lacing his very breath.

“Yeah, I don’t blame him at all. I…I hated saying that. It’s never been true, and it never will be, Tommy…..”

Ranboo squeezes Sam in a quick hug. Punz jerks his head up, shifting uncomfortably at the mention of Tommy. Even if it wasnt him who injured the boy, he still feels guilty nonetheless.

“How is Tommy?”

Ranboo smiles.

“Well he’s definitely got energy. His leg is healing pretty smoothly, but he’s hard to keep down. I just hope he doesn’t get too excited and reinjure it.”

Sam chuckles fondly.

“Yeah, that sounds like Tommy.”

He looks up at Punz.

“Speaking of Tommy, what are you going to tell Dream?”

Punz glances at Ranboo, then back to Sam.

“That Ranboo will bring Tommy to us at the event. He doesn’t need any more information than that.”

Chapter Text

The world is dim as Niki’s eyes flutter open. She raises her head to see a dusty child’s bedroom. Niki squirms, finding herself roped to a wooden chair. Her survival instincts kick in and Niki wriggles to survey what she can of her surroundings. An intricately carved bed frame stands in one corner of the room, a rumpled yellow blanket halfway on the floor. A clearly hand carved guitar lies in two pieces halfway behind Niki’s chair, which sits in the center of the small room. Crumpled dusty papers litter the floor. One lies open at Niki’s feet. Childish scrawls cover the page, and the only thing she can make out is a crooked signature at the bottom, “Wilbur”. Niki’s eyes grow wide as she takes in a gasp, nearly choking on the dust that hovers in the air around her. She whips her head around. It’s wood, the walls are logs, the floor and ceiling are planks. In an instant of clarity Niki comes to a terrifying realization. She’s in Logstedshire. This is the bedroom Will used to tell grand tales of, tales of his writings, of his favorite guitar that Phil made him, of the silly little songs he would sing to his plush whale, Hamilton. None of this makes sense. Who would bring Niki here of all places? In immediate answer to her question, muffled footsteps approach the door of Wilbur’s childhood bedroom. Niki braces herself as the door creaks open. Of all the people Niki didn't expect to see on the other side, Drista may have been the first. The girl grins, emerald eyes sparkling darkly.

“You're awake! I was worried I'd hit you too hard for a moment there.”

Rage floods through Niki, dragging her under until it is the only thing she feels.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Drista shuts the bedroom door, making a mock pouty face.

“Not even a ‘hello’ for your best friend?”

Fire singes Niki's heart.

“We stopped being friends long ago, Drista.”

She spits. Drista drops to the floor in front of Niki, sitting cross-legged. She rests her elbows on her legs, and her face on her hands.

“It's such a shame too. We would have made such a great team!”

Niki doesn't give Drista the dignity of an answer. She doesn't deserve it. Not after everything she's done. Drista sighs, breaking the silence.

“Nothing? And here I was happy to see you again after all this time.”

Drista pauses, an attempt to bait Niki into speaking. Niki doesn't bite. Drista rolls her eyes at Niki's stubbornness.

“Well if you won't talk, I guess it's about time I explain myself.”

Drista stands and begins to slowly circle Niki as she speaks. Niki glares at the scribble-ridden paper lying in front of her, avoiding eye contact.

“I liked you, Niki. You had fire, something everyone else in my life seemed to lack. Sure, they could burn their own pyres, but where's the fun in that? So I wanted to start my own fires, burn my bridges to those weak people who called me insane for chasing something. I watched day after day as our brothers sparred, training to fight the enemies they could see. I watched as George nearly killed himself for your sake and the sakes of every soul he came across. I watched as Sapnap wore himself thin setting fire to himself when he could have just as easily set fire to someone else and kept us all warm. I watched as Dream brought people together, he entertained and nurtured them, yet nothing could make him smile. I watched as your brother taught them how to put their emotions aside and when to let them speak. I watched you, Niki, as you learned from him, but you were something different. His fire spread to the far corners of this world, but yours burnt everything except yourself. He tried to contain it, but I gave you fuel. We were the young ones, looked down on just for being young. We hadn't done enough to be respected, to be seen! Then, when I proposed a plan to show them their weakness, to show the power within us that they could never see, you ran away. You lost our vision. You ran to your pathetic little family and watched them fall apart around you.”

Drista stands in front of Niki, staring down at her. Niki seeths, suddenly unable to keep herself silenced.

“You wanted to make me into a monster, Drista! Everything you claimed to do for me was to mold me into your personal puppet. You never wanted me, you wanted what I could give you, and that's not something I'm willing to give for a cause that will use it for horrors.”

Drista scoffs, approaching the small bed before plopping into it.

“See? You're no fun anymore. It's all because of Wilbur.”

She spits, eyes flaming as she turns them to Niki.

“He changed you. You didn't use to care. Now your attachments are holding you back. I've been watching you, Niki. I saw him douse your fire and plant roses. Sure, you still have thorns, but you never had this softness before. Softness kills. Look where it led your brother! He's weak. He couldn't even begin to stop me and now he's gone.”

Niki’s heart sinks, fear and pain entwining with her rage.

“What did you do to him?”

Drista stands. She slowly, methodically walks to the front of Niki. She kneels, grabbing Niki's jaw. Drista’s breath is hot on Niki’s face as the two lock eyes. Drista's voice is level and low, barely above a whisper.

“Your brother wasn't completely honest with you, Niki. Do you know the biggest lie he told you?”

She pauses.

“‘Technoblade never dies.’”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dream stands high on a rooftop, staring down at the city below. Wind whistles in his ears, mussing his hair and biting through his sweatshirt. His eyes glow pure white as he watches the town of L’Manberg. Soon. Soon they will see him. Soon they will learn the story of Logstedshire, the village that stood too tall, that grew too close to the sun. SMP’s Babel. As long as Quackity plays his role and Punz collects the players, this gamble is sure to work out in Dream’s favor. Dream watches, gloating, when a sudden flash of crimson catches his eye. He blinks in surprise, taking a moment to recognize its source. The lost warrior emerges from a house on the outskirts of L’Manberg, cape flowing grandly behind him. Dream clenches his fists. Technoblade himself storms into the city followed by none other than Wilbur and Tommy Craftsoot. As he sees the others, Dream seethes, yet something catches his curiosity. Limping behind Technoblade, leaning on each other, is The Blade’s weakness. The edge of Dream’s lip curls up in a twisted smirk. Maybe this calls for a slight change of plans. Dream climbs off the roof, making his way towards the intruding brothers. Crowds murmur as long time rivals meet near the center of L’Manberg. Technoblade’s eyes glitter with whispered promises of blood as he meets Dream’s.

“Dream.”

He stands imposing as Dream crosses his arms.

“Technoblade. Fancy seeing you here.”

Techno shrugs.

“I kind of live here. Is a man not allowed to visit his family?”

His piercing glare shoots a menacing threat towards Dream. Dream’s smirk grows extra cocky. Tommy suddenly limps up to Techno, grabbing him by the arm. Wilbur hangs back, hunched in on himself. His eyes flicker between solid blue and brown pupils. Tommy glares at Dream, who ignores him in favor of facing off with Techno.

“No one expected you to come back, Techno. Didn't think you'd want to live under this ‘tyrannical regime’”.

Techno’s gaze remains collected and unwavering.

“Kind of hard when you don't leave me anyone to come back to.”

Dream takes a step closer. Tommy growls.

“And yet here they are. How do you manage it, Techno? How do you break every bond you have, then rebuild your bridges just in time to fight me? I'm flattered you feel the need for an army.”

Techno scoffs, not a hint of reservation or fear within him.

“Trust me, Dream, I could defeat you single-handedly. Literally and figuratively.”

Dream takes another step.

“Wanna test that?”

Quick as a crack of lightning, Dream reaches behind his back, swinging an axe over Technoblade’s head. Yet as he brings the weapon down, Techno and Tommy vanish in a cloud of purple. Dream screams in frustration. Blinded by fury, he zeroes in on the next closest option, Wilbur. Wilbur stands, quivering before Dream. Before the ungrateful little lab pet can take this chance away too, Dream grabs Wilbur by the scruff of his sweater.

“He will remember this.”

Dream hisses in Wilbur's face. R712 appears behind Wilbur.

“Dream, put him down, we can figure this out!”

Dream snarls at the half-finished science project.

“It's far too late for that. If Techno wants him, he can come get him himself. Let him try. You and I both know how last time ended up.”

With that said, Dream moves his iron grip to Wilbur's arm, dragging the sobbing man to captivity.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I got the files you asked for, Quackity from Las Nevadas!”

Charlie's chipper voice calls into Quackity’s office. Quackity nods, dismissing his assistant with a wave of his hand. Quackity stares out the window of his casino, watching Dream drag Wilbur away. Unwise move. Quackity would rather not incur the wrath of Technoblade if not needed. Absently, he rubs a scar beneath his eye. Dream’s head snaps backwards, locking eyes with Quackity for a moment before turning back to the dark path he trods. Quackity sets his face in spite. A familiar buzz sends bolts of electricity through every vein in Quackity’s body from the look. A fuzzy staticky sensation tries to fight its way into his mind. His eyes flicker between their natural grey-brown split and glowing pupil-less blue. Quackity grits his teeth.

“Not this time, Snake.”

Chapter Text

Whimpers echo in a small cell, bouncing off dark stone. Wilbur sits on a cot, knees tucked close to his chest. Indigo tears spill from hopelessly drained eyes. Wilbur almost watched Technoblade and Tommy die today. The world still reigns cruel and Wilbur doesn't feel he will ever be able to escape it. He sobs uncontrollably as the one memory he wishes he could let go of haunts him again. He could have changed things. He could have worked it out! Wilbur shuts his eyes tightly, willing himself to forget the day he made the worst mistake of his life. In an act of defiance, his mind only replays the memory back.
It started out a bright cheery day. Wilbur rose with anticipation for the day for the first time in a long while. It was a moderately warm spring morning, so Wilbur pulled his favorite yellow sweater over his head before styling his curls just right. He glanced over at the tan trenchcoat lying over his desk chair. He wouldn't need that today. Wilbur smiled to himself, walking out of the room. Upon reaching the kitchen, Wilbur was smothered with the sticky sweet scent of maple syrup. Techno, who had been staying the night at their house more often than not, sits at the kitchen table, scarfing down a stack of dripping pancakes.

“Morning, Techno.”

Technoblade grunted in response. Wilbur walked past the man, ruffling his extensive pink hair, much to Techno’s grumbled annoyance. Wilbur grinned, turning to Kristen, who was attempting to shoo Phil out of the kitchen. Phil had clearly been trying to surprise her by making breakfast, but his warped, blackened pancakes and rubbery eggs didn't seem to fit Kristen's standards. The two were smiling fondly even as they scuffled, eventually ending in Phil sneaking a kiss before Kristin physically pushed him out of the kitchen. Wilbur chuckled a bit.

“Morning Mom. Did he set anything on fire this time?”

Will asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. Kristen giggled, turning to remove a batch of pancakes from the stovetop.

“I think I caught him just in time. Coffee’s hot if you want it.”

Kristen stacked three perfect golden pancakes on a plate, dousing them in syrup topped with a pat of butter before handing them to Wilbur. He took the plate, smiling genuinely.

“Thanks, Mom!”

Kristen patted Will’s shoulder affectionately as he moved past to pour himself a mug of steaming coffee. Wilbur made his way to the table, sitting across from Techno, who was entirely absorbed in a book. If his stomach wasn't growling like an angry wolf, Will would have taken a few moments to tease him about it. As it happened that morning, Wilbur only dug eagerly into his morning meal.

“Kristeeennn, can I come out of time out now?”

A playful whine floated through the kitchen from the open doorway. Phil stood in mock dejection, wings draping across the floor behind him as if to signal pure sorrow. He frowned overdramatically, sticking out his lower lip. Phil’s eyes glittered with affection and mischief. Kristen stifled a giggle, waving her spatula at Phil in a feigned stern gesture.

“Not until you can learn to behave, young man. I can't have children playing with fire in my kitchen, now can I? Not in front of the boys! Think of the example you're giving, Phil!”

Phil chirped sadly, blinking puppy eyes at Kristen. Wilbur watched as he shoved another bite of Kristen's delectable pancake in his mouth, thoroughly enjoying his parents’ theatrics. And Niki wondered where Wilbur got it from. Kristen giggled again, washing her hands of the eggs she'd just cracked into a sizzling pan. She approached Phil, gifting him with a small kiss.

“Well when you put it that way….”

Kristen grabbed Phil’s arm, dragging the shorter man back to the kitchen to show him how to properly cook breakfast. Wilbur blew on his steadily steaming coffee, chuckling to himself. Technoblade ignored the voices around him, not one for social interaction. After breakfast was eaten and cleaned up, Phil and Wilbur pulled on thick boots and headed out the front door. The king had given Phil an assignment in Logstedshire, and Wilbur had asked to tag along to explore the old town. The two planned to visit their old home, and maybe to salvage some sentimental relics to bring back with them. Wilbur hoped to take home his first guitar, the one Phil had pored over for days, working meticulously to try and make it perfect for a young Wilbur. The two had set out in the cool of the morning, chatting away into the breeze. They had reached the outskirts of L’Manberg in no less than half an hour, but not much more. Something in the air felt colder there, and Wilbur had shivered in his thin sweater. Goosebumps crawled over his skin. He whipped his head from side to side, paranoia like a rushing wind in his ears. Of all the times for Wilbur’s irrational fears to be right, today was the worst. Thumps sounded on all four sides of them, a fifth joining the cloaked figure standing in front of the two. Glowing white eyes met Phil’s as he stepped forward.

“Hey, Mate. We have nothing of value, so let us be on our way and it'll end well for all of us.”

Wilbur’s heart nearly burst from his chest as he stood, eyes darting between each cloaked figure. The one with glowing eyes stepped forward to meet Phil.

“We don't want your money, Phil Craftsoot. We want you.”

The man threw back his hood, pulling a large battle-axe from his back. Phil stumbled backward, his wings throwing him slightly off balance. The man, Phil’s employer himself, Dream, took this falter in full stride. He swung the flat of the blade, connecting it with the side of Phil's head. Wilbur backed away in horror as his father crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Panic tore through him, leaving no room for anything else. In that moment, Wilbur did the one thing he wishes the most that he could take back, he ran.
As he sits alone in a dank cell, icy cold creeps along Wilbur's skin, leaving only his eyes free from white oblivion.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam paces the cell. Two days left. There's nothing to do but wait for now. Or so he expected. Sam pauses as muffled footsteps approach. From what he can tell, his cell is in the center of the main ground floor cellblock on the right side. As the footsteps approach, a voice accompanies it. Sam stiffens at the sound of Dream shouting obscenities. Sam stands at the door of his cell, watching two figures approach. His breath catches in his throat, heart pounding as he catches sight of Dream’s new prisoner. Wilbur. Guilt and sorrow flood through Sam, threatening to spill over. He's a monster, he deserves to be in here. Wilbur doesn't. As far as Sam is aware, Wilbur is innocent of anything worthy of imprisonment in Pandora's Vault. Yet Dream screams and spits in the sobbing man’s face as he violently throws Wilbur in the cell directly across from Sam's. The cell door slams in echoing condemnation, Dream immediately stalking back the way he came. Sam stumbles back as Wilbur’s eyes meet his own through the bars of twin cell doors. No…..his face, it's the same lifeless white that Sam knows Dream hides behind a mask of normality. His eyes stare, empty, glassy, and sickeningly blue. Sam stumbles back, nearly tumbling to the floor. He was supposed to protect Wilbur, to bring him back. The man whom Sam took in as a malevolent last-ditch attempt at winning Dream’s good graces quickly became the object of his projected remorse. If Sam could make things right for another man, maybe he could make things right for himself. He knows that he can never make up for over a decade of misdeeds, but maybe he can begin to turn the tide he once poisoned. Sam had come to think of Wilbur as one of his own, slowly but surely nurturing him back to himself. They'd only made a miniscule bit of forward progress, but it's clear now that every inch of progress has been lost, Wilbur’s state having worsened exponentially. Something twisted is happening behind the scenes. He needs to talk to Punz, the one man who walked in when the world ran in terror. Sam struggles to catch his breath, whimpers from the cell across the hall echoing in his mind. His fingers twist in his hair, pulling it taut. Sam’s other hand clutches at his chest as he squeezes his eyes shut, sinking onto the creaky bed. Mentally, he sends Ranboo an urgent signal. There's something Punz needs to know. Sam’s heart leaps in his chest when he receives a signal back. He settles down to wait, fighting to regulate his breath. Sam leans against the cell wall, a sudden wave of dizziness overtaking him. His chest barely rises and falls, breathing dangerously shallow. A warped sound fills the cell. Sam snaps his eyes open, quickly shutting them again as spots of blackness steal his sight. Warm hands cover his own, but Punz’s voice sounds hazy.

“Sam, I need you to breathe, okay? Remember your exercises. Can you hear me, Sam?”

Punz’s hand presses Sam’s gently on his chest, the other prying his fingers from his hair.

“In, out. In, out. That's it.“

Sam fights his own body, forcing his lungs into troubled submission. His chest feels as if it is clouded with singing smoke as he lies back, just breathing haggardly. After a few stabilizing moments, he opens his eyes once more. Punz pulls his hands away. He sits beside Sam, concern written clearly on his face.

“Are you okay now? What happened, Sam?”

Sam grunts, sitting up against the wall, still focused on breathing clearly. He glances directly in front of him, taken a bit aback at what he sees. Ranboo stands to the side shifting on his feet, forcing himself to stay in his spot. Directly in front of Sam stands a young man he hasn't seen in a few years, someone he has only wondered about since that one pivotal moment of his life.

“Purpled?”

Punz's younger brother meets Sam’s confused gaze awkwardly.

“Uh hi. Punz said you um needed some help with something. I just,”

He shifts on his feet for a moment before going eerily calm and still, standing straight upright as his gaze drains of apprehension.

“I wanted to thank you. You saved my life, Sam. I hope I can give back at least a fraction of that.”

Sam waves his hand.

“You don't have to repay me for that, Purpled. A gift is a gift, I never wanted anything in return for that. I do appreciate you coming though.”

He pauses to catch his breath.

“Besides, your brother has done more for me than I can ever hope to repay him for, so I think we're just about even.”

“Sam.”

Punz presses, eyes burning, searching his own.

“You called us here. What happened?”

Sam’s chest clenches again as his memory serves him. He wheezes a bit as he turns to Punz, croaking out,

“Wilbur. Dream has Wilbur.”

All the warmth drains from Punz’s face, his jaw set in rage.

“Where?”

Sam points to his cell door.

“Across the hall.”

He grimaces, clutching at his chest again, which feels as if a constrictor snake is coiled around his ribs with the intention to kill. Punz places a comforting hand on Sam’s arm.

“We’ll take care of him. It'll probably be safer in here during the instatement anyways.”

Sam shakes his head.

“No, no! You don't understand! Dream won't leave him alone if he's in here! He'll…..he'll finish the job.”

Sam chokes on his own breath, adjusting his respiration mask. Punz reaches out to steady him.

“Hey, hey, it'll be okay! We'll make sure that doesn't happen! We're not losing Will, alright? Sam, do you hear me? We're not letting the snake take him.”

Sam nods, shutting his eyes as a deprivation of oxygen brings another wave of dizziness. His breathing hasn't gotten quite this bad in a while. Ranboo moves to sit at Sam's other side.

“Do you want me to bring Wilbur back to my place? Tommy and Te- uh, Tubbo, are worried. If I don't get back to them soon they'll tear L’Manberg apart looking for him.”

Sam remains silent for a moment , contemplating before shaking his head.

“Dream will know it's you, and I can't have him hurting you too. If he tries anything with Wilbur, I'll let you know and you can get him out then. Otherwise, I think Punz is right. We should leave him until after the instatement. It's probably safer.”

Sam’s eyes flutter open as Punz rubs calming circles on his back. Ranboo and Punz share a look over Sam’s head. Ranboo squirms under the flash of eye contact as Punz speaks.

“You need to get back, Ranboo.”

A buzzing sound emerges from Punz's jacket pocket. He scrunches his brow, staring at his phone.

“Dream needs me.”

He looks back at Sam, who half-lays across the cot, leaning heavily against Punz.

“I'm not leaving Sam here alone. It's too risky when he gets like this.”

Sam goes to protest, but his own wheezing breaths betray his vulnerability. He shuts his mouth in resignation. Purpled takes a step closer.

“I'll stay with him.”

He quickly offers. Punz and Purpled share a wordless conversation before Punz nods reluctantly. He turns to Ranboo.

“Better get this over with then.”

Ranboo nods curtly, standing. Punz does the same, gently guiding Sam to lie on the cot. Ranboo places a hand on Punz’s wrist and the two vanish.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I know that was my boys, It had to have been!”

Kristen paces the worn carpet in her living room. Sapnap sighs from the couch.

“Yeah.”

Kristen’s voice is tight and frantic.

“That was my Tommy, I know it. He was injured. Techno swayed on his feet, and Wilbur….”

A sob catches in Kristen's throat.

“It was barely even him.”

Kristen clamps a hand over her mouth as tears flood down her cheeks.

“I saw that man take Wilbur. What if he's the one who took Niki too? What did….what have they done to my children?”

Kristen nearly doubles over, cries wracking her body. She sinks onto the couch next to the one person she still has left to fight with. Sapnap grimaces.

“I can find that out. Dream is…..well, he's not right. He's blinded by power and revenge. He'd do anything to get payback. The only thing Dream hates more than himself is Technoblade. He'll hurt anyone he needs to in order to get back at him. Dream is impulsive and short-tempered. He's been that way his whole life, but much more so after George.”

Sapnap clenches his fists as Kristen wipes her eyes with a tissue from the box she keeps on the end table beside the couch.

“I'm not going to stand by and let him do this. I'll get them back for you, Kristen, even if it kills me.”

Chapter Text

Techno leans against the cabin wall, glaring at Ranboo.

“Care to explain why your so-called protection involved making us hostages?”

Ranboo fidgets, discomfort glaringly obvious as he squirms under scrutiny.

“I- um. Well, I couldn't…”

Technoblade makes a growling sound low in this throat.

“Spit it out, Ranboo.”

Ramboo grimaces, sighing.

“He's not going to stop hunting you. I couldn't let you go out there injured. He almost killed Tommy, and now he's taken Wilbur and your sister! Plus,”

Ranboo flushes in humiliation.

“I kind of don't have a key for that door. Never have.”

Techno stiffens at the mention of his sister, ignoring Ranboo’s other comment.

“Dream has Niki?”

Ranboo nods nervously.

“I'm not sure where, but I have an idea.”

Techno stalks up to Ranboo, who backs against the cabin’s wall, quivering. Technoblade’s eyes gleam red, his voice dangerous and low.

“Find her. Find Wilbur. Make sure they're safe and I'll let the hostage thing slide.”

Ranboo nods frantically before disappearing in a violet flurry.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night passes uneventfully. One more day. Tomorrow will be the dawn of a golden era for L’Manberg. Drista enters Q776’s office before Charlie has a chance to announce her presence. To her shock, Q isn't the only one there. Standing behind the massive desk is a man who almost looks as if he's made of static. Sandy brown hair flops into his eyes, and he wears an ignorantly blissful smile. He wears teal and purple, the swirling book in his hand reflecting the same hues. Drista stares at him before turning a death glare on Las Nevada's CEO.

“Q776, why is K612 here?”

Q776’s brows arch in piercing rage. His eyes flicker in color.

“His name is Karl. I'm honored you came to see me yourself rather than sending your puppet, Drista.”

He leans forward on his desk.

“I needed to tell you this face-to-face.”

Drista crosses her arms, glaring back at the frustrating casino owner.

“Then tell me.”

Q776 leans back in his plush chair. The man always did love his theatrics.

“Karl here has been through the wringer. And by the wringer, I mean our time. We're full of awful memories, aren't we, Drista?”

She sits, waiting for the man to go on. He smirks at her before continuing.

“He saw some things, past and future. You remember what I can do, don't you, Drista? Well one of Karl’s future visits just happens to line up with one of my foresights. I'm going to put this bluntly. We don't win, Drista.”

He leans forward again.

“The house always takes the winning side.”

Drista's blood boils. How dare he suggest failure to her! The insolence of this inferior puppet has gone far enough. Drista leans against the back of one of the armchairs in front of Q’s desk. She keeps herself outwardly collected, smiling darkly at him.

“Well then, it's a good thing we're not doing things according to plan, now isn't it?”

Drista stares into Q776’s eyes, grasping at the branches of his memory, flooding the cells of his mind. Beside him, K612 fizzles out of sight. Stubbornly, Q776’s eyes still glow blue and not the hoped-for white. He stands woodenly, moving around the desk to stand inches away from Drista.

“This is much better.”

She grins. She hauls back her arm and backhands Q776 across the face. He stands at attention, no reaction visible. Drista can feel him struggling to fight her hold. She punches him in the nose, drawing blood. She punches him again in the gut, in the face, again and again until he's nothing more than a limp bloody pile on the floor. His eyes flicker rapidly as he claws desperately at Drista’s control in his mind, weakening, yet holding strong. Drista lets go. Q776 gasps, hand flying to his head. Drista spits on the ground in front of him as he uprights himself, groaning.

“Clean this up. I want these floors spotless by tomorrow morning. Dream will take care of your appearance when necessary.”

Drista turns to leave, sparing one last glance at the pathetic man.

“Next time won't be so merciful. Don't let there be one.”

Drista stalks out of the casino, blood dripping from her knuckles.

~~~~~~~~~~

Purpled sits against the wall across the end of Sam’s cot. Since Ranboo hasn't returned yet, Purpled ended up staying the night with Sam. To be completely honest though, he didn't have much else to do, and Sam wasn't quite stable yet. So Purpled sits locked in the cell with Sam listening to the man’s rattly breathing as he sleeps fitfully. A sigh puffs from Purpled's lungs as he stares at the wall, shifting to a more comfortable position. He shuts his eyes, flames dancing behind his eyelids. Purpled turns to lay on his side, grumbling at the intrusive memory. He glances at the cell door, mind wandering to the man in the cell across the hall. Wilbur had been there when the fire had happened. It was the only time Purpled has ever been to Sam’s house. He often thought back to that time, wondering how Sam, Tommy, and Wilbur were faring.

That evening, he and Punz had been over for dinner. Punz and Sam had business to discuss, and Purpled was sick of being home, so he'd begged to tag along. As they'd sat down to devour a pizza, a sudden uneasy feeling had twisted in Purpled's gut. He didn't voice this, but since then he wishes he would have. Maybe he could have prevented things from getting as bad as they did. Sam had noticed Purpled’s unease and given him a reassuring smile across the table. A stab of regret pierces Purpled as he remembers how much easier things had been. Sam hadn't needed his mask, Punz wasn't so overprotective, and Purpled wasn't bound to home. In one instant, all that had changed. A crash had torn through cheerful conversation, flames leaping up around a grease-soaked rag tossed through an open window, immediately catching the carpet aflame. The walls suddenly burst into flame along with it, the fire seeming to have been started on the outside. Wilbur had immediately grabbed Tommy and dragged him out the door. Purpled had been frozen for a moment before jumping into action. Something suddenly cracked above them. A section of the ceiling crashed to the floor, blocking Sam and Purpled from the front door. Purpled could hear Punz shouting his name as he frantically searched for a window. Sam’s rough hand gripped Purpled's arm, pulling him towards the nearest one. But things never could be that easy, could they? Something had caused another section of ceiling to collapse, but this time a beam caught Purpled's back just above his waist, slamming him into the floor. Sam shouted his name in fear, kneeling beside Purpled, who'd had the wind knocked out of him. Purpled's lungs burned and he broke into a fit of coughing. He squirmed. Purpled's legs refused to move. Panicking, he realized he could no longer feel them. Sam's muffled groans rang in Purpled's ears as he lay there pinned. His eyes blurred over, coughs wracking his chest. A muffled explosion sounded, followed by a cry of pain. Sam. Purpled wriggled, craning his neck to see beside him. Orange flames flickered green, a strange vapor rising next to Sam, who sat unable to catch his breath. Next to Sam laid a massive ceiling beam, and Purpled glanced behind him to realize he was no longer pinned to the ground. Purpled grunted, using his arms to drag himself towards Sam. He could barely see Sam struggle towards him, grabbing Purpled in his arms. Purpled's hazy vision nearly failed him as Punz managed to shatter the window from the outside. Sam handed him through to his brother before barely climbing out himself. As soon as he was outside the house, Purpled could feel adrenaline fading, leaving him limp and exhausted in his brother's arms. Distantly he heard aggressive coughing and concerned voices as his consciousness slipped.

Purpled's eyes fly open. A hand moves to his legs, rubbing against the metal of the mechanism Sam built to help him walk. He still can't fully feel his legs and they are extremely weak, so Sam made him a hydraulic-driven support structure that keeps him upright when needed. He can't stand or walk for very long, but he's grateful that he can at all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Purple eyes meet Niki’s as she stares up at the tall teen. She keeps her voice level, covering up the tremors.

“Ranboo? Is that you?”

An uncannily wide smile spreads across Ranboo's face as his mouth opens but he is not the one to speak.

“It's not right now. Isn't this cool, Niki?”

Ranboo’s voice is the one Niki hears, but it is clearly Drista’s words. She shudders.

“It's horrible! How can you do this to another human being, Drista? How can you not see how wrong this all is?”

Ranboo's face frowns in almost cartoon-like sadness.

“I hoped you'd like it on your own, Niki. That's alright. It grew on him, you'll be no different.”

A sadistic smile spreads across his face once more.

“You'll be able to see Wilbur again.”

Boiling rage settles in Niki's chest as she squirms in her binds.

“What did you do to Wilbur?”

She shouts.

Drista giggles.

“Oh I didn't do anything to him! He gave himself a makeover. A rather ghostly one I’d say.”

She giggles again as Niki shakes in rage.

“And now it's your turn! Imagine what Techno would think if he could see the wonderfully twisted mask of strength you'll become”

Chapter Text

Morning dawns peacefully over a condemned nation. Today is the day. Dream shudders. He sits on the edge of his bed, dangling his feet above the floor. He had another nightmare last night. They've become a nightly occurrence, and something deep within Dream wonders if they're trying to tell him something. Each night he sees the same boy, George is the name his mind provides. Each time they mention Sapnap and Drista. Each night Dream watches George die. The nightmare is different each night as if it wishes to give slightly more information so Dream can take it in without becoming quickly overwhelmed. Subconsciously he wonders if they are orchestrated specifically by someone. Dream stares at the wall contemplatively, no sound in his ears except his own breathing and the haunting screams of his brother. Wait, his brother? Is that what George was to him? It would make sense given the way they talked in his dreams. Dream would never be that honest with someone outside of family. However, what shook Dream especially this morning wasn't the gruesome scene engraved on his eyelids. Last night's dream had been different in a strange way. There has been a message. At the end, Dream had seen the scientist he always saw speaking to him directly and saying concerningly odd things. He'd said that Dream was not himself, that someone was in his mind. He'd said that he was there to bring Dream back to himself. He had apologized for what happened to George and to Dream, and had seemed to be crying as he promised to make things right. One of the strangest things about the scene was the man’s face. He looked so familiar that it frustrated Dream to no end that he couldn't seem to come up with the man’s name. The man had mentioned Sapnap too, saying that Dream should talk to him. He should. If these dreams talked about Sapnap maybe he knew something about all this. The same could be true of Drista, but Dream didn't exactly see her as a confidant. So that's how Dream found himself sitting in a familiar cell listening to the man from his nightmares, Sapnap right beside him. Dream had sought out Sapnap, regaling the tales of his recurring nightmares, and it hadn't taken long for him to identify the man as Sam. Dream inwardly kicked himself for not connecting the dots. Sam had admitted to tampering with Dream’s subconscious in order to re-insert memories, but it wasn't flawless as the dreams themselves remained in control. Sam could only gently guide them, Dream’s own mind provided the buried memories.

“Dream, I need you to answer me truthfully. Do you remember anything about George that wasn't in those dreams?”

Sam's voice borders the line between fear and hope. Dream scrunches up his face, scrubbing his mind for something, anything. When this only serves to empty it, he shakes his head, discouraged.

“No. I don't know who he was to me, just that….we cared about each other. I think there were parts of the dreams that I can't fully remember. I don't remember knowing or hearing if we were friends or family or something else, but that doesn't mean it wasn't in there.”

Sam hums, thoughtfully. Dream can almost feel his disappointment. That thought suddenly terrifies him and he shifts slightly away from Sam. Sapnap tilts his head curiously, but doesn't press. He addresses Sam.

“Would it do any good if I told him everything, or does he have to find those memories himself?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders.

“I've been trying the latter with Wilbur. It's the only thing that was getting somewhere. I'm not quite sure in this situation. Telling Wilbur his past didn't do any good because he was actively avoiding remembering it. Dream at least somewhat wants to remember.”

He turns to Dream, searching him for something.

“We can't make your mind do anything. It has to be your choice. Dream, are you sure you want to remember your past? It's not pretty, but it's you. Are you willing to lose him all over again to get yourself back?”

Dream contemplates this for a second. It's easier to lose someone you have no emotional attachment to. It's cruel, but it's life. He knows that if he chooses this path there will be no going back. It will hurt him. But at least he'll be his own person this time and not some puppet to his sister's sadistic whims. Dream nods.

“Lay it on me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tubbo steps back, admiring his work. It's a true wonder of engineering. Tubbo could only wonder who it was for. Punz had called it the crown jewel of the celebration. It was to be a festival to remember. A sly grin spreads across Tubbo's face. With a machine like this, there would finally be a chance, the chance Tubbo has been waiting for. This is his chance to watch the cruel world burn. Footsteps behind him call Tubbo back to the task at hand. He turns to face none other than Drista herself. Tubbo grins.

“It's finished.”

He gestures to his masterpiece. It looks like a large brick wardrobe cloaked with sheets of steel. The front wall, which also serves as a quick sliding door, is made of a thick pane of blast-proof glass. Drista circles the structure, inspecting it. She nods in satisfaction.

“As long as it does its job. Good work.”

Tubbo's chest swells with the praise. Despite its emptiness it still seems to fill him. Maybe he's just convinced himself that it does.

“It should work perfectly. I've tested and stocked it. It's ready to be moved.”

Drista nods again curtly.

“I'll have Punz help you get it to the stage.”

She turns to look Tubbo in the eyes.

“Oh, Tubbo. I heard about what happened with your roommate. It's a shame. I rather liked Ranboo. Ah well. Tubbo, will you join me for the big event today? I'd be honored to have you on the stage to present your beautiful machine.”

Tubbo freezes. What is Drista talking about? What happened to Ranboo? He barely hears Drista's invite, nodding frantically as he backs away. He'll be up there, he'll do whatever she wants as long as he can make sure Ranboo is okay. Drista slowly walks towards Tubbo, concern written on her face.

“Did you not know? I'm so sorry, Tubbo.”

She puts a hand on Tubbo's arm, and it feels like pins and needles. Tubbo jerks away.

“If it helps, I tried to change it. I really did try to save him. It was that pig, Technoblade! He did it to get to me and I-”

Drista's words catch in her throat and she lunges towards Tubbo, latching her arms around him in a hug. Tubbo feels himself slip. He grabs at Drista's coat, sobbing into the taller girl’s shoulder. This can't be right! Tubbo was doing this all for him! Ranboo had told Tubbo the pains of his past, although much had been told in his sleep. He'd conveniently left out the fact that he can teleport, but Tubbo can't find it in him to resent him for it now. The world was cruel to Ranboo, and Tubbo is determined now more than ever to make them pay for it. He pushes away from Drista, his sorrow giving way to pure rage.

“We will repay his injustice tenfold.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tommy rolls his eyes as Technoblade paces the floor of Tubbo and Ranboo's cabin.

“I'm sure he's fine, Big Man. Give him time. Logstedshire didn't fall in a day.”

Techno whirls on Tommy.

“Tommy, what do you remember about Logstedshire?”

He demands. The question catches Tommy off guard, and he fumbles a bit for an answer.

“Um, well, I know I used to live there and so did Wilbur and our parents. I don't remember our parents though. And I remember that something….. something happened and we all ran away? No, wait I wasn't there, I watched it. I remember people screaming and not being able to do anything because I was young. I remember…..someone helped Wilbur and the others run away, but I can't remember what they looked like. And…yeah that's about it.”

Technoblade groans, dragging his hands down his face.

“You were blued. If you can't remember that's got to be why. Who did you say you were living with, Tommy?”

Tommy scrunches up his face.

“I didn't say, but his name is Sam. He disappeared the day Ranboo brought me here. I know he probably kidnapped me, but I'm worried about him. He never treated me badly. I thought I was his real son because I thought only a parent could care that much.”

A snarl escapes Technoblade's lips and his eyes spit fire.

“Of course it was Sam. Who else? Tommy, he was trying to get in your head. If you enjoyed living with him, you'd think it was right and you'd stay. Did you never once think that being cooped up on the same property your whole life wasn't normal?”

Tommy huffs, crossing his arms as Techno stares at him in agitation.

“It was normal to me! I didn't know anything different! The only people I had to talk to were Sam, Wilbur and sometimes Drista, you expect me to know what “normal” is?”

He makes frustrated air quotes on the word “normal”. Technoblade somehow managed to look even more shocked and outraged. A stab of fear shoots through Tommy,but he fights to suppress it. Techno won't attack him, he’s angry for Tommy not at him, right?

“Drista? That snake! Tommy, what did Drista say to you? Did she hurt you?”

Tommy squints at Techno in confused concern.

“Well she tried to kill me twice this week. Other than that, no. I thought she was a good friend.”

He says the last part quietly, looking down at the floor. Techno leans forward, placing both hands on Tommy’s shoulders.

“Tommy, listen to me. Under no circumstances should you ever trust a word Drista says. She's behind all of this, I'm sure of it. I haven't found a way to prove that yet, but I'm getting closer. Tommy, I need you to promise me that when it comes down to it, you'll stay as far from Drista as possible, okay? No emotional attachment, she's never had any for you, I can guarantee that. It's not really her thing. She sees attachments as a weakness….”

Techno trails off, eyes flashing with realization. He steps back from Tommy.

“What?”

Techno opens his mouth to explain, but before he can, the door to the cabin slams open and a frantic woman bursts into the room. Tears pour down her face as she stares at the two for a moment. Techno rushes to the woman's side.

“Kristen! What are you doing here?”

Kristen doesn't answer, staring at Tommy in shocked joy. Tommy feels some of the clouds fade from his mind as he stares back. His voice comes out small and broken as he takes a cautious step forward.

“Mom?”

Kristen breaks from her stasis, barreling into Tommy in a desperately warm embrace. Sobs choke her up as Tommy feels tears start to drip from his own eyes.

“My Tommy! You're alive! You're alive!”

Tommy breaks down into full on sobs, clutching his mother tightly.

“I am. I'm here. I'm here.”

He reassures them both. Waves of clarity crash through Tommy's mind as the desire of memory brings him back home to his mother's arms. The two hold each other, praising the prodigal’s return and mourning the time that none of them could ever get back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Peaceful hums fill the small dark cell. Wilbur doesn't know the tunes he’s creating, but they're comforting. His eyes are shut in bliss as he lays on his back on the small cot. It may be lonely, but life is much simpler this way. Things are just so much easier when he ignores the nagging voice of reality that still lives in his brain. It's annoying, really, a frustrating conundrum. He wants the voice to go away, yet he's not quite willing to let it. There's still one thread left in his brain that connects it to his heart, and Wilbur doesn't have the strength, or the weakness, to snap it. As he hums away these thoughts, Wilbur is quite rudely interrupted by a staticky warped sound and a slightly distorted voice saying his name. Wilbur opens his eyes, pouting as he turns his head towards the intruder. He squints as his eyes protest the shifting colors that crackle around the brown-haired kid.

“What do you want?”

The man’s eyes are wide as he averts his gaze from Wilbur to the wall in front of him.

“I need you, Wilbur Craftsoot. Your time isn't over yet. Get up.”

Wilbur crosses his arms, shaking his head in defiance.

“It's comfortable here.”

The figure takes a step closer and Wilbur finds it menacing yet annoying. He doesn't fancy moving from his spot. Unfortunately this guy doesn't seem to care about that.

“Life isn't made to be comfortable. I cannot leave you in your chosen death. They need you. Come with me.”

Wilbur scrunches up his nose at the cryptic request. He sighs. Seems like this man won't leave him alone. He swings his legs over the side of the cot, grumbling as he stands in front of the man. A trickle of blue runs down Wilbur's chin, dried indigo trails streaking from his eyes.

“I don't have a choice, do I? Fine. But who are you?”

The man's gaze snaps to Wilbur's and he shivers. His eyes are pure white, yet his skin remains a natural color. Wilbur brushes his own snowy curls from his eyes as the man gives an answer just as cryptic as everything else he's said.

“Some call me Requiem, very few call me The Shadow. To only one I am K612.”

He flashes Wilbur a strikingly human grin.

“But you can call me Karl!”

Wilbur rolls his eyes as the man reaches out to touch his arm. He flinches away, but Karl is insistent, latching on as Wilbur feels his very atoms shifting. In almost an instant, the two reach a white island, a massive quartz castle planted in its center. Ashen trees let go of their leaves yet never lose them. Wilbur feels a chill down his spine as he stands agape. Karl drags him through the marble courtyard and towards an intricate quartz fountain that flows with a starry void. Wilbur sucks in his breath at the eerie beauty of it all.

“What is this place?”

Karl smiles proudly at Wilbur's question.

“It's called The Inbetween! It's a world between time and the reality of it all. It's my own design.”

Wilbur cocks his head, now deeply intrigued by the impromptu adventure.

“What is it for? What is it you do?”

Karl turns to watch the ethereal fountain glow.

“I am a traveler. I go between the realities of time, visions of what was, what could be, and what could have been. Generally, I only watch, but this time…”

He pauses for a moment.

“This time I need to do more. You have to remember. When the memories find you, let them. It is the darkness and pain that will lead to the most joyous of dawns. This place is like a hub within my mind that leads me through reality and time. I have never brought another soul here. It's not usually possible. The person has to be enough trapped and lost in their own mind to allow passage through here. It will take us where we need to go. Think of it as your imagination taking you through reality. Maybe this is real, maybe it's your mind’s explanatory cover for what's really happening. Either way, this is what you see, and I'll make sure you get where you need to go. Come.”

He gestures for Wilbur to stand next to him.
Wilbur obliges and Karl grabs his hand, dragging him into the starry fountain. The world seems to swirl around them as they float through the void of reality. All too soon it's over and Wilbur finds himself in an unfamiliar place with a familiar person. Karl is nowhere to be seen, and Wilbur steps cautiously towards the figure turned away from him. A speck of sunlight breaks through the clouds in his mind, burning the surface of Wilbur’s understanding. This time, he doesn't try to fight it away. If he is needed here, he intends to make his role count. He reaches out a shaking hand, his voice broken, barely above a whisper.

“Dad?”

Chapter Text

The pieces have all fallen into place, the pawns have been moved, only a few enemy pawns left to be taken. The king stands undefended, his queen missing. The castle’s knights have left her and her bishops have fallen from grace. Every block of color has faded to black. Punz revels in the tantalizing morsel of victory. He stands on a massive stage behind the king as he makes his instatement speech. The pseudo-Schlatt’s voice shifts between strained and wooden as he addresses the people. They don't suspect a thing. Punz glances to his side where Tubbo stands, his countenance darkened. Drista informed him of her hold on his rage. She wants a spectacle. Well a spectacle she shall get. Quackity-Schlatt turns to Punz and he tunes him back in. His eyes flicker and his expression flashes, desperately pleading for an instant before going completely blank. Let him struggle. He will be nothing more than a casualty before long anyways, a catalyst to the real rise of power. Coldness and warmth struggle to find residence within Punz's heart, refusing to co-exist yet desperate to.

“-efore I leave you for a private staff celebration, Punz here has something to show us, isn't that right?”

Punz nods, stepping forward. Not-Schlatt claps him on the back, leading Punz up to the microphone.

“Why don't you show off your little project, huh?”

Not-Schlatt steps back to where Punz had been standing before. Punz clears his throat, addressing the crowd. It's time.

“People of L’Manberg, you have been under oppression for far too long. This man,”

Punz jabs a finger at Drista's figurative straw man.

“Has forced you into hard labor for his sake, he has taken your people and destroyed them! He has pushed insurmountable taxes on you to fund his own whims. No more! Today is the day this tyrant falls!”

The people erupt into cheers as Quackity grabs the back of Punz's shirt, jerking him away from the microphone.

“This isn't part of the plan!”

Quackity hisses in his ear. Punz slams his elbow into Quackity's arm, loosing his grip as he stares him down. Tubbo stands at the ready behind the newly instated king.

“Plans change, Bossman. Play along.”

Tubbo somehow has a knife concealed in his hand, the tip pressing into Quackity's back. Punz turns back to the microphone, waving his hands to quiet down the raucous crowd. He falters for a second at a flash of red on the crowd’s edge. Technoblade is here. Perfect! Perhaps Punz can convince him to assassinate the king a second time! Punz almost snorts at how ridiculous that sounds. He flicks his head towards Tubbo.

“Keep him there, Tubbo.”

Grunts from behind show that Tubbo has done as he’s told, preventing Quackity from leaving the stage. Punz addresses the now hushed crowd.

“So I'm sure you're all wondering what this is.”

He gestures to the massive wardrobe-like structure behind him.

“I’d love to tell you all about it, but I think it would be much more fun for you all to see for yourselves. Tubbo, if you'll do the honors.”

Punz turns behind him, watching Tubbo shove Quackity in the wardrobe's open door, sliding it shut with a hiss. Tubbo stands waiting.

“Whenever you say, Bossman.”

Punz cocks his head to the side.

“Hmm, this doesn't seem right. Tubbo, take him out of there.”

Tubbo blinks in confusion. His movements are choppy as he reluctantly does so. His eyes search Punz’s and he leaves them devoid of information. Stomping footsteps sound from Punz's side. Drista glares at him, not a foot away from his face.

“What are you doing? Get it over with!”

Punz smirks, walking over to Quackity himself.

“Nah, I have something better.”

Punz snaps his fingers, a secret signal. He stares into Quackity's eyes as the illusion drops, leaving the casino owner exposed for all to see. Quackity spits, bruises littering his body. Punz tuts in mock sympathy. He turns to Drista

“Now isn't this sad? Your puppet is damaged. This instatement is fake. A first-time king requires a coronation.”

He takes a menacing step towards Drista.

“But I don't think Mr. Nevadas here is quite the ruler you had in mind, is he?”

Drista glares up at Punz.

“What are you doing?”

She hisses.

“Is this supposed to be your grand betrayal?”

Punz laughs.

“Oh no, a betrayal requires loyalty, Drista. I've never had that for you.”

Punz stares Drista in the eyes, begging her to see his pleas to play along. Something flickers in hers, a familiar signal. She grips the axe strapped to her back.

“You were a mole the whole time. I should have known I could never trust you!”

Punz unsheathes his sword.

“I think trust is the least of your concerns.”

The two lunge for each other, the battle for power playing out before a spellbound audience.

~~~~~~~~~~

Phil sits almost numbly on the cold stone of Pandora's inner cell. His eyes have shed more tears than he ever knew he had, and he clutches his son tightly in his arms, wings wrapped comfortingly, protectively around him. His heart burns within him at the sight of his son nearly devoid of himself. It has been a whole year and a half since Phil has been brought here, and he needs to know why, he needs to know what happened to drain his son of his very person. Technoblade had told Phil once of the process called “phantomization”. Techno had seen it firsthand in Sam’s lab. It had been two cases, simultaneously a failure and a complete success, the twins of fate. Now Wilbur shares the desaturated aire of death that follows Dream. According to Techno, Phil should be able to change that. Phil opens his wings, gently prying Wilbur away from himself.

“Will,”

He says softly.

“Let me bring you back. Please.”

Wilbur sniffles, and Phil's heart jumps to his throat to see that Wilbur’s white is tinted slightly blue. Blue is the first phase, white being finality. This is progress. Wilbur sits in front of Phil.

“I- I can't do this, Dad. It just- I've done- I-”

Wilbur covers his mouth with his hands, muffling more sobs. A sad trill rises from Phil’s throat as he brushes sickeningly blue dampened curls from Wilbur’s eyes.

“Hey, it's okay. I know. I know you've done some things you're not proud of. But you're still my son. Nothing can ever change that.”

Phil's own words catch in his throat and he swallows down the lump they create. Wilbur takes in a shaky breath, slowly letting it out.

“You don't know what I've done.”

Phil smiles sadly, letting warmth flow through.

“That doesn't matter to me. I love you, Will. I wish you'd never forget that. I- we need you back, Wilbur.”

Wilbur tries to blink back the flood of blue that streams from his eyes to no avail. He at least manages to speak.

“It's coming back to me. It hurts, Dad, it hurts so much, but I……I can't lose you either. Not again.”

Phil pulls Wilbur towards the cell’s back wall, letting his son lean on him as they sit side-by-side. Phil keeps an arm tightly wrapped around Wilbur.

“Tell me what you remember.”

He gently pushes. Wilbur takes another shaky deep breath.

“I remember Logstedshire, how you would build us things, and Mom is an amazing cook. She wouldn't let you anywhere near her kitchen.”

Phil chuckles a little as Wilbur continues.

“I remember the day Tommy was taken, I-”

He chokes on a sob at the mention of the day all Hell broke loose on their family. Phil offers a comforting coo.

“I could have stopped it, but I didn't. I watched it happen! I didn't see who it was, but I followed him. I followed him to a house not too far away. He left Tommy there, and he turned around, and I saw him! It- it was Dream, but he saw me too. He threatened me. He said if I told anyone what I knew, he would kill Tommy. I was just a kid. I didn't like the risks of going against that, so I didn't.
I kept silent until one day I forgot. It just…slipped my mind. I know now that it was my own mind trying to save me the pain, but I could have told you! I should have! I should have remembered every time I saw that man, but I never did. I pushed that memory away until the day he took you too and I ran. I knew where Tommy was that whole time, and I never did anything about it!”

Wilbur takes in another breath as Phil begins running his fingers through his son’s tangled hair. The blue is getting stronger, the white of disconnection giving way to the phase of denial.

“I remember when Logstedshire fell, the day we met Techno. We were eating dinner when someone crashed through the door. He tried to attack you, but Technoblade fought him off and led us to L’Manberg.”

A small sorrowful smile breaks out on Wilbur's face. The blue is fading now, but slowly.

“Techno became like a brother to me. We did so much together.”

His face falls again.

“Then Dream took you away. Yet another thing I let happen because I was afraid. The next day, Techno and I had a fight. He wanted to go find you, but I didn't think he should. He was out of his mind with rage, and accused me of letting them take you on purpose. I said some things to him that I desperately wish I could take back. I never meant them, I was just deathly terrified of losing him too. In the end that's what pushed him away. Techno ran before I could apologize. At that point is where my memories start to get fuzzy. I think that's when I started trying to forget.”

Wilbur goes silent. Phil coos, smiling. His color has returned to normal, the blue streaks down his face the only thing that lingers. Techno was right. The best way to find the person you love among the mess is to love them and let them come to you. It seems Wilbur has given up on giving up. But a will to remember is not equal to a will to live.

“Mate, I know you don't think anyone could forgive you for that. That's the point of grace and love, it doesn't make sense. I'm not letting go of you, Will. I know you're not those things. You're not the sum of your mistakes or your victories. You're Wilbur Craftsoot, a human who has a heart unique in so many beautiful and ugly ways. That's what makes you so precious. You're irreplaceable, Will. Don't you ever let this world convince you otherwise.”

Wilbur breaks into sobs again, and Phil holds him tight, intending never to let go.

~~~~~~~~~~

Purpled groans, stealing Sam’s pillow and shoving it over his head. Sapnap and Dream have been chattering nonstop for what feels like days. Sam chuckles beside him. Purpled flips him off. Sam only chuckles more at his discomfort.

“I wonder what your brother's up to. Any ideas?”

Purpled shrugs at the attempt at conversation.

“He doesn't tell me anything anymore. He's like a mother bear, it's annoying.”

Sam laughs again, cut short by a coughing fit. Purpled moves the pillow, concerned, but Sam waves him off.

“I'm fine, I'm fine. This happens all the time. Punz just wants to keep you safe, I can't blame him.”

Purpled shrugs.

“It's still annoying. Hey Sapnap!”

He calls out with sudden wondering. Sapnap reluctantly turns to Purpled.

“What?”

Purpled sits up next to Sam.

“How did you get in here? Isn't this place top security? Ranboo didn't bring you.”

Sapnap glances between Sam, Purpled, and Dream.

“Well, I uh, might have stolen Drista's copy keycard. Speaking of which,”

He pulls out his phone, eyes widening at the display. Sapnap shoots to his feet, Dream quickly following.

“What is it, Sap?”

Sapnap runs to the open cell door, gesturing to the three to follow.

“She's expecting us and we're late. We have to get Wilbur and Phil to…..”

He trails off as he stares into a locked and empty cell in utter disbelief.

“Where is Wilbur? Did anyone see him leave?”

Purpled pushes past Sapnap as quickly as he can muster, which honestly isn't that fast. Curse this semi-paralysis. The cell that once held Wilbur stands empty. Strange. Sam stands beside him.

“I don't think we have time to figure that out. Let's go get Phil. Drista hates to be kept waiting and I don't want to risk her taking it out on someone else.”

Purpled nods in agreement and Sapnap sighs, turning on his heel to run through the cell block, Dream close behind. Sam gives Purpled a smirking side glance. Purpled groans in response.

“Fine, but don't say a freaking word to Punz about this!”

Sam chuckles, letting Purpled climb into his back before running down the corridor after the others.

“You have my word.”

Chapter Text

“It's a setup.”

Techno states, crossing his arms. Kristen nods beside him. Tommy scoffs.

“Well duh. I don't trust either of them. I think they're both wrong’uns.”

Techno grumbles.

“I wouldn't trust Drista however far I can dropkick her. Punz on the other hand is hard to read. He's on her side as far as I can tell, but he gave me info when I tried to break Phil out.”

Techno inwardly seethes, knowing that the warden had been hiding a lot more than just Phil. A sudden familiar crackling sound sets Techno on high alert, as if he wasn't on edge already. He stares at the kid who stands beside him.

“Karl?”

Karl smiles brightly.

“Technoblade! You remember me?”

Techno nods nonchalantly.

“How could I forget? We both witnessed what was pretty much two murders at once.”

Karl’s glowing eyes seem to dim.

“The first of many.”

Techno squints at Karl. He hasn't seen the kid in years, why is he appearing now?

“Did you need something?”

Karl snaps to attention.

“Oh, right! I did! Well, it's more that you need to know something. Today is the day the caged bird sings again. It is the dead's sunrise. The snake will strike your heel but you must crush her head. Beware the melody of the siren, for it will lead to death.”

Techno feels a chill as Karl gives his cryptic message. The guy still gives him the creeps. Techno goes to ask Karl for some semblance of explanation, but he fizzles out of sight before Techno can form even a word. Figures. Techno can't seem to get any solid answers out here! Tommy nudges Technoblade's arm rather aggressively.

“Techno! Look!”

Technoblade shifts his gaze back to the stage where Punz seems to have vanished. That's probably not good. Quackity and Tubbo have switched places. Quackity's eyes glow while Tubbo struggles to escape his hold. Drista approaches Tubbo, axe poised.

“You were with him. Don't think I didn't notice your little tricks! The way you kept disappearing, avoiding answers when I asked about where you'd been.”

Tubbo squirms, sputtering out,

“I told you, I have a roommate and I went to check on him!”

Drista scoffs, gripping her axe tighter.

“You and I both know that's a lie. Do you know what else was a lie, Tubbo?”

Drista leans close to Tubbo's face, and Techno can't make out her words. Whatever it is, Tubbo reacts violently, cursing and kicking against Quackity's steely grip. Drista steps back, motioning to Quackity with her head. Quackity moves robotically, practically throwing Tubbo into the machine of his creation. Techno’s heart leaps for the kid. He is a friend of Ranboo’s after all and he'd rather not see an innocent person die….if Tubbo is as innocent as he thinks. Techno shoves his way through the edge of the crowd towards the stage. Tubbo beats against the glass, sobbing and shouting. Drista nearly dances to a keypad on the side of the box.

“Let's see what this does, shall we?”

She presses a button and a firework rocket shoots from the side of the box, exploding violently inside. Even through the glass, Tubbo's shriek rings in Technoblade's ears. He pushes himself faster. The blast was above Tubbo's head, but there was no way he could have dodged the shrapnel, and it would have been searing hot. Drista giggles in sadistic excitement.

“Oh, isn't it beautiful? I wonder what they look like from in there.”

She presses the button again and another blast shakes the ground. Tubbo screams again. He keeps screaming and Techno can't think, but at least he knows Tubbo is alive. He reaches the stage, plowing into Drista just before her fingers can reach the button again. Techno can feel the blood beneath his skin itching to be served with blood spilled. He launches his fist into Drista's face. The telltale warping sound of Ranboo accompanied by whimpers from Tubbo sound behind Techno, and he absently notes them. Still overcome with rage, Techno slams his fist into Drista's face again, but she grabs her axe, which had clattered to the ground beside her, and swings aggressively at him. Techno jumps back, pulling his own axe from its spot on his back. Drista leans back, dodging Techno’s swings. She makes a futile swipe of her own and takes off running. She's quickly blocked by a familiar figure armed with a broadsword and flowing with fury.

“Niki! Hold her off, I have to do something!”

Techno shouts, slamming his axe into the control panel of the death box. He swings again and again, destroying as much of the thing as possible. He turns, rushing to Tubbo and Ranboo's side. Tommy has already made it there with Kristen close behind. Tubbo's face is half covered in nasty burns, and Ranboo is coaxing him to calm. Kristen and Tommy reach the stage and lead Tubbo and Ranboo into a nearby building. Technoblade turns away, reassured that they are safe for now. He grips his battle-axe, stalking towards Pandora's Vault. He has to do this quickly. Or not at all. It appears the world cannot be that kind to him.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sapnap!”

Dream calls out to his brother, running after him. They've nearly reached Drista's stage. Sapnap slows slightly, allowing Dream to match his stride.

“Yeah, Dream?”

Dream flashes him a sad smile.

“Don't miss me too much.”

Dream takes the lead, swinging his battle-axe to meet the one Drista brings down towards Niki. They clash in a resounding clang as Drista screams in frustration. She turns her attention to Dream, and in the corner of his eye, he can see Sapnap guide an injured Niki away from the battlefield. Dream throws his full attention to Drista.

“YOU TRAITOR!”

She screams.

“YOU KILLED GEORGE, YOU TOOK SAPNAP, YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”

Drista's shrieks send a pang of guilt through Dream’s heart. She's only half wrong. Now isn't the time for a morality crisis though, not when he's in a fight for his life. He narrowly escapes his head being removed from his shoulders and makes a swipe at Drista's arm. She rolls out of the way, and the two shift around in a kind of dance.

“Drista, please, you know that's not right!”

This plea goes ignored and Drista only continues hurling accusations at her brother.

“YOU KILLED MOM, YOU KILLED DAD, YOU TOOK SAM, YOU RUINED HOME!”

Dream sighs, dodging another reckless swipe. In the corner of his eye he can see Technoblade engaged with Punz and Sapnap engaged with Quackity, who fights with the fury of a madman. Quackity seems to have picked up Niki’s sword, but his movements are reckless and he looks as if he could drop at any time. Dream ducks under a swipe from Drista's massive blade. She falls to her knees with the force, heaving sobs wracking her chest as tear-filled eyes gaze up at Dream.

“You took everything and you didn't even realize it!”

Dream’s heart feels like a dagger has been plunged through it because again, she's only half wrong, and that half is enough to twist in Dream’s gut with agonizing force. He kneels beside his sister, reaching a hand to brush a stray hair from her face.

“It’ll be okay, Drista. Just let this go and we'll figure it out together. I promise I won't hurt you again.”

Drista sniffles, staring at the floor. She doesn't respond for a moment, then she growls.

“That's not enough.”

Dream gasps as a blade pierces his gut to the hilt. Drista raises her head, eyes dark and cold. She grabs his shoulder with one hand, the other holding tightly to the dagger lodged in his stomach.

“You promised me the world and all you did was burn down what little I made for myself, what little this world gave me. I will have the world, Dream, but I'll get it myself.”

Drista yanks out the knife, standing. Dream screams in pain, doubling over. He clasps both hands over the wound in an attempt to slow blood loss. Vaguely he can hear Sapnap scream his name. Drista walks to her fallen battle axe and grips the handle, her knuckles turning white.

“I don't need you anymore, Dream.”

She stands over him, axe raised.

“And believe me, I know you never wanted me. I didn't ask to be an accident.”

Dream coughs, red spewing onto the ground. He chokes out,

“Drista, please, you're more than that!”

She takes a step closer and Dream’s pain and panic rises.

“Drista, DRISTA! DRISTA WAIT!”

Dream’s please fall on deaf ears as his time comes to a close.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wheezes, black spots dancing in front of his vision. He'll be regretting this run for a while. The stage is carnage. The crowd has thinned tremendously, fearing for their own safety. Good, they should stay far away. Purpled sits on the ground beside Sam, who struggles to catch his breath. Neither of them would be much help in a fight. Wilbur had run ahead to reunite with Kristen and make sure she, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo were safely away from the fight. He and Purpled sat at a distance. Sam watched the three duels play out. He saw Punz hold his own against Technoblade despite getting badly battered. He saw Sapnap dodge manic swings of Quackity's sword, blocking them with his own. He saw Drista fall to her knees. He saw her stand, and he saw Dream stay down. Then he saw red like a waterfall from Dream’s front, and Sam threw reason and caution to the wind. He stood quickly, ignoring Purpled's protests and cries of warning as he ran towards the stage. Once again, he didn't see what was happening until it was too late. Sam had seen death, but this one was different. This time he had the will to try and the stubbornness to see it through. He can't let her double team the others or catch them off guard. For once, he will do his job and protect with his life.

“Drista!”

He calls, hoping she wouldn't notice immediately that he was unarmed. Sapnap, knowing this, calls for him to get out of the fight, but Sam stands his ground. Drista slowly turns to Sam, shaking with unbridled hatred. She steps over her brother's lifeless body towards Sam.

“Sam.”

She laughs bitterly.

“Drista, this has to end! You don't even see what you're doing!”

She scoffs.

“Yes I do! I'm taking what was taken from me! I'm making L’Manberg pay for Logstedshire’s crimes. Don't you see, Sam? This is what I've been waiting for all along! I thought you were with me. I made you promises, I gave you everything! Your job, that lab, your subjects. I made you, Sam! Shouldn't the creature be devoted to their creator?”

She cocks her head to the side. Sam takes a step back. He probably should have thought this through. He didn't exactly have time for that, so this will have to do.

“Drista, you said yourself you never wanted me, you wanted a monster! Well I'm not going to be that for you! I'm done being the creature that parents warn their children about at night! That's not me anymore, Drista, and it doesn't have to be you! Please, stop this, and we can make things right!”

Drista steps closer like a lioness stalking her prey. Sam can almost see her lick her chops in anticipation for the feast.

“I'm long past doing it right, Sam. If you want to believe all that self-righteous redemption bullcrap, be my guest! In fact, why don't you join me for a bite?”

Sam stumbles back as Drista takes a swing at him. His chest heaves as a coughing fit takes him over. Well this isn't ideal. He can hear Drista’s dark chuckle as she raises her axe above her head.

“I see I'm just putting you out of your misery, Old Man. I hope retirement treats you well.”

Sam nearly catches his breath, but chokes when strong arms grab him under his own arms, lifting him into the air. He panics, clinging to the arms holding him against someone's chest. He is set down a few yards away in front of a building. He turns around, coughing a bit as he looks on his savior in confusion.

“Phil? Why did you save me? When we went to get me out of that cell, I thought you hated me- and you have every reason to! I mean, Tommy….”

Phil's strong hands reach up to clasp Sam’s shoulders.

“Sam, Mate, I don't hate you. Yes I am upset with you, I'm furious! I haven't forgiven you. But no one should die if they don't have to. Maybe someday we can accept each other and move on, but for now, just know that I don't hate you, I'm just not ready to live with you yet.”

Sam nods, grimacing at the burning in his lungs.

“Thank you, Phil. That's…. that's more than I deserve.”

Phil smiles, pulling his hands back. Sam blinks, shocked at the sight of….a child? A young boy clings to Phil's back between his colossal wings. He clambers down, crossing his arms as he glares at Sam. The kid can't be more than six years old. He sports the same messy blond locks as Phil, eyes piercing blue. He wears a light blue T-shirt with a rubber duck motif and khaki shorts. The boy stands close to Phil's leg. Sam stares.

“How did you carry both of us in the air?”

He questions, thoroughly concerned for Phil's wellbeing and confused as to where this little boy has come from. Phil chuckles.

“Sam, meet Chayenne, my youngest son! He was……away for a while, but he's come home now.”

He grins.

“What do you think I did in that cell all day, Mate?”

Phil takes Chayenne’s hand and moves to enter the building they're standing in front of. He gestures for Sam to follow. Sam does, still bewildered at the sudden appearance of a child. As they enter the building, Sam realizes it's a small hospital, barely more than a clinic. Phil leads him to a room full of beds. A familiar group huddles around Tubbo, whose face is half covered in bandages. As Phil approaches, Chayenne lets go of his hand, running towards Kristen.

“Mama!”

He attaches himself to her legs, clinging onto her for dear life. Kristen's eyes widen, flooding with tears as she kneels to embrace yet another long lost son. Phil runs to her, chirping excitedly. Kristen stands, and Chayenne runs to Wilbur, who swings the boy up in his arms, making him giggle. Kristen and Phil look at each other for a moment. Phil reaches out a hand, gently caressing his wife's face. He swipes a tear away from her eye and brings his face to hers. The two kiss, suddenly embracing, then break down sobbing in each other's arms. Wilbur, who has set down his little brother, joins the embrace, and Tommy follows suit. Chayenne wraps his little arms around as many legs as he can and squeezes them tight, nearly knocking both Tommy and Wilbur backwards on top of him. Tommy protests loudly and the family erupts into relieved laughter, pulling away from each other. Sam quickly rubs away the tears that have fallen from his own eyes. How could he have ever taken this away from them? Fear is a nasty drug that can coerce you into unspeakable things. Grief holds a place right alongside it. Sam stifles a hacking cough as he watches the emotional scene unfold. Tubbo and Ranboo sit on a cot beside the family, beaming. Phil suddenly turns to Wilbur, a look of urgency crossing his face.

“Will, I need your help with something.”

Wilbur gives his attention in an instant, rubbing his back and wincing.

“Whatever you need.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Punz lays against the wall of the decommissioned machine, almost wishing he were inside of it. It would be a mercy compared to the wrath of The Blade. A shame it never got its intended use. He was planning to trick Techno into getting trapped inside it. Punz hadn't meant to betray everyone. Well, okay he'd kind of meant to. He still isn't sure exactly which side he's on, so he claims neutrality. He sides with his brother. Speaking of which, where is Purpled? Punz searches frantically, before finding his little brother asleep on the grass a few feet away from the stage. Of course. Typical Purpled. The kid couldn't give a care unless it had to do with food or….well maybe Punz doesn't know his brother as well as he thinks. He sighs, a large shadow suddenly blocking his vision. Technoblade stands over Punz, bloody axe in hand. Who's blood stains the axe is no mystery to Punz as he clutches at a slice on his arm. Punz raises his eyes to stare the monster of a man in the face.

“Do it, coward.”

Technoblade raises his axe, maintaining eye contact with Punz. He swings and Punz doesn't avert his gaze. He screws up his face in confusion. He's still alive. The axe sticks out of the side of the metal just a few inches above Punz's head. Technoblade grabs Punz by the sweatshirt, hauling him to his feet. Technoblade snarls.

“Snakes travel in twos now?”

Punz doesn't give an answer. Technoblade rolls his eyes.

“Well I've got you here, I thought I might as well ask. Punz, what are you here for? I've seen you fight on both sides, where do you really stand? I want the truth. And if I get a lie, no one will be around to hear the end of it.”

Punz glances around. He's right, they're alone. Sapnap and Quackity have both disappeared, and Drista lies unconscious, dead maybe, on bloodsoaked planks. He turns back to the man holding him upright.

“I don't know, Technoblade. I take the winning side, whatever keeps my brother fed.”

Technoblade stares him up and down like a vulture scrutinizing its meal.

“There's more than that.”

He states. Punz glares.

“Sam and I have a history. I didn't want to betray him. Look, if I get that crown, I can make sure Purpled is provided for and that no one is ever experimented on or kidnapped again. Sam and I were going to make sure of it. You didn't need to get in the way.”

Technoblade snarls.

“Then why did you run when things got messy? Didn't want to take responsibility for your little project?”

Punz squirms in the man’s grip, but he only tightens it, pressing Punz's back into cold metal.

“That wasn't mine, it was Drista's! I just commissioned it, it was never meant to be used!”

“Well it was, and look what it led to! You still took part in that. Let the power vacuum stay a vacuum. This place doesn't need another tyrant.”

Technoblade roughly lets go of Punz, who slumps to the floor weakly. He vaguely registers when the man comes back and slings him over his shoulder, falling unconscious as he is transported.

~~~~~~~~~~

Sapnap carries Quackity into the clinic, laying him on a cot. The man had dropped to the ground in the middle of the fray, exhausted. Drista had clearly been controlling him to fight, and the man’s body was not prepared for the strain. Hopefully his mind put up better with it. As Sapnap gives instructions to a nurse to care for him until he can bring him back home, Phil and Wilbur brush past him, Sam following behind. Phil seems agitated, and Wilbur defiant. Sam is half curled in on himself. Sapnap glances at them curiously and moves to check on Tubbo. The kid is resilient, Sapnap will give him that. But no one should have to experience what he just went through. After profusely apologizing for not arriving sooner to prevent the traumatic injuries, Sapnap goes to leave the clinic. He is interrupted however, by Technoblade abruptly entering. He makes a beeline for the cot where Niki lies injured. She sustained a lot of blood loss, and seems to be unconscious. Sapnap looks away when he sees Techno softly kiss her forehead. It's an intimate moment he is not privy to intrude upon. After a few moments, Techno approaches Sapnap, who stands awkwardly by the door.

“So, we've got two out there who need to get to Pandora's. Can you help me get ‘em there?”

Sapnap nods. When the two reach the stage again, Punz is slumped against the hellish machine, barely conscious, and Drista lies passed out in a pool of Dream’s blood. Grief and anger suddenly overwhelm Sapnap as he picks her up as a father would a sleeping child. He tries to hide his limbs shaking, and Techno thankfully doesn't comment on it as the two make their way to the prison.

Chapter Text

Leaves crunch beneath Wilbur’s boots as he stalks behind his father. He glances back to make sure Sam is still there as well. Sam trails nervously behind, and Wilbur turns back ahead. He quickens his pace to fall in step with Phil.

“Life's too short to keep a grudge.”

Phil glares, then sighs, glancing behind them. Wilbur crosses his arms. The afternoon warmth doesn't reach well through the cover of trees. On second thought, why is Phil leading him through this forest?

“Look, I'm not asking you to like the man, I just think we need a third on the job.”

“Will, you don't even know what we're doing!”

Wilbur huffs bitterly.

“Well last time we went out alone, neither of us came back.”

Phil stops abruptly. Sam nearly crashes into him and Wilbur turns to look behind.

“Is that what this is about, Will?”

Phil steps closer, reaching a hand up towards Will’s shoulder.

“Are you afraid history will repeat itself?”

Wilbur averts his gaze.

“I've made the same mistake so many times, Dad! I thought maybe if it did, then this time there would be someone here to keep me from doing it again.”

Phil coos sadly, squeezing him in a hug. Wilbur returns the embrace.

“And I wanted this to be your second chance, just the two of us. We really should work on this communication thing, shouldn't we, Mate?”

The two pull away from the embrace and Wilbur snorts.

“Maybe you just need hearing aids, Old Man.”

Phil lets out an indignant chirp, swatting at Wilbur, who dances away from his reach. Phil reaches out a wing instead, slapping Will gently with his feathers, an amused pout on his face. Will laughs as the trio continues their trek through the forest.

“So, where exactly are we going?”

Wilbur asks after catching his breath. Phil glances behind, gesturing for Sam to walk beside them. The path is wide enough for at least four men side-by-side side, and Sam reluctantly falls in step beside Wilbur.

“Are you sure you don't want me to go back?”

Phil waves off the question.

“Of course not, Mate. You're here, you might as well be a part of the conversation.”

Wilbur smiles. Progress! Why this has become his little social project, Will is unsure. Maybe it's meant to be and is only waiting for someone to lead it the right way. He shakes himself from his thoughts as Phil stops in front of a familiar walled town.

“So this is where I'm taking you. Not exactly here, but in the city.”

Phil enters Logstedshire's walls and makes his way to the town square. In the very center of Logstedshire stands a massive oak, the tree the city was built around. Wilbur pans his gaze, letting floods of memories seep in. It's been 11 years since he was last in his childhood town. Nothing seems to have changed aside from copious amounts of dust. He turns his attention back to Phil, who has gone over the short display fence surrounding the Logstedshire tree and begins for him and Sam to follow. When they do, Sam immediately notices a trapdoor at the base of the tree. Phil acknowledges this and pulls a lever disguised as a tree branch. The lever creaks as if it hasn't moved in years, which it most likely hasn't. The trapdoor opens to reveal a dusty staircase and Sam nearly stays outside for his lungs’ sake. On the others’ insistence, he follows them down anyways, faring honestly better than expected in the stale air. The staircase opens out into a colossal cavern beneath the tree. Massive tree roots section the cavern into rooms carved into rock. The cavern is dimly lit by glowing violet rivers flowing through cracks in the black stone. It's the same kind of stone that makes up the inner cell of Pandora's Vault. Wilbur notes Sam’s obvious discomfort here. Maybe it just brings out bad memories of the prison. Wilbur hurries to catch up to Phil, who has gone to a small room directly in the back wall of the cavern.

“This is where I found Chayenne. He apparently came here himself and found others, so he stayed and helped take care of them. He's wise and strong beyond his years.”

Wilbur hisses at a sudden stabbing pain in his back, rubbing at it. It seems this is going to be a common thing. Just wonderful.

“Others?”

Sam asks, concern lining his features. Wilbur shares this sentiment. What kind of people were living here that they needed a child to help them survive? In answer to the question, Phil lets out an ear-piercing whistle. Will and Sam both cringe back, covering their ears. When they open them again, Wilbur gets his answer. Four
young children around Chayenne’s age cling to Phil's emerald robe. One girl wears a sweater the same color of Wilbur's and a navy blue skirt covered with a purple cloak. Dark brown curls curtain her eyes and cascade down her back. Another girl wears a navy blue dress with a matching coat. Her straight, black hair sits tied back with a red ribbon in a floppy bow. A third girl peers at Wilbur through wire-rimmed glasses. She wears a white shortsleeved T-shirt, a slime green long sleeved one poking out underneath, and pale yellow leggings with bright yellow rain boots. Her sandy brown hair lays in two loose braids over her shoulders. The fourth child, a steely-eyed boy, stands in front of the others protectively. He wears a battered black suit and small top hat, which seems to be handmade from cardboard and some sort of fabric. Black hair flops over his deep burgundy eyes as he stares in shock at Sam. Wilbur turns to see tears streaming down Sam’s face. He kneels in front of the boy.

“Dapper?”

The boy, Dapper, lunges into Sam’s arms, clinging to him like his life depends on it.

“Daddy!”

Wilbur blinks in surprise. Sam has a second son? To be fair, he doesn't remember his own youngest brother. He’d chalked it up to his previous lapse of memory, but something feels off about it. Phil seems just as surprised as Wilbur feels, but he turns to them both.

“This is Tallulah, Tilìn, and Juanaflippa.”

He introduces, gesturing to each one in turn.

“Tilìn says Quackity is her father, and Juanaflippa says she is Charlie Slime’s daughter, but Tallulah here says she's yours, Will.”

Wilbur makes a noise of surprise. Surely he can't have forgotten having a daughter! He kneels in front of the girl.

“You're Tallulah, right?”

She nods, eyes brimming with tears. In a flash, Tallulah’s arms are tight around his neck and she sobs into his shoulder.

“I missed you so much, Papi!”

Wilbur is taken aback and sits frozen in shock for a moment. Nothing about this has felt right until just now and he doesn't know quite what to make of it. They can investigate this place later. It's clear that these young ones have claimed their hearts and homes, so they shall have them. They need them. Wilbur never was one to settle down, but the strings of loyalty seem to weave a different tapestry. He wraps his arms around the little girl attached a bit too tightly to his neck.

“Welcome home, Tallulah.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Kristen's thoughts whirl as she sits beside Niki’s cot. The girl sits propped against the back, and it's taken all the energy Kristen has left to keep her there. Fortunately, Tommy has taken it upon himself to regale Niki with clearly embellished tales of the childhood they missed. Kristen can't help but notice Niki almost wince each time Tommy mentions Wilbur. She has never pried into Niki’s personal life and feelings, but something about the look in Niki's eyes at the mere mention of her oldest son’s name puts Kristen on the defensive. Even days ago when Niki was actively seeking Wilbur out, a strain of resentment carried through. Now that she knows he is alive and himself again, Niki seems positively put off at the prospect of seeing him. Kristen doesn't want to push, especially when Niki is injured and needs rest. Maybe she can get something out of Will when he and Phil return from whatever quest they're on this time. A shudder runs through Kristen’s body as she thinks of Phil and Wilbur running off again so soon. She tries to silence the fear, willing herself to believe that this time they'll come back. They have to. Kristen's heart can't take another break. She glances down at the blond-haired boy who has fallen asleep in her arms. Then there's Chayenne. The son she never knew she had. She doesn't recognize the child, but somehow he sees her as his mother and knows the family as his own. Phil certainly has some explaining to do! The man disappears for a year and returns with a mystery child who claims him as his father! What kind of twisted wonderland do they live in?

~~~~~~~~~~

“No, no, no, this isn't right!!”

Pages nearly rip under Karl's frantic flailing swipes. Static arcs from his fingers, leaping from page to page as he searches for something, anything! The eerie silence of the In-Between is no comfort to Karl’s swirling vortex of thoughts. It has to be in here. Time and life work hand in hand, maybe this will make things right! He watches through eyes of eternity as the children are brought to a clinic in L’Manberg. This won't bring anything good. It's not right, it isn't how things are supposed to be! A tearing sound splits the serene air of Karl's mental sanctuary. A thin canyon of black rips open the ground beneath Karl’s feet like a festering wound. Spindly vines of red splay themselves outward from the crack and Karl's panic doubles. This place is supposed to be safe! His hand slaps the page as he lands on the instructions he's been seeking. He has to protect the others from this corruption. Karl will not let SMP be consumed by the void of The Other Side.

~~~~~~~~~~

In a small bedroom in Sam’s home, the figure of a person forms on a red-clad bed. White flames draw his features as they give him shape. The boy’s lanky frame lies still for a moment before he sits up with a sharp inhale. Eyes blink, red as blood. Hair cascades to his shoulders, black as coal. He adjusts a pair of wire-rimmed glasses on his nose as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. His clothing is black, trimmed with white. The boy stands, surveying the room. He knows this room. It once was his, but seems to be occupied by someone else now. He wanders the rest of the house to find it similar to how he remembers, but an entire section seems to have been destroyed and replaced. It smells fresh, and the weathering is not quite as intense as in the rest of the house. He wanders to the kitchen, finding a calendar. His eyes widen at the number of the year. It's been 11 years?? That makes him 20 years old now! Curiosity takes hold in the boy’s mind as he goes to the bathroom, gaping into a mirror. What he sees is……well it's himself, living and breathing, Halo.

Chapter Text

Searing pain splits through Niki’s head. She hisses through her teeth, slowly raising a bandaged hand to press against it. Her heart beats angrily against her ribcage. Her eyes blur, vertigo stretching her vision in a nauseating way. Niki squeezes her eyes shut, leaning back against the wall behind the cot she sits on. Her stomach still roils and grumbles and a small sound of discomfort escapes her lips involuntarily.

“Tommy, stop!”

She hates to raise her voice at the boy, especially after everything, but it had to be better than hurling in front of him. Niki swallows down foul bile as Tommy’s rambling voice stops abruptly. She holds her breath. A cold hand caresses her forehead and Kristen's voice hums beside her.

“Tommy, take your brother. I'm getting Niki a glass of water.”

“Mom, I can get it, you stay here.”

“NO!”

Kristen's voice startles Niki's eyelids open. The simple word practically echoes in the whitewashed clinic, hanging in the air like a command to be feared. Kristen's eyes are trained on Tommy, stern fear locking him in place where he's half stood from his seat.

“Sit down, Tommy, you're not going anywhere.”

Kristen's hands shake as she wraps them a little tighter around a now squirming Chayenne. Niki's heart nearly shatters at the scene. Her stomach seems to have nearly forgotten its troubles, as her heart has taken them over. Tommy slumps back into the chair, glaring at the floor. Kristen's expression melts, tears pooling in her eyes.
She chokes out,

“Tommy, I'm so sorry, I just-”

Tommy's head whips up and his expression softens. He stands, crossing around the cot to kneel beside his mother, wrapping her in his own arms. Chayenne squirms out of Kristen's grip, and Niki pats the bed beside her, inviting him to join her. Chayenne yawns and climbs up, curling against her side, little fingers grabbing at her shirt. She smiles softly, stroking his hair. Niki turns her gaze back to Tommy and Kristen, who cling to each other. Tommy pulls away, and the two rub at the tears that streak down their faces. LED light glints off Tommy's eyes and he grins at Kristen. He stands in front of her, then drops dramatically to his seat on the edge of Niki's cot.

“Tommy!”

She scolds.

“You'll wake him!”

Kristen seems to notice Chayenne's new napping spot for the first time. She gives Niki a questioning look, but Niki waves it off.

“He's fine, don't worry about us.”

Kristen reluctantly nods as Tommy grabs her attention.

“Do you remember in Logstedshire when Wilbur got stuck in a tree?”

Kristen looks startled for a moment, then huffs out a small laugh.

“I do. He was ten and you were three. How do you remember that?”

Tommy shrugs, putting on a display of arrogance.

“I'm just skilled.”

Kristen rolls her eyes affectionately. Tommy snickers.

“He was up so high we could barely see him from the ground. He said he wanted to sing for the birds.”

Kristen nods, smiling wider.

“Phil had to fly to a lower branch and coax him down so he could glide back to solid ground, but Will wasn't having it. He was so afraid of falling that he clung to that limb like it was his savior instead of your dad.”

Tommy wheezes with laughter, Kristen chuckling along with him. Niki gives a strained smile. The warmth that floods her heart still singes it. The lingering edges of a promise torn to pieces still cut like a searing blade. And like a knife, his presence cuts through Niki's momentary illusion of comfort. The door to the clinic creaks open, revealing Wilbur, Phil, and Sam returning, but Niki's resentment is suddenly clouded with utter confusion. They're not alone. A little girl, smaller than Chayenne, whom she's been told is 8 years old, clings to Wilbur's back. Will’s face looks stuck in a perpetual stifled grimace even when she slides to the floor, hiding behind his leg. Two more little girls, one the age of Chayenne and one the age of Wilbur's girl, cling to each of Phil's hands, and Sam carries a slightly older boy in his arms. Kristen rises to meet them. Phil's expression is stoic, but softens when his wife comes close.

“Phil, who are these children?”

Phil introduces them, as if it gives any clarity. It only brings more confusion and bewilderment. As if to add the the cacophony of silent wonder, Ranboo appears with a glass of water, which Niki takes gratefully. Tubbo walks up to the group, his face a concerning mixture of shock, fear, and grief. His eyes flicker something dark as he raises them to meet Phil’s.

“Where's Sunny?”

Phil pales, Sam shifts uncomfortably. Wilbur glances back at Phil in question. Everyone stares at Phil, who scrambles for an answer to give. In the end, it's Dapper who speaks up.

“Sunny went to find the magic man who brought us here. She didn't come back yet.”

Tubbo snaps his gaze to Dapper, whom Sam sets on his feet.

“Dapper, do you know where she went? Why did you let her go?”

Dapper looks impossibly solemn for a kid who looks about ten.

“She said she would get us a big person to take care of us. She went through the glowy door.”

Tubbo stumbles back, Ranboo catching his friend in his arms. Tubbo makes a choked noise.

“No!”

The entire group stares at Tubbo, confounded. Tilìn, clearly the youngest of the group, starts to whimper.

“Abuelo Phil, where is Papa Quackity? I want to go home! I want my Papa!”

Her whimpers turn to wails as Phil swings her up into his arms, letting go of Juanaflippa’s hand.

“Hey, hey, Tilìn, don't cry!”

Phil gently brushes a stray hair out of the girl's eye.

“He's here, but he's hurt, okay? You can stay with me and Chayenne until he's better.”

Tilìn only wails louder.

“Who hurt Papi? Why can't I go home?”

She leans into Phil's shoulder, choking on her own sobs. Phil rubs her back, making soothing noises. Sam backs away, taking Dapper’s hand and leading him towards the door.

“I think we should be heading home. I'm forever indebted to you, Phil. I'll never forget. I promise I'll make something right. Oh, and we can take Flippa home to Charlie.”

Phil nods, still shushing a wailing Tilìn. Chayenne shifts besides Niki and she rubs the boy’s back. She glances back up to see Tommy and Tallulah sitting on the ground giggling about something, Kristen watching like a hawk. Wilbur has knelt at Quackity's bedside, checking his pulse. Sam and Dapper have left, taking Juanaflippa with them. Tubbo and Ranboo seem to have vanished as well. Niki shifts down to a comfortable position, smiling to herself. Her muscles still feel as if they were crushed beneath a mountain, and her head like it's caught in a whirlpool, but her heart has found a family bigger than the one she lost. Chayenne clings to Niki's chest and her eyes flutter peacefully closed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unintelligible mutters echo off cold walls in the back room of Las Nevadas’ Casino.
Papers and faded pictures cover the walls, neon green string connecting them in an impossible web that only Charlie Slime can understand. After years of theorizing, it still doesn't make any sense! Charlie leans forward, squinting at a dusty image of the old Craftsoot cabin tacked up in the wall’s center. Every string leads back there. He glances over at a report of Phil Craftsoot’s instatement on L’Manberg's council. Phil had never been in good with governmental institutions, so his council seat was certainly surprising, suspicious. It made no sense at the time, and Charlie still hasn't been able to reconcile it. Phil's entire lifestyle has shifted, he'd holed himself up in his home, only appearing in public when required by King Schlatt. Then Halo had vanished. Charlie inspects the initial missing persons report. By what records he could find, Sam never made a move to look for his son. He counted the child as dead and many speculated foul play, even murder. An incident report tacked up between the missing persons report for Halo Dude and one for Tommy Craftsoot details Phil and Sam’s apparent rivalry. During a council meeting, Sam had accused Phil of being behind his son's disappearance, and the people had latched onto the lead. The argument had gotten heated, and the very next day, Phil's own son had disappeared. Naturally, the people blamed Sam, and he disappeared entirely from the public eye. Based on an employee file for Kristen Craftsoot, Sam seemed to be still at work behind the scenes. Sam’s home stands near Logstedshire, only a few acres away from the clearing. It could be a coincidence, but that seems unlikely in Charlie's opinion. He moves to an adjacent wall. It's filled with images of young children, scribbled information and illustrations surrounding them in Charlie's handwriting. These ones were trickier than Sam and Phil’s situation, but Charlie can't help but think they're more connected than meets the eye. His gaze lands on an image of a smiling toddler, his girl, his Juanaflippa. Or so he believes. Charlie can't deny the fatherly loyalty and desire for protection that overcomes him every time he thinks of her, which is a lot. He has yet to meet the girl, and isn't quite sure he believes these children are even real. They have no legal records, no parental information other than a gut feeling. Charlie supposes that they could be bastard children hidden from the public for fear of shame, but that begs the question of why he thinks of Flippa as his own daughter when he's never had one. Adoption? He shakes his head. He'd surely remember that. No explanation seems to suffice. They just don't exist outside his own mind. He turns to the wall opposite the children. Samuel Dude’s wall. So many strings lead back to this one man and his past of misdeeds. Charlie has missing persons reports, testing records, incident reports and in some cases, death certificates on each of Sam's subjects. He adds a note next to Dream's picture, detailing his death. One subject in particular stands out to Charlie. Karl Jacobs has hardly any paperwork, and had not been seen for years, until being sighted at today's instatement. He's been said to travel through time with his book, but Charlie is sure there is more. A book like Karl’s tome would not be used for only one thing. It's the kind that can only be obtained as a gift from Death herself, and only one has been reported, belonging to Phil Craftsoot. Either Karl has one of his own, or Phil's has been snatched and commandeered. On the back wall sit only a few papers. Images of each of the Smile brothers as well as their sister, one of Karl's tome, and one of a roughly sketched drawing of a woman. She wears a large floppy hat with a dark veil and flowing robes. Next to her sits a simple large question mark. Lady Death is a mystery, one Charlie has been sucked into since he first heard whispers of the woman of the shadows. Many say she once walked the streets of Logstedshire in the night, claiming souls whose time was upon them, or protecting those whose time had not yet come. Since Logstedshire's mass exodus, a strange event in itself, and L’Manberg's founding, the Lady of Shadow has not been seen. Some say she went back to her own realm, leaving men to fend for themselves as the consequences of their actions. Some say she took the form of a human and lives in disguise in L’Manberg. Some say she fell in love with a mortal and made a family. And still others say that she waits in the shadows for the day the moon covers the sun and her power can rise and overtake the domain of men. People can come up with such tall tales. Charlie straightens as his phone vibrates his pocket. He unlocks the screen to see a security alert at the back door of the casino. He should probably be tending to his duties as temporary manager while Quackity is away. Charlie ascends to the main floor of Las Nevadas' and creaks open the back door. He nearly falls back in shock at the sight that greets him. Charlie stares down into the childish eyes of Juanaflippa. When he lifts them, he grips the door’s handle to keep himself upright. Sam Dude stands at his door with two of the children he's convinced himself are figments of his imagination. He stares, gaping. Sam gestures to the door.

“Can we come in?”

~~~~~~~~~~
Punz crosses his arms, giving Drista a deadpan stare. She's practically foaming at the mouth, screaming curses and accusations in his face. She punches the stone wall, yells at her hand for hurting, then sits in a huff on the opposite corner of the cell as Punz.

“You done? Got it all out of your system?”

She flips him off, sulking in silence. Punz shifts his position, never changing his cool demeanor.

“Good. I need answers.”

Punz fiddles with the golden medallion around his neck. A large letter “P” is engraved on both sides, one for him, one for his brother. He sends a silent apology to Purpled, wishing he could hear it.

“First off, how many people can you control?”

Drista spits, refusing an answer. Punz sighs, standing.

“Fine, we'll do things this way.”

He pulls the heavy medallion from his neck, grasping the thick chain. He stands over Drista, poised with the medallion in his hand, a threat.

“Answer me or they'll come back to one inmate.”

He hisses. Drista grunts, clearly exhausted.

“Fine.”

Punz smirks. She's always been afraid of him, he can tell. It's about time he uses it to his advantage.

“Then I'll ask you again, how many can you control?”

Drista scowls at the floor.

“Two now.”

“Who were the three?”

She squirms, an eye trained on the medallion, which hovers menacingly at her eye level.

“Dream, Quackity, and Ranboo”

Punz nods in satisfaction.

“Right. Now, I know you and Sam worked together. Were his experiments your dirty work?”

Drista huffs.

“You could say that.”

Punz hums in thought.

“Was there anyone he refused to experiment on?”

Drista's discomfort seems to spike. She shifts in the corner, staring fearfully at the threatening gold disc. He grips it tighter, making it swing.

“Answer me!”

Drista squeaks, trying to shove herself farther into the corner.

“Yes, yes! There were two! He barely did the ones I told him to, but he got his results. I needed someone else like Dream, a blank slate. So I wanted someone young and capable. He didn't like that apparently, and he quit on me!”

Drista's frustration with the man’s lack of loyalty is evident. Punz steps closer, crouching down. His voice is low and calculated.

“Who were they?”

Drista avoids his gaze. Punz pulls back his arm. Drista notices the shadow and snaps her eyes up, fear coursing through her frantic gaze.

“Wait, Wait! It was Tommy and Purpled!”

Silence falls on Pandora's inner cell, broken only by the burbling of synthetic lava and the ringing of Drista's words in Punz's ears. His eyes darken and his muscles twitch.

“You tried to take Purpled?”

Punz can feel anger snake through every inch of his mind and body as Drista cowers before him. Punz grits his teeth. He stands. He seethes. He swings. Over and over again, he slams his prized medallion into Drista's skull. For every life she's taken, for every good man she's ruined, for every child she's left without a home. For Halo. For Sam. For George and Dream. For Tommy. For himself. And more than anything, for Purpled.

~~~~~~~~~~

Muffled voices echo in Purpled's ears. Groggily, he opens his eyes. He isn't outside anymore. How did he end up in his bedroom? Maybe Punz brought him here when the fight ended. Purpled tosses the covers off himself and shifts to a sitting position. Hold on, where is his walking machine? Purpled scans the room, finding it propped up against the far wall. Great, he's stuck here. Purpled shuts his eyes, honing in on the voices. Alarms go off in his mind. There are two voices and neither of them are Punz! One is Sapnap, he recognizes his, and that brings a bit of comfort. The other, however, is low and gravelly, and strangely familiar. Heavy footsteps approach Purpled's door, and both voices move closer. He braces himself as the door to his bedroom creaks open. Sapnap stands, smiling with the man of legends himself, Technoblade. Purpled gapes. Sapnap only grins wider.

“Morning, sleepyhead!”

Purpled sputters.

“Uhh, Morning? Sapnap and um is that Technoblade?”

Sapnap strides over to Purpled's bedside, flopping down on the mattress. Technoblade blinks in surprise. Sapnap chuckles.

“In the flesh, Purps. How you feeling?”

Purpled scowls.

“I'm not a sick Victorian child.”

Sapnap shrugs.

“Well you're not Victorian.”

Purpled only sticks out his tongue, making Sapnap chuckle harder, and producing a snicker from Technoblade. Purpled flushes. Way to make a good first impression!

“I'm fine. Hungry out of my mind, but fine.”

Sapnap nods.

“I’ll get you something to eat. You wanna stay in here or move to the couch.”

Purpled shrugs.

“Couch is fine.”

Sapnap promptly stands, scooping Purpled in his arms, and making his way to the living room. He gestures to the walking machine, and Technoblade picks it up, following Sapnap. As Sapnap sets Purpled on the couch, he scrunches up his face.

“Where is Punz?”

Sapnap stiffens. Technoblade coughs awkwardly, looking away.

“Sapnap? Where is he?”

Technoblade gestures to Purpled.

“Yeah, Sapnap, you'd better tell him.”

Sapnap glares at Techno, who stifles an amused smile. Sapnap sighs, sitting gently next to Purpled.

“He didn't make it out of the fight, Purpled.”

Technoblade makes a choking noise. Purpled's heart sinks, in fact, it drowns itself in a flood of grief mixed with his brother's blood. Purpled clenches his fists.

“Which one of you did it?”

Chapter Text

Sam holds tightly to Dapper's hand as he approaches his house. Something feels off that he can't place. Perhaps it could simply be how long he's been away. Or maybe it's something else. Sam tries to shake the feeling off as he grasps the door’s handle.

“Welcome home, Dapper!”

He calls out cheerily. Dapper smiles up at Sam as the front door swings wide open. Sam freezes in his tracks. Life as he's known it stops, then swirls in a nauseating vortex before flipping completely on its head. Standing before him is the son he counted as lost. Not only his Halo, but a woman with short snowy hair and dressed in the same color stands behind his boy, a hand on his shoulder. Fran. Sam can feel his breath fail him as he runs to his lost ones. He catches them both in a crushing embrace, willing them not to dissipate into a vapor like in his nightmares. They don't vanish. They both stay right there in his arms and hug him right back. Tears stream down Sam's face, a fit of coughing wracking his chest as he pulls away. Fran hums, rubbing his back gently. She guides him to the living room couch.

“Please sit down, Love, you'll hurt yourself.”

Sam obliges, sinking onto tattered cushions. He never saw any sense in keeping nice furniture for only himself. Once he catches his breath, he looks from Fran to Halo, Dapper crawling up to sit in Fran’s lap.

“How? What happened, I thought I'd lost you both!”

He turns to Halo.

“I watched you die.”

His voice catches in his throat and he nearly chokes on it. Halo smiles sadly while Fran rubs his hand.

“I'm alive, Dad. It's true!”

Something on the back of Sam’s neck still tingles, whispering that something is terribly wrong, but he pushes that feeling aside. Everything is too perfect! His whole family is finally home. Even if Halo died in front of him so many years ago, even if Fran left years before Dapper would have been born and Sam has no actual memory of the boy. Logic’s whispers grow louder, pounding to be heard in Sam’s skull and he is almost forced to give them audience. He adjusts his mask slightly, almost as an invitation to question it. None do, so he moves to a slightly different tactic.

“How did you get back here? Where have you been all this time?”

Fran waves her hand dismissively.

“None of that matters, My Dear. What matters is we're home! Oh how I've missed you, and missed this place!”

Sam's logic stirs, setting off blaring alarms. First off, Fran had never called him “My Dear” or “Love”. It was always “My Sam” or “Sammy Dear” or the like. She’d chosen to only ever refer to him by variations of his name, and Sam had done the same for her. It seems whoever commandeers this now clear cheap copy hasn't done their research. Sam wriggles his way from the couch. Fran sports a disappointed pout, and Halo seems confused. Dapper just stares eerily at Sam. Halo stands.

“You can't go.”

Sam meets his stare levelly.

“Why can't I? This is my house.”

“But we just got home after so long!”

Fran whines. Halo crosses his arms.

“Besides, you and I both know your lungs couldn't handle this windy weather.”

Ah, his turn to slip up. The fire was only four years ago, Halo has been gone for far longer. Sam goes to the door, swinging it wide open. He will suffocate from madness if he stays in this house any longer.

“You are not my family. Whoever you are playing these little tricks, I'll find you, and when I do I won't rest until I've stopped you.”

Sam slams the door shut, walking back towards the clinic. When he finds only a sleeping Niki and Quackity inside, he quickly makes his way to Punz and Purpled's home. He should at least check on the kid before he runs off on a wild goose chase. He's itching to check in on Tommy, but doesn't expect Phil will let him anywhere near the boy. Understandable, really. Sam knocks on Punz and Purpled's door, barely bothering to wait for an answer. Yet as he reaches for the door’s handle, it swings open, revealing just the person he's been looking for.

“Sapnap! Look, I know this seems abrupt, but I need my master keycard back. It's urgent.”

Sapnap glances nervously behind him before stepping outside and shutting the door.

“Alright, and why should I give it to you now?”

Sam sighs, exasperated.

“I don't have time to explain, Sapnap, I need it! You trusted me with Dream, why not now?”

“BECAUSE DREAM IS DEAD!”

Sapnap's shout rings in the evening air, hushing the birds that warble their nightly song. Sam tries to push down the stabbing guilt that pierces his chest.

“I know, Sapnap, and believe me, I am so so sorry for that! When we were in that cell together, all I wanted was to bring him back, to undo the wrong I'd done, but all I ended up doing was making it worse, right? I couldn't protect him. I couldn't even avenge him. But this is bigger than us, Sapnap. I need to talk to Punz in private. You and Techno took him to the inner cell, right? Please, Sapnap, let me do this. For all our sake.”

Sapnap's demeanor deflates and he bites his lip. At Sam's last question he nods. He fishes around in an inner pocket of his hoodie, producing the key card he'd acquired from Tubbo. Sam takes that card gratefully. Sapnap turns towards the door, a visage of exhaustion.

“Drista’s in there too. Keep her alive, Sam. Can you at least promise me that?”

Sam nods.

“I'll do everything I can.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Tension floods every inch of the Craftsoot home until it's difficult to breathe. Wilbur's memory may have failed him, but he knows that family dinners were never this awkward. He dips his spoon into a steaming bowl of chicken and vegetable soup, glancing from one family member to the next. Phil sits at the table’s head focusing intently on his bowl, ignoring piercing stares from Kristen to his right. Tommy sits at Phil's left, and beside him is where Wilbur has taken his seat. Tommy makes a few attempts at light conversation, but gives up when Wilbur is the only one to respond and their conversation peters out. Next to Kristen, Chayenne slurps his soup, otherwise eerily silent for an eight-year-old. Between Phil and Kristen, a dusty high hair holds Tilìn, who has halfway fallen asleep, broth splattered on the wooden tray. Her head rests on her soiled arm, sloppy broth and vegetables sticking in her matted ebony hair. Tallulah shyly drinks from her bowl at the foot of the table between Wilbur and Chayenne. As Wilbur is finishing the last of his dinner, Tommy shoves his chair away from the table with a shrieking scrape.

“Well, I'm finished! The soup was great, Mum, but I'm sooo tired now. Wilbur, could you show me to my room?”

Tommy grabs hold of Wilbur's arm and his spoon falls with a clatter. Phil looks up from his bowl, begging the boys with his eyes not to leave him alone with Kristen and the littles. Wilbur pushes away from the table, letting Tommy drag him away from the burning tension.

“Of course, Tommy. I'm pretty tired, I may turn in myself.”

The two boys ascend the staircase to the second level where their bedrooms are, along with an extra bedroom that's been set up for Chayenne and Tallulah. Phil and Kristen sleep on the main floor, and Tilìn will be with them tonight. Wilbur leads Tommy to the one they’ve made up for him, and Tommy drags him inside, shutting the door. As soon as the latch clicks shut, Tommy and Wilbur both let out a sigh of relief. Finally, they can breathe! Wilbur sinks onto the edge of Tommy's bed, and Tommy flops down beside him.

“This feels weird.”

Wilbur turns to him.

“What do you mean?”

Tommy fidgets with his hands.

“Like we used to do this all the time, and I called you my brother, but I didn't really know you, not the real you. It feels the same, but different, you know?”

Wilbur smiles, putting an arm around Tommy's shoulders.

“Yeah, I get what you mean. Hey, this time we'll make it better, okay? I promise you, Tommy, that no matter what happens, I will do everything I can to be a far better brother to you than the ghost of me ever dreamt of.”

Tommy returns the side hug, leaning his head on Will’s shoulder.

“We'll both be better, because we’ll both be here.”

Wilbur leans his head on top of Tommy's and the two sit together in silence, finally home. After a few moments, Wilbur raises his head, breaking the silence.

“Clingy gremlin child.”

Tommy pulls back and elbows Wilbur in the gut. Wilbur makes a slightly pained noise, a mischievous grin plastered on his face.

“Oi, I'm not the clingy one, it's you, Blue Ghost Boy!”

Well that one stung. Wilbur's smile falters and he turns away clenching his fists.

“Don't call me that.”

“Will, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't thinking.”

Wilbur doesn't turn back.

“No you weren't.”

Tommy sighs behind him.

“You're so dramatic.”

He says in the most dramatic way possible. Wilbur can't help the smile that tugs at his lips.

“Ah yes, and you're the most boring thing on the planet, Tommy Craftsoot.”

Wilbur turns back to Tommy, grinning deviously.

“Your words carry the passion of a piece of driftwood.”

“Dramatic nerd.”

Wilbur makes a noise of annoyance, but it warbles in his throat and comes out as a strikingly bird-like trill. His hand flies over his mouth, eyes growing wide. He looks over at Tommy, who blinks in shock, which turns quickly to mischief. Wilbur drops his hand, giving Tommy a pleading look.

"Don't you dare tell Dad!"

Tommy pauses, then leaps from the bed towards the door. Wilbur snaps his arm forwards, latching his hand onto Tommy's wrist. He stands, tackling Tommy to the bed, who falls back, cackling. Wilbur grabs a pillow from Tommy's bed and begins slapping him with it, and the two fall into a fit of laughter on the bed. After they catch their breath, they both lay in silence for a bit, enjoying each other's company. It's Tommy who breaks the silence.

“I wonder what Mum’s so upset at Dad for.”

Wilbur ignores the now burning pain in his back, and the feeling that it's being stabbed from the inside in favor of the question. It's a fair one, for certain. Whatever it is, seems to have something to do with the children in Logstedshire. Probably his reappearance being so close to it as well. He did appear with Chayenne, and that doesn't seem much like a coincidence.

“I think it has something to do with Chayenne and Tallulah.”

Tommy scrunches up his face.

“Were they kidnapped too? She did have a really weird look on her face when Dad brought them in.”

Wilbur shrugs, then immediately regrets doing so when the action shoots more pain through his back.

“I'm not sure. The strangest thing to me is that I have zero memory of them. Like, I know my memory was shot completely and it's probable that I'll lose some coming back from that, but there's not a single moment I can remember with either of them. Sam and Dad seem to remember them just fine, but won't say anything about when they were here before. I don't know, something's just really off about the whole thing.”

The two fall back into silence, this time a comfortable one. Wilbur lies thinking about the dilemma of the mysteriously appearing children. Maybe he should pay Las Nevadas a visit. There's a chance Charlie Slime will have different memories. Perhaps he can accompany Quackity home. As they lay there, a small knock sounds on the door. Tommy groans.

“Who is it?”

No one answers and the timid knock sounds again. Tommy rolls onto his side.

“Go open it.”

Wilbur rolls his eyes.

“It's your bedroom, Tommy.”

Tommy rolls to his other side, hiding his head in his pillow.

“I’m sleeping. Goodnight Will.”

Wilbur sighs, getting up from the bed, stifling a yawn as he goes to the door. The little gremlin.

“I'll bring them to my room then. Goodnight, Toms.”

Wilbur creaks open the door to be met with a yawning Tallulah, rubbing both her eyes with her fists. Wilbur closes the door behind him.

“Did you want to get some sleep, Tallulah?”

She nods, holding grabby hands up to him. Wilbur's heart melts and he scoops the girl up into his arms, letting her lean her head on his shoulder. He's not prepared to care for a child. He knows he has to be, but he's not. At least in this case he knows he doesn't have to do it alone. Wilbur smiles to himself. Whether he's ready or not, he would do anything to protect and care for the living bundle of warmth that lies sound asleep in his arms. Will keeps his footsteps soft as he carries Tallulah into her’s and Chayenne's shared bedroom, tucking her gently into bed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kristen watches her boys leave the room. She's positively itching to confront Phil about everything, but not in front of the young ones, whoever they may be. As soon as Tallulah is finished, she asks to be excused to bed, and Kristen dismisses her, asking only that she go to Wilbur first. He is supposedly her father after all. Chayenne finishes not long after and goes to join Tallulah and the older boys upstairs. Tilin slumbers in her highchair. It's been quite a long day for everyone. Kristen clanks her spoon down in an empty bowl as Phil drinks the rest of his broth, setting down his own bowl on the table. He starts to shove his chair back.

“Well, I'm finished. I suppose I'll make sure the others are in bed and give Tilìn a bath. Wonderful supper, My Love!”

Kristen places a firm hand on Phil's arm, preventing him from standing. She stares at him with just as firm as a look. Phil squirms.

“Stay, Phil. We need to talk.”

Phil takes a deep breath, settling reluctantly back in his spot. Kristen has to push down a fond smile. He's always done anything possible to get out of confrontation. It's adorable. Right now though, it needs broken through. Kristen keeps her voice level, so as not to wake the sleeping three-year-old.

“Where did these children come from, Phil? You know you can't fool me with this, what's really going on?”

Phil stares intently at a spot on the table as if nothing could be more fascinating than the worn wood. After a while he sighs, lifting his beautiful sky-blue eyes to meet Kristen's soft browns.

“It’s complicated. Obviously, they're not supposed to be here.”

He glances at Tilìn.

“They're not technically supposed to exist.”

Kristen's expression shifts into confusion. So far he's only left her with more questions and no answers.

“How so?”

Phil hesitates again before answering.

“They're just not real. They're a fabrication from a false reality that someone wants us to believe. They're false innocence, a false sense of obligation, a false sense of happiness and security. Whoever brought them here only did so just to rip them away. They're here to weaken us, just a tool in someone's game. It messed up, so messed up!”

Kristen sits baffled.

“If they don't exist, how can they seem so real? Wouldn't an illusion break when you touch it? I know that soup I made was real, how did they eat it?”

Phil sighs, placing his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. He shuts his eyes, feathers twitching behind him.

“Because they're real to us. We will see and feel them that way as long as we convince ourselves that they are here. As long as we believe it, they will need us to feed, clothe, and care for them. If we were to stop believing they existed, they would be gone. But now that we've seen them, we won't be able to convince ourselves. I tried to convince myself once that they weren't, the first time in that cave. It only made them all the more real. We are just as attached to them as they are to us, and that's what makes them dangerous. At the same time, I don't think any of us would forgive ourselves if we didn't play this game. Because that would require letting them go, not keeping them safe, not keeping them alive.”

Kristen gently rubs circles into her husband's shoulder. Tilìn’s even breathing serves as background for a moment of silent contemplation. He's right on that. None of them would refuse these little ones solace. As a mother, Kristen wouldn't dream of being an exception to that. She could never let a little one go without if she has the capabilities and resources to give.

“Well then, I suppose we'll have to go clothes and grocery shopping tomorrow.”

Phil raises his head, expression purely distraught.

“We?”

He asks softly, begging with his eyes. Kristen can't help the giggle that escapes at his pure disdain at the idea. Shopping is Phil's nemesis. But the children need baths and clean clothing, and they can't rely on Niki for their stock of food. Kristen has enough from this month’s paycheck to provide for a while, and Phil can pick up woodworking again if he needs to.

“Yes, ‘we’. All of us. A family activity will do us good. Besides, you expect me to take all these children out by myself when I have a wonderful loving husband who is perfectly capable of coming along? I'm shocked you'd even think such a thing!”

She feigns horror, earning a playfully sheepish grin from Phil, who pecks her on the cheek.

“Of course I'll be there, My Raven. Tommy could use a wardrobe in his own size, and I'm sure Wilbur will enjoy the opportunity to teach him every fashion tip he knows.”

Kristen giggles again.

“I wonder where he could have gotten that from?”

Phil squawks in feigned offense.

“Well don't look at me! It must have been his ravishing mother's impeccable fashion sense.”

Kristen swats at Phil playfully.

“Oh please, I have the fashion sense of a wooden door.”

She flushes slightly as Phil leans closer.

“But has anyone ever told that door how utterly gorgeous it is? Because it's the most breathtaking thing I've seen in my life.”

Kristen stands from the table, a laugh tumbling from her lips. Tilìn has awoken by this point, and begun to fuss, and Kristen lifts her from the chair, brushing away the hair stuck to her face both by drool and by dinner.

“Well, this door has some dishes to clean, and I believe you have someone's child to bathe.”

Phil stands, shaking out his wings. He catches Kristen in a warm, affectionate embrace before carrying a grumpy Tilìn to the bath. Kristen smiles, watching him leave. She rolls up her sleeves and carries soiled dishes to the sink, turning on the faucet to wash them. She hums as she scrubs the dishes, letting her thoughts wander to more serious matters. She'd known from the beginning that these children were not real humans. They didn't have a soul she could feel, a soul to redeem. They are cheap copies of her own work. Her thoughts stew in frustration. This must be the work of her sister. Death and Life are twins, after all. Kristen hopes it doesn't come to the point where she needs to step in, but knows that it has always had to. It's what she's here for. She has no intention of letting Lady Death stop the mission of her life, to spread its breath to all corners of SMP. Every second she has spent teaching these people to love will lead up to Death and Life’s final waltz, their final chess game. The outcome has already been decided.

~~~~~~~~~~

Soft snores fill the small house nearby Las Nevadas Casino. Charlie stares at the girl sleeping in a small beside his own. He sits on the edge of his bed unable to sleep. How is he supposed to make sense of this? Juanaflippa said she was four years old. That doesn't match up with anything he'd had in his head or on his wall, but she seems to look and act that age. As he tucked her into bed, he also noticed bright green streaks in Flippa’s hair, similar to the ones that run through his. His unexplainable bright green hairs were a subject to much bullying in his childhood, and now he determines to keep Juanaflippa from experiencing the same thing. Charlie stops himself in the train of thought. He's already thinking like she'll be here forever. He can't expect that when the child appeared out of nowhere already the age she is. It wouldn't be fair to Flippa or to himself. Then there are the others. When Sam brought Juanaflippa home, he had Dapper with him, another of the mystery children. Charlie had asked Sam if any others had appeared, and he'd named every child but one, Sunny. Sunny had not been mentioned at all, and that bugs Charlie to no end. If someone brought, or created, these children into this world, then why would he have seen one that doesn't exist? That begs the question again, why has he seen these children before, and where? His thoughts flick to the death book, and its current owner. His expression hardens. This has to be Karl’s doing. No one else has this much power aside from Death herself. And Charlie has a dark feeling that she has a hand in this as well.

Chapter Text

Tubs, I can't help you if I don't know what's going on. You don't have to talk, but I'm not leaving you on your own.”

Ranboo's chest cinches as he watches his friend wear a hole in the floor with his frantic pacing. Tubbo has been a flurry of nerves since they came home, and it pains Ranboo that he can't seem to help. Tubbo pauses in front of Ranboo, whipping around to face him. His blue eyes are wild and angry, brighter in the frame of bone white bandages. His hair half covers them, as unruly as his temper

“We have to go after her.”

Ranboo sighs.

“After who, Tubbo? Who is Sunny?”

Red hot rage flashes over Tubbo's eyes, and Ranboo can swear he saw the color green flicker with it. Tubbo clenches his fists. He turns his back to Ranboo, breathing heavily. After a few moments, he hauls back his arm and slams it into the wall. Ranboo jumps up, placing his hands on the shorter man's shoulders.

“Tubbo, talk to me! I want to help, but you're not letting me! Don't do this, don't fight it on your own. I meant it when I promised you you'd never have to fight alone, Tubbo.”

Something in Tubbo's expression softens and he blinks aggressively.

“Sunny is my daughter.”

Ranboo freezes.

“Tubbo you're 16.”

Tubbo glares up at Ranboo, pulling away from his touch. Ran lets his arms drop to his sides as Tubbo begins pacing again.

“Not bio, obviously. She's…..not from L'Manberg. But if she went through any portal, she's in danger.”

Tubbo stop again, his expression fierce as he turns it on Ranboo.

“I'm not putting her through Hell again, Ranboo.”

Ranboo opens his mouth to respond, to reassure Tubbo that he won't let it happen no matter who the child is, but a splitting crack resounds through his skull and tears through his very soul. He cries out, clutching his head. Oh please no, not this! Not now! He vaguely registers warm skin against his own, prying his fingers from his hair. His mind cuts in and out, static clouding his mind and tingling through every nerve in his body. He can feel himself slipping away from Tubbo, who shouts in concern. Ranboo fights to stay. He screams in pain, arguing against the invasive claws pulling him away from the inside out. His vision goes black, but he's still within it. His head feels like every atom is rejecting each other, tearing its very fiber to nothingness. He squeezes his eyes shut, doubled over. His hands clutch his head again, and he kneels, breathing heavily. A muffled voice brings him crashing back to consciousness. Tubbo? Ranboo's eyes fly open and he turns his head up to meet flashing purple eyes. Not Tubbo, but someone whose name won't come to him. The boy is practically a part of the shifting void that surrounds them. It's not exactly a void, but it appears that it soon will be. Black and red covers every surface that Ranboo knows once was white. A crumbling Castle lies in the clutches of red vines, crushed to rubble in their grip. White grass fades to black. It's cold and dark, and the boy is speaking to him.

“Nononono you can't be here! You're not supposed to be here! We can't stay, it's dangerous!”

The boy grabs his hand, and Ranboo can feel himself transported for the second time. This one brings him to a….library? The library is a lot more peaceful than the last place they were in. Only one splitting crack runs the length of the small room, separating books in the center of their pages. The black and red feels alive, and Ranboo doesn't want to be anywhere near it. The boy looks Ranboo in the eyes, searching.

“Do you remember me, Ranboo? It's been quite some time since we've seen each other.”

He tries to remember him, he really does, but nothing shows. Ranboo shakes his head sullenly. At least he can catch his breath here. The boy grins.

“I'm Karl! We used to do so much together. Remember Sam?”

Oh, he does remember Sam. He doesn't like Sam, right? Sam hurt him. Did Sam hurt Karl too? He nods, wincing.

“Yeah, he wasn't exactly our friend. But now…..”

Karl trails off, gaze flickering to a green covered book.

“I think he's our best hope. Ranboo, do you remember Her?”

Ranboo's eyes flash. He does. He couldn't forget Her. His eyes meet Karl's as he nods again. Karl’s expression grows dangerously dark.

“Then you should understand what this is. Ranboo, will you help me stop her?”

Ranboo's eyes widen as he stares down at the crackling corruption. She was supposed to be right, to be good, but this…..this is too far. Ranboo meets Karl’s pleading gaze.

“What do you need me to do?”

~~~~~~~~~~

Horror is the only word Sam can come up with to describe his feelings at the sight before him. The curtain of synthetic lava parts, revealing a gruesome scene. Sam can only stare in stunned silence as the bridge takes him through the parted streams of burning hot liquid. Punz stands stoic in the center of the all too familiar cell. His once snow white sweatshirt bears dark crimson splatters. The golden medallion he so proudly wears drips scarlet, echoing in the small chamber and pounding in Sam’s skull. Sam lowers the gate, sickening red seeps into the cracks and will be impossible to clean. Sam tries to force down the bile that rises in his throat at the overwhelming scent of iron attacking his nostrils. He coughs, refusing to vomit even when his eyes catch sight of a mutilated body lying limp on black and purple stone. His traitorous mind supplies him flashing images of Halo and Tommy in Drista's place, and Sam whirls on Punz, who meets his gaze, emotionless. Sam feels a shiver caress his spine at the cold that practically emanates off Punz.

“Punz….what have you done?”

Punz doesn't make any moves.

“What I had to.”

Sam and Punz have known each other a long time. Punz was never one for senseless bloodshed. Every drop of blood on his hands had a purpose, every attack calculated and heavily weighed against every alternative. This however….it looks like the attacks of a madman. Sam has never known Punz to lose his cool. Whatever happened between him and their former leader must have struck a chord in Punz that Sam had never heard. Dusted off a weapon he didn't know existed. Drista and Punz had never exactly seen eye-to-eye, but then again, neither had Punz and Sam. Sam wanted redemption and family, Punz only wanted protection for his own. Sam wanted to feel, to live again. Punz wanted a beating heart, and would crush another to keep his own. Sam leaned towards emotions, seeing them as the most human part of himself. Punz forwent them, reducing himself to a man of stone. Yet they had once been allies. They united first under Drista, then in their distrust and disdain for her. Sam had had a change of heart. Punz had merely had a change of payroll. They had grown close regardless, and Sam had always considered Punz a friend. But then he'd grown colder. At the instatement, Sam had begun to believe in the side of Punz he'd refused to see for so long. This side of Punz is cruelty in the name of justice. Sam isn't sure if he can ever recognize his old friend, even as he stands here staring into frigid purple eyes. Wait, purple? When has Punz ever had purple eyes? That's his brother's thing.

“You didn't have to, Punz, and you know that. There are always other options!”

Punz stands eerily motionless, stock still and stiff.

“Other options would have given her too much time. I couldn't take that risk.”

“Paranoia doesn't suit you, Punz. It's something else, isn't it? To send a message?”

Sam takes a step closer to Punz. His own tinny breaths are the only sound aside from the burbling of lava.

“Congratulations, Sam. You can see through a mask made of glass.”

Sam doesn't falter despite the stench of death, despite the wet beneath his boots, despite the mutilated corpse in his peripheral.

“Who are you sending it to? Who do you expect to find out about this? Sapnap? How is this supposed to help you?”

Punz smirks.

“No one of your concern. They've already seen, and I have what I need.”

Sam sighs. There's no changing Punz's mind once it's set. At least that's a constant. Sam holds out his hand to Punz, palm up.

“I can't deter you, but I'm not letting you hurt anyone else if I can help it. Hand over the medallion.”

Punz visibly hesitates. For someone who talks down on attachments almost as much as Drista did, he does still carry sentiment. Punz clenches his fists before removing the heavy chain from his neck and dropping it in Sam's palm.

“Give it to Purpled.”

Sam nods, shoving the sticky gold into his pants pocket. He'll regret that later. Sam turns, gently picking up Drista's body. Oh stars, she was just a child. Same age as Tommy if he remembers correctly. She should never have gotten twisted in everything, he thinks to himself as he exits the cell, cradling the girl’s ice cold form in his arms. Dream had been the one to bring Drista in on everything. Dream had been the one behind it. Then George had regretfully passed. Sam still feels the crushing guilt that followed his mistake, and he's paid for it every day since then. That was the day Dream had forgotten himself. Yet Sam had always wondered about the authenticity of his phantomization. He'd never let Sam near him after, even to test his blue levels. Too much blue in the system could be lethal. Dream had basically thrown Drista into the leadership position. Sam had expected the role to go to Sapnap or himself, but Dream had insisted on it being Drista. Something about it had always felt off to Sam in ways he could place and ways he couldn't. A phantom had never had such passion. The very concept of phantomization is to be drained of passion. Dream still remembered things as well. Sometimes Sam would catch him in a slipup and Dream would feign forgetfulness like a mask he forgot to put on. Even his death couldn't be taken at face value as far as Sam is concerned. Dream is a man of illusions, why would he not use them?

~~~~~~~~~~

Wilbur shifts position for probably the millionth time that night. He can't seem to get comfortable, and his back feels like it's been painted with lava. A strange strangled noise escapes him, a cross between a moan and a whimper. At least it wasn't a chirp. Deep down, Wilbur knows exactly what's happening. It's later than it should have been, so he had assumed it just wouldn't happen. Now here he is, two rigid bones pressing against the skin of his back, fighting to break through. Wilbur had been told all throughout his childhood how this would happen should his half avian DNA allow him to grow wings. His father isn't the only avian in L’Manberg, but physical enhancements like wings are rare in their natural form. Wilbur had heard Sam talk about enhancements many a time, and his memory serves him with choppy statements that reflect his beliefs on them. Sam believes that everyone has an enhancement, it just needs to be awakened. In most cases he was right. The formation of blue requires extra matter or brain cells in order to work apart from the rest of the body, affecting only the mind and pigment. In other words, those without enhancements can't naturally create blue. Phantomization is only possible with it, so unenhanced individuals cannot phantomize. According to Sam, the unenhanced are the rare ones. He mentioned two that he once tested on that he found the hard way were free from enhancement. He called them “G404” and “S404”. He'd been mumbling to himself one night as Wilbur listened. Sam had explained that injecting blue into an individual prompts the creation of more blue, which starts the phantomization process. However, in an unenhanced individual, the creation of blue has no designated matter to feed off of, so it feeds off internal systems within the body and mind, eating away at the person like acid. It kills them from the inside. Wilbur flinches at a sudden sharp burst of pain. His eyes widen and he lays on his side, hands groping along his back. His finger is met with a jagged point protruding from the top half. It's started. Wilbur squeezes his eyes shut, bracing himself. The process won't be pleasant, but at least it should only last the night. As the night passes, Wilbur rolls onto his stomach, feeling as if gravity itself were pressing down on him, keeping him from moving. He fails to stifle a cry of pain as he feels the second bone pierce his skin. His breath comes in short gasps, and he can feel sweat trickling down his face. He shivers, yet leaves his blanket around only his bottom half. He doesn't need the new growths tearing his bedspread. Hours pass as Wilbur drifts in and out of a fitful sleep. Once or twice, he catches himself crying out as sharp pain jolts him awake. Someone comes into his room, but Wilbur can only hear a muffled voice that his foggy brain won't let him place. The room brightens, and people come and go. Wilbur has lost all sense of passing time. Something warm presses against him, and Wilbur feels little arms wrapped around his, hot breath on the back of his neck. It's comforting. Wilbur wakes a few times to something wet and cold pressed against his burning forehead, and he leans into the touch eagerly. He mumbles something, but it's probably incoherent. He opens his eyes once or twice, but the room is too bright. It pounds in his head and singes his eyes, so he squeezes them back tightly shut again. Sometime during the day, he's made to drink cool water, and now he craves more. Wilbur moans as his back aches, phantom feeling lacing itself with reality as new muscles stitch themselves together, and new nerves fuse with his nervous system. All the while, Wilbur's mind supplies him with images and visions to occupy his fever-riddled brain. Most consist of L’Manberg being consumed in red vines and void. Some recount his own face in the mirror, yet ashen and indigo. Still others echo with dark female laughter, or screams of rage. Deep red eyes like swirling pools of blood flash, taunting him, watching. And Wilbur lies helpless to wake, to stop the pain. This time he can't run.

~~~~~~~~~

Phil sits in a wooden kitchen chair he's dragged up to Will's room. He lets out a comforting coo as his son shifts in his sleep, muttering something incoherent. Phil places a gentle hand on Wilbur's back, rubbing circles between the quivering wings, half formed on his back, to help alleviate some of the pain. He himself had been alone when his own wings had formed. His had been late in sprouting as well, so it made sense for Wilbur's to be. Most avians grow their wings at 18. Tommy isn't too far from there, and Phil absently wonders if he'll grow them as well. He smiles down at his eldest son, his expression laced with both fondness and concern. It's taking too long. Phil isn't sure how long ago the process started, but Tommy had woken him early in the night, frantic that Wilbur was feverish and not responding. Tommy had heard him cry out in his sleep and gone to check on him. Phil had certainly not been expecting the culprit to be Wilbur's own pair of fledgling wings. The framework was near fully formed, and Phil knew that feathers would follow soon after, and Will should be able to recover. He hopes that the extra time is not due to internal complications. The process causes enough pain in itself. A small whimper draws Phil's eyes to the little girl who lay beside Wilbur. As soon as she'd seen him in this state, Tallulah had insisted on staying glued to his side. She was stubborn, and in the end, Phil and Kristen had obliged her. Tallulah's little fingers entwined themselves in Wilbur's hair, brushing gently through it as he fought his body's resentment of the growth process. Phil watches the little girl, feeling his heart bloom with warmth at the sight. He'd grown attached to these little ones far too quickly, but who could help it? They had their own way of working their way into your heart and life until they became such an integral part you'd never imagine anything different. It's genius design, cruel and effective against all but the coldest of hearts. Hearts as cold as those who would bring family and love only to tear it away at the best convenience to them. Phil feels a low trill escape his throat as he considers the outcome. He will protect these children as long as he is able. And when he finds whoever is responsible for this, he will make sure they feel the same pain he does at even the thought of losing his little ones. He stares at Wilbur's pale, sweat soaked face. He has a sneaking suspicion it's the same person or persons who took both his sons away from him, and took him from his beloved. The same person who took the most powerful item in his possession, one he had kept hidden for years for the safety of his family. And he just might know where to find them.

Chapter Text

Niki blinks her eyes groggily against glaring light. Everything feels sore, and her head feels like it's being crushed in a vise. She groans, pushing herself to a sitting position. As her eyes adjust, she's suddenly aware that this is neither her bed, nor her bedroom. She yawns, pulling the blankets off herself and swinging her legs over the side of the cot she was lying on. A wave of dizziness floods over Niki and a ringing makes itself known in her ears as memories of the night before come rushing back to her. The fight, Phil, Tommy, the children, Sam. No wonder she feels like she was used as a training dummy. Niki contemplates laying back down and just going back to sleep, but stubbornness pushes its way through her veins. Niki stands, swaying. She grips the chair still sitting beside the cot to steady herself. She shuts her eyes, trying to focus on something other than the dizzying nausea. She can easily ignore the aching, it's not much worse than her daily sparring sessions. Granted, they are against a makeshift dummy so she isn't used to injuries, and her head isn't treating her too kindly, but she has been through worse. This is trivial. As Niki levels her breathing, a muffled sound draws her eyes open. It sounds like someone muttering words she can't quite understand. Niki averts her gaze to the cot across the room from the one she was on mere seconds ago. It doesn't take long to figure out that the muttering is coming from its occupant. Niki screws up her face, slowly walking towards the cot.

“Quackity? What's going on?”

As Niki nears the cot, she can barely make out the name “Tilìn” repeated frantically among other unintelligible utterances. That's the little girl Phil said was Quackity's, isn't it?

“Quackity?”

She tries again to reach the distraught man. Quackity shoots bolt upright in the bed, eyes open wide like a madman. He slowly turns his head to meet Niki's gaze. It unnerves her, shooting a bolt of primal fear through her bloodstream.

“Where is Tilìn?”

Niki stutters, meeting his gaze with a boldness she doesn't feel.

“Phil's taking care of her. He'll keep her safe until you're well enough to take her home.”

Quackity lunges towards Niki, twisting his fingers in the collar of her shirt. He jerks her face close to his, practically snarling.

“Take me to him. Take me to Tilìn!”

Niki calmly removes Quackity's grasp from her shirt, stepping back. She needs to be calm and think this through. Just like Techno taught her. What would Techno do? Quackity flails, grabbing at Niki as he shouts.

“Please, I need to see her! I know she's here, you can't let him hurt her! You can't let him have my Tilìn! Where's Wilbur? He's supposed to take care of her too! No, no, no! Tilìn! TILÌN!”

The man's crazed ramblings spike anxiety inside Niki, but she shoves it down, taking a deep breath. Cautiously, she moves back towards the frantic man. Reaching her hands towards his, Niki speaks in a low soothing tone.

“Hey, hey, it'll be alright! Phil won't hurt Tilìn, I promise. Wilbur is with him. They're taking care of her, alright? You need to calm down.”

Quackity’s eyes flash and he jerks away from Niki when she sits on the cot beside him.

“How do you know that? Why should I calm down? Just take me to my Tilìn!”

Niki meets his gaze, pupil-less blue eyes flash back at her, and a shiver envelops her body. Niki reaches out and places a hand on top of Quackity's.

“Phil Craftsoot is one of the kindest men I know. He would do anything for his own children and I've seen him give away his own food or warm clothing to a child who needed it. If anyone will protect and care for Tilìn, it's Phil.”

Quackity stops moving to level a skeptical stare at Niki. He shies away from her touch, but lets it remain.

“Then prove it, take me to them. Please.”

His voice breaks, and in an instant, all Niki can see is a distraught father, exhausted and beaten down by fear. Sympathy takes over any sense of questioning, and Niki vows to him.

“I will take you. But if you do anything to try and harm Phil or anyone I will not hesitate to send you back to this hospital bed.”

Niki stands, and Quackity follows shakily. The two make their way to the Craftsoot home. They pass the stage, which drips in red and whispers of hidden darkness. Niki looks away, leading Quackity. She needs to lie down again, or at least drink something hydrating. Her head throbs, yet she pushes through until they reach the Craftsoot home. Nervously, Niki rings the doorbell, sparing glances at Quackity, who keeps his demeanor blank, despite his ragged appearance. They both could do with a shower and outfit change. Scuffling is heard from inside the two-story house, muffled shouts accompanying. The door swings open to reveal Kristin, holding a wailing Tilìn. Niki turns to see Quackity's eyes widen, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Tilìn? My sweet little girl, you're alive! You're safe!”

At the sight of Quackity, Tilìn stops abruptly. Her face lights up, and she leans forward, holding grabby hands towards Quackity and exclaiming,

“My Papi!”

Niki feels warmth bloom in her chest as Kristin allows Quackity to take Tilìn from her. Father and daughter embrace, and Quackity breaks down into sobs. Kristen silently leads them inside, and Niki shuts the door behind them. Quackity sits on the couch with Tilìn as Kristin and Niki walk into the kitchen.

“How have the children been?”

Niki asks in lieu of conversation. Kristin smiles fondly, glancing out the kitchen window. Niki follows her gaze, and a smile spreads across her face as well at the sight of Tommy and Chayenne playfighting in the backyard. Kristen sighs.

“They're a handful. It's been a while since this house was so alive. At least my songbird is here to help.”

Niki places a hand on Kristin's shoulder.

“You have me if you ever need someone, Kristin.”

Even as she offers, Niki feels herself sway on her feet. Kristin reaches out to steady her, leading her to a kitchen chair.

“You'll have to let me help you first.”

Niki sighs. She hates feeling needy and helpless. She buries her head in her hands as she hears Kristin take a cup from an overhead cupboard and fill it. Kristin’s hand on her back brings her head back up. She's holding a glass of water out to Niki.

“Here, this will help.”

Niki slowly takes the glass, taking a sip. Her expression sours.

“It's salty.”

Kristin chuckles a little.

“Salt will help your headache. There's not too much in there.”

Niki grimaces and gulps down half the glass of water. It really isn't that bad. Kristin produces a roll from a few mornings ago, and hands it to Niki, who devours it a little too quickly. Kristin sits across from Niki as she lets her stomach settle. Her headache has started to fade a bit, and she's grateful. Kristin sighs in what sounds like mild exasperation. Niki looks up.

“What is it?”

Kristin rubs her temples.

“I need to go shopping for food, and for clothing for the little ones, but I'm not sure I can take the kids myself.”

“Can't Phil or Wilbur go?”

Kristin shakes her head.

“Will’s not feeling well. Phil's been up taking care of him, and Tallulah refuses to leave his side. If Quackity takes Tilìn home, I guess the three of us can go.”

Kristen looks as if she will fall asleep where she sits. Niki takes another sip of mildly salty water.

“I can go with.”

Kristin immediately shakes her head.

“Niki, no. You need rest. I'm not taking you out when you're not well either.”

Niki grumbles. She can handle herself just fine! Kristin doesn't have to hover like an overprotective mother. Niki chides herself for her thoughts. Kristin just wants her taken care of, she should be grateful for that.

“What about-”

A pounding knock at the door breaks through the conversation. Niki moves to answer it, but Kristin holds out a hand, pushing back from her seat.

“Let me get it, you stay here.”

Niki watches from the open room as Kristin walks past the couch, where Quackity has begun playing with Tilìn. He flips her upside down and she squeals with delight. Kristin pulls open the door, and Niki bolts from her seat, barreling into the man who stands on the other side of it.

“Techno!”

Techno grunts as Niki slams into him, crushing him in her embrace. The taller man leans down, returning the gesture.

“You okay, Niki? You got hit pretty good.”

Overwhelming joy and relief trump any feelings of pain in her head as she pulls back, dragging Techno into the house.

“I'm okay. I'm fine! What happened out there?”

Niki drags Techno to the kitchen table, and the two of them sit down. Technoblade shakes his head.

“You first. Where have you been? Who hurt you, Niki?”

He gently caresses his thumb over a bruise that mars Niki's forehead. Tears spring to Niki’s eyes as she begins to recount her story.

“Drista had me. She…she told me you were gone. I didn't believe her, she lies. But sometimes I had to question. She tried to convince me to join her cause, but something always felt off about it. Like her heart wasn't in it. She answered to someone. When she left for the instatement, I managed to escape. That's when I joined the fight, but she caught me off guard.”

Niki can hear Techno growl from his seat across the table. She tries to give him a reassuring expression, but it comes off as a grimace, and Niki quickly hides her face with the cup of salt water.

“I'll make sure she never forgets. She messed with the wrong person, and I'll make sure she rues the day.”

Technoblade's hands are curled into fists, and his eyes spew fire. Niki reaches out to take his hands in hers.

“Just don't be too hard on her. She's still young. She can learn.”

Techno scoffs.

“She's old enough to know better. Heck, she's the same age as Tommy!”

“Exactly!”

Niki presses.

“Still young. Please, Techno.”

He growls again, pulling his hands back.

“No promises.”

“But you'll try? You'll remember what I've said?”

Techno sighs, frustrated. He leans back in his chair and it lets out a whining creak.

“Fine, fine. I'll try. But still no promises.”

Niki smiles, brushing a rose-colored lock of hair from her face.

“That's good enough for me. Now your turn. Where have you been all this time and what happened out there on the battlefield.”

Technoblade crosses his arms, meeting Niki's curious gaze.

“I was tryin’ to break Phil out of Dream’s jail. They burned my legs like lame nerds who don’t know how to fight, and I barely got outta there. This kid, Ranboo found me and helped patch me up, but apparently he locked me in his basement so I broke outta there. He locked Tommy and Will in there too. Then I fought that guy who wore white to a bloodbath, Punz. He's one of Dream’s guys. Beat him up, and Sapnap and I took him and Drista to The Vault. I came to see you, but you were sleepin’, so Sapnap and I went to take care of the Purpled kid, Punz's crippled brother. Nice kid, but caught in the crossfire. Sapnap's with him now. He's fine.”

Niki's eyebrows shoot skyward at the mention of Ranboo.

“So that's who all that extra bread was for! I knew he was hiding something.”

Techno blinks at Niki's response.

“Heh?”

“Oh, Ranboo. He used to come to the bakery and buy more bread than he would need for him and his roommate. I was just realizing it was for you.”

Techno nods.

“Yep, and Wilbur and Tommy. I had a feeling it was yours. No one bakes like you. I could just tell.”

Niki giggles, flushing at the compliment.

“I just enjoy doing it. I need to get back to the bakery. People still need their bread and sweets, and it'll help me destress after all this. Besides, it's also the only café around.”

Techno suddenly stiffens, scratching the back of his neck.

“Yeah about that …”

Niki feels a stab of worry embed itself in her chest.

“Techno? What happened to the bakery?”

Techno shoves away from the table, standing quickly.

“Hey Kristin, are the boys here?”

Niki stands, rushing to grab Technoblade's arm.

“Technoblade.”

She says firmly.

“What happened to the bakery?”

Kristin walks in the room, a look of sympathy on her face. She puts an arm around Niki.

“It's gone, Niki. I'm so sorry, dear. It went up in flames the night you disappeared. I'm sure we can rebuild.”

Niki feels her heart deflate like a balloon. Years. She worked towards opening day for years. The bakery was only open for about 6 months, and here she is at ground zero again. Strong arms embrace Niki as she sobs into a crimson cloak. Although she has lost her life's work, at least she has her brother back. Even running her beloved bakery felt empty without her stronghold, her other half. Even in her moment of mourning, Niki knows deep within that she would have given up the bakery to get Technoblade back in less than a heartbeat. She returns the embrace, letting herself live in a moment she's waited too long for.

Chapter Text

Tubbo is fairly certain he's wearing a hole in the floor with his pacing. Surely this day can’t get much worse, can it? Ranboo is gone. The man just straight up vanished in front of Tubbo with no warning. He's still processing the fact that Ranboo can freaking teleport! But this clearly wasn't voluntary. Ran seemed to be fighting it, but something pulled him away. Tubbo growls in frustration. He needs to do something! Maybe whoever stole his roommate took Sunny too. Tubbo stops his pacing to launch his fist into the wall. Ranboo isn’t exactly here to stop him, now is he? Tubbo screams in rage, both fists flying. He lets his rage out on the cabin wall until his knuckles are bloodied and raw. It's too much. It's all too much. He sinks to his knees, sobbing into the empty space that feels suddenly cavernous. He needs his people back. He needs to find them! He needs to stop this. Tubbo holds his breath, pushing back sobs that threaten to break free. He needs to figure this out. He needs information. Who in L’Manberg would have that? Tubbo lets pent up air flow out, making his next breaths slow and deliberate. The first person that comes to mind is the casino owner, Quackity Nevadas. He was at the clinic when Tubbo was there, but chances are he was only kept overnight. If he isn't home, maybe his assistant would know something. Tubbo is fairly certain he's caught the man listening on important deals and conversations. Why wouldn't he? It's easy info. Tubbo collects his emotions in a bag, puts a brick in, and drops them in a river. His face is a mask of dead-eyed neutrality, and his mind is set on one goal: get back Ranboo and Sunny. He's leading this charge, and he's not planning on giving up this fight as long as he breathes.

It takes Tubbo nearly an hour’s walk to get to Las Nevadas Casino. The burns on his face and neck throb, and his head feels as if it will explode at any moment. Ironic. He knocks on the casino’s back door, holding himself with stony confidence. No answer. He knocks again, more urgently. As he waits a few moments, a shuffling can be heard inside. The door swings wide open, its doorway filled with the presence of Charlie Slime. A rather infiltrating presence. He just seems to seep into every crack and corner, filling a room with the feeling of silent judgement. Charlie himself is rather cheery and accepting of all, but he has this imposing feeling of just being everywhere and nowhere at once. Charlie shifts his rectangular wire-rimmed glasses upwards on his nose.

“Tubbo from L’Manberg! Welcome back to Las Nevadas! Quackity is not home right now, but I can tell him you were here for him when he gets back! Have a nice day!”

Charlie starts to close the door. In an expression of urgency, Tubbo grabs the door, forcing it to stay open.

“I need to talk to you, Charlie. I think you're the one with the information I need.”

The pale man turns the color of a whitewashed brick wall. Charlie jerks the door, trying to shove it closed. His voice grows icy.

“You'll need to schedule an appointment with Mr. Nevadas. I'm not seeing clients until he returns.”

The door moves closer to its frame, but Tubbo holds firm.

“Then talk to me as a friend, Charlie. I need your help.”

Tubbo pleads, unwilling to give up his only lead. Charlie grunts, yanking on the door with both hands. It nearly slips from Tubbo's grip, but he also utilizes his second hand in the battle of strength. He clearly outmatches Charlie in the muscle department.

“Friend is a strong word, Tubbo not from L’Manberg.”

Tubbo grits his teeth, braces himself, and gives a hearty yank. The door slips from Charlie's grasp, slamming against the outside wall.

“Then speak to me as a hostage to a captor who will not leave empty-handed.”

He hisses, pushing past Charlie into the casino’s back room.

“Tubbo, wait. Don't, please!”

Tubbo stops in his tracks. A young girl with sandy brown braids sits in the back room, playing with some empty bottles and a length of green string.

“Juanaflippa.”

She was with his Sunny the last time she was seen. Tubbo stalks over to the child, kneeling in front of her. Charlie's enveloping presence becomes menacing, dangerous and protective. Acid green flickers in the cracks in the back room’s shiny hardwood flooring.

“Tubbo, whatever you're doing, leave Flippa out of it. She hasn't done anything worth your time.”

A chill courses through Tubbo's veins at the tone enveloping Charlie’s voice as it reverberates in the large open room. He glances back at him and wishes he didn't. He needs to keep his confidence here, thank you. That man has suddenly sapped nearly every bit of it.

“She was there, Charlie. She saw Sunny. You and I both know that's worth every second of my time.”

The lights over the bar in the back of the room flicker. Something green oozes from the walls.

“Step away from my daughter, Tubbo.”

Juanaflippa stands suddenly, overturning a bourbon bottle, which rolls across the floor, bumping into Tubbo's black sneakers. Flippa's eyes are wide and terrified, and she streaks past Tubbo in a flash of white, green, and yellow. Tubbo stands, turning to look behind him. Juanaflippa hides behind her father, clinging to his leg. Charlie's sclera have faded to pitch, his pupils glowing neon green. Patches of his skin pulse, matching in the twin colors. Tubbo stumbles backwards, slipping over the stray bottle. He lands flat on his rear, holding himself up with his hands.

“Please, I have to know where my daughter went! You can't keep her from me!”

The floor lights snap off, leaving only the fixture over the bar to cast an eerie slime green glow across the room. Glass near Tubbo shatters, and he yelps, tucking his arms and legs close to himself. This is it, isn't it? Sunny, wherever you are, find Ranboo. He'll keep you safe. Something wet and glowing green spreads across the floor beneath Tubbo. He squirms, but sets his hand on a shard of glass, hissing as it slices his palm. The ooze pulses, crawling up Tubbo's legs, over his arms, his torso, wrapping cold slimy tendrils around his neck. Desperation claws its way through Tubbo's insides.

“Charlie! Please, I'm not here to hurt you or your daughter, I just want to find mine! Please, you have to believe me! Charlie! Charlie please!”

“How can I believe that, Tubbo from Quesadilla Island? That's exactly what they told me. I know you remember how things turned out then. We both lost everything. I'm not running the risk of that happening again. If your daughter didn't come back, then I think it's safe to say she isn't ever going to. And if I'm wrong and she comes back to no one?”

Charlie steps towards Tubbo, Juanaflippa whimpering behind him. Charlie kneels, grabbing Tubbo's face in a hand that feels as cold as his slippery bonds. The two lock eyes, as Charlie forces Tubbo to stare into his bright pupils.

“Then I'll make sure she's happier than you ever made her. It wouldn't be that hard.”

Raw panic claws its way through Tubbo's throat and out in his words.

“Charlie- please, you can't do this! They- they took Ranboo too, and I can't let them hurt him again, I need to know they're not hurting Sunny too, I- please! If you're going to kill me, I need to at least know they're both safe!”

Charlie snarls, curling up his lip.

“Who has this Ranboo you always talk to me about? Who has Sunny?”

Tubbo gags, the pulsating slime choking his breath. He barely wheezes out,

“I don't know exactly. But if I've done my research right, it's her.”

Charlie seems to freeze. He lets go of Tubbo's face, leaning back. The bar lights flicker, and the glowing slimy tentacles relax their hold just slightly.

“You're wrong. She's not here. She wouldn't come here. She doesn't have Ranboo and she doesn't have Sunny, and you're WRONG!”

Charlie's sudden raise in volume makes Tubbo jump. He winces at the stinging pain shooting through his hand. His neck feels rubbed raw, yet the moist cold feels relieving even though his bandages.

“Trust me, I want to be wrong about this almost more than anything. But think about it, Charlie. Who else would send them here? Who else would know? She sent us. It was only a matter of time before she sent them too. Don't you feel her presence? Maybe you've convinced yourself you haven't, but we both know it's true. She's here.”

Charlie sinks to his knees, burying his head in his hands. He rocka back and forth in a panicked rhythm. The slimy bonds around Tubbo tighten, and the lights flicker rapidly, frantically.

“No, no, you're wrong, you're wrong, you're WRONG! YOU'RE WRONG!”

Charlie's shouts echo like a condemning ritual with Tubbo as its sacrifice. The slime spreads, constructing like a hungry snake, or the hands or terror. Tubbo can feel his air cut off as he squirms to no avail.

“Daddy!”

A small voice cuts through Charlie's panicked screeches. Juanaflippa flings her arms around Charlie's neck, and Charlie crushes her in a returned hug, his breath gasps of fear.

“Daddy, don't hurt him. He's right.”

Charlie's visage of fear melts, giving way to agony. The fetters around Tubbo slither back into the cracks of the floor, and he gasps in the sweet relief of oxygen. Charlie clutches tightly onto his young daughter, as if this moment with her would be his last. Tubbo sits, catching his breath, letting the daunting truth sink in. She would stop at nothing to keep her throne. What hope even is there of getting Sunny back safely? What hope is there that any of them will live to see the next sunrise? Tubbo hugs his knees, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. His head is throbbing, his face itches and aches, his neck feels like it's on fire. More than any of that, his heart pumps boiling lava through his veins, setting Tubbo ablaze with agony and determined rage. The sun will shine once more, and he is dead set on being the one to spark its glow.

Chapter Text

The world is on fire. Correction: Wilbur’s world is on fire. His body wallows in cold burning sweat, his mind can't tell flames from smoke. His back may as well have been stabbed with glowing hot swords, and his head used as a ritual drum. Phantom feeling is replaced with a creeping tingling pain as his new appendages adjust themselves to his body. The only senses of relief are little hands, cold on his arm, and the larger roughened hand pressing soothing circles into his back. He knows that one. Will leans into his father's touch, his movement slight, maybe even imagined.The childish hands on his arm tighten, and a little face presses into his skin.

“Please be okay, Papi.”

Tallulah's sweet little voice whispers through clouded delirium, and Wilbur almost breaks into sobs right then and there. How can someone be so concerned over someone they've never known? The love of a child knows no logic. Perhaps any real love has never come close to knowing it. A low trill reaches Wilbur's ears, and he forces leaden eyelids open. He winces at the sunlight’s assault on unadjusted sight, blinking. Beside him, Phil makes a warble of joyous surprise.

“Will! Oh thank Lady Death you're awake! You had me worried out of my mind!”

Phil sits close to Wilbur's bedside. His eyes are puffy and bloodshot, and he sits slumped in what could be exhaustion or relief, likely both.

“How long’s it been?”

He slurs. Phil pauses.

“About a night and half a day.”

Will makes a strangled noise, trying to shift to his side on the bed. He lets out a moan, dropping back to his previous position on his stomach.

“Hey now, Mate, just stay where you are. You'll be a lot more comfortable.”

Phil moves to kneel, placing a hand gently on Wilbur's forehead. Will doesn't miss the concern that flashes across his features.

“It shouldn't be this bad still, even for a late sprouter. I don't understand.”

Phil cards his fingers through Wilbur’s damp tangled mess of curls. Will goes to say something in response, but comes to the realization that his throat is dry as a desert. He slowly moves his gaze around the room, spotting a glass of water on his bedside table. He lets his gaze linger on it. Phil takes the hint, standing to bring the glass to him. Phil stands next to the bed for a moment, staring, pondering.

“Alright, this isn't going to be very pleasant, but it might be the only way to do this. Tallulah, I'm going to need to borrow your spot.”

Wilbur can feel the girl's grip on him tighten even harder, and Tallulah makes a noise of protest.

“Lullah, I need to give Will a drink, I'm not taking you away from him. It's just for a few moments.”

Tallulah lets out a sorrowful whine, but her grip loosens, then lets go. Wilbur’s eyelids droop as Phil crosses around the bed, gently setting himself on it.

“Alright, Will, I need you to turn your head this way, can you do that for me?”

Will groans. He vehemently does not want to move a muscle, but he's absolutely parched. Besides, it's his father. He should do what his dad wants from him for once. Wilbur sports a pained pouting face, as he slowly turns his head. His shoulder blades protest, and his head feels as if it were made of stone. Phil's smile on the other side is worth it.

“Good. Thank you, Mate. Now this is going to make everything hurt worse, but you need some liquid in you, alright? Tallulah, can you hold this please? Be very careful not to spill it.”

Wilbur shuts his eyes, giving the slightest nod he can muster. Strong, gentle arms wrap around his torso, dragging him until he's in a half sitting position on his right side. He forces his eyes open again and leans his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil coos lovingly, taking the glass of water back from Tallulah with a soft smile. One of Phil's arms holds Wilbur up, wrapped around his lower back, the other gently presses cool glass to his lips. Wilbur fights the ache in every muscle and nerve, barely managing to swallow a few sips. His throat rejoices in the relief, but unfortunately his body rejects the input. Wilbur’s stomach churns, and his body heaves, ejecting the liquid. He groans, freezing when his eyes catch the splatters that now cover himself, Phil, and the bedsheets. Glaring up at him is a sickening marble of condemning red and blue. He feels the arm around him tighten. Glass shatters on the floor. Tallulah whimpers, backing away from the bed. A choked sob betrays Phil's understanding.

“No. Will, please. Not you.”

He half whispers, clutching Wilbur's sweaty and limp body tightly in both arms. His midnight wings curl gently, protectively, around Wilbur's own fledgling ones. Wilbur can only sit there, staring at his death note. The feathered end of a bright blue wing dips into the cruel mixture. Will reaches painfully out to place a hand on it. It's beautiful. It's his. Yet its hue is a sickening reminder of his state. He's a dead man walking, and he can't even physically walk as of now. Will painstakingly moves his arm to curl around his father. Tears drip into his chocolate curls, his father's face pressed close into them, body shaking with sobs of desparation. Tallulah stares wide eyed, before her eyes overflow. She runs around the bed, climbing on top of Wilbur. Her sweater is rough on his clammy skin as she squeezes him as tightly as her little arms will allow. The sudden weight shoots pain up Wilbur's back and into his wings, but he ignores it as best he can. Tears mix with sweat as Tallulah sniffles.

“Are you gonna leave me again?”

As Wilbur’s heart crumbles, the missing pieces of his mind fuse back together. He woodenly brings his arm down, placing his hand on his little one’s head. His own tears stream down his face like waterfalls of agony. Wilbur gently weaves his fingers through Tallulah's curls. He never should have left the island. Tallulah is the only reason he doesn't regret going there in the first place. His mind supplies him with a backing track of a distant train horn, the cheerful notes of a flute, the sorrowful wails of a guitar. Memories of a time of peace, respite from the difficulties he caused. How he wishes Tallulah's tears were never at his hand. How he wishes he were the only one to wipe them away. His eyes glance at the sick liquid soaking into the bed. He sets his gaze, gritting his teeth in determined strength. Wilbur focuses his mind on his right wing. The freshly formed muscles jolt, and he lets out a yelp reminiscent of a chirp. Phil's grip around him tightens. Slowly, agonizingly, Wilbur reaches his right indigo wing towards his daughter, covering her in its comfort and promise of protection.

“Never again, Mija. Never again.”

He promises, knowing very well that the decision is not in his hands.

Chapter Text

Sapnap is pretty certain that he's found Hell. Separation from everyone he loves, loyalties worth nothing, pain all-encompassing. His eyes flash with flames that promise vindication. Staring back into them are the green eyes that taunt of his brother and sister’s.

“You'd better be lying, Sam.”

His old friend shakes his head, staring at the floor.

“I wish I was, I- I was too late, Sapnap, I'm sorry!”

Sapnap slams his foot down, a step closer to Sam. The sound makes Sam flinch, echoing in the small house.

“‘Sorry’ doesn't bring any of them back! ‘Sorry’ doesn’t change what you did! ‘Sorry’ doesn't clean the blood from your hands, Sam! You hear me? They're gone! Dream, Drista, George, gone! Halo, gone! You took everything from me, and you took everything from yourself! Don't you get it? You're always the monster, Sam! You don't change! You don't get the second chance you never gave to them!”

The blood in Sapnap's veins boils. Murder is legal in Hell, right? He might just commit some right now. Sam then Punz. He would rid the world of the pain they both bring, the destruction they cause. He would avenge the ones they took from him. Sapnap storms past Sam, the fingernails of his clenched fists nearly piercing his skin. He stomps out of the house, leaving Sam with Purpled alone, and trudges through the outskirts of L'Manberg. He walks for nearly an hour, tears and rage blinding him to all else as he reaches the coast. Sapnap sits himself down in the sand under the shadow of L’Manberg Lighthouse. Loneliness begins to carve its way through his other raw and passionate emotions. He really has no one left to call his family. Even if he didn't agree with the things they did or the things they stood for, they were still his everything. Sapnap punches the sand, letting the pain and rage flow through his fists. Sand flies into his hair and his eyes, but he just keeps beating it. Even as sand finds its way into his mouth, Sapnap screams with everything he's kept inside. He screams to the oceans, because the oceans will listen. He screams to the sand because the sand will never tell a soul. He screams to the sky, because the sky won't fall on him. He screams to the sun because his every Icarus has flown too close. All at once, Sapnap goes slack, silent. He's exhausted. He's drained, and he doesn't know what to do. He sits on his knees half sunk in a pit of sand and lets the tears drip down, moistening the pit of silt. Pathetic. Pathetic! Here he is, the eldest sibling, the protector, with no one left to protect. Ocean wind whips through Sapnap's ebony hair, slapping it back in his face. He lifts his gaze, letting it drift over the waters before him. A captain’s honor is to go down with his ship. His ship has sunk. Sapnap pushes to his feet, stalking over to the edge of the waves. He hauls back his leg and kicks at the water’s edge.

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what I fought for? WHERE ARE THEY? WHERE ARE THEY, DREAM? WHERE ARE YOU? I was supposed to protect you, all of you.”

His voice cracks like glass under the ocean’s pressure, like a worn sidewalk through an abandoned ghost town.

“All I did was lose you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry George. I'm sorry, Dream. I'm sorry, Drista.”

A flash of red sweeps violently over the waters, a beacon of bloody light. It's instantaneous, and gone nearly as soon as it appears. Something shifts in the wind, and a chill finds its way down Sapnap's spine. A light shuffling sounds from behind him.

“Apology accepted.”

Sapnap whirls at the familiar voice. Have the ghosts come to taunt him? Has his mind finally given into the pull of fantasy? The dam holding back every broken memory shatters at the sight of the first of the fallen. All his emotions rush like an angry ocean, hurling themselves against his chest. Tears find their way into Sapnap's eyes, and he launches himself into the brown-haired boy. He grabs him in a long overdue embrace, squeezing him tightly as he sobs into the boy’s shoulder. Even if this is an illusion, a trap, it's home for once.

“George! Is it you? Are you really here?”

Sapnap's brother returns the embrace, and they hold each other in silence before George pulls back, smiling.

“It is me! I'm alive, Sapnap!”

A laugh of pure joy erupts from George's throat as he crushes Sapnap in another embrace.

“I missed you so much in that Hell, Sapnap. But I'm here! I'm back!”

Relieved sobs are the only sound Sapnap can seem to muster for a moment. The house that once stood tall crumbles as a wave washes over it. It's a wave of hope. A wave of knowing that finally, something in his life has gone right, and maybe they can heal from it. He holds his brother close for a moment, a far too short moment, before he finds his voice.

“How? How are you here?”

He croaks, sniffling. The stars in George's eyes glitter as he gestures beside himself.

“Dream brought me back!”

Sapnap's heart pauses for the second time in just a few minutes. Dare he believe? He takes a wary step backwards.

“Dream is gone. This isn't right.”

George only shrugs casually.

“See for yourself then, Sap.”

True to George's word, his twin stands about a foot away, creepy smile and all. Dream's fashion choices never made sense to Sapnap. The floodgates of his eyes swing wide once more as Sapnap steps, amazed towards yet another brother lost and found. Something still feels off, but it's trumped by his need for this to be real. Dream closes the gap between them, catching Sapnap in an embrace that feels cold. He lets Sapnap's tears soak the shoulder of his acid green hoodie. It's Dream who ends the embrace, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.

“Surprise!”

He smiles, bordering on a smirk. Sapnap dries his eyes with his own black hoodie sleeve. The tumult inside him can't decide if he's complete or breaking again. Confusion connects his elation to his fear and agony.

“How did you survive that?”

He asks bluntly. A piece of him is still skeptical. Dream's laugh catches on the wind, warming Sapnap's reviving heart.

“Oh I didn't have to! I am a man of illusions, you know.”

Realization dawns on him. Sapnap reaches out, punching Dream in the shoulder. George snickers.

“Ow! Hey! What's that for?”

“Don't ever do that to me again!”

Dream cocks his head as if observing a child in an intriguing situation.

“Do what?”

“Leave! You're….you're supposed to stay safe, Dream. I don't want to live without either of you ever again. It's the worst version of the world.”

Dream's smile stays consistent. He claps Sapnap on the shoulder.

“Aww you missed me! Here and I thought I was doing you a favor.”

He teases, grinning with a familiar glimmer of mischief that so well suits him. Sapnap dons an overdramatized scowl, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Nope, I take it back. I'm killing you myself next time.”

Dream reaches out, flicking him in the ear. Sapnap protests in fond annoyance, slapping at his younger brother. George takes it upon himself to stand between the two, forcing them apart as he begs for peace. The scuffle ends with all three breathless with laughter lying in cold sand as they watch the clouds float peacefully by. The world has returned to its axis and life has regained its living. Time only can tell how long this season will last.

Chapter Text

Technoblade would tear down the world for Niki. He would trade his own life for hers without a moment’s hesitation. Maybe building a cafe and bakery isn't in his preferences, but for his sister, he'd build an empire. So Techno starts to formulate a plan. Niki is the only family he has left related to him by blood. The Craftsoots are just as much family by choice. Techno is going to need the help of as much of his family as possible to pull this off. He'll rally them together in secret from Niki and they'll rebuild her dream themselves. Phil has framed houses before and Technoblade is well aware of his incredible skills in craftsmanship. Wilbur's creative mind surely will be a valuable asset in design and planning. And Tommy, well Tommy can just help wherever he's needed Techno guesses for now. Kristin can keep Niki occupied and away from the build site. The plan seems near flawless. They can salvage most of the materials they need from old Logstedshire. Phil should still have half a house’s worth just sitting in his shop. It's been quite a few years since Phil last built something like that, but surely it'll come back to him if he tries. Techno doesn't doubt Phil’s ability in the slightest. Technoblade glances behind him towards the kitchen window as Kristin leads Niki to the sofa. The window opens his view to the backyard where Tommy and a small blond boy are sparring with sticks. Tommy's getting destroyed. The little boy has a fairly good stance and his movements are far too controlled for a child his age. Tommy is a sweating mass of pure frustration and humiliation. The little boy whoops as he disarms Tommy, who huffs and splutters, probably making a string of excuses. Technoblade smirks. Even if these kids are some sort of kamikaze bear trap, it might be worth playing along just to see Tommy get his butt whooped. Tommy nervously turns his gaze to the window and Techno looks away, acting nonchalant. He'll get Tommy in on this later. He's clearly busy with something important. Technoblade strides over to the couch, enjoying the bit of wind beneath his cape as he walks.

“Hey Kristin, are Phil and Wilbur around?”

Kristin lifts her face to meet his gaze. Her eyes are tired, full of traces of fear and sadness. She nods.

“They're upstairs. Will’s not feeling well.”

Alarms crash instantly through Techno’s head, ringing warnings in his ears. Now? Now is the worst possible time for Will to be sick. Technoblade hasn't had a chance to even talk to him, or to apologize. It better be just a cold or something. Wilbur’s always made illnesses out to be worse than they are. Mountains out of molehills as they say. Techno thanks Kristin, tentatively approaching the staircase. A sick lump forms in his stomach. It twists and churns, pulling traces of Techno's confidence deep into its raging vortex. Kristin won't remember last time. The thought alone threatens to shatter his carefully crafted visage of stone. Techno sets his expression as blank as possible as he ascends the stairs. If he sees it, that will mean it's true. Maybe he doesn't want to see Wilbur right now. Maybe he can help. As he reaches the landing, Techno can hear choked sobs from Will’s bedroom. Those cries are painfully familiar. A flash of memory crosses his mind's eye. A father cradles his limp son, screaming at the injustice of the world’s hand, begging her for answers. The churning mass in Techno’s stomach plummets to a pit with no bottom, clawing up into his chest. He rushes to the bedroom door. He tries to calm now frantic breathing. He tries to focus his eyes on a color other than blood red. He swings the door wide, and the world stops because he was right. Wilbur lies, eyes closed, leaning against Phil. Phil’s wings are wrapped around his son, his arms clutching Will like it's his last moment on earth. Techno and Phil both know that it very well could be. A little girl whimpers, clinging to Wilbur, who has laid an indigo wing over her. Hold up, Will has wings now?!! Since when? It's only been a day since Techno’s seen him! Either way, in a single day, his world has come crashing down around him. The most telling sign of tragedy is splattered crimson and blue staining Wilbur's clothes, the sheets, and both men's feathers. Phantom sickness. The aftermath of phantomization itself. There's only a small chance for it to happen, but Will’s growing wings most likely triggered it. Techno has seen it once before, and not a single person could find the means to save her. There's no way in any universe that Technoblade is letting that happen to his brother. He breaks free from the initial shock, rushing to kneel beside his old friend whom he's come to see like a father.

“Phil! Hey, it's gonna be okay, alright? We'll make this right. We'll fix this! Phil?”

The broken man turns to Techno, tears streaming down his cheeks. His eyes once glittering are dead pools of agony. He lets out a low twitter, a warble of pure sorrow. An admission of despair.

“It's too late, Techno. You know that. It's too late!”

Techno rubs Phil’s shoulder in an act of comfort.

“He's going to be fine, Phil. I'll figure this out.”

Phil nuzzles Wilbur's hair with his face.

“You can't. There's no cure, Techno. There's never been.”

Phil raises his gaze sorrowfully towards the ceiling. He wails to the sky.

“You can't take my son! Please, I'll give you myself if you just let him stay! Please! Wasn't one time enough?”

A chill runs through the room like a breeze of dark laughter. The little girl sobs.

“Please don't take my Papi again! I couldn't live without him. Who will tuck me in and sing me bedtime songs? Who will give me amapolas when I cry? Please don't take Papi away again!”

Her Papi? That's a new development. Techno glances at Phil for confirmation. Phil lets his head drop, shaking with heaving cries.

“You can't leave Tallulah orphaned. Please, Lady Death, mercy. I'm begging you. I'll give anything, just not my son!”

Techno turns his gaze to Wilbur himself, blinking back threatening tears. He’s Technoblade, he doesn't cry. He just might. Wilbur coughs, the action coursing through his frail body. Red and blue marble as they spill over his lips. Phil only hugs him tighter. Wilbur groans, leaning heavier on Phil's side. Phil shifts Wilbur down so that he's mostly lying on his side, his head on Phil's lap. Tallulah finds a little spot between them. Phil cards his hands through Wilbur's sweaty curls, tears dripping to intermingle with them. The temperature in the small bedroom suddenly drops drastically, coursing a chill down Techno’s spine. The light seems consumed, and a shadow appears over the bed, hovering menacingly. Phil wipes tears away from his eyes, levelling a glare at the shadow.

“Get away from my son.”

His tone drips with dangerous intent, and it's possibly more chilling than the sudden bitter cold. The shadow laughs, low, feminine, and mocking.

“You don't have that choice, Phil Craftsoot. You never have.”

Phil seethes, closing his wings tighter around his son. The shadow sighs.

“But it's not his time yet. I've come to warn you, Phil Craftsoot and Technoblade. Do not try to stop this. You will only bring more pain upon yourselves. You humans seem so attached to your temporary lives and the others that live in your time. It'd be a shame to fill my domain so quickly. So heed this closely, mortals. You cannot win. No matter which direction you choose, you will lose. You will lose someone. Give up on this one. It'll save you the trouble later. His place in my domain is secure. I promise I'll make it comfortable.”

Phil practically snarls. Technoblade does. Tallulah shifts, standing on the bed. Her little fists clench and she glares at the shadow of death.

“You lie! I'm never giving up Papa Will and neither is Abuelo Phil or Tío Techno! You're the one who will lose!”

The shadow laughs again condescendingly.

“You have so much to learn, child. Even if you cannot touch me, nor I you, Death will always have the final laugh. I always win. Even your kind has no power over me. So face it and accept it. Let it happen. I am the hand of fate, and I am your savior from this mess you call your home. So let me do my job.”

The shadow splits, flooding the room. Techno feels a shudder force its way through his body. He doesn't fear death, not for himself. But she better keep her bloody hands away from his family. The shadow dissipates and the temperature in the room rises back to normal. Phil's expression is a mask of rage. Techno meets his gaze, fists clenched. Tallulah sits back down, pulling her papa’s wing gently over her shoulders. Techno places a hand on Phil's shoulder.

“Tallulah's right, Phil. Death will lose this fight and I'm not givin’ up on Wilbur.”

Phil offers a grateful smile, catching Tallulah in a hug as she reaches out. Techno stalks to the bedroom door.

“I'm going to find Sam and I'm going to make him find a cure for this. Somethin’ tells me he’s holdin’ out on us.”

Phil nods.

“Stay safe, Techno.”

Technoblade acknowledges Phil’s wish with a curt nod of his own. He shuts the door behind him as he makes his way back to the staircase. It seems he's found a new mission, one more vital than any he's been on before. Not even death can stand in his way.

Chapter Text

“Oh my gosh, for the fifty thousandth time, will you stop eating the sand?”

Burnt orange fox-like ears flick as Fundy curls in on himself protectively.

“Why?”

His housemate- bunkermate? Foolish sighs, throwing his hands up in exasperation. Fundy happily crunches away at his chosen snack.

“Because it's- nevermind, I've explained this a thousand times, Fundy! Sand is not food. We walk on that stuff! It's gross!”

A fluffy orange and white tail swishes happily behind Fundy. He grins up at the muscular golden-skinned man in a sleeveless shark hoodie edged with shimmering golden fabric.

“Tastes fine to me.”

Foolish rubs his hands down his face and groans.

“Like father, like son.”

Fundy leaps to his feet in a defensive position, feline in its form and grace.

“Hey, Will is not my father!”

Foolish grins, chuckling mischievously. This is a dialogue they’ve played out countless times. It's nearly a daily ritual by this point.

“Close enough. He calls you his “Little Champion”, that sounds pretty fatherly to me.”

Fundy huffs, a few grains of pale sand dropping from his jacket sleeves as he crosses his arms over his chest. His fox ears lay flat to their sides.

“Called. It was just a silly nickname. We are literally the same age. Besides, I haven't seen Wilbur in years. Has it been years? I don't even know how long it's been!”

I don't know if he's even alive. That's what Fundy wants to say, but Foolish already understands the sentiment. The golden man swaggers over to Fundy, ruffling his hair with a strong hand. A little too strongly, he might add. Fundy lets out a low warning growl, glaring at his friend. Foolish only tilts his head with that cocky grin plastered over his face.

“You grew up, Little Kit. You got independent and left the fox nest. He's letting you live your life yourself. Your old man will be back when you need to ask him for money. Plus, it's only been like two months!”

Fundy swipes at Foolish. He keeps his fingernails long and pointed like claws. They're thick enough that they don't break too often and grow fairly quickly. Foolish giggles, dancing away as he gains a scratch on the arm.

“I'm not a kit! I'm a grown man, and demand to be treated as such! And foxes live in dens, Idiot!”

Foolish stands, arms crossed, leaning against the bunker wall. Fundy stands crouched, ready to pounce. Foolish stares down his nose at Fundy, black hair splaying out from his head to just below his shoulders.

“I wonder if Papa Wilbur would be proud of you. This bunker’s impressive. It's held us up for how long? And not a single soul knows about it that we don't want to. Hey Fundy, why haven't you brought Wilbur down here yet? I'm sure he'd be impressed.”

Fundy feels his ears droop with his heart. He stands hugging himself as he fiddles with the cuff of his jacket sleeves.

“I don't know where he is.”

Foolish sighs.

“We both know that's a lie. You have eyes everywhere.”

Fundy avoids Foolish's gaze, opting to inspect a grain of sand on the floor near the Bunker's entrance. He doesn't answer. Foolish, who towers over Fundy like a sequoia, approaches him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I'm sure he'd be glad to see you.”

Fundy tilts his head upwards, giving Foolish the most deadpan expression he can muster.

“I literally killed his ghost.”

Foolish looks sheepish, but keeps his confidence. He stares forward at the stone wall.

“Forgive and forget? You technically brought him back to life, or at least you helped. Would he remember his ghost even? He looked rough last time he came to visit. Are you sure he's alive? Seems pretty ghostly to me. The man can't remember a thing! Your Papa’s getting forgetful in his old age.”

Fundy pulls back from Foolish's touch, rubbing at his arms. Memories come back in floods, memories of the time he was alone. L’Manberg called him a freak, yet hailed the crow as their guardian angel. He was mocked, ostracized, beaten and bullied until the day he ran. The lighthouse was his haven, and he lived there alone. Alone until the day he wasn't. It didn't take long for Fundy to realize that the lighthouse wasn't as abandoned as he thought. He was taught that ghosts were evil, vessels of vengeance, souls who refused to move on so they could make those who took their lives pay with their own. This one was different. This one was just a boy like Fundy. His name was Wilbur, and his story was tragic. The two became close friends, and Fundy never thought it strange that his best friend was a ghost for three short yet impossibly long months. Wilbur never thought Fundy’s ears and tail were strange. Then one day everything had gone pear-shaped. Wilbur had been sobbing, eyes wild, gesturing to Fundy’s sword. He'd begged Fundy to run him through. But you can't kill a ghost, can you? They were just children. Fundy had done it. This ghost had died. Wilbur had vanished, and Fundy had mourned for three long days until Wilbur came back to him. Yet something was wrong. It wasn't the fact that Wilbur now had an actual body. He was alive, and that was good! But he wasn't the same Will that Fundy remembered. He was more somber, and spoke of things that Fundy shuddered to remember. Wilbur didn't seem to recall the things he'd once told Fundy as a sad pale ghost. He visited Fundy periodically, bringing him supplies when he did. Fundy didn't have to go into L’Manberg at all, and he liked it that way. Yet every time they spoke, Fundy wondered what the real Wilbur was like. He's not sure he's ever met him.
Golden snapping fingers break Fundy from his reminiscing.

“Hellooo, Fox Boy! Wake up!”

Fundy blinks, then glares at Foolish for the annoying nickname. Foolish grins smugly.

“I asked if you wanted me to man the light tonight. It's getting dark already.”

Fundy nods absently.

“Yeah, yeah that would be great, thank you.”

Foolish gives him a thumbs up and a clap on the back as he grabs a deep blue jacket with gold edging.

“No problem. Just don't teach Leo to eat sand while I'm gone. She's asleep.”

Fundy offers a strained grin accompanied by a mock salute.

“We'll have a feast.”

Foolish rolls his eyes as he slips through the bunker’s mechanical trapdoor.

Chapter Text

The library lies in a state of hush. Even Ranboo's incessant fiddling is eerily silent. Karl can sense that they are truly alone. He turns to the split-colored boy standing nervously beside him. It's time his old friend got an explanation.

“Ranboo, do you know how old you are?”

The simple question makes Ranboo curl further in on himself. He shakes his head sullenly. Karl nods in acknowledgement.

“I'm not sure either. Sam might know, since he's the one that kept you in stasis.”

He glares. She didn't like that, so Karl didn't either. Sam would face consequences. Ranboo nods.

“Y-yeah, that happened, didn't it?”

He says in a small voice. Karl stares at- maybe through Ranboo.

“I apologize for the confusion. I couldn't have you knowing my position beforehand, it would have ruined everything I've worked for. Ranboo, do you know why I chose you?”

Ranboo shifts his two-tone eyes up, shaking his head. A soft lilac static licks around the edges of Ranboo's pupils and Karl holds back a smile at the sight. That's the real reason.

“Do you want to know? I can tell you what we're here for, but if I find you've told another soul, you're done here. On earth, I mean.”

Karl quietly chuckles at his own joke. Ranboo's face scrunches up.

“Even Tubbo?”

Karl sighs.

“Everyone means everyone, Ranboo. Yes, everyone includes Tubbo.”

Ranboo looks away sheepishly.

“I- I'm not sure I can do that. Unless I forget, then what's the point of knowing in the first place? But I do like to know what I'm fighting for. I'm not just going to trust you without knowing so um, yeah. Okay. I want to know.”

Ranboo lifts his face confidently. Karl can see his quivering heart through the mask, but he smiles anyways. Karl pulls out his precious tome.

“Do you know what this is?”

Ranboo shakes his head.

“It's a shadow book. Or rather, it's THE shadow book. Only one of its kind. This tome is the word of Death herself, created as a guide for her angel. When her dark angel rose, she fell. This book was cast out of reality until I was given power and I pulled it back. Secrets of life and death lie in these pages. Whether they be truth or lie, I cannot tell. All I know is that I have trusted them to guide me for what has felt like eternity. Do you remember seeing me in Sam’s lab, Ranboo?”

Ranboo scrunches up his eyebrows, deeply thinking. His face lights up after a beat.

“Oh, we were roommates, weren't we? That was before stasis. Or wait, was it after? How old are you, Karl?”

Karl waves his hand, laughing a little.

“It was after. My age doesn't matter. But yes, we grew quite close until you forgot me.”

A hint of resentment weaves through Karl's tone. It's been strung up in his heart for too long.

“One day, I disappeared. An experiment went wrong, as they so often do, and I should have died. Yet when I felt myself pulled from my body, I saw her. I saw the woman with hair black as night, the veil of her hat a mirror to the stars. She wears the shadows of wandering souls and broken hearts decorate her gown. Lady Death spoke to me. She offered me a position as her oracle in exchange for an eternity of devotion. I did die that day, actually. I died to the pettiness, the broken form of humanity. I transcended the flesh and became a being of static. I felt the cosmos and I pulled this book from the folds of reality’s discarded fabric. The past is free reign for me, and bits of the future are revealed before my eyes. I devoted myself to death, and she's calling you to do the same.”

Karl reaches a hand out to Ranboo, who stumbles backwards, eyes wide.

“Wait, you mean to tell me that you serve death? That's literally the dark side! Why would I join that? No! No, this is wrong!”

Karl sighs as if a parent watching a stubborn child.

“Is that really your choice? I was hoping you wouldn't say that.”

Ranboo backs to the far wall of the library. The splitting black and red cut deeper, following Ranboo's path. Karl’s eyes smooth over in purple glow. Ranboo cowers, hugging the wall with his back as if it were his only hope. He's a fool. Karl is his only hope. Death is his only hope. Karl slowly walks towards Ranboo, staring deeply into his eyes. Ranboo tries to pull his gaze away, but there's no point in it, never was. He's forced to lock his wide-eyed gaze onto Karl's as he stops a few inches away from Ranboo. Tendrils of red and black crack over the library walls, snapping and popping with echoing force. Staticky tentacles wrap themselves around Ranboo's wrists and ankles, restricting any movement. A bloody vine of shadow constricts Ranboo's neck.

“Are you completely certain this is your decision? I can't let you leave with this information. Can't have you telling the wrong person, now can we? Make up your mind, Ranboo. Death by choice, or death by force?”

It's honestly pathetic to watch. Karl can almost feel sympathy. But he gave that up long ago. Ranboo struggles futilely against Karl’s power. Tears streak down his cheeks leaving burned tracks in their wake. He's clearly panicked and scrambling to find a way out. He's just trying to find something that will never exist. Life has no dominion in the hall of death. Ranboo whimpers, then speaks in a shaking voice.

“What are you even trying to do?”

Karl glares in annoyance. He's getting impatient. He might kill the kid right now.

“Bring her back, obviously. You don't know about her disgrace? Have you been living under a rock? Or a tree?”

Karl giggles at the joke only few will understand. He’ll have to revisit that one.

“You've really never heard of the split? Your precious Logstedshire fell, she did something arguably stupid, and she was split. The Death we follow is only the Shadow of Death. Her real spirit is in a mortal 's body. The Shadow of Death is the manifestation of her will and duty. She needs that spirit back to regain authority, power! To rule this world once more, she needs us to give her spirit back. We just need to get her mortal form to hand it over willingly.”

Ranboo just looks even more confused at this. Determination still swirls in his eyes.

“So you just want to take over? I'm not going to be a part of that. No matter what, Light should have the final say. That's how the world heals.”

Ranboo's eyes bore into Karl's defiantly. Karl grits his teeth. Such a stubborn one! It's a frustration to his work.

“If that's your choice, then so be it.”

Karl doesn't feel. He doesn't feel guilty, he doesn't feel sympathy. He doesn't feel anything as Ranboo shrieks, as his eyes are flooded with violet, as his body goes limp, strung up against the wall, arms outstretched. Maybe another stasis will give him some time to think it over. Karl huffs, frustrated, as he turns away. Let The Other Side come. It seems Karl has found his role. He is its guardian, its ruler. The Other Side is his. Karl stalks over to a desk in the corner of his library. A book lies open. Karl picks it up. Each book in this library holds a list of names. Each name is a soul that has been welcomed into Death’s domain. This book’s open page holds two names. The one that's crossed out, and the one that cannot be seen, yet can still be read. Karl hears the name in his mind as he stares at its blank spot on the page. It's a name he knows well. He holds that name's owner in a limbo. That is The Other Side’s purpose, after all, to house limbos for those who don't belong to either Death or Life. This one is annoying. It doesn't make sense and all it does is cry. It isn't even a soul, it’s leftover residue from a spirit split. Two names. Two names that come from the same person. One soul, two spirits. The one that got away and the one that never was. Wilbur Craftsoot and his ghost. Perhaps Karl ought to pay Ghostbur a visit. He wrinkles his nose at the name. The fox child came up with it, and Karl can't stand it. Too childish, although that makes sense given the circumstances, he supposes. Karl sets down the book and pulls out Death's tome. It's time to make the ghost talk for once.

Chapter Text

Soft orange glow taunts Punz with the illusion of morning sun. The curtain of lava flows relentlessly. Punz sits with his back to blackened stone, violet rivulets snaking behind him. Those streaks of glowing purple are the only respite from the lava’s unbearable heat. They flow towards Punz in their obsidian riverbeds, emanating cool, absorbing his pain. The wounds from the battle just a day before have begun to seal, and the blood Punz had lost seems to be flowing once more through him. The purple is the only mercy in this prison cell, yet barely that. It will keep the prisoner alive, but he will still feel the insatiable hunger, the darkening pain. Punz can handle pain. He's fine. Punz grabs a raw potato from a nearby chest, tossing it into the air simply for something to do. Even a stone cold mercenary gets bored of stasis. He's still human after all. Punz glares at nothing, tossing the potato into the man-made lava. The heat it produces is low enough that if he tried to cook a potato with it, it'd probably take a week. Yet in a small cell, that heat feels like the force of the sun. And apparently Sam has real lava just in case someone tries to break in. The one thing Technoblade didn't account for was how far Sam was willing to fall in order to drop his prisoners lower. Punz grabs another spud, dubbing it his new plaything. He tosses it up again, and again, and again. He starts counting how many times he catches it. Obviously that's every time he throws it, but boredom knows no logical bounds. Punz grumbles to the lonely cell.

“Why am I still here? Why are you making me wait? I know you can hear me.”

Silence is his only answer. Always silence. Silence broken only by the slapping of a potato against his palm. Punz has taken his fingerless gloves off to expose his hands to the purple healing. The potato is rather cool as well. Maybe raw potato isn't quite as bad as he expects it to be. Punz’s stomach growls. Nope, he's not giving Sam the dignity of stooping so low as to eat a raw potato. This is ridiculous.

“What's taking so long?”

He shouts to the ceiling. This wasn't the plan. He's supposed to be doing something. The heat from the lava seems to dissipate along with its light. The cell is plunged into black shadow, chilling cold biting at Punz's bare hands. The potato drops to the floor. Punz grins.

“Well finally!”

The Shadow of Death scoffs.

“You mortals act like time is your personal servant, yet you don't even control it. Learn some patience!”

Punz pushes to his feet, the only light a dim lavender.

“We humans don't have the luxury of eternity, Lady Death. Every second is to be counted as important. So what took so long?”

If the shadow had a face, she would be glaring. Punz can feel her annoyance. It doesn't worry him until the glare starts to feel like a wily smirk.

“I was carrying out my work. It's what I exist for, you know. I have no will to do anything but that without that foolish mortal’s consent, and she doesn't even remember her own name.”

Punz crosses his arms.

“Just get me out of here.”

The shadow huffs, and Punz feels himself transported to a familiar home. He turns to The Shadow of Death.

“Now if you have nothing to offer me, I'll be on my way. Our deal is over, our work together is done.”

Death chuckles, the most chilling sound one can hear. A crow caws outside the window.

“Very well, but aren't you interested in who I've just taken home? I think it might affect your motives.”

Punz feels panic rising in his chest. There's only one who's death he would care about. He hopes his worry isn't obvious. Death laughs again, and Punz feels it prompt the panic farther, deeper.

“Who?”

Death smiles.

“See for yourself.”

Punz feels something crawl on his back, and he turns around, gaping in horror at what he sees. The one scene that haunts his nightmares, both sleeping and awake. Purpled lies motionless on the living room floor. His face is blue, his eyes glassy and wide. Purpled's hands lay on his own neck, a futile attempt at relief. Punz drops to his knees. He hasn't cried since he was a child. He hasn't had any reason to be weak. Punz sobs, choking on his own tears.

“How…how could this….how could you?!”

The Shadow of Death hovers over Purpled's body. Punz closes his brother's eyes, pulling his hands away from his face, which is fading to pale. Punz cradles his little brother, his reason, in his arms. Hope has died.

“You cared about him deeply. Even so, you chose that fight, knowing that it was likely you wouldn't come back from it. You didn't even send anyone to care for him. Sam would have. You knew that. You left Purpled alone, physically unable to reach his oxygen in time. You doomed him, Punz. You did this from your own selfish pride. And do you know the saddest part? Sam almost saved him. He knew Purpled's lungs were nearly as weak as his own. They suffered the same smoke. He knew that Purpled needed someone to stay with him. Sam picked up the slack you left. Then the man called Technoblade came with a request and a threat, and Sam got scared. Sam left your brother, thinking he'd be back soon. Yet no soon would be soon enough. Sam left just moments ago with Technoblade. He was always going to be too late.”

Punz's heart, once cold flesh, is stone and flame. His eyes drip with years of stress, and worlds of agony. Once opened, the floodgates seem impossible to shut. Everything he ever cared about was wrapped up in this one soul. Now every trace of love inside him is gone.

“I'll kill him. I'll kill Technoblade!”

The Shadow of Death smiles again.

“Good. But I have something better, an offer you won't be able to resist. I reign over death, after all. I can bring your brother back. I've given him over to my keeper to hold him in a limbo just in case you take up my offer.”

The red in Punz's eyes falters. He looks up from his brother's face to the hovering shadow.

“What do you need from me?”

“Well you know what I’m after, my own spirit. I need you to help me get it back. Our last recruit….defected, and I'm in need of a second vassal. Your mission is simple. Kill the one that split death. We diverge at that point. I need the soul of Wilbur Craftsoot. That is the only way to get my spirit and my power back, to return me to wholeness. He is severely weakened at this moment. Kill him, Punz, and I will trade his soul for the boy’s. Until then, Purpled sits in limbo. Take his body to the Logstedshire cavern, it'll be preserved there.”

Punz stands, Purpled's body gently cradled in his arms.

“Consider it done. But why Wilbur specifically? What does this have to do with him?”

The shadow starts to dissolve, light seeping back into the house, as death chuckles.

“That's for me to know. Just get it done.”

Chapter Text

Hope only lasts as long as you let it. Torment continues so long as it controls you. Illusion only stays until you see through it. Regret lasts for eternity. It festers and boils, eating away at you like acid until the day you die. You can suppress it, but it will never leave. It's only antidote is hope, but hope is not a flawless cure. Hope comes from love, and love can falter. Regret is the father of death. Regret is an old friend of Sam's. It moved in long ago, and they've been heartmates ever since. As the years have passed, regret has taken over the space more and more. It leaves grimy handprints all across Sam’s heart, and takes its vacations in his head. Sam can't seem to detach himself from it. When hope comes to visit on occasion, all regret does is fight with it. They argue until hope grows exhausted and slinks away. Today, regret is beating against Sam’s heart so hard that he's sure it will shatter and never be put back together, leaving only regret itself there in its place. Sam buries his eyes in his hands, his knees against the floor. Salty drops flow like the sorrow of a cloudy day with no intention of stopping. They're gone, and he could have stopped it. Purpled has disappeared. Wilbur is as good as dead. There's nothing left Sam can do but let nature run its course. A heavy hand rests on his shoulder.

“It's not your fault, Sam.”

Regret screams otherwise, drowning out the traces of concern that spread through Technoblade's deadpan. Sam stands slowly. He's a grown man. He's seen Hell and he's lived through war. He will survive. His eyes dry up as he stares at the spot on the floor where he left Purpled. Why the kid chose to sleep on the hard floor rather than the perfectly nice sofa beside him will forever be a mystery to Sam.

“But it is, Technoblade. I did so much wrong. You can't tell me I didn't have a part in this. I left Purpled, and now he's gone. I almost killed Wilbur. I used him as a dispensary, Techno! I treated him like an object to be drained and disposed of once he wasn't of use to me. And now he's dying because of things I did. I did this, Technoblade.”

Sam can feel the warrior behind him stiffen. His anger infiltrates the air. And why shouldn't he be angry enough to kill Sam right here and now? His brother's blood is on Sam's hands. Sam waits for an answer. Technoblade sighs.

“Okay maybe some of it is your fault, but do you have to act all dramatic like you're the scum of the earth? Geez, you're actin’ just like Wilbur! Yeah you did some horrible things that will never be justified and you can't ever make up for. That doesn't mean you're not worth anything. You are not your actions, Sam. We've all messed up. The sooner we face that, the easier the rest of life will be for all of us.”

Regret’s fists slam into Sam's heart and head. It plugs its fingers into his ears. Hope whispers in the voice of Technoblade, but regret screams against it. Sam turns to face the regal man behind him.

“I’m sorry, Techno.”

He gestures to the bottle of glowing violet liquid that Technoblade holds in his hand.

“You’d better get that to Wilbur. With all he's been through, he won't have much time. The deeper the phantomization, the more aggressive blue is later. I promise I'll get you more as soon as I can.”

Technoblade nods, offering Sam an awkward smile.

“Just take care, okay, Sam? You have people who'd miss you.”

Regret screams louder, but hope slaps a hand over its mouth. Its shrieks still make Sam’s ears bleed, but his heart has grown hope’s armor.

“Will do. Be careful, Techno. Something dangerous is at play here.”

Techno scoffs, turning on his heel with a dramatic swish of his cape. His knee-length pink braid flips over his shoulder.

“When have I not been careful, Sam?”

Sam can't hold back the amused smile that tugs at his lips. He suppresses a wheezing cough, pausing to catch his breath.

“I could think of a time.”

Techno waves a hand in dismissal.

“Ah minor oversight. I outsmarted that warden anyways. It turned out fine.”

Sam growls in mock offense.

“Well the warden didn't account for the pig man having friends.”

Techno gives Sam a sly grin over his shoulder.

“The pig man could say the same thing about the warden. Still stands. We're here, Sam. No matter what you did, we'll help you make it right.”

With that, Technoblade strides through the door, shutting it a little too heavily, enough to make the room shake. Sam stands watching the door as hope binds regret in its own prison. The room fades to shadow. Light is lost momentarily before fading back to dim. Sam whirls around, grabbing the golden trident he left by the door. A hacking cough escapes his lungs as he stands at the ready. He needs his mask back. He left it with Purpled, as the one he made for the boy was still at his lab, waiting for finishing touches. When he'd brought Technoblade there to find what little Phantom Cure he had, Sam had used the smaller mask. Even now he had it with him, but it wasn't made for his face, and he couldn't strap it on. Sam registers the scene in front of him, nearly dropping his trident. It's her. The one he once served, now his enemy. A woman of shadow stands before him, her veil shimmering with the stars that decorate the night sky.

“What do you want, Death?”

The Shadow of Death stands, towering over Sam.

“There's no need for violence. It wouldn't do any good for you anyways, now would it?”

Sam holds steady. Regret's ropes begin to fray. He knows the trident can do nothing to the shadow, but it makes him feel less helpless in the gaze of death.

“Answer me or take me. What do you want?”

He asks cooly, his voice low and level.

“I want my scientist back. You have so much work to do. Why did you leave our cause? Did these mortals twist your mind so much that you started to care about their worthless lives?”

Sam grips the trident, his knuckles turning white.

“They're not worthless!”

He shouts, sparking a coughing fit. Death simply watches coldly until he regains his breath. She tuts, pressing a finger to her lips.

“Shhh, you'll wake him!”

Sam’s grip on his weapon falters. His throat feels constricted. He might be a little dizzy.

“What?”

Death giggles, slowly waving a hand over the vacant spot on the floor. Sam's trident clatters to the ground. Purpled. He lies in the same spot Sam left him, the older man’s respirator still carefully over his nose and mouth where Sam had placed it. Sam's head spins. He clutches it, dropping to his knees beside the boy.

“Purpled?”

He croaks with what little air he has left. His chest is burning. His lungs are empty of oxygen. His eyes are losing focus. Sam pulls the violet mask he made for Purpled from his pocket. His hand quakes. He can't seem to lift it. It looks like a blur. Behind him, Sam hears an annoyed sigh.

“Really? Can't even keep yourself alive and breathing? Must I do everything for you?”

Cold darkness flashes over Sam's eyes and he feels the mask ripped from his hand. Cool metal straps to his face, and suddenly, Sam can breathe again! He greedily inhales, letting the mask pump oxygen into his starving lungs. His head still swirls, but his eyes have gone back into focus, and he sees that Purpled's mask now rests strapped to his face. Sam leans back on his hands, staring up at his former master.

“Why?”

Death scoffs.

“It's not your time yet. His either. But shhhh!”

She puts a playful finger over her lips again, grinning darkly.

“His brother doesn't know yet!”

Sam blinks up at her, confused.

“Punz? How would he know anything about this? He's in the prison.”

Death laughs, a chilling whistle in the wind that is not there.

“You don't think I can free my own vassal, Warden?”

Sam glares. Warnings flash through his head in the voice of regret.

“What did you do with Punz?”

Death fixes her empty gaze on Purpled.

“I fixed him. He's back on target.”

An ugly feeling takes up residence within Sam, making friends with regret.

“What do you mean?”

Death sighs in exasperation.

“Why are all you humans so dense? He's getting me my spirit back! You know, everything you and I have worked for for so many years?”

Sam scrunches up his eyebrows. It doesn't quite make sense to him.

“How? Is he talking to its vessel, convincing her to give it to you?”

If a shadow could roll her eyes, she'd be doing it.

“Of course not, Kristin Craftsoot is a stubborn one. She won't pay the price I want. No, our little mercenary is doing his job. He's taking back the soul that got away from me.”

Sam's heart pounds in rage. His face sets in anger. Deep violet steam rises from his mask. Recent modifications serve to better its service, and look pretty darn intimidating. Sam rather likes the style it gives. Regardless, Sam’s eyes darken like the shadow he faces and he stands.

“It's Kristin? Your other half is Kristin?”

Sam runs an anxious hand through emerald hair.

“That makes so much sense then! That's why you made me do those things to Wilbur, he's the reason the split happened in the first place, isn't he? When he was a ghost all those years ago…..Kristin refused him. So now you want to take the soul that was supposed to be yours. What will that achieve for you, closure? How will that get your spirit back? She'll do everything she can to get him back…..oh. oh. Oh no. What have you done?”

Death stands ominous, watching Sam from above.

“Good job, you figured it out! She'll give me what I need so she can pull her precious son back one more time. The only catch is that I'll be the one with the power then, so I don't have to do anything for someone who doesn't exist.”

Chills wrap themselves around Sam’s throat and chest like crushing tentacles. Violet vapor rises.

“I have to go, I have to warn Techno!”

“Hold on just a millisecond, Warden. That won't be happening, I'm afraid. My sincerest apologies for the inconvenience this causes you.”

The Shadow of Death sits on the sofa, patting the seat next to her. Sam glares, backing towards the door. She sighs and transports him to the spot in a sitting position.

“Stay. Now, My Scientist, you'll do nothing of the sort. You will wait here with the boy until his brother comes home and I can walk in here whole.”

Sam tries to get up, but every time, he's pushed back. Even as The Shadow of Death disappears with a dark laugh, Sam finds himself unable to move. He tries to reach Ranboo, but the connection has been severed. He screams desperately in his head for the one being he knows can stop the will of death. A shout rings from Sam’s throat as he calls out to Light herself.

“NIKI!”

Chapter Text

In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet. Dusk is peaceful before the darkness consumes all natural light. Kristin wishes now that she'd let herself enjoy the sunset because the darkness is already creeping in. Quackity has taken his little girl home, and something about it doesnt sit well with Kristin. Its some strange feeling she can't place that screams danger, but won't say what. Techno tore out of the house after seeing Wilbur, and Kristin had to hold Niki back from following. Speaking of Niki, she's demanding to see Wilbur and know what's going on with him, but something's holding Kristin back from allowing that. Something stirs within, churning inside her heart, screaming to keep Niki as far away from her son as possible. Why must her emotions understand what she herself cannot? Something about Niki sets Kristin off. Now Niki is a lovely girl, and Kristin truly does care very deeply about her, but something about her screams of unnerving caution. To add more straws to the bundle, Tommy and Chayenne have come inside, and are asking her for lunch. Kristin trudges to the kitchen, Chayenne on her heels. She leans against the counter, shutting her eyes as she runs shaky fingers through her hair. Tears threaten, but Kristin shoves them away. She has to stay strong for her children, all of them. She stays in the same position until a cold hand shocks her out of her weary thoughts. Kristin forces her eyelids to move, glancing to the side to see Niki peering at her, concern pasted over her features.

“Do you need help? I can make lunch for the boys. You should still have some of the sandwich ingredients I brought you last week. You go sit down.”

Kristin forces a pained smile. Niki has always been the softest of souls - and the strongest. Maybe that's what's so concerning. She nods, pushing back from the countertop.

“That would be great, thank you. How many sandwiches do you think we can make? I need to take some up to Phil and Tallulah, and see if Will is able to eat something.”

“I can take them up!”

Niki quickly offers. Kristin smiles sadly, shaking her head.

“I'll do it. I need to speak to Phil, I may take his post. The man didn't sleep a wink last night, he needs a break.”

Kristin's mind supplies the unpleasant memories of the sounds of her son heaving on the floor above. She can't have Phil wearing himself down to sickness as well. Niki purses her lips, looking like she has a piece of her mind to give. She evidently decides against it, turning towards the refridgerator.

“Kristin, I don't know what's going on, but you know you can trust me, right?”

A stab of guilt twists itself into Kristin's gut. Niki pulls out some ham lunchmeat, a mostly full jar of mayonnaise that Kristin barely touched, and a slab of cheese. Kristin leans her back to the counter.

“Yeah. I know. You've been here through some tough times. I really appreciate you, Niki.”

Niki smiles as she grabs a bread knife, poised to attack a loaf she made for Kristin recently.

“Thank you. It's a pleasure, really, but you're deflecting.”

Kristin grimaces. She's right on that one.

“It's all going to work out. We'll be alright. Don't worry too much about us. I've got this handled.”

Kristin reassures herself. It's a complete lie, but maybe if she says it out loud they'll both start to believe it. Niki gives her a look that says she sees through it like shattered glass.

“Do you? Let me help you, Kristin. Please don't make me sit here helpless when you can't do this alone.”

Kristin mulls over Niki's words. Once again she's absolutely correct. Kristin can't do this alone. She isn't alone though, she has Phil. But Phil is hiding something. He's never hidden anything from Kristin as long as she's known him, and she doesn't know what to do with it. Maybe the best course of action would be to ask. That's her plan, to ask over lunch. She glances at Niki, who has expertly whipped up three sandwiches already, placing two plain slices of bread on the side of the plate along with them before holding the plate out to Kristin.

“The plain bread is for Will. If he might not be able to eat, this should be mild enough to settle.”

Kristen smiles a bit, taking the plate from Niki.

“I was going to do that myself, thank you.”

Niki waves her hand dismissively.

“Go see them, I'll feed the gremlins.”

Kristin lets herself huff in amusement at the nickname. Seems fitting. She thanks Niki, moving to the bottom of the staircase. As she sets her foot on the bottom step, Tommy's voice nearly startles her.

“Mum, what's wrong with Will?”

His usually bright voice is so solemn it's painful and Kristen has to bite her lip to hold back the emotions it tugs. She sets her foot back on the ground, shifting to meet Tommy's bright blue eyes, dulled by worry.

“I'm not sure, Tom. He'll be alright though.”

Tommy screws up his face. He can't cry, because then Kristin will cry, and Chayenne would be afraid, with Niki left to pick up the pieces. Tommy blinks a few times. His voice breaks, and Kristin almost shatters along with him.

“How can you know that?”

Kristin sighs. There's no use hiding from Tommy what he will inevitably find out himself. He's stubborn when he wants to be, and there's no holding him back when he wants to know something.

“I don't, but we can believe it.”

Tommy turns his gaze to the floor, shifting on his feet.

“Can I see him? Please?”

He asks, and oh, he sounds just as desperate as Kristin herself feels. She can't bring herselfto refuse him. She nods, gesturing to the staircase.

“I can't keep you away, just be careful.”

Tommy's expression morphs to one of confusion.

“Careful? About what?”

Kristin can't quite put into words what the warning really means, but Tommy is bouncing on his heels, and looks ready to tear up the flight of stairs and Kristin can't give her son an answer.

“Just.....be careful, Tommy.”

Kristin swallows the emotions that battle in her throat, and ascends the stairs, Tommy close behind. A rising dread whispers in her ears, but she blocks it out with a false reassurance that this illness is not what she thinks it is. It's just Wilbur's wings giving him trouble, and he'll be up and singing in no time. Kristin hesitates at the door, the plate of lunch held in both hands. Tommy quickly steps past her, swinging Wilbur's bedroom door wide. She follows him in, and the dam holding back her tears crumbles. Salty water streams from her eyes as she places the plate on Will's bedside table. Phil sits on the edge of the bed with his son's head in his lap. Wilbur seems to be asleep while Phil runs his fingers through his eldest son's curls. Tallulah sits crosslegged on the end of the bed humming an unfamiliar tune that whispers of sorrow and longing. It's eerie coming from a child. The worst part of the scene is the mess of crimson and azure that covers the sheets and Phil's favorite kimono, as well as Will's own clothing. Kristin watches Tommy approach the bed, kneeling reverently. He looks up at Phil, who twitters in solemn affection.

“Dad, what is this? What's wrong with Will?”

His voice is strained, on the verge of tears as he gently strokes dulled indigo feathers. Kristen watches Phil’s eyes swirl in a mixture of agony and pride as they light on his son's fledgling collosal wings. The pride doesn't leave as they cover Tommy in a father's gaze laced with the deeply set grief of a fate's acceptance.
“I'm not sure how to say this.”

Kristin crosses around the bed as Tallulah's song cuts to silence. Phil glances at the girl, then at Kristin, who understands the cue. She places a hand on Tallulah's shoulder.

“Hey, Lullah, can you go downstairs and find some lunch please? Niki and Chayenne are making sanwiches.”

Tallulah screws up her face in determined upset, shaking her head. She pulls away from Kristin.

“No, I have to stay with Papi so he doesn't leave me again!”

Tears glisten in Tallulah's eyes, but Kristin feels no sympathy, only frustration. What's the use reasoning with a soulless synthetic? In her peripheral, Kristin sees Wilbur stir awake. Phil helps him sit leaning against him, and his grunts of pain twist like a dagger in Kristin's gut. She kneels beside Tallulah, keeping her expression soft and her voice level.

“Tallulah, honey, you can't stay up here forever. I need you to go downstairs for a while, okay? Will's not going anywhere.”

Her voice tightens on the last sentence. In no universe will that be an empty promise. Will's strained and raspy voice chimes in.

“It's okay, Tallulah, Abuelo Phil will take care of me.”

A tear slips down Tallulah's cheek and Kristin fights the urge to carry the ghost of a life downstairs herself. Tallulah slips off the bed, shakily. She drags her feet, trudging towards the open bedroom door. Hand on the doorframe, Tallulah glances back, glaring daggers at Kristin before exiting the room. Kristin stands, listening to the child's footfalls. Once they've descended the stairs, she turns back to the bed. Tommy has sat on the opposite edge of Wilbur's bed from Phil, and Will has wrapped a droopy wing around his shoulders. Phil has a midnight wing curled around Wilbur as well. It's an endearing sight, and the warmth of undying love blooms in Kristin's chest. She crosses around the bed again, approaching the bedside table. She hands out the sandwiches and Will's bread, taking a seat on the chair that sits by Wilbur's writing desk. Tommy stares at his sandwich, while Will nibbles at his own crust. Kristin takes a bite as she watches Phil vacantly inspect his sandwich, clutching it in shaking talons. Tommy glances up.

“Please, Phil, tell me what's going on.”

Phil's long fingernails dig into his bread. He slowly lifts his head, staring at Tommy with tear filled cavernous eyes.

“Tommy, your brother is dying.”

Chapter Text

Sapnap stop, you're so annoying!”

“You're the one hogging the couch! Move over, hog.”

Dream grins, watching his brothers bicker. He's missed this. He knows it can't last, he knows it's not what it looks like, but he missed this. He would have given the world to bring his family back. He still would. He will. Dream leans over the back of the couch, tugging at the ribbon of black cotton fabric that Sapnap keeps tied around his head.

“Aren't you guys curious about what this place is? If you don't stop fighting like toddlers, I won't give you the tour.”

Sapnap grunts as George's foot collides with his side.

“No one cares about your creepy sand bunker, Dream. Let us live. Ow!”

George flashes a glare at Sapnap, having bopped him on the head with his fist.

“You're supposed to be the responsible and encouraging one. I care about the bunker, Dream. I am so very sorry for punching Sapnap for being a whiny baby. Will you please give me a tour?”

George earns an elbow jabbed into his side for the quip as Sapnap stands, adjusting his headband.

“Bootlicker. Fine, Dream, you can show us around if you want. Why do you have a spooky bunker under the lighthouse anyways?”

Dream's eyes glitter mischievously. He's got them both hooked. It's time to pull in the bait. He pushes off from the sofa's back, pausing dramatically.

“I don't.”

George stares at him blankly. Sapnap looks both confounded and irritated.

“Then whose bunker did we just waltz into, Dream? I know you don't have a house, but you don't have to go all cuckoo bird.”

Dream glares at his older brother, who snickers at his annoyance.

“I have a house, Sapnap, you live with me!”

George stifles a giggle, dancing over to Dream to muss his hair.

“What are we doing here then, Dream? Why aren't we at your house?”

Dream swats George's hand away, rolling his eyes.

“Because I brought you here. Do you want the tour or not?”

George presses his hand to his chest in mock offense.

“Of course I do! Anything for my baby brother.”

“I'm literally two minutes younger than you!”

Dream throws up his hands, seemingly exasperated. In reality, his heart is bursting at the seams with the love he's saved for the brother he lost and….is finding. He definitely missed this. Sapnap tuts.

“Weenie wittle baby Dweam. It's almost your bedtime, you know. Show us to your nursewy!”

Dream turns his head slowly, dramatically towards Sapnap, levelling a death stare at him while George cackles in delight. Sapnap and Dream make eye contact. In a flash, Dream smirks, vaulting over the couch. If a streak of wispy shadow follows him before dissipating, then Sapnap doesn't need to pay attention to that. Sapnap yelps as Dream reaches out, slapping his arm.

“Ow, hey! Quit bullying me!”

Dream scoffs. George howls with laughter.

“Gogy, stop, it's not that funny.”

Sapnap sulks. George fights to suppress his bright bubbling laughter.

“It kind of is.”

“It's not, stop laughing.”

Dream crosses his arms, watching the two argue about whether or not Sapnap getting slapped is objectively funny - which it is - with their backs to the doorway to the next room. Dream presses his fingers to his lips, making eye contact with the man who walks through the doorway, his face a picture of shock and confusion. Dream turns back to his brothers.

“Hey Sap, Gogy, you still wanna know who owns this place?”

Sapnap turns, nodding.

“Yeah, who in the world-”

He cuts himself off, staring in shocked amazement at the golden-skinned man before him. The two blink at each other until Sapnap grins, rushing to catch the man in a warm embrace.

“Foolish! It's been way too long, man! I wasn't even sure you were alive! How'd you end up down here?”

Foolish laughs, clapping his friend on the back.

“It's a long and boring story, you don't need to hear. What are you guys doing down here?”

He answers as he pulls away. Sapnap shrugs, gesturing to Dream as George takes his turn embracing their long missing friend.

“He dragged us down here and won't tell us why.”

Dream grins playfully, flicking at an annoyed Sapnap.

“I'll tell you when I need you to know.”

George huffs, crossing his arms. His tone is light, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“You're being all mysterious and dramatic again, Dream. Just tell us!”

Dream only shakes his head while Foolish laughs at the trio's antics.

“Man, I missed you guys.”

He grins. George's feigned annoyance melts into a look of sympathy.

“Have you been here alone all these years? I'm so sorry, Foolish, that must have been just awful and lonely.”

Foolish waves him off, smiling fondly.

“Nah, I had Fundy and Leo here to keep me company.”

Dream holds back a laugh at his brothers’ visible confusion. Sapnap is a perfect picture of bewilderment. He stares at Foolish, as if scrutinizing his word.

“Fundy? Isn't that the fox kid who ran off to this lighthouse and died?”

Foolish laughs, waving to someone behind him. A tall young man with pointed orange ears matching his hair enters the room, arms crossed. Dream takes note that he looks around Wilbur's age and height. Maybe they could be friends. That would be rather helpful. Two birds with one stone.

“Well I did one of those things. I'll let you decide which, Smartypants.”

Foolish guffaws to Sapnap's chagrin. Dream chuckles right along with him. George stifles a giggle into his hand. Foolish claps Sapnap on the back.

“You'll grow on each other. Fundy's a great kid, but he's got some odd ideas. It's not unlike someone else I know.”

Foolish meets Dream's emerald eyes with his own ominously glittering the same hue. Dream doesn't miss a beat, staring right back as he leans against the couch. They've never figuratively seen eye-to-eye, but Foolish is sure to come around to his ideas sometime. Dream can guarantee it. Foolish snaps his gaze back to Sapnap, grinning like the moment of eye contact never happened.

“Oh, and don't call him.'Fox Boy’, it's insensitive.”

Dream watches curiously as Sapnap's confidence seems to thin at a sudden look that builds in Foolish's eyes. It's a look that spells stubborn protection. Foolish really cares about this kid, doesn't he?
Fundy snarls, slapping at Foolish, despite the man being clearly ten times as strong as him. Where Sapnap is clearly intimidated, Fundy is comfortable, trusting, attached.

“I'm not a kid, and I can speak for myself, thank you!”

So the kid has a fighting spirit. That will be good for him. Annoying for Dream, but Foolish might appreciate his clinging stubbornness. That kind of fight usually ties into loyalty. It's already showing clearly here. As Dream analyzes the relationship between the two men, George speaks out, breaking up a friendly argument between the two.

“So this is Fundy, but who is Leo?”

Dream snaps his gaze to Foolish. He seems to grow taller, if that's possible, puffing out his chest slightly. His face is a portrait of parental pride, a joyous grin showing sharpened teeth.

“Leo is my daughter!”

He calls back the way he entered.

“Leonarda! Come meet our new roommates!”

Sapnap puts up a hand, turning to address Dream.

“Hang on, roommates? Are we staying here? We need to talk about this, Dream.”

Dream shrugs.

“There's nothing to talk about, Sapnap. We don't have anywhere else.”

Sapnap shakes his head, defiantly.

“No, we have my house, we have the entire palace, even Logstedshire. Why do you need us right here specifically, Dream?”

Dream doesn't change his expression, his signature smile, cocking his head at his older brother.

“Nothing important, I just thought it would be nice to hang out with Foolish. It's been so long! Isn't it great to be all together again?”

Sapnap's confusion gains an element of suspicion.

“That's so obviously a lie, Dream. I know you. You have something planned here and you need us to go along with it. Well I'm not helping you with a plan I don't know. It's just common sense, Dream.”

Frustration rises within Dream's chest. His fingers twitch, subtle shadows in black and violet swirling around them for the flash of a moment. He clenches his fists and holds himself back from lashing out. It's still Sapnap. It's still one of the very few people whose strings lead back to Dream's heart and not his fingertips.

“I'll tell you when you need to know.”

Sapnap throws up his hands. The others look on in silence.

“And when is that, Dream? When this plan of yours is over? In the middle when we realized the horrors you've used us to commit?”

Dream makes a flash of eye contact with George, who immediately approaches Sapnap, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Sapnap, leave it to rest. He'll tell us when he's ready. I'm sure it's not what you think it is.”

Sapnap shrugs George's hand off.

“Weren't you just on my side? And yeah, you're right. I'm sure it's not what I think it is. Knowing Dream, it'll be worse.”

Sapnap levels a furious glare at Dream, stalking over to him in an attempt at dominance. Dream straightens, staring him down.

“I guess you'll have to find out.”

“Hey guys, could you not fight in front of my kid, please? I don't need Leo picking bad words and things y'know?”

Sapnap whips around, fixing his fiery glare now on Foolish. His gaze softens as it lands on a young girl standing beside Foolish, little arms crossed. She wears a white t-shirt with golden yellow short sleeves and blue denim overalls. Her black twin braids are topped with a backwards scarlet ball cap. She looks up at Sapnap with a childishly angry expression, mimicking her father's.

“This is Leo?”

Sapnap's voice has mostly leveled out.

George kneels in front of the girl, holding out his hand.

“It's nice to meet you, Leo.”

Leo shakes his hand silently and curtly, looking up at Foolish with a questioning gaze. Foolish's eyes are pools of softness as he meets hers.

“It's okay, Leo. They're friends. They just get a bit excited.”

Leo looks down, patting her pockets, before looking up at Foolish with a pouty face. Fundy's ears flick and he addresses the three brothers.

“Leo can't talk because of the incident, but she's pretty good with writing. She just realized that she doesn't have her writing pad with her.”

Leo turns on her heel, tearing back down the hallway.

“She's going to get it.”

George stands, flashing Fundy a smile..

“Thank you for telling us. Should I even ask about ‘The Incident’? Is that code?”

Fundy shrugs.

“It's 'The Incident.’ I don't know what to tell you.”

Sapnap scoffs, side-eyeing Dream.

“Yeah, thank you, Fundy, for the information. We really appreciate it.”

Dream rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had Leonarda for, Foolish?”

Foolish meets Dream's dead-eyed stare, his own eyes flashing in determined warning.

“Long enough that I'd blow every world into oblivion if it meant keeping her safe.”

Dream doesn't let up his stare. He doesn't blink. The tension in the room rises to something dangerous.

“You'd better be careful then, Foolish. The world is full of dangerous people.”

Foolish smiles, a twisted confident threat. His voice is low and haunted, a warning.

“Oh, I'm well aware of that. You used to consider me one of them. Remember that.”

Chapter Text

Time ticks impossibly fast when your world is about to end. Sometimes the seconds before the war begins drag the longest. Sometimes they seem to skip over themselves. The half hour it takes to walk from Punz's house to Phil's starts off as a whooshing blur. Yet as a blotch of white accented with bloody gold blots the canvas of the sky, time seems to freeze, caught in a taunting stasis. Technoblade's knuckles whiten around his trident as he stares up at the clear figure jumping between rooftops like some cartoon superhero. Dramatic. Impractical. You can be seen from a mile away, and you'll lose too much energy before you even reach your target. The young mercenaries all seem to fight for show and glory far more than getting the job done swiftly and efficiently. Techno resents it. He doesn't have time for pettiness. Right now all he can think about is the glaring fact that Punz is out of prison and heading straight for Phil's. That can't mean anything good. He can only hope that it's himself that Punz is searching for, yet the twisting in the bottom of his stomach gives a different sickening option. His chest burns, his breath quickens in a strangely unfamiliar way.

“What is this?”

He mumbles, attempting to shake the feeling off. It slightly alleviates, but doesn't leave. Techno growls, slinking into the shadows against the walls of various buildings as he follows the arrogant mercenary. This feeling sucks. It's restricting his mind, and he needs it gone. He needs to get to Wilbur and Phil. Oh Death, the kids! Tommy, Chayenne, Kristin as well. He has to get to his family! A slap of realization nearly freezes him as he watches Punz land on the roof of the Craftsoot home. For the first time in forever, Technoblade feels fear. Not fear for himself, but for his own. Phil can handle himself just fine, Tommy can run. If Niki's there, she'll protect them with her life...ironically. Realistically, Technoblade knows that this one little fighter is no match for himself and his family. Emotionally, he now understands what a chicken feels like when it sees a fox break into the henhouse, the dreaded knowledge that no one will come out unscarred. He braces himself, analyzing any possible way to intercept Punz before his obvious target, the second story bedroom window.

“Do you think he knows what he's really doing?”

Now Technoblade has never been a jumpy person, by any means, but the voice of a child beside him in this moment admittedly startles him. Chayenne's bright blue eyes peek out from behind shaggy blonde hair. He's so much like a mini Phil it's almost eerie. Almost as eerie as his question.

“Heh? You mean the bloody snowflake?”

Chayenne smirks.

“Come on, Techno, you can come up with something more creative than that.”

Techno blinks.

“I think I need to have a talk with Phil about teaching you some respect.”

Chayenne shrugs, crossing his arms.

“My question still stands. Do you think Punz knows what he's really doing?”

Techno gives the kid an odd look. He sounds much older than he looks, sounds like he knows something about this, his vice carrying a familiar cadence. What's he hinting at here?

“Do you?”

The kid laughs at the question. It sounds reminiscent of someone Techno befriended in a past life. His mind screams that he should run, that he should apologize, that he should submit. Techno freezes, stunned standing in the mess of his scars as he stares at the innocent child laughing delightedly beside him. Chayenne catches his breath, grinning widely at Technoblade.

“Do I? Why would I know, Techno? It's not like I sent him.”

Blue flashes green, blond loses its shine, a blue t-shirt turns to acid green. For a flash of a moment, Chayenne is gone, replaced with an image of a young Dream smiling like it's his only purpose. But it's all in Technoblade's head. He presses a hand to his temple, squeezing his eyes shut for a few seconds. The twisting of fear rises in his gut. Voices long silenced lift their voices in mockery within his mind.

“What's up with you? Are you trying to distract me or something?”

A little hand grabs at Technoblade's cape.

“Why would I do that? Techno, you never answered my question.”

Chayenne's eyes reflect the disappointment apparent in his tone of voice, his lower lip stuck out in a pout.

“We want to know.”

Technoblade's chest tightens like a bright green rope coiled around him, trapping him. Like the cage that held a child blinded by illusions of safety and friendship. Dark laughter twists with the screaming whispers in his head.

“Who's we?”

He fights to keep his voice level. Technoblade is a stronghold. Why is he crumbling now? Why here, why now when his brother needs him most? It can't be coincidental. It's intentionally placed. Techno sees something more devious at play, yet it's still working. Technoblade actually jumps as small arms wrap around his leg, an even younger girl peering sweetly up at him.

“Tallulah and I. No one tells us anything!”

Sorrow floods Tallulah's eyes, spilling over as she wipes them on Techno's pant leg. Great, he just washed these. Tallulah's voice is positively shattered, choking out words through sobs from the depths of her soul.

“Please- why Papi? Why does he need to take him away again?”

Fear whirls its ugly vortex in Techno's gut, its ropes crushing his heart tight. He had no confirmation that's what Punz was there to do, only a hunch. A hunch and a grudge. Not a grudge of his own, one held by an old friend with emerald eyes. Something about these kids doesn't sit well with Technoblade. It's not just the fact that they're children, although that alone causes him discomfort. It's how much they resemble the man that's held the world at the end of a string since they were children, since long before Logstedshire's fall. Surely that part is a coincidence, right? All Techno can do is hope, his faith in himself is slowly burning out. He kneels down, letting Tallulah wrap her arms around his neck despite stiffening like a tree.

“How do you know that he's after Will?”

Chayenne scoffs.

“Who else? He can't fight Her.”

Techno's suspicions about the children blare on full volume. Yeah, these aren't just ordinary mystery kids who appeared conveniently after Dream's death. He takes hold of Tallulah's arms, gently pulling them away from his neck. She only squeezes tighter.

“Kid, I need to breathe, let go.”

She loosens her grip, but doesn't let go, burying her face in Techno's neck in silent sorrow. Techno meets Chayenne's eyes dead on, his resolve returning.

“You're right, he can't. He can't take Phil either, and he can't take me. Don't forget his place.”

Tallulah's grip tightens again. She speaks softly, her voice calm and level.

“He doesn't need to.”

Techno tries pulling Tallulah away again, but she stubbornly coils even tighter around his neck, his breath slowly getting caught, unable to escape or enter.

“Tallulah- I really need you to let me breathe-”

Chayenne sighs as if Techno's struggle is nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Come on Techno, we both know that's the least of your concerns right now.”

A shattering crash sounds from above. Shards of glass rain down, landing on and in front of Techno and Tallulah. A small piece slices Technoblade's cheek, warm blood trickling from a shallow cut. The arms around his neck drop, and Techno's eyes land on Tallulah, who's gone limp against his chest, eyes frozen wide. Techno's arms instinctively curl around the child, cradling her body as she slides down, a large pane of glass sticking out from the middle of her back. Technoblade feels every nerve in his body itching. Yet his heart seems to skid to a stop stop when he comes to a sickening realization. Despite the horror of the scene in his arms, it's clean. Not a single drop of blood flows from the girl's wound. Technoblade reaches out to take the shard of glass, bewilderment playing games with fear.

“Ugh already? I wouldn't do that.”

Techno turns to Chayenne, who has moved to stand uncomfortably close to Technoblade's shoulder. He glares straight into piercing blue eyes.

“Dream, what did you do?”

Chayenne sighs.

“You're not supposed to get an answer yet. Hold on, let me just-”

Something pierces Techno's neck, and he immediately slaps at the spot. A large syringe clatters to the ground dripping azure and Technoblade's heart skips a beat, slowing its rhythm. His head starts to feel sluggish and heavy. Was that full? That much blue could……the world goes blurry as the ground rushes to meet him, cold, quiet, black, alone.

Chapter Text

This is all so confusing, isn't it? This story seems to grow holes like an old sock left discarded beneath a bed. I assure you, the needle and thread are still in my hand. Each tear will be mended, each uncertainty made certain. Well, maybe it's time for a bit of an explanation. Is it alright if I take a while? Right, you can't answer. Well please bear with me then. This story is one in a sea of many. It tells of what the characters could have lived in another universe. You, the reader, live where stories converge. Many here would envy your perspective. You have surely read countless tales in the library of our lives and what could have been. Oh the things we would change if we could see the end of our story like you can. You may wonder what that has to do with the current situation. Well, this next part requires a bit of explanation to make sense. But don't worry, Mate! I am more than willing to clear things up.

Our story starts at the beginning. It was cold, because heat had yet to be. It was dark because light had not yet been created. It was naught because no thing was. We were there, waiting for the right time for it to start. There have always been three of us, yet we are I and I am one. Let's call them my spirit, my soul, and my self. The time came, and I opened my mouth. I sang, and the sky came to life. I sang and the sky grew feathers. At each strain of my song, the feathers grew bodies, beaks, voices. The birds sang along, birds of all colors and sizes. They lived to sing my song, and they loved to whistle its melody. I sang and they copied. I sang and the sky gave us a home. I sang and the dust began to take form. I sang and the waters flowed from my voice into their places. I sang and vegetation grew. I sang and creatures leaped over the ground. I sang and the seas became a home. I smiled, and we bent down. We weren't quite done yet. We grasped a handful of the dust, tossing it into the air. I sang and the grains formed a soul, a mind, and a body. I sang and the body began to breathe. I called him my son, and his soul is forever beloved by me and my own. I sang and dust flew from his body, forming another. I called her my daughter, and she too is forever beloved. Though their names may be forgotten to time, they live tucked safely away in my heart. Their children also are my own, and they grew to fill the earth. Yet before that, even as these beautiful creatures began to take form, tragedy struck. Tragedy is the absence of joy, the testing of hope. Even as we smiled on our creation, as the birds sang their praises, a bleeding drop of darkness broke away from the light. You see, when I sang my people into being, I wished them to be friends. I did not wish for blind followers, so I gave them the choice of sight. In the middle of their home lay a swirling pool of blue. I told them it was dangerous to touch, deadly to ingest. I did not lie, yet curiosity is the gateway to doubt. Each person and each bird of the sky was created with pure white strings from my heart to theirs. Yet my beautiful songbird, my dove, saw his strings as a hindrance. The strings are the pathway through which life itself flows. Without them, the soul withers and fades away to nothing. My dove grew restless, convincing himself that apart from the strings was not death, but freedom. Death does not exist on its own, but is the absence of life. My poor dove snapped one string, then another, then another, until all seven strings were severed Yet he breathed. My dove squawked in my face,

“Liar, liar!”

Speaking lies with his very accusation. Absence of me brings death, but my birds must endure a living death. They are like me in that they have no end, but forever they will be in darkness unless they choose to come home. Running from my strings of life was not the freedom he sought, but his own chosen condemnation. He knew this, yet he still convinced himself that his own way would be better. This wasn't all my dove did that caused the waterfalls of tears to flow from my eyes. My sweet songbird convinced many of my flock to do the same. I lost so many that day, and every day they snap the strings of my beloved people, leaving only one string connected to let them keep breathing. My dove snaps six strings, using the frayed ends and dead rope to braid his own cords of control rather than life. Yet he cannot do it without the soul's consent. So he lies. He deceives, and he convinces just as he convinced himself. He led that first man and that first woman to not only touch that dark and swirling pit of blue, but to drink of it, letting my dove do his work in disobeying my wishes. Beloved, beware the smile, the gifts, the power. Beware the song of the tainted dove, lest the green strings bind you to the creator of death.

Does this description sound familiar? It is indeed the shadow who calls himself “Dream”. You may ask then where Kristin and Niki fit into this. Are they not the goddesses of death and life? I can understand that confusion, but they are not. Many in Skewed Myth Point believe it to be so, and why should they not? It's a story whispered by those who wish for a hope to cling to. They themselves even started to believe it, that the power was within them. Yet everything they knew was an illusion cast by a web of green strings. It is sadly the same for many others. Karl, Ranboo, Puffy, even Fundy. My dove gave them the power they wanted, the appearances they asked for. He can create features that copy my beautiful animals, he can give powers that strengthens his ropes around you each time you use them. Yet only I can give wings. You have seen it happen one time, though perhaps my son did not quite understand what was happening. Perhaps he did, but refused to believe it.

Ah my poor son! My Wilbur got dragged so far into the pit of blue he could not see to lift himself out. He nearly snapped his last string of life by his own hands, and I would have mourned for an eternity. SMP itself could not hold my sorrow. He is truly my son in multiple senses. For one, he is my beloved creation whom I could never change my adoration for. For another, I saw the suffering that my people were choosing, and decided to show them the option of life in a way they could more easily see and understand. So I sent a part of myself, my soul, to Skewed Myth Point, to a small kingdom called Logstedshire. I created a body to house my soul, I became the man you know as Phil Craftsoot, for I have always been, yet never was. Logstedshire was ruled by a powerful queen, Puffy. However, Dream had her strings held tightly in his hands. He led her to believe him family, he led her to believe she had the inherent power of healing as he guided her hands to harm her people. The queen's veins pumped blue while her smiling advisor created the narrative of phantomization, a fabricated phenomenon he led the scientist to believe he'd discovered. I entered the broken kingdom, but I had not come to conquer as a warrior, to take my beloved people by force. A friend must choose you. So I created a family, a woman of no status to be my closest friend, for status in this world means nothing to me. I love her as I always have, and that is not subject to change in this eternity. She loved me, and I gave her a son, and another. We watched them grow, we watched one be taken, and we watched one take himself. Many years later we took in another son and a daughter, yet this son too would leave to his own passions. We watched Dream rage, tearing down the little kingdom of Logstedshire when too many of his people chose my rough life over his beautiful death. In the midst of the battle, my Will would lay down his own life for an innocent girl nearly caught in the crossfire. Niki grew to resent the sacrifice, wishing it had been her who had to endure my absence. Yet Will's last string of life would not snap as he was not yet ready. Hanging on by a thread, he ran from us as I wove a new string. I could only mend it as he chose it. He could never seem to decide if he wanted to breathe or sink, so the string's mending took much longer than we all hoped. I asked if he would let me have the other six, but he was afraid. He let me have two, then one day, in pain, he snapped one. He ran to my broken dove, wrapping himself in a web of green. Then years later, as he drowned in a slough of blue, he finally reached out, letting me mend all his strings. That's when his wings began to grow. But what is freedom without sacrifice? They cannot exist without each other, and so wings grow with pain. The light and the dark cannot occupy the same corner, so one must be exterminated. It is painful to remove the blue, and some life may seem to come with it, as blue clings stubbornly to desire. But it must be done for the wings to grow to their fullest. I did all I could to be there for my beloved son through the cleansing, yet their freedom cannot come without sacrifice either. Well, you're not quite that far in the story yet. That was quite the interlude, wasn't it, Mate? Please remember what I have said as you return to your story, and maybe this one can make a difference in a world of tales of similar kinds.

Chapter Text

He was getting better. I saw the slight flush of color in Will's sunken cheeks. I saw his chest rise and fall in a rhythm less troubled. I saw Phil smile, peace in his eyes, as he scrubbed at the stain on the sheets. Wilbur should be near completely well after a few hours. He'll be weak and still need rest, but that should be all. At least that's what Phil told us, and I trust his judgement far better than most. Than any other, really. No one has ever lived this life quite like the Crowfather. No one has ever loved quite like Phil.

Niki sits in a chair at Will's bedside as Kristin runs her fingers through matted curls in an attempt to tame them without waking him. Niki's hands lay clenched in fists on her lap. She hasn't let hope take over just yet, and she's not letting Will die again. Once was far too much. She'd never have asked it of him. She'd have given her own life for his had the roles been reversed. She can't deny her wish that they had. Niki clenches and unclenches her fists, trying to drown out the infernal tapping of Tommy's foot from the chair next to hers. She shouldn't let herself think. It'll only make the wait all the more unbearable.

“Tommy, can you please stop, that sound is giving me a headache.”

In answer to Niki's request, Tommy stands abruptly, running his fingers through his hair.

“I should go get some fresh air….I'll be back.”

“Hold up, Mate, just a second.”

Phil stands, extending a hand towards Tommy in a pleading gesture. Tommy huffs, crossing his arms.

“What?”

Phil walks smoothly over to Tommy, feathers dragging behind him. He swings his arms wide, wrapping them around his youngest son in a warm embrace.

“Welcome home, Tommy. I know we haven't had the chance to see each other much, but that will change, I promise. I missed you with all my heart.”

Niki watches in amazement as the man she's seen speak calmly to an army with a bounty on his head begins to sob. Phil, the mighty warrior, the softspoken leader, breaks down in the arms of his boy. Tommy's blue eyes widen in surprise, brimming with tears of their own. Father and son hold each other, mother and chosen daughter looking on, smiling through their own rising emotions. It's a beautiful painful moment of healing in a world that forgot how to breathe. The two men pull away from each other, wiping away tears before putting back their masks of masculine strength. Niki's face spreads into a tense smile. Her fingernails dig into her palms. She's happy for them, she's glad to meet their son, but she can't help the gnawing dread in the pit of her stomach that reeks of worry. The feeling that floods her veins, shaking in her muscles, and pounding inside her heart. She remains sitting hunched over, fingers squeezed tightly around themselves, as she watches Kristin stand.

“Phil, you should go with Tom. You need some fresh air yourself. Stretch your wings and talk with your son. It'll do you both some good.”

Phil walks over to his wife, planting a kiss on her cheek.

“You sure you'll be alright without me for a few moments, my dove?”

He twitters. Kristin flushes, swatting him away.

“I've made it this long, haven't I? Go, have fun. Niki can keep an eye on Will while I get this house cleaned up. If that's alright with Niki, of course.”

Niki waves her hand, shooing the ruffled bird towards the door.

“Go, we'll be fine.”

Kristin gives Niki a strained smile with a look in her eyes that says “don't you dare try anything”. Phil gives Niki a sympathetic look. Niki only feels bewildered. What's going on between them that has to do with her? If it's about the battle, have they really blamed her all this time? Do they also wish it was her and not him? An ugly chill creeps up Niki's spine, and her own smile morphs almost to a grimace. Phil glances reluctantly at Wilbur's sleeping form. The suffocating silence shatters as Tommy places a hand on his dad's arm.

“Yep, we need some good old father-son bonding time, Big Man, let's go.”

Phil squawks in surprise while Niki giggles. The tension dissipates. Kristin looks at Tommy in shock.

“You don't call your father, “Big Man”, that's disrespectful! Apologize, Tommy.”

Tommy smirks, dragging a flustered twittering Phil out the door. Kristin follows, lecturing Tommy about the importance of parental respect.

Niki sighs, sinking deeper into her chair as Will stirs in his sleep. Why can't things between her and the Craftsoots be normal? Sure, they met under absurd circumstances, but couldn't their relationship at least be smooth? No relationship is smooth, Niki thinks. It's the way of life. Her way, as so many believe. Niki squirms under the illusion of scrutiny. What would the people do if they discovered that the one they look up to, the one they worship, is just another human like them? And Kristin too. Kristin seems to really believe that she has power over death. It's sad to Niki to see her so blinded. She dreads the day that illusion falls. Yet here she is so readily playing the role of Kristin's counterpart because she's too afraid to stand up and speak the truth. Niki hugs her knees to her chest, willing herself not to sink into the spiral of the moment. When her will comes, it's in the way she least desires.

Time seems to slow, reality to blur. Glass shatters. A muffled scream sounds from below. Indigo feathers slap Niki in the face as Will awakes with a jolt. Niki stands, jumping in front of Wilbur on instinct as a man clad in bloodstained white crashes through the window, battleaxe swinging in a wide arc. Niki shuts her eyes, Wilbur screaming her name from behind as the axe lowers towards her head. Something rustles in front of Niki, and Will goes silent. The pain doesn't come. The last thing Niki wants is to open her eyes and find out that Wilbur Craftsoot has jumped in front of her death sentence once again. But hiding from the truth doesn't make it any less true. Niki forces her eyes open just as a pale body collapses into her arms. Niki's knees buckle under the weight. Yet the winged man wheezing in her arms is not the same who saved her all those years ago. A choked sob sounds from behind her as Wilbur climbs out of bed, rushing to his father's side.

“Dad! Dad, can you hear me?”

A gaping slice over Phil's chest seeps red into his clothing. Tears stream down Wilbur's face as Phil slowly reaches out to cup Wilbur's cheek with his hand.

“Will. I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but I promise this isn't the end. Remember me, Son, and soon we will meet again. I love you and I always will. Please - take care of your brother.”

Will's sobs wrench Niki's gut as her own tears spill over. He takes Phil from Niki's arms, cradling his body close to himself.

“Don't go, Dad, please! We need you! I need you! You're not dying, we can fix this! Niki, get Ranboo!”

Phil only smiles.

“I know you need me. Just wait. I'm not leaving just yet. And when I do, I'll come back for you.”

Will's face twists in pained confusion.

“You'll come back like I did?”

Phil sits up with Wilbur's help, holding a hand over his wound. The bleeding seems to slow to a stop. Phil shakes his head, standing.

“You never fully left.”

A loud grunt sounds from behind, and the axe swings again. Niki's blood boils. She rushes forward, grabbing the handle of the axe with both hands as it swings, stopping it in its tracks. Punz's expression is empty as he stares Niki straight in the eye.

“Out of my way, Cotton Candy.”

Niki sneers at the nickname.

“Make me, Marshmallow.”

She spits back. Punz cocks his head before attempting to wrestle the axe out of Niki's grip. She holds on, seething. Punz's cold demeanor never slips, even as he fails to regain control of his weapon.

“You're just prolonging the inevitable. I'll complete this mission with or without casualties.”

Niki sneers.

“Oh, is it evil monologue time? Talk away then, doesn't change the fact that you're actively losing to a woman.”

With that, Niki snaps the axe from Punz's grasp, swinging the handle around to whack the back of his head, knocking him out in one swift motion. She smirks.

“Well that felt good.”

As Niki turns to the two men behind her, Will rushes to catch her in an embrace. The battleaxe clatters to the floor.

“Niki! It's been way too long. Are you alright?”

Wilbur pulls back to inspect her for injuries. She shakes her head. One of Wilbur's wings flaps out, slapping Niki in the side, and his face turns crimson.

“Oh, I'm so sorry, Niki! I haven't quite adjusted to these things yet. They're surprisingly heavy.”

Niki giggles.

“Don't worry about it. I'm sure it must be difficult.”

Phil claps a hand on Will's shoulder.

“It'll come with time, Mate. Soon enough you'll be soaring with the moon.”

As Phil's words fall, the bedroom door slams shut. Niki yelps. Will jumps. A cloud as dark as night seeps into the room, cold in its hazy embrace. Wilbur stiffens, holding onto Niki's arm. Feathers ruffle as Phil trills in warning.

“I told you to stay away from my children.”

Chills rush through Niki's body at the sound of Phil's voice low and dripping with threat. The shadow seems to laugh.

“You know I don't follow rules.”

“Show yourself.”

Phil commands. The shadow almost seems to quiver, hesitating only for a moment.

“I don't answer to you anymore Old Man.”

Wilbur's voice cuts through, level, a forced calm.

“Dad, what is this?”

The shadow whispers as if to shush him.

“This isn't your fight. Go find a new nest, little duckling.”

Will scoffs, confident, yet shaking.

“You don't get to call me that anymore. What do you want with us?”

The shadow swirls.

“Your daddy hasn't told you about me? I'm disappointed. I thought you would have regaled your children with tales of my so-called ignorant rebellion!”

The shadow spits. Phil answers back.

“I'll ask again. Show yourself, Dream. I know what you want.”

The shadow giggles in deranged glee.

“Oh, do you now? You know what I want? I'll tell you what it is!”

The shadow's voice calms to a calculated and rhythmic tone.

“I want this. I want your world. I want your love. I want your life. Six strings. I have Six strings, Phil.”

The shadows around the room collect to a spot in front of the trio, forming a tall figure, lanky and towering. Its arms end in clawed hands, its head sprouting horns. Glowing lime green strings weave eerie webs over the monster of shadow. Where a face would be are two beady white eyes, and too wide of a white smile, gazing with a chilling glow.

“I want the seventh. I want you.”

Niki claps a hand over her mouth to stop the bile and the scream from rising at the sight of the monstrous figure that speaks like an old friend, an old fear.

“Dream? What happened to you?”

The shadow monster snaps its chilling gaze onto Niki. Wilbur pushes himself partway in front of her protectively.

“Oh, this? I've always looked like this. The Dream you know was just a temporary form.”

His eyes float back to Phil.

“Like that one.”

Wilbur's eyes shift between Phil and Dream.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Phil gives Wilbur a soft look.

“You don't remember what I told you years ago in that cave? I know you could hear me.”

Wilbur's eyes grow twice their size.

“I always thought that was just a story!”

Phil smiles, shaking his head. Wilbur's mouth drops open. Niki just watches in confusion. Dream grins.

“So Phil, is our deal still on?”

The confusion in the room only deepens at the question. Phil's calm is unwavering. He nods his head.

“Mine for theirs. One for all. It will be finished.”

He turns to Wilbur and Niki.

“You two need to leave. Take Kristin and Tommy back to the Logstedshire Cavern. Wait for me.”

Wilbur shakes his head emphatically.

“There's no way in any universe I'm leaving you with this.”

He gestures to the shadowy mass. Niki nods in agreement. Phil walks to Wilbur giving a sad smile. Niki notes that his chest wound seems to have disappeared. Maybe she'll ask Will if he knows anything about that later. Phil reaches up, placing a hand gently on his son's shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Will. I promised everything would be okay, didn't I?”

Niki can feel Wilbur's slender form heave with uncried tears.

“You did. You always promised.”

Phil captures his eldest son in a quick but endlessly warm hug.

“Then so be it. Go. Be safe, My Son. I will soon be with you.”

Wilbur nods, taking Niki's hand. He leads her solemnly out of the room. As they descend the stairs, Niki feels a sinking pit make its home inside her. It feels like the beginning of a solar eclipse. The sun is getting hard to see.

Chapter Text

What do you do when the sun doesn't answer? How do you live trapped with nothing but the pounding fists of regret on the cage of your heart to keep you company? How do you breathe when the violet of your tainted breath dissipates, lost in the shadows of your own choices? In other words, Niki didn't hear him, and Sam feels hopelessly lost. He deserves it. He deserves to be left behind to die, unable to help the kid he's grown to see as his own. The shadows on his lap whisper, snaking up his arms, around his chest and neck like bloody vines. Sam's chest burns. He coughs, but there's nothing but his mask's filter to catch it. His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, breaking his stubborn fixation on Purpled's level breathing. An eerie tranquility seeps into the room, slowly encasing Sam's heart in a numbing ice. The silence is broken only by two sets of broken lungs, surviving for their final time. Sam shuts his eyes again, letting out a slow breath in acceptance. Death has been calling him for a long time. Maybe it's time he let her have that dance. The moment of solemn acceptance snaps like a guitar string, ringing like laughter after a practical joke. It was never meant to be, was it? Wilbur's face flashes over Sam's vision for an instant at the thought of the phrase. Back at the house, in the lab, Wilbur always said it whenever things didn't go as planned. He always was helplessly dramatic. The air in front of Sam ripples, and a crew of misfits stands in front of him in a flash of violet glitter. Sam gapes at the ragtag bunch: a familiar young boy carrying Technoblade of all things, a familiar girl, an old victim, and a creature of static. After the initial shock starts to wear, Sam's heart sinks, his head screaming at a million things at once. First off, Technoblade is passed out. Second, Chayenne is a visage of raw rage. Thirdly, Ranboo is carrying the little girl over his shoulder, her back sporting a large gash that exposes wiring and greasy black lubricant. The shadows binding Sam dissipate and he has to leap off the couch as Chayenne practically throws Technoblade onto it. The absurdly strong blonde synthetic raises a dark and fiery gaze at the figure of static, pointing an accusing finger. “You said that was enough to kill him! I need him in limbo!” The staticky form solidifies into that of a familiar young man with sandy brown hair. Sam's eyes grow. Karl looks the same as he had last time Sam saw him, aside from his clothing. Overtop of his multicolor sweatshirt and blue jeans, Karl wears a flowing cloak that constantly shifts its shape in swirling black shadow. Wisps of white form the image of a constantly ticking clock on the back of the cloak. He looks great. He looks cold and distant. He's alive! Sam's thoughts swirl like the cloak as he places a hand on his temple. Karl shrugs at Chayenne's complaint. “What can I say? He's Technoblade. He doesn't die.” Chayenne's fists clench at his sides, eyes glowing bright green. “Karl Jacobs, you have seen universes, you have seen endings. You have been to the ends of the earth and back. Tell me you didn't mistake an immortal for a mortal.” Karl's face spreads into a jovial smile. He tilts back his head, letting out a guffaw of amusement. “Dream, calm down! I'm just messing with you. Sure he's stronger and can take more than your average human, but he's still a human. You should have told me who it was for, I would have upped the dosage! You only asked for enough blue to kill, not enough to kill Technoblade.” Rage boils within Sam's gut, spilling over into the actions of his hands. He grabs the robotic lifeform, slamming the small figure against the wall. He can hear Purpled, now awake, somewhat frantically confused behind him, but tunes it out for the moment in favor of baring his teeth at the vessel. “What are you trying to do here?” Chayenne's demeanor calms instantly, and he sighs in disappointment. “You still don't get it after all this?” Sam simply seethes, meeting Chayenne's icy gaze with a glare that could spit flames. “No, I don't, Dream! You coordinated so many things, didn't you? I thought you just wanted revenge on me, especially when you stole my children-” “Vessels. Quite useful ones.” Dream corrects. Sam's expression darkens further. “My children. They may be creations, just robotic copies of life, but they are dear to me.” Chayenne gives Sam a sly grin. “Oh perfect, then you'll help me!” Sam lets go, dropping Chayenne to the floor with a thud. He takes a few steps back. “I'm not helping you with anything unless you tell me everything. Even then, you'll have to convince me.” Chayenne stands, pouting. “But you're the mad scientist, this is what you do.” Sam shakes his head, stifling a cough. “Not anymore. Spill, Dream. You know none of this will change the past.” Dream scoffs. “Of course it won't! You and I both know the dead don't come back to life…..” Chayenne's eyes glow a sinister lime, expressing raw festering anger. “Except one. You knew him. You experimented on him. You treated him like a friend while you melted his insides. There is no other story like the one of the ghost of sacrifice, Wilbur Craftsoot. A wonder he's still alive even now....unless Punz actually succeeded for once.” “Hey, Punz is a better fighter than you ever were, you jerk!” Sam sighs at Purpled's shouted defense of his brother. “Purpled, don't get yourself involved.” The boy huffs. “Too late. No one talks about Punz like that and doesn't get an insult back.” Sam rolls his eyes fondly. Dream ignores the two, continuing his monologue. “Wilbur is an interesting case, isn't he? He nearly died when young, got rejected by death after being a phantom for a year, then a decade later came to you asking for it again. He found you pretty quick for someone who's supposedly a master at hiding his sins. Couldn't even hide your house, let alone an annoying child. Then Wilbur comes wanting blue. How he found out about it is still a mystery to me. He came to you, said he wanted to forget everything, an emotional and mental death. You never told him what the consequences of it would be, did you? Of course you didn't. You never did think to warn people of risks, did you? Anyways, long story short, you phantomized him…again. So I thought maybe he'd finally be out of the way. Then Technoblade ran off, and I thought 'what luck!’. Phil would finally feel the same agony I did when you killed my brother and took my family from me.” Sam holds up a hand, interrupting. “Hold on, what does Phil have to do with this?” Dream gives Sam an unimpressed look. “You asked for an explanation, not a conversation. Phil had lost all his sons, and was locked away in our prison alone. Yet every time I went to visit him, he refused to speak. He wouldn't talk to you either. The only time he opened his mouth was when he screamed at the sight of Technoblade's failure. I should have killed that pig right then and there. I should have ended the legend of Technoblade in that moment as his birdbrained father watched. Not helplessly. He could have saved him. He could have found Wilbur and Tommy. He could have stopped me before I started. Yet he enjoys suffering, doesn't he? That's why he stayed in that prison. He let them mourn, he let Techno try and fail. Even after that, he let Wilbur slip away. He let Tommy almost be killed. I know that he knew about it. He could have saved Halo. He knows what happened to Fran. He could have saved you the pain. So tell me, Sam, why didn't he?” Violet plumes puff from Sam's respirator with a hiss. His fists shake, white-knuckled at his side. “How do you know all this? How could Phil know, how could he have done this?” Dream smiles. “I think you know the answer to that, Sam. You've known for a long time.” Sam's chest aches with the short breaths that exemplify his rage. “You're the shadow, aren't you, Dream? You're the voice in my nightmares. You're Death.” Chayenne's face nearly splits with the eerie smile. “I am, and so much more. And can I tell you a secret?” Chayenne reaches up, grabbing Sam's arm. He yanks him down to one knee, forcing him to the child's eye level. “I don't need blue. I could give you more than enough to wipe out this city. I never needed your supply, Sam. I just wanted to see a guilty man suffer. I wanted to see you tear Wilbur to pieces slowly and painfully, while your soul faded to match the blackened color of mine.” Sam's face scrunches up as a chill shoots down his spine, clinging to his back. “Then what do you want with Technoblade? Why are you here? Why are Karl and Ranboo here?” Chayenne claps his hands delightedly. “Oh, this is where you come in! You see, Technoblade could be a valuable asset to me later. I need his mind and body weakened so he can help me again. That shouldn't take long. It's easier to break someone than it is to fix them. That's being taken care of now. Ranboo is here because I need to speak with my old friend Phil, and you all need to teleport. Karl is here to keep you and Ranboo in line. With that said, Karl, could you show Sam to his duties? I'm running a bit late.” As soon as his words vanish, Dream's presence leaves with them. Chayenne's eyes fade back to sky blue, and he blinks, recalibrating. His eyes widen as they land on a damaged Tallulah. “Lullah!” He turns to Sam, childish eyes brimming. “You have to fix her!” Karl takes the opportunity to step towards Sam, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He meets Chayenne's worried eyes. “Oh don't worry, she'll be as good as new in no time!” Karl turns to Sam, an expression on his face that says “do as I say or your friend is dead”. “Dream wants the robot fixed. Apparently it needs to be back at the house as soon as possible. Try anything, and you'll learn just how powerful he's made me.” Karl gestures to Ranboo, who has not moved since teleporting everyone in. His eyes glow the same violet as the haze that rises from the mask of the kid sitting on the ground next to him. “Ranboo will take us to your lab. You'll fix the synthetic, and Ranboo will take it back to the Craftsoot house. Technoblade and the kid stay here.” “Hey, I have a name!” Sam can't help a slight smirk as Purpled glares in defense. “ Fine, I'll do it, but I need crying obsidian. The purple liquid is their lifeblood, and i may not have enough left.” Karl nods, and Ranboo grabs Sam's wrist with his free hand, teleporting the four of them to Sam's dusty old lab. It doesn't take much for him to get back into the rhythm of engineering, and the repair itself is an easy one. Only one wire containing the purple glowing liquid is damaged, and Sam decides to use a strong glue to mend the tear in the mechanism's covering. Karl watches like an ominous fly on the wall that could just kill you at any moment. Chayenne watches too, embracing Tallulah with bubbling joy once Sam has her reactivated. Ranboo teleports Tallulah and Chayenne away, and Karl decides to catch Sam up on where he's been on their walk back to Sam's house. Sam is helpless to resist, so he listens, regret singing a sorrowful tune. ~~~~~~~~~~ Techno wakes up on a strange couch with a splitting headache. His favorite crimson cloak is rumpled around him, and his brain feels foggy. “Uggh, where did I fall asleep this time?” He grunts, frustrated and not expecting an answer. He's almost more frustrated when he actually gets one. “Not sure, but some robot kid that's apparently named Dream brought you here. They want you dead. You could take them though.” Techno blinks, attempting to clear the fog from his head. He pushes himself to a sitting position, swinging his legs over the side of the couch. Purpled sits propped up by his arms on the floor. Punz lays unconsciously sprawled next to him. Techno slowly registers the image and his words. His memory supplies him with the unpleasant memory of meeting Dream in the body of a kid. He'll process that later. “Heh? Why'd he bring me here?” Purpled shrugs. “He said he wanted to keep you out of the way or something.” Techno's gaze lands on Punz. Punz was at the house. Punz was on a mission. Cold chills grip at Techno as he realizes that Punz being here means one of two things: either he failed his mission, or he actually succeeded. Techno snaps his attention back to Purpled. “When did he get here?” Purpled glances at his brother, concern flooding his features. “A few minutes ago. The tall kid appeared, put him on the floor, and disappeared again. He's alive, at least. Can you, um, make sure he's okay? Please?” Techno turns a curious gaze at Purpled. He has no more information than he did before, aside from the possibility that Dream is using Ranboo. “You realize he just escaped from the prison I put him in, then tried to and maybe did kill my brother, right?” Techno deadpans, irritated. Purpled looks innocently up at him. “For me? Please? You know I need someone to take care of me.” Technoblade clearly sees what the kid is trying to do, appealing to his sympathy. Something dies inside at how easily it works, knowing the situation He'll have to work on that. Techno pushes to his feet. His head whirls, and he grabs the couch to steady himself before kneeling down. “Sapnap will adopt you. You'll live in luxury.” To his surprise, Purpled full on laughs. Techno raises an eyebrow as he gives Punz a once-over. Purpled's guffaws slip into a coughing fit, and the air grows a bit more solemn. “I've already lived through one house fire and that's enough for me, thank you.” Techno grunts. “He'd probably burn the whole city down trying to make you eggs and toast. Punz is fine. His head is bruised, so that's probably what knocked him out.” Techno smiles to himself when he notices a short pink hair stuck to the bloody gold around Punz's neck. She remembered his training. He stands slowly, a bit lightheaded despite feeling like his brain has been stuffed with cotton. “He should wake up soon. I'm going to find Will. If I find him dead, you'll be seein’ me again real soon, and nothing but a god could keep me from painting this house with your brother's blood.” With a pointed glare at Punz, and a warning flash in his eyes, Technoblade saunters out the door, slamming it shut behind him.