Chapter Text
In some ways, Clay had long since lost interest in the real world. Why would he long for it when all it had ever brought him was hunger, thirst, pain, and exhaustion?
But he had people he cared about in the real world, and the power he held in the Mind World would never be able to slow the drowning loneliness he often felt.
So despite the troubles of the real world, he rarely minded returning, though it often presented problems of its own, especially now.
The main problem Clay had found with the Dream SMP, other than that Dream now frequently forgot to eat and drink, was that Dream wasn’t doing the same things over and over.
Before, if Clay woke in the middle of a field, he knew that they had been planting, or harvesting, or weeding, depending on the season, so it didn’t take much to figure out what he was supposed to do after he got food, water, or sleep.
If he woke in a tournament arena, well, he already knew the rules. He just needed to win.
If he woke in the middle of nowhere, a stone weapon in hand and the distant call of “Dream!” he knew they were doing a manhunt. He needed to run, and fight. He could patch himself up and eat something when he got a break.
Manhunts were difficult if he woke from a lack of sleep. He couldn’t afford to sleep, so he needed to fight it until it was over. Dream was usually more efficient at eating and drinking during the manhunts, so if Clay woke, it was usually either sleep or a wound.
Nothing was quite so jarring as waking from the Mind World into his body only to experience so much pain all of a sudden. (Clay got used to it eventually, and got much faster at wrapping wounds.)
Clay never knew quite what he was supposed to be doing. He usually had some idea, but Dream preferred to debrief him on what they had done, rather than what they were currently doing, and he couldn’t do it until they were alone. Clay guessed it was so that he couldn’t argue their actions until they’d already been completed.
Now was one such occasion. He'd been trying to build a tower from shroom lights, when he'd been pulled back into his body. He took in his surroundings first.
He was standing on a hill, mostly alone, staring at Tommy who stood a few feet away, one hand gripping the front of his uniform in a tight fist, knuckles white. If Clay had to guess, he’d just respawned.
Respawn always brought that terrible ripping feeling inside his chest, like he was being atomized and reformed. Tommy had died again, but he didn’t know why, or how.
Tommy was speaking he distantly realized, as he shifted his weight to his right leg. An arrow was sticking from his left thigh, blood soaking his dark pants, only visible because of the dark patch it left all around the wound.
That was a rather large wound, he realized. Though it was rather new, he hadn’t just received it, or it would be both more lethal, and have less blood. He did need to deal with it right away though.
He huffed, reaching for the roll of bandages he always kept on him for cases like this. Unlike last time, it actually was there. He just needed to break off the arrow and wrap it tight enough to stop the bleeding. He could deal with the arrowhead later.
“What are you doing?” Tommy asked, apparently puzzled.
“I was shot.” Clay deadpanned, not looking up from his now-bloodied bandages.
“Yes, I know that. I’m the one who shot you!” Tommy shot back, clearly annoyed.
“I know that.” He had not known that. Dream had mentioned a war for L’Manberg’s independence. It was likely from that. “What were you saying?”
“Why are you doing that?”
“No. That’s obvious. Before that.”
“Right. I give you both of my discs, and you give us our independence.” Dream wouldn’t be available any time soon, so Clay had to guess. Tommy’s discs for L’Manberg’s independence. It seemed a fair trade.
“Sure.” He hummed. “You give me Cat and Mellohi,”
“And we get our independence.” Tommy agreed. Clay followed the younger to the dirt house. It felt wrong. He didn’t care what happened with L’Manberg.
But Dream did, and this wasn’t really Clay’s jurisdiction, was it? This was the Dream SMP, and not the Clay SMP, not because they shared the name, but because Clay had no real power or place in the server at all. This was Dream’s server, and Clay had no business meddling.
He couldn’t just give them independence, anyway. It would be odd, and it would raise questions. If he was going to protect Dream and Drista, he needed to keep that kind of attention far away from them.
He took the discs, thumbing the lines that would bring music if he put it in a jukebox. A single scratch would damage it irreparably. He could put a hand on either side of it, and snap it in half with almost no resistance.
He didn’t, because these were important to Tommy, and also to Dream.
What was the point of getting attached to something so fragile? In the wrong hands for only a moment, and Tommy would lose it forever.
Dream was safe as long as Clay was alive. Drista was kept far from anything that could hurt her, he had made sure. The community house, the only place he might dare to call his own on this server, would need TNT to be damaged, and even then, it wouldn’t be hard to repair. The floor might burn, but surrounded by water, it would be easily extinguished. The walls, made of bricks and stone could be easily replaced if need be.
And if somehow, he couldn’t repair it, he held it in his mind as well. Tommy didn’t have a Mind World to keep things that really mattered.
Clay had Dream and Drista and the Community house. Dream had Clay and Drista and the entire SMP. This server belonged to Dream, and in a way, it was Dream’s home. Clay would do his best to protect the attachments of those he cared about as well.
He put the discs in their ender chest. Or at least, he was pretty sure it was their ender chest. It was fully possible that Dream had a separate ender chest pocket, and since they had never had ender chests growing up, Clay couldn’t be sure. But they did share a body, so Clay didn’t see why they would have separate pockets. They shared the admin powers, after all.
Hopefully, Dream would find the discs in the ender chest when he was back in control. Until then, Clay needed to try and keep everything afloat without completely knowing what was going on. He needed to get Dream back in control as soon as possible.
So instead of waiting for Tommy to tell his people, he teleported to their borders, announced that he and Tommy had reached an agreement, and then teleported to the Community house without waiting for any questions, or giving any explanation, m uch to everyone’s annoyance.
Digging the arrow from his own leg took almost an hour, and he’d lost far more blood than he should have. The arrow had dug deeper than it should have, and it was barbed. Tommy’s arrows weren’t barbed. These had been Punz’s arrows.
When someone finally stepped into the house, there were three of Punz in Clay’s vision.
“Why did I have your arrow in my leg?” He meant for it to sound forceful, but it came out more like a breathless whisper.
“The duel? I gave you both my arrows?” Punz answered, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Why would Dream duel Tommy?
“Cool.” He found himself mumbling as Punz knelt next to him, taking the bandages from Clay’s blood-soaked hands.
“Did you hit your head or something?”
“I don’t think so.” He felt like he was underwater, but with the amount of blood on his hands, he clearly wasn’t. That would have washed away. “I can’t remember…”
Clay woke with a dull throb in his leg, but otherwise fine as he lay in a bed in the community house. His fingers brushed against the brick of the wall, a cool and comforting reminder that he was still in his body. His mask was still on his face, somehow remaining fixed despite his nap.
He sat up slowly, looking around. The community house looked like it always had, crafting tables as the floor, with chests lining the wall, and the spiral staircase in the middle to lead to the upper and lower floors.
He belatedly realized that Punz was leaning against a chest, playing with the fraying threads in the knees of his jeans.
The mercenary looked up when he moved to swing his legs over the side of the bed.
“Are you feeling alright?” Clay nodded. His hands were covered in dried blood. He pulled at a flake absently. He needed to wash that off as soon as possible. “You almost died.” Punz commented dryly.
Clay nodded again. He knew that already. It was the only reason he was even here right now. He wasn’t sure how he would carry on until Dream could take control again. He didn’t know what was happening. Not really.
“Tell me the last thing we did.” Clay couldn’t remember the last thing he was supposed to remember.
“I teleported to the Community House to get rid of the arrow in my leg.”
“Before that?”
“We, um,” How likely was he to guess correctly? And what should he do if he was wrong? “We fought L’Manberg, because they wanted their independence, and Tommy agreed to give me his discs in exchange for it.”
“What happened between those two things?” Punz persisted. Something had happened between those things? He didn’t know, and it could have been anything. He reluctantly shrugged. Guessing wrong might be worse than not guessing at all.
Punz was powerful, and though Clay could fight well, very well in fact, he was still injured. He shouldn’t make the other angry. They wouldn’t be able to afford that weakness in front of anyone, even if they were currently paying Punz.
“So you don’t remember winning, the duel, none of that?” How much should he tell the other to both keep him from asking more questions, but also from telling anyone?
“It happens sometimes. I’ll remember it in a few days. I just need you to give me a recap on the last few days, and what I was planning to do in the next few days.”
Punz stared. He didn’t hide his face like Dream did, so despite the mercenary’s attempts to hide his emotions, Clay could clearly see both confusion and concern in his expression.
“Also, don’t tell anyone.” He said, reaching to open the ender chest that was not far from where Clay sat. He easily pulled out six diamond blocks, which he tossed to the mercenary. The best way to ensure the secrecy of a mercenary was to pay them, after all.
Punz took them with an odd reluctance Clay hadn’t expected.
“How often does this happen?”
“Not that often.” It was both vague, and a blatant lie, considering it technically happened around once a week, if not more often, though usually not for this long. He would only need Punz’s help when he woke unexpectedly in the middle of something important. “I’ll let you know if I need it.”
The diamond blocks slid into Punz’s inventory, and he gave Clay a brief summary of Dream’s actions and plans, or what he could give of them, anyway. Dream wasn’t that open with his plans until the moment it was needed, so it made sense that Punz wouldn’t know much of what Dream had planned. He still knew a surprisingly helpful amount, and with that and Clay’s own knowledge of Dream’s overused strategies, he could put together what Dream had planned.
Eret was supposed to be the ruler of the SMP, now. They should have a coronation.
It hadn’t been planned, at least not according to anyone Dream bothered to inform, considering how surprised everyone, including Eret, was when Clay announced that they were going to have a coronation.
It was a bit of nowhere, Clay could admit, but he needed to stall, and it would be nice to actually do some of the formalities they were supposed to, instead of merely informing everyone that Eret was king of the SMP, and moving on with his life.
Eret wouldn’t be much more than a figurehead, after all.
Clay had a ridiculous amount of fun planning it though. It was almost like the Mind World, except that Clay needed to eat, drink and sleep. Sure, he wasn’t supposed to modify the server code to give himself so many materials, but he had a super cool blackstone room and a gold throne for the ceremony, and it wouldn’t hurt anyone, so what did it matter? It was technically, though not actually, his server after all.
He had Punz shadowing him the entire time, asking almost hourly if Dream was alright and if he remembered yet, until Clay was actually ready to pay him to shut up. He didn’t, because that would be a waste of resources.
The coronation room was underground, huge, wide spiraling blackstone stairs leading down four flights to get to the main room. It was mostly empty, lit by a combination of glowstone, sea lanterns, and soul fire, giving the gold throne an eerie glow. Clay would need to recreate this in the Mind World when he returned.
L’Manberg’s citizens were absent, but all the other inhabitants of the SMP arrived at the location Dream had sent out, though they all descended the staircase warily. Maybe Clay hadn’t been as subtle as he had hoped, but he was positively giddy as he jogged down far too many blackstone stairs and directed everyone into place, until it was just right.
It felt like forever since he’d spent time with anyone.
Clay didn’t have many plans for the coronation, though anything he had planned was entirely made up. Neither Clay nor Dream had ever been to any ceremony more important than a tournament awards ceremony. Drista lacked any of those experiences, though she’d read enough books to insist that it be a fancy gathering, and that both he and Eret should probably have a short speech.
The crown he’d made wasn’t intricate, mostly because Clay had little eye for small details, let alone the skill, but the gems formed a rainbow around it. He supposed Eret to fix it or make it fancier if they liked.
The ceremony was short, but dramatic, the soul fire lanterns set to light when they entered the room, and to flare when Eret was crowned. It had taken a ridiculous amount of manipulation for his admin powers to allow it, because it was far more difficult than Clay had expected, but he was also stubborn.
Eret was the last to enter the room, everyone else gathering in the room, while Clay waited by the throne, the rainbow jeweled crown hidden in his inventory.
They looked nervous, but regal as they walked down the dark carpet, and stopped in front of the throne almost awkwardly. Clay had forgotten to direct them on what to do.
What was it again?
He turned around to hide that he was pulling out his notes, and flipped quickly through the pages he and Drista had constructed over a call. He should have gotten someone else to write the notes for him, but that had, unfortunately, not been possible, so he just held the words as close to his face as he could to try and make out words in his own, abysmal handwriting.
“Uh, you’re supposed to kneel.” He said finally, hiding the book away and turning back around. Clay wasn’t quite sure why, but it was definitely in his notes, underlined for some reason, so it was apparently important.
Eret managed to do so easily, and Clay found himself relieved, because while he might have managed to crown them standing, Eret was significantly taller than Clay, and it would not have looked dramatic or regal.
“For your aid during war and other acts, I pronounce you official King of the Greater SMP.” He said, setting the heavy crown on Eret’s head. Without needing a cue, Eret stood, and sat down on the throne. It was perfect.
Clay wished Drista could be here to see it, but she would have to content herself with his explanation. Eret was supposed to have a speech, but since they had both been a technical acting ruler for a while now, and Clay had neglected to tell them, that part would need to be skipped.
Fortunately, he had not forgotten to tell everyone else, so when Eret sat down, they all shouted “Long live the king!” together.
The ceremony ended there. Clay guided everyone into the next room, where an exact replica of the throne sat at the head of the table, with everyone else given assigned seats. Clay took the seat at Eret’s right, mostly for appearance, but also because it showed a certain power, and Drista had ranted for nearly an hour about the importance of seating order in royal affairs.
“I promise nothing is poisoned.” Clay announced before anyone could question the quality or integrity of the food.
The meal he had planned was small, consisting of rabbit stew, a vegetable salad, and milk. Clay could have cooked more, of course, but he did need to eat some of everything given his reputation, and lately there was only so much food he could stomach before he started vomiting. It was an unavoidable product of regular starvation that he was growing used to.
He got a few laughs for the comment, and they all dug in, tension cut.
Clay ate the way he always did when he needed to eat in the presence of others. He held the mask a few inches from his face, enough to use his other hand to eat without much trouble, while still showing as little of his face as possible.
The others watched him for a moment, before tucking into their own food. Clay smiled behind the protection of his mask. He was glad they trusted him enough to eat the food.
At some point, someone brought out a few bottles of wine, likely Sapnap if Clay had to guess, or maybe it was Quackity, and passed it around.
Clay left when he couldn’t bear the smell any longer.
He’d mostly forgotten what it had smelled like. Of course, he’d had a few dinners with old boring officials, but they usually preferred Champagne, and the occasional inn that he and Drista had stayed in at first smelled strongly of ale.
Wine was different. Sweeter, but in a wrong way, familiar, but only in a haunting manner. He could still see green glass bottles laying on an oak wood plank floor if he focused. Even though this floor wasn't oak, or even wood.
He didn’t want to remember, and he couldn’t explain why his breathing quickened when George tried to hand him the bottle and he nearly puked, quickly passing it to whoever was on his other side. He fled quietly. No one followed, and he doubted they even noticed, but they were having fun, and he’d enjoyed the coronation, so it was alright.
It didn’t matter that they were having fun without him, while he was clinging to a tree trying to force oxygen in his lungs. It didn’t matter that they clearly hadn’t noticed or cared. They were drunk anyway.
He could go find somewhere to sleep and hope that he would wake up in the Mind World instead. He’d spent long enough in the real world to know that he had probably healed enough. Dream could take control and Clay would be just fine in his own mind. He couldn’t panic over familiar smells there.
To his annoyance, he didn’t wake in the Mind World, so he spent the days, or was it only hours, holed up in his makeshift base, healing to the best of his ability and gaining back his strength.
No one would notice that Dream disappeared. And he was far better equipped to handle it than Clay ever would be.