Chapter Text
There’s a village, a 2-week long journey to the south, just near an exquisite mushroom biome and a flower forest. In the forest, if you go about 10 minutes in, following the gravel and dirt path that has been worn down you’d find a small lake.
The water is clear and reflective, the only thing shining through the mirrored water being the weirdly-shaped glowing coral in the bottom, but that’s only visible at night just as the monsters that roam the earth so anyone hardly sees it.
It’s a myth that the pool grants wishes, that the God of Luck watches over it waiting for people to use his powers.
One time a kid stumbled on it, just over the age of 7, he runs deep into the forest after a dumb game of hide-and-seek. He watches the pool with curiosity, tilting his head at the sparkles that emit from it. He walks closer, just on the edge so he doesn’t fall in.
He goes to touch the water, to grasp it into the cup he made with his hands, and drink it out of thirst. But just as his fingertips graze the top of the lake it -- speaks to him?
It’s not exact words, it’s not a sentence that’s meaning is clear from the start. It’s more like a feeling of being spoken to.
The child turns around, checking behind his back to see if someone was there. No one was. He turns back to the lake, still not quite understanding the power it holds. He hears the voice again -- or is it a voice? There are no words being said out loud, more like a quiet whisper from a mile away that he picked up on.
You have one wish.
He giggles out loud, sitting on his legs as he goes in thought for a moment. One wish -- he could get a new friend, maybe new clothes or even a potion that clerics haven’t even thought of. But his mind races to the fight he had with his father earlier, about him trashing up the files on his desk. He’s a kid, he doesn’t understand the grown-ups yet.
“I wish for my dad’s forgiveness.”
He hears a hum of approval -- or more of a wind blowing past his ears like an agreement noise. He smiles, giggles out a “Thank you” and runs off. Leaving behind the pond and the power that it holds. He thinks to come back later, if the wish worked, to thank its powers.
He runs home, only to find his dad waiting there with a cupcake from a nearby bakery in hand saying sorry if he came off too harsh. He thought the wish worked, that he got his apology and that was it.
He doesn’t think of the upcoming future or the fact that this man wasn’t his actual father by blood.
The redstone ticks for eternity, or however long the prisoner is supposed to be in this cell at least.
He can count 43 200 ticks until another patch of potatoes falls to the small water pool in the corner of his cell, there are extra three sets of ticks when there's a visitor on the horizon. It's usually Sam, checking on his redstone and watching him from behind the netherite barrier.
The creeper hybrid is always afraid to step too close, biting his tongue so he doesn't ask questions. He checks the machine, making sure it's working and that the redstone is intact. He shares a glance towards the prisoner who's sitting on the obsidian floor, he looks like he wants to speak, to ask him something. But instead, he shakes his head and turns away, another set of ticks follow as he leaves.
Obsidian was always a weird material, it's rumored to grow in the end, to be the home-block of enderman and the Ender Dragon. But it's also found in the overworld: find a source of lava and pour water on it, the mining takes a long time too. If you have a diamond pickaxe with no enchantments you get one block after roughly 10 seconds, but he doesn't have a pickaxe. He has no way to exit this 6 paces wide and 7 paces long cell.
And he doesn't have a need to exit either. Maybe only to visit his father, but he has no doubt the man will show up himself, save him the trouble of going to all that length.
The potatoes drop in the water pool, Dream fishes them out and throws 2 in the lava leaving the remaining 5 in his hands. He doesn't know why he throws 2 out all the time, he did it once on accident and now he does it every time 43 200 ticks are over.
He hears another set of clicks as he's eating the potatoes, he raises his head, this is not Sam, Sam doesn't visit constantly, only once every week and he already visited yesterday.
He expects it to be his father, he wants it to be his father. But instead of the sight of dark gray wings, it's a yellow sweater and brown hair. He sighs in disappointment, why does he want it to be his father? The man abandoned him.
Dream tilts his head at the visitor, Wilbur was the last person he thought they'd send, maybe Techno or even Tommy. But he guesses Wilbur can keep calm in situations like these while Tommy might explode and Techno threaten him with his fists.
Dream speaks when their eyes connect, Wilbur's brown eyes hold a hint of curiosity, "Hello," He pauses for a second, eyes narrowing as he stares down the older in front of him. "You here to gloat?"
Wilbur averts his gaze, taking in the conditions of his cell. "The others want me to start slow, go steady, and make some small talk before asking the big question." Dream smirks, of course they do. And while they might get answers that way, it's more likely Dream will answer when you ask it up front, no foreplay.
He smirks, "Is it because dear ol' dad won't give you the answers?" Wilbur wouldn't have come here if Phil had babbled, the others wouldn't still want answers if they knew.
"Who is he to you?" Wilbur pauses for a second. "You- You look alike, you even sound the same. There's- There's no explanation as to who you are, no pictures of you as a child, none without your mask- Nothing."
"He's my dad, Will."
Wilbur shakes his head, unwilling to believe the tyrant, "No- no he's not, he's mine. Mine, a-and Tommy's, and Techno's. Not yours." Dream wants to roll his eyes, to shake the man's shoulders and tell him to look him in his eyes and tell him that he doesn't see the familiar flick of blue in them.
He starts to explain, "I have faint memories of his wings wrapping around me, of the lovely lady I called my mother back then, of cookies he used to feed me at bedtime. He left me when I was four, on the doorstep of the village's most renowned couple."
"He wouldn't do that." Wilbur stands still, looking at the floor as his brain tries to go over the facts that the prisoner is saying.
Dream doesn't let the interruption disturb him, he continues, "Myra and Mateo took me in when I was four, the abandoned child on their doorstep. They taught me potions, Enderian, simple ways to treat wounds, and how to wield my first sword. I was told how they found me, how my clothes were dirty and I only knew how to say my name. The village was near a pillager outpost, they attacked us at one point. I was near the pond further away from my village so I didn't get hurt. Once I got back, there were burning houses and no sign of life anywhere. I was 11."
"I'm sorry," Wilbur mutters.
Dream rolls his eyes, a sorry won't bring them back. "I stole the white mask when I was 12. Picked it up from a random mercenary in a passing village. From there I traveled far, further away from my home village and towards the lands of the SMP. I met George and Sapnap when I was 17, and then Sapnap's dad, Bad, took me in. I told Bad about my father,"
"-he's not your father."
Dream rolls his eyes, "You wanted answers. Whether you like them or not you're now getting them, you asked, you receive." His voice was raised, you could hear the irritation in his tone. "I didn't tell Sap or George about Phil, Bad promised me they would be there forever so I had time to tell them. We ran around the village, playing dumb games of manhunt and telling each other thought-up myths or stories. When we were 18 we decided to travel, they wanted to travel like the stories I told them about me and I wanted the thrill of exploring new places again."
He shook his head out of the memories, scolding himself for being dumb to dwell on them. On the stupid promises that weren't kept.
"Phil wouldn't do that, he- he read me bedtime stories, he taught Techno swords and Tommy to braid hair." Wilbur tries to defend the honor of his father, tries to deny the claims that he's beginning to see as truth after more facts are laid out on the table.
"You came here knowing an answer, you knew the outcome, I just confirmed it." He sighed. "Ask him. Go ahead. He'll tell you the exact same story, how he abandoned me when I was four and left it at that. How he replaced me with you lot’ not even after a year while I was trying to figure out why- why the warmth of wings was gone from my life." His voice broke, and, fuck , how he hated it.
He realized that he wasn't over it as much as he thought, that he still cared. That was why he wanted Phil to visit, to scream at him, to have one last conversation where he got out all the anger he stored when he was forced to grow up too young. But Phil wasn't there, instead, in front of him stood his pseudo son and the obnoxious smile that mocked him whenever he looked at it. I'm better than you. Phil didn’t want you.
"Dream-" Wilbur reached forward, trying to comfort the human he branded a monster unmeaningly. It's no big surprise the man pushed the hand away and hid in his corner.
"Leave." Wilbur redacted his hand, grabbing it like it was just burned.
He complied, calling for Sam on the other side. Dream closed his eyes, head tilting up to lean on the wall. He heard a series of ticks meaning the visitor had left.
He thought he was over him, he thought he had gotten rid of the memories that haunt his daydreams. Turns out he was not, the faint feeling of wings wrapping around him stayed, unlike the man who the wings belonged to.
The cell was cold so he sat closer to the lava to get a bit of warmth. His eyes burn at the bright glow of the lava but it doesn't matter, it's warm, just like wings wrapping around you. He hears the lava bubble and pop next to him, his skin hurts from the burns, the red covers his arms and legs.
If he listens closely he can hear the redstone work outside his cell, of repeaters going off and torches being lit and unlit. He can faintly hear the elder guardian they had trapped inside the prison to guarantee mining fatigue at all times. There's a feeling of being watched, and even if Dream can't see her he can feel the eyes of his mother look down on him from heaven. Unlike Phil's dark wings, his mother's were cloud white, developing him in a dream-like state where he could be whoever he wanted.
He giggled with his mother, grabbing her hand when he was scared or braiding her hair on a crop field. Phil was there too sometimes, standing off to the side and admiring his family’s bond. Sometimes he joined in, holding Dream up in the sky so the kid could pick up the highest apples or reach the top book on the shelf of their home. They read him bedtime stories and his mother kissed him goodnight.
But like Phil's dark wings had left, so did the white ones. But unlike Phil, his mother kept watch on him, watching his every move and cheering him on even if he couldn't hear it. And the feeling was there, even if very small, he could feel her proud smile from the heavens. Was she up there with Myra and Mateo chatting about how rowdy he was as a child?
He wrapped his arms around him tighter, almost hearing Myra say that he should get a blanket or he'd get hypothermia. But there wasn't a blanket, only the surrounding lava. He wanted to reach out the lava, just graze it with his fingers and hold it gently so he would be warm. But as he got close, the lava would only push him away, pop another bubble and burn a part of his skin. So he pulls his hand away from the scolding substance and holds it close to his heart, maybe it's warmer there.
He wants Phil to visit. That the next ticks that occur are those of his visit, but that's not the case.
The next ticks come after 4 rounds of potato ticks, they come late at night, or what he assumes is late at night. The lava falls down revealing a shorter male, his stance is uncomfortable as he's shifting from feet to feet while being instructed to walk along the path. The visitor’s face grimaces as he takes a look inside the prisoner’s cell, he shares a glance at the prisoner too, just for a second, but enough to see the burns and scars he had inflicted on himself.
He doesn't say anything at first, running his hand down the obsidian and quickly removing it after feeling how cold it is. He stands further away from the prisoner than Wilbur, he's scared to come close. He admires the redstone work for a second, enough for Dream to see the look of awe in the teen's eyes.
The air is tense as Tubbo stands still, his body is turned to the left so Dream can see the big battle scar that runs down his neck. He did that.
"Are you happy?" He still doesn't turn towards the prisoner, afraid that if he does and sees the toxic forest green eyes he'll shatter. "What I mean is, are you content with being here? Why did you not put up a fight? Why not-"
He gets interrupted, Dream sees the small flinch of the teen when he starts speaking, "I'm not a fool, Tubbo. I don't pick stupid fights knowing I stand no chance. There were too many of you, you had me cornered, didn't you?"
"But we didn't!" He exclaims, voice rising a bit to make his point clearer. "I saw your eyes look at the space between Fundy and George where you could've damn well escaped from."
"I had a mask covering my eyes, you didn't see anything." You did look at the spot, you thought of running. But you didn't.
"But I did, I know you- We have fought so many wars against you. I know your tactics." Tubbo’s hands are in fists at either side, the rage building up. Ready to explode. "You saw the opportunity, but you didn't take it. You could've escaped, you could've run. You could have won. " Tubbo doesn't know but he wants to. "Wh- Why didn't you?"
The wings encase him, surrounding him in soft feathers and sweet-sounding whispers. If he ran he’d give that up, he would have accepted that it’s gone forever, that he can’t get back the same feeling he felt when he was four. Because he still cares.
Because he still wants the wings to swaddle him, because he, at least, wants the final goodbye he didn’t get before.
But instead of admitting it, he pretends it wasn’t possible, “If I had stepped closer to Fundy to make your so-called escape and win, Eret would’ve been by his side in a second, not enough time to leave for me. I would’ve been dead in seconds. It would have been impossible.” It wasn’t impossible, you could’ve thrown a pearl and never looked back.
“Wouldn’t have death been kinder than this-” He pauses, gesturing to the cell around them. “This agony you have to go through here?” It would have, death would have welcomed him with open arms ready to grant his wanted place in the afterlife. But he wouldn’t have the chance to speak with his father.
“There isn’t any agony, I get potatoes, I have water. Visitors.” Tubbo seems to pause, his brows furrowing before his eyes widened slightly. “What?” Dream asks upon seeing the teen’s expression.
“But- But I’m not the visitor you want, right? Wilbur wasn’t either.” Tubbo thinks out loud and Dream can only dread what he has come up with. And if it’s the truth. “It’s- It’s Phil. You want to see Phil. You want to see your father walk the prison hall up to the main cell.”
He shakes his head, no, he doesn’t want Phil. Yes he does. “Why would I want Phil here? I hate him.” He reaches out to a notebook he was writing in earlier, his hands shake of the cold as he picks up a feather and starts to scribble.
“No you don’t, otherwise you would have left. If you hated him you would have left and never looked back- you-you would have left the minute you saw Tommy and Wilbur walk on your land.” He lets the feather glide on the rough paper, the sound of ink scratching paper reaches his ears.
Tubbo starts to pace back and forth in the small cell, “You want to know why he doesn’t want you, why he abandoned you. Why he doesn’t count you as a son anymore.” What? No, no, nonononoNONONO-
Tubbo’s meaningless words drown out, and he only realizes the brunette leaves when ticks occur and potatoes drop to the water. He throws all of them in the lava out of anger. His hands grip his hair, pulling at lone strands and forming messy knots in the dirty blonde hair.
He looks down at the book that was abandoned to the floor, his eyes widen at the sight of the messy lines forming a drawing. He throws the book in the lava, hearing the loud sizzle of the pages burning along with the horrifying picture.
Wings.
He lets his feet guide him through the forest, he glances behind him to make sure no one is following him. The news of his escape has already been shared to the people of his land, they’re no doubt hunting him down right now like a deer among wolves.
He hears his mom’s directions to turn left, then right, then go straight- he doesn’t know where she’s leading him but it doesn’t matter now.
“Dream..”
He jerks away from the voice, not even daring to look the man in his eyes. He stumbles away, falling on his knees as he does so. The mud scrapes his knees as he doesn’t make an effort to get back up. He covers his ears like a little kid, he’d been imagining this conversation for so long in prison.
The 5 months he was gone, he was imagining every little thing to tell him, what to yell, what to scream and what to whisper. And now that he has the opportunity-- he crumbles. He falls to his knees, joints screaming in agony as it’s the first they’ve been used in half a year.
He feels the warmth of a hand on his side, instead of pushing it away like he did with Wilbur, Tubbo, Sapnap, Sam- he lets the warmth stay there until his entire body is full of it again. Of the crushing feeling of being loved, of having comfort.
“I-I’m sorry I did th-that-” His words are mixed with sobs and winces of pain, as well some twitches from the sudden warmth enveloping him. Wings? “I-I wanted to scream a-at you.. For-For leaving me all alone-”
Phil soothes, rubbing small circles onto the younger’s back, “You still can, you have time.”
“I-I hate you, I hate you so fu-fucking much. I hate you for leaving, for- for replacing me so easily. For thinking that I wasn’t worth it.” His head rested on the man’s shoulder, his arms were limp as he barely held himself up on his knees only supported by Phil’s body.
Phil sighed, “You were always worth it, Dream. I- I just couldn’t handle it after Kristin’s death.” Phil tilted his head upwards, letting tears fall from his eyes as he blinked. It was almost like there was a figure on the moon, just a small white dot with what looked like to be- white wings? Ah, of course.
The God of Luck watched from above, as his oldest wish is finally being fulfilled. He watches as the father and son stand on the land that was formed quite perfectly, just in the middle of a hay-field.
“I kept thinking of you- the small little child that I abandoned on a doorstep. I-I even went back there a long time later, o-only to find the village in ash and no survivors. I mourned your death.” Phil came back? He came back to check on you! But- he was too late.
“I forgive you-”
“You don’t have to.” Phil reaches his left hand out, to sit on the grass freely while his right is supporting Dream’s back.
“You- No one deserved the things I did. I was- wrong to think you started this all, that you were the root of my problems.” Dream feels the wings loosen, to pull away from him just slightly and retreat a little to Phil’s side.
Phil’s left hand grabs the handle of a sword, raising it just a little enough for Dream to see it and know his fate.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” His son whispers, over and over again until the point is clear.
The head of a sword is pushed into his stomach, the sound of skin slashing fills their ears as they both crumble further. His hand rests on the handle, even after the body is long unconscious and limp in his arms. His wings fold, shrinking in size as he mourns his son’s death. Again.
“I forgive you.”