Chapter Text
Once upon a time, this world did not exist.
Dream remembers running, remembers flying, remembers fleeing. Manhunts and worlds he went through faster than anything, stories that crumbled to the final strike of an axe or sword to a dragon’s heart. Burning supernovas that rocked him off his feet, veils of woven starlight that called to him. Beckoning.
Pillars that touched void with how high they loomed, a core of strength that fell to his boredom.
Dream - remembers. He knows.
Night tries to reach for him, wrestle for the memories, steal it all away again but Dream hurls them off, shakes out his arms and feels the red retreat, skittering, with how the lime of his green burns. He thinks he’s screaming, maybe aloud or internally or both, but he can’t tell - can’t hear. All he feels is his world, crumbling, everything he’d ever known laid scattered at his feet. All he hears is the broken pound, the shattered pulse, the ruin that burns below him and pitches and rocks with how it heaves.
Night wasn’t - Night had never been malicious. At least not - not outwardly, not to him. Not to Dream, who knew all their tricks, knew how their little games worked, made an irontight deal just to be sure they wouldn’t go behind his back - he’d given them everything, all of him. His body, his world, his mind-
my world
no, he says. no, not your world. we made a - we made a deal, i followed every single fucking rule you laid down even when it tore me and my - my friends, when it tore us apart and you - you - you just - you-!
i did no such thing! you agreed to the terms-
i followed your fucking terms-! i, i did everything you asked of me, you just - he can’t, he can’t, this can’t be real, it just can’t - but it is, he thinks wildly, but you did and you don’t even care. what the fuck? why don’t you care?
your problem, they snarl, is that you care too much.
that’s not the point! you didn’t even - we made a deal. you - did you even do the bare minimum on your end?! you didn’t, did you? no, you just - you lied, you took what i gave you and you didn’t even - you didn’t - you did nothing, lied to my own fucking face my own mind and you - you-
He doesn’t even know anymore. Everything they’d done, everything they’d - they’d just - they had - they-
-you knew! he howls, wretched, his mindspace teeters and it is fragments and pieces, pieces, we all fall down - you knew, you knew you knew you knew - how could you?! i did everything i could for you - did that mean nothing? did our deal mean nothing?
did i mean nothing?
The red rattles with an unfamiliar frequency, too sudden and sharp and brittle, something like fear like denial like what are you-?
(i̷ ̴d̶o̷n̵’̷t̸ ̶n̵e̷e̶d̵ ̴y̸o̶u̴ ̵y̸o̵u̵ ̵f̴u̸c̵k̸i̴n̸g̵ ̷l̸i̵a̵r̸ ̸ẏ̷̰ọ̴̉ṳ̷̏ ̴̧̾l̵̯͐i̸̯͘e̸̘̊d̶̙̔ ̴͕͠y̸͚̌ô̶̩ù̴͇ ̷̫͠l̷̼͘ị̷̄e̵͔̕d̵̤́ ̵̺̇y̴̛̮̼̐͌̍͛̏́͐ơ̷͕̝͈̏̏͐̏̇͆̕ȗ̷͖̹͖̱͎̦̳̠̩̮̪͇̾͆͑̂̚͘͠ͅ y̴̛̮̼̐͌̍͛̏́͐ơ̷͕̝͈̏̏͐̏̇͆̕ȗ̷͖̹͖̱͎̦̳̠̩̮̪͇̾͆͑̂̚͘͠ͅ ̶̨̛͕̩͙̝̭̘̤̺̦̪̀̊̒͑̈͂̎̂̒͂͘͠ ḽ̸̥͖̮̥́̾̃̇͋̅̊̎̇͘̕͝ͅi̸̡̢̡̢̹͈̥̯̯̳̓̍͛̈́͒̚̚͜e̸̪͆̋͐͝d̶̜̥̺͇͇̲̦̜̰̻̖̐̓̅̈́̎͑̓͑͗̔͊ )
Blue echoes against the corners of his vision but Dream is so so angry. His skin is splitting apart and he feels his form fissure, leaking wisps of other that spill and steam against the medium of air, hissing, hot and freezing cold. He pushes back, feels the blue and red recoil and meld and he’s so angry. He’s so angry. He’s never felt like this before.
this - this crushing horror, defeat, desolation-
-resignation. He really should have known.
(it’s hard, admittedly, to be mad at n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹ when he’s known them for so long. when they feel almost like a sibling at this point, however cruel and uncaring, however much disdain they hold for him in return.
it’s hard to hate a monster
when he knows it doesn’t even matter
and it’s
so
much
easier
to
hate
himself.)
i just - i just.
why would you?
he asks it, broken, and his rage crumbles to nothing as fast as it comes. No, it dulls - to an ache, an empty sort of agony that throbs, insistent, and he thinks he might be crying. He reaches up and presses his hands to his mask, a wounded noise escaping him that might be a sob or a scream or a - something, he feels so drained. So defeated.
His mask is so, so hot. He thinks it might be turning to dust in his hands; he isn’t sure.
i hurt them for you, he thinks when they don’t respond, i hurt - i hurt everyone for you, i let you hurt them and you couldn’t even - you couldn’t even hold up your end of the deal. His hands fall from his face, and he can feel his body trembling. He’s suddenly so very aware of how Techno and Phil are on their feet, swords drawn and watching him with tight expressions, frantic fear pulsing off of them in electric currents that make his aura twitch. i gave you everything i had. Ghostbur floating in front of him, looking horribly uncertain and confused and off-kilter and wrong as he ripples, unreal, in front of him. And he can’t even - he can’t even.
He has to - he has to.
Even if it hurts.
tell me what you did, he demands, sudden and he feels the red jerk back at his sudden energy, manic and buzzing - tell me what you did right now, n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹ - tell me, before i destroy you-
i didn’t do anything - there’s something like nervous energy pooling off the words, does Night fear him-?
(they wouldn’t they’re a Dreamon no of course they would)
tommy deserved it, anyways - it was our world, he shouldn’t have been allowed to make a whole new ass country-
The fury twists in him, so hot and bright and red it burns, like claws gripping him and he wants to - to hurt something. To hate something and rip it apart and tear it to shreds and how dare you? just how could you? and why would you?
Except there’s no point in asking, because he knows. He already knows.
it’s my world, he chokes out, low and dangerous and he can barely think without his thoughts blurring out with how furious he is - it. is. mine. you made it for me, i did it for you, it’s mine and i can’t - i can’t believe you. that you have the audacity-
-he stops, tries to clench his fists and breathe in deeply and calm himself but he can’t breathe and this world is swimming around him and he doesn’t know anything anymore.
it was my world, it still is, tommy was doing nothing wrong - he’s a kid, by ender - it was fine!
you’re so weak, n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹ sneers, you’d let them just walk all over you? take your land and steal your soul and ruin you all for nothing-
goddamn, yes! Dream shouts - he sobs aloud, thoughts all over the place, scattered, how could they - yes, why wouldn’t i? you know that, you’re here after all - i don’t care. as long as they - as long as we could’ve still been friends, as long as - as they didn’t hate me - you made them hate us - you made…
... you…
...no. he trails off in realization.
i kept my end of the deal, n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹ says, and they don’t even sound smug. They just sound - they sound…
...they sound tired.
But Night is a Dreamon and Dreamons lie-
you wanted me to unite the people of this world, didn’t you?
no, Dream thinks - no, tell me you didn’t - he can’t - why - why? Why like this, how could they - how could they justify it just like - how? not like - not like this! not like - how? how could you?!
i did everything you wanted of me -
then what about wilbur, huh? Dream shouts suddenly, so sick of being led around like a blind little sheep, meek and following and so dumb, how could he not have known and he just can’t do this anymore - he has to, though - and, and what about the egg? what were you trying to achieve by that, then? what - why… why did you - you can’t. you can’t - you can’t lie to me, you fucking - Night. don’t even try. you can’t lie to me, i know, i remember-
-he doesn’t, don’t call his bluff, but they know-
no you don’t, Night snarls, you don’t even know your friends. don’t even know their goddamn names, their fucking faces. you forgot them because they didn’t matter to you, don’t you fucking see? you forgot-
stop MANIPULATING me! Dream screams - i can tell when you lie, shut up, shut up shut up shutupshutupshutUP - i don’t want to hear it go away go away go away GO-
it’s just the truth, dreamer-
“Fuck,” he whispers, aloud - fuck you, fuck you, fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou, shutthe hell upidon’twantto hear it-
this world was doomed to die from the beginning, Night says, their voice a low rattle; you can’t stop it, now.
yes i can, Dream thinks even as he knows it’s a hopeless plea, fucking watch me. fucking - i’ll prove you wrong, i’ll-
you have no power, they croon, you are nothing.
And that’s - that’s.
It’s so wrong he wants to laugh. He thinks he might be going insane from it all, just - just,
“Ghostbur,” he says, aloud, voice breaking, desperate and just please - “Gho- Wilbur.” He sees the man snap to attention in front of him, spine going ramrod-straight and all his lines firming, silhouette sharpening into something tangible. Something real, and red, and terrifying but he - he has to . “Wil - please, I know that you can - please - please, just, blue-”
understanding shifts into eyes that ripple red-gray-blueblue blue and the colors warp into a rock that pulses with something that s̸h̷o̷u̵l̴d̷ ̴n̷͓͗o̵t̸̞͊ ̷̟b̵̨̕e̴ and lunges forward and devours him whole-not-whole-
what - no! you idiot - why would you - why-?!
why...?
d̶o̴n̷’̴t̴ ̸y̶o̶u̸ ̴t̵r̸u̶s̵t̸ ̵m̵e̴? ̴o̶f̷ ̵c̴o̷u̶r̷s̸e̶ ̶i̶ ̶d̸o̸n̶’̵t̴,w̸h̷y̶ ̸w̵o̴u̸l̴d̸ ̶i̶? ̸ i ̸w̴o̷u̴l̷d̴ ̴h̸a̴v̸e̷ ̸p̷r̷o̵t̵e̵c̷t̶e̵d̷ ̵y̴o̷u̴ . ̴t̵h̷a̷t̴’̴s̴ ̵a̸ ̴li̸e̵ ̵a̵n̶d̶ ̶y̴o̶u̴ ̷k̴n̶o̸w̶ ̴i̴t̸. ̴it ̶is̵n̴’̵t̵. i̸t̸ ̷i̷s. ̷i̴t ̷re̶a̷l̶ly̴ ̴i̵s.
…i’m̴ ̵s̸o̴r̷r̷y̸.
̶n̶o̶,̷ ̴y̸o̷u̵’̸r̸e̵ ̵n̴o̸t̴.
...
n̵o̴, i̸’m̸ n̴o̴t.
The world tilts and rustles, rushes, the tide swallows him and after everything stops listing sideways and upside-down he - gulps in air he doesn’t need and can’t have, feels his mask cool to icy stone on his face, every cell of his being open to the freezing air.
blue. blue. blue-
“Thanks, Wilbur,” he manages and the world is rushing colors, sound and noise and struggling thought blueblueblue and the network claims him and he is green again, again.
-
In the world of tangled bright and dark and life and not there is something creeping, hissing, poisonous and polluting and it tears the red from his skin and soul and scatters it to something less but also more . A hive mind, maybe, he thinks - the pulsing red is leaves in wind, sand in ocean and stars dotting sky. But red, and bleeding, and burning.
They’re hurting, he should go help them, he needs to go-
He gasps and reaches for the red closest to him and wrenches-pulls-tugs-oh-?
-what’s this?
Voices crowd his head and it’s so clearly the work of n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹ that he feels himself recoil instinctively, shoving them away. They recede into the background buzz of static he’s grown familiar with, clouding his thoughts - their thoughts - but he’s stronger, and he’s used to this. His head - wait, his head?
This isn’t his body, it’s too solid and heavy and breathing-
Dream - is he Dream? isn’t his name Ant - n̷ȯ̶̗, he refutes, harsh and heavy and forceful and the colors that aren’t him sink under again - he’s in - he’s in a body, no, he’s in a mind - or is it both - neither? - not - and he is breathing he is alive he’s alive-
-that can’t - that’s not - this isn’t-
what’s happening? why am i-
Ant… he knows that name. Recollection is strange because thoughts and images and whispers that don’t belong to him jump forward, eager to be recalled - remembered, but he’s never known in the first place. He shakes his head - Ant’s head, he’s actually solid, this is so strange, weird, not right - and he’s - what’s he - what had Ant been doing?
Is he Ant? Or is he the other, the - the - what’s his name - wait-
-what’s - what, what is-
-there’s a terrifying, breathless moment where he can’t remember and then he’s doubling over, headache forking through his mind like lightning and - Dream, he’s Dream the tyrant the cruel the kind the friend the evil the the the. He’s so much to Antfrost, a jumble of thoughts bundled together and seeping red and sparking, spiked-through and spitting with emotions he can’t parse through without his eyes burning and his throat closing and it’s so strange, it’s so strange. He doesn’t know himself - does he? - but he knows what Ant thinks of him, however corrupted and clearly-infected and not right the thoughts are - the things are.
Memories, but they’re skewed and twisted and torn apart, fit back together and stained through with the lense of a n̵̹̍i̷̺͊g̶̬̈́h̵̉͜t̶̤͝m̷̹̏á̷̢r̵͚̋ê̵̹.
So this is how Night got some of them to turn against him. He’d be almost impressed, if it weren’t so clearly wrong.
Because - because this isn't right. This mind is straining under the weight of so much pressure, of the raw magicks laid on layer after layer, corrupting and corroding and with a clear lack of care for the host’s body and well-being. It’s being destroyed from the exposure, peeling apart and crumbling down to the barest embers of thought, and it’s a pitiful sight if he’s being honest. Raw magic isn’t something to be taken lightly - that’s why Dream wears a mask, partially for protection. And for a lot of other reasons as well, but it is rather good for chasing away some of the more… deteriorating side effects.
And, well, Ant may not consider them friends - or at least, Night had goaded them not to - but Antfrost was on his server. He was his responsibility.
And it’s your fault he’s like this, he thinks bitterly to himself.
He settles more strongly into the body that isn’t his, wincing a little at the wrongness of it all. It’s too lanky, too long, too - too weird, and the wave of dysphoria that rattles his bones and shifts the pools of red-green-not color in the mind is unsettling, to say the least.
Ant stirs, trapped beneath what must be a mountain, and Dream can’t help but empathize. what’s my - what’s my name-?
Sorry, Dream thinks regretfully, and is more gentle this time in coaxing Ant back beneath the heavy blanket of unawareness almost-sleep. He knows from experience - though he doesn’t quite remember - that Ant will wake up later dizzy, head pounding and stomach throbbing, hungry and tired because the thing haunting you doesn’t care about basic needs like eat or sleep or shit. And it makes something twist in Dream, because of course he’ll be careful with his not-friend’s body, but is this - is this-
-he has to do it, he reminds himself, but does he really?
Actually, what is he doing here anyways?
He’s distracted from his thoughts by the feeling of something soft and furry whisking over his legs, brushing against what feels like armor and wait - is that - is that a tail? Ant’s tail? Ant has a tail? Is Ant a furry? A cat? Now that he’s paying attention, is that fur? Are those whiskers?
He can only stare, dumbfounded, because it’s - it’s strange. His whiskers - Ant’s whiskers? Ant’s whiskers - twitch against the gentle breeze, and with a start Dream realizes Ant is in the middle of a mine, pickaxe in hand and staring blankly ahead at a wall dotted with chunks of ore. It’s strange to see the world through someone else’s eyes - Ant’s clearly some sort of shifter or hybrid, and it makes something in Dream pang, again, upon realising he’s doing exactly what Night is doing.
But I’m going to fix this, he swears to himself, and tenses Ant’s arm muscles - except everything feels uncoordinated and off, and the movement actually makes the body stumble, sagging towards the side as Dream attempts to place the pickaxe back into Ant’s inventory. He does eventually manage to slide it into the handy pocket dimension, but only after lots of flailing and contorting and weird jolts of not-awareness coming from where Ant’s consciousness was located, buried somewhere beneath strewn red and green in their mind.
The guilt stings in him again, and Dream grits fangs that aren’t his and shoves it down.
It’s strange, too - Dream’s used to a lack of sensation in his facial area, it comes with wearing a mask. Ant, however, is so sensitive there - the slightest muscle twitch and the cat breed’s whiskers are twitching, brushing against what feels like fur, and it nearly makes Dream jump out of this body in surprise every time. Not to mention the tail, too - every touch of the appendages he doesn’t usually have make him instinctively recoil, nerves too raw and stretched too far, vibrating with nervous energy and it just makes it all worse. The sudden info-dumps of sensation are disorienting, to say the least, and the sensory overload is strange and unfamiliar and - he wasn’t built for this, this wasn’t meant for him.
And suddenly Dream has to get out. This skin is too long too small too short too much and he can’t he can’t he can’t this body isn’t his he has no business being here no right, and he stumbles back - Ant’s tail lashes backwards instinctively for balance as the world sways around him and he wants to throw up - but that would be rude, this isn’t his body, he shouldn’t - he shouldn’t - what is he doing here? why is he - what is he - nonono no-
Dream looks down, desperately reaching for something - someone - something - the network is claustrophobia and open everything all in one and it makes his skin crawl but he needs to get out needs to leave now - it’s not his it’s not his it’s not HIS - and he gasps aloud, tears burn his eyes, and he feels Ant’s mouth drop open and sees its reflection’s facial muscles contort into fear-horror-fury and screams-
-Antfrost’s face stares back at him from a puddle on the floor, and the water ripples tauntingly back at him as the cat shifter’s eyes burn lime green.