Chapter Text
”Philza, do you still have my yellow sweater somewhere?”
The question was presented in a casual tone, but something about it struck Philza as odd. He turned to look at his newly resurrected son and cocked an eyebrow as he responded: “I should have it laying around in a chest somewhere, yes. Why? I thought you liked your coat. Are you feeling alright?”
”Oh, I’m quite alright,” Wilbur answered and the careful, secretive edge in his tone didn’t go over Philza’s head: “It’s just chilly outside.”
“Wilbur,” Phil warned, staring the younger man down: “I know you well enough to know when you’re full of it. What are you planning?”
“Phil, you wouldn’t get it,” The brunette responded, shaking his head: “Just tell me where my sweater is.”
“Then help me get it because you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” The shorter of the two snapped, taking a step towards the door in case Wilbur decided to bolt and go through with whatever crazy thing he was planning.
“Fine,” Wilbur sighed, raising his hands up in defeat: “Fine. I’m going to Dream.”
“To Dream!?” Philza exclaimed and let out a dry laugh: “Absolutely not! What are you thinking? You’ll try to take him down yourself and get yourself killed?! I’ve just got you back, do you think I’d be stupid enough to let you do something so reckless?”
“Do you know what he did to Tommy?” Wilbur barked out, glaring at the older man, gaze both angry and questioning. That made Philza falter and his expression turn from disbelief to one of confusion.
”He exiled him,” Phil responded with a shrug: ”Honestly at that point he probably deserved it. Kid’s a troublemaker.”
”Oh, so being a troublemaker makes it okay for Dream to emotionally manipulate him and abuse him both physically and mentally?” The brunette fumed, his glare turning to something that was borderlining murderous. Phil took a step back at the outburst, eyebrows furrowing as he replied:
“Abuse him? I went to see him, Wil. He seemed okay, just a bit sad and his clothes were a bit messed up, but-“
“He told me, Phil,” Wilbur cut him off: “Tommy told me about what Dream did to him. And he didn’t even give me details. But it was so bad it made him want to /die/. Our happy-go-lucky Tommy wanted to die because of Dream. That’s why I’m going after him. He needs to pay, don’t you understand?”
”I-I had no idea,” The older man stammered out: ”Tommy never told me anything like that. He seemed fine and Dream said he could come home soon.”
”Dream is a dirty liar,” Wilbur said, voice barely above a growl: ”Come on, Phil. Tommy has no reason to lie about that. He couldn’t. You wouldn’t doubt it for a second if you had seen him earlier when he told me. He was a wreck.”
”I believe you,” Philza stated, tone unreadable. He had been averting Wilbur’s eyes for the past few minutes, until finally he looked back up at his son and spoke: ”Alright. I understand. I know you’re not just being reckless now. But I still don’t understand why you need the damn sweater.”
“See, that’s the good part,” Wilbur started, a small smirk spreading onto his face: “I have a plan. Dream won’t know what hit him.”
He sat Philza down and shared with him the details of his plan. Moment by moment, the older man seemed more and more relieved and by the end of Wilbur’s explanation, he didn’t need more convincing to get up and go find the yellow sweater. He returned with it and handed it to the taller man, neatly folded. He had kept it safe and untouched all this time as one of the few reminders he had of his son’s living days.
”Thank you,” Wilbur said with a smile and Philza shook his head at him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and said:
”Don’t mention it. Give him hell, Wil. And come home in one piece.”
“I promise.”
—
Wilbur didn’t take long to get ready. His plan was all set and now all he had to do was get himself to Dream and act convincingly when he got there, which shouldn’t be a problem.
The plan was quite simple, but foolproof. Wilbur had the upper hand here; Dream had no idea he had been resurrected. So all it took was some white dye on his face, the familiar yellow sweater and trying out his “Ghostbur voice” on Techno who had nearly jumped out of his skin and bursted into millions of questions about whether Wilbur’s resurrection had backfired. He was ready. He knew from the few memories he had from his time as a ghost that Dream at least pretended to be nice to Ghostbur. He just had to hope the shorter man was still willing to continue the act and let him in. If he didn’t... well, it would make things more difficult, but Wilbur would take an axe to his stupid mask one way or another. With that thought on his mind, he set off to follow where the compass was pointing.
The journey ended up being much longer than he had expected. He hadn’t taken into account that Dream was a very over the top person and would really put effort into not being found. Wilbur wished he had taken a horse, but it was too late to fret about it when he was already multiple biomes away. It was dangerously close to nightfall when he finally saw light in the distance.
“Finally,” He mumbled to himself, hurrying to hide the compass in his pocket and throw off the cloak he’d been wearing; a ghost wouldn’t need one. This had to be perfect and convincing. Dream got suspicious easily. The dark would definitely work in Wilbur’s favor though, as it would prevent Dream from noticing he was no longer transparent. He checked his axe and sword in their holsters. It was show time.
He walked closer to the house and once he was a few meters away, he started his act of whining and whimpering.
“Oh dear,” He said loudly, pitching his voice higher, not knowing if Dream could hear him through the windows, but doing it regardless, in case he could. He stumbled around the house to the front door and desperately knocked several times. He heard a few crashes from the inside and definitely Dream’s voice swear loudly. He felt a twinge of sadistic joy from knowing he had probably scared the life out of the younger man. He quickly wiped the smirk from his face and knocked again, putting on his best, whiny Ghostbur voice as he called out: “Hello? Is there anybody there?”
After a moment the door flung open and Wilbur found himself staring down the length of a very sharp, very enchanted netherite sword. He did his best not to flinch and sound cheery, but surprised when he spoke: “Dream? What a surprise, I did not expect this to be your house!”
“Gho-“ Dream stammered, eyebrows furrowing. He slightly lowered his sword as he finished, tone coated in confusion and disbelief: “Ghostbur?! What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh well, Dream, see, it’s a funny story,” Wilbur said, keeping his tone soft and airy: “I was looking for a woodland mansion. For a totem of undying, you see? Tommy has promised to help bring me back to life! But every piece of lore we’ve found about it requires a totem and nobody has had any luck yet, so I went off on my own.”
Dream still didn’t look quite convinced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Anxious habit. Good. He should be fucking nervous, Wilbur thought to himself but was careful to not let his sinister thoughts show on his face, instead pulling an embarrassed face as he continued:
“But in the last biome over it was raining and I had to get away fast or I would’ve been toast! And I wandered here and I saw this little house and thought I would stop to see if maybe someone could give me shelter,” he scratched the back of his neck, reminding himself to keep his mannerisms innocent, almost shy: “It looks like it’s about to snow and I don’t think I can make it out of this biome before it does. Do you- I hate to ask- Do you think I could maybe stay here until the skies are clear?”
Dream stared at him for a long time after that, clearly judging his character and honesty. Wilbur knew Ghostbur had been a dreadful liar, so if Dream believed that he was Ghostbur, he would assume he was telling the truth. Now, he just had to hope he hadn’t blown his cover somehow.
“D-Dream?” He stuttered out, urging the shorter man to give him an answer. Dream seemed to sort of snap out of a trance and shook his head a bit, as if to get himself to get out of a spaced out state. He looked annoyed when he looked at Wilbur again, but not angry. Come on. This was it.
”Sure,” Dream finally responded, tone flat and annoyed. He had bought it, he just wasn’t happy about it. Good. This worked. Dream moved away from the doorway and “Ghostbur” walked in, trying to keep his steps soft and quiet.
“Just don’t bother me,” Dream sighed: “I have a big day coming up the day after tomorrow; I’m sure Tommy has mentioned it to you.”
“Oh yes, you two will be meeting, yes?” Wilbur answered, trying to sound interested, even when his brain was screaming at him to attack right then and there. He had to wait for the window of opportunity. He needed Dream to relax first. He was sure he could beat Dream then, but only then. The shorter man had lighting-like reflexes and Wilbur knew he was no match head on.
“Oh yes,” Dream answered and Wilbur wanted to gag when he heard the sadistic smile in his tone: “I think it will be very interesting, Ghostbur. I think by the end of it you’ll be deciding whether to go back to Logsted with Tommy or not.”
“Tommy is going back to Logsted?” The brunette hummed, tone full of fake-innocent wonder. Dream laughed and it made Wilbur feel sick to his stomach. The shorter man walked past him, towards a kitchen-like area as he spoke: “Well... possibly. If he gets out in one piece.”
“What do you mean? Are you going to hurt Tommy?” Questioned the taller, placing his hand on the hilt of the sword on his belt. Dream kept his back turned, opening a chest and starting to rummage through it. Wilbur took a few steps closer. Dream didn’t react, instead responding casually:
“That’s for me to know and for him to find out when he meets me. I’m not telling you, you can’t keep your mouth shut.”
“Oh... yes, I guess you are right. Are you still angry that I helped hide Tommy at Technoblade’s house?” Wilbur inquired, pulling his sword out, thankful that the noise was masked by the loud clanging of bottles in the chest Dream was looking through. The brunette inched closer.
“Oh no, Ghostbur. You thought you were doing the right thing. It was stupid, but Tommy was your frie-“
Dream was cut off by Wilbur slashing his shoulder with his sword. The shorter man fell to his side with a yelp and Wilbyr swiftly kicked him in the ribs, forcing him on his back. He definitely had the element of surprise. Dream tried to lift up his own sword to fight back, but the man above him brought his down directly on Dream’s mask. The mask shattered with a loud crack. It was thicker and heavier than Wilbur had expected, but it broke nicely into little pieces that dug into the skin of Dream’s face.
“WHAT THE F-“ The younger man opened his mouth to yell, but couldn’t finish his sentence once again, as Wilbur brought his boot down on his stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Dream gasped for breath and Wilbur kneeled down on one knee, keeping his foot on Dream’s stomach. He used one hand to grab the collar of the blonde’s hoodie and the other to press his sword to his throat.
“Now you listen to me, Dream,” he spoke, voice low and tone dark: “I know what you did, you sick fuck. And you’re fucking lucky if you get out of this alive.”
Dream laughed. The fucking bastard laughed. It was weak and wheezy, as he still barely had air in his lungs, but it was definitely a laugh. He shook his head to shrug off some of the sharp pieces of his broken mask from his face and blinked his eyes open to look Wilbur directly in the eyes.
“And I’ll do it again,” He sneered, smirking despite a large cut on his lip from one of the mask shards: “Tommy deserved and still deserves every last bit of it.”
Wilbur let go of his collar and punched him. Bits of Dream’s mask dug into his knuckles, but it was satisfying to see that even more of the pieces were digging into Dream’s jaw. The brunette couldn’t even feel the pain in his knuckles. He punched again. And again. And again. And soon enough, Dream’s sick laughter faded into groans and grunts of pain. By the time Wilbur was about to land his ninth punch, Dream was trying to lift up his arms to shield his face.
“Aw, are you scared?” Wilbur chimed, using the same sarcastic tone Dream had used just moments ago: “Does it hurt? Did you let Tommy shield his face, huh?”
“Go to hell!” Dream barked, moving his arm just enough for Wilbur to see how his eyes were blazing with anger. It only fueled the older man more. He moved his foot from Dream’s stomach, in order to sit on his chest and pressed the sharpened blade of his sword against the blonde’s throat so hard it drew blood.
“I’d move my arms if I were you,” Wilbur chuckled and felt an extremely sadistic sense of pride when Dream did as he was told.
“How do you feel, Dream?” He questioned, voice dripping with false sweetness: “In pain? Like you want me to stop? Dare I say even... Helpless? Do you think Tommy felt better or worse than you right now?”
Dream stayed silent, glaring at the man above him. His right eye was already starting to swell shut and bruise and it made Wilbur feel good. He leaned closer to Dream’s face, voice barely above a whisper:
“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna leave Tommy the fuck alone. You’re gonna leave Tubbo the fuck alone. Actually, in fact, you’re gonna leave everyone alone. You can try to crawl back to George for all I care, but you stay away from my friends, Dream.”
“Or what, Wilbur? It’s not like you can trick me again,” Dream replied, voice strained and gurgling, as blood pooled in his throat. Now it was Wilbur’s turn to laugh as he slowly got up and off of Dream. He looked down at the pathetic pool of blood he had turned the shorter man into and shrugged.
”I don’t know, Dream. Or this,” He said coldly, raised his sword and brought it down, piercing through Dream’s side. The blonde screeched in pain, writhing pathetically, but Wilbur wasn’t done. He pulled the sword out with an equally swift move and then brought it down on Dream’s left shoulder, earning another strained shriek, followed by whimpering and coughing as Dream tried not to choke on his own blood. Wilbur waited for him to quiet down, before speaking again:
“I don’t think you’ll be trying anything in a few weeks. Maybe you can take that time to reflect. Because next time you try to touch someone I care about, I’m not going to be this merciful.”
He pulled the sword out of Dream’s shoulder and stepped over his struggling frame. Dream might lose a life here, but Wilbur didn’t really care. He would deserve it. He was about to head out, when he remembered something and turned back around and walked back to Dream, pulling out a small camera from his pocket and aiming it at Dream’s face.
“Say cheese! This is for Tommy,” He stated in a cheery sing-song voice and snapped a polaroid of the man on the floor. With a smile, he thanked Dream and walked out the door, leaving it open to let in the cold taiga biome air. He really had a feeling Dream wouldn’t be bothering them for quite a while.
—
It took him until midday the next day to be back at Philza’s house and when he arrived, the older man was already waiting by the window. He ran out upon spotting Wilbur and wrapped the younger man in a hug.
“Thank the Gods you’re alright,” Phil said and Wilbur chuckled in response: “I am. Barely a scratch. Dream? Not so much.”
Phil pulled back from the hug to look at the brunette. Wilbur’s sweater was bloody, especially the sleeve of the hand he had used to beat Dream’s face in. There were blood splatters on his pants and shoes as well, and the tip of his sword was gleaming red, with a few blood droplets frozen before they’d been able to fall, on the sharp side.
“You seem like you really gave him hell,” Phil said, blinking at him, a slight proud smile that he tried to hide, on his lips. Wilbur grinned and pulled out the now slightly wet polaroid, handing it to the shorter man. Philza’s eyes widened upon seeing it and after a minute he couldn’t help but laugh.
“I would’ve taken your word for it,” The older chuckled: “But I can’t lie it’s kind of nice to actually see it.”
“I knew it would be,” Wilbur replied, still grinning proudly. He wrapped an arm around his father figure’s shoulders and began walking towards the house:
“I need to wash up and then I’m gonna go tell Tommy he doesn’t have to go anywhere on Wednesday.”
“Don’t show him the picture.”
“Oh, I’m /so/ showing him the picture. Dream posed for him and everything!”