Chapter Text
“Well, it seems you’ve gotten a fever. Not surprising since you oh so insisted on going on a nightly swim while you were out.” Fundy pressed his aching head into the soft pillow, holding back an exasperated groan as his dad paced at the foot of his bed. He did not need to be lectured when his body was threatening to kill him. “Honestly, Fundy, if you would just listen to me一”
“Dad…” His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion clinging to his aching bones as he tried to calm his breathing. Why was his room so fucking hot? Fundy knows he sleeps in it but he can’t be that devastatingly hot, right? He chuckled at his joke, his laughter caused his dad to stop pacing. His dad probably thought he was bordering on delusional now. He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that his clammy hands would be enough to cool his burning skin. Fuck Dre. It’s his fault that Fundy was sick and suffering. “Can you murder me with your words later… please… dad?”
“You worry me, Fundy. You’ll kill your old man with all this worry.” He heard the creak of footsteps move closer, the bed dipping as a hand settled at the top of his head, soothing his frazzled hair. Fundy leaned into the touch, sniffing as tried to move towards his dad. There was a soft chuckle from beside him, a low hum from his dad as the hand in his hair disappeared. He whined at the loss before a pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace. He nearly yipped as he sluggishly threw his arms around his dad, pressing his face into his dad’s chest. “I was worried sick last night. If anything happened to my precious son, I一”
“Shhhhhhh…” His hand landed against his dad’s shoulder with a thump, his body too numb to really cause much of an impact. Fundy wished his dad stopped talking. He’d rather not have his dad’s droning voice in his head by the time he’s fallen asleep. Fundy burrowed his face into the crook of his dad’s neck, sleep seeping into his hazy mind. “Dad… song… please?”
---
Wilbur chuckled at his son’s request, honestly content to forget the events of last night as he began to hum the lullaby he’d composed when Fundy was but a kid. Fundy curled closer in his arm, a soft smile on his son’s face as he tried to hum along, stuttering off into silence as Wilbur changed to the next song. Fundy hadn’t heard this one yet. Wilbur glanced out the window, recalling a familiar river and remembering his first and only love. It was a song meant for her, to the woman he’d loved so dearly. Wilbur had never told Fundy about Sally, frightened that it would only lead his son to the same fate that had befallen the mother. Wilbur held Fundy closer, quelling the rising panic in his heart. His son was in his arms, safe even if he was sick. Wilbur shook his head, amused yet worried by his son’s constant need for adventure in a cruel world.
“I promise. I didn’t build the walls to cage you. I have my reasons, son. I will not lose you too." Fundy’s eyes fluttered open, despite the fever-haze in their gaze, he could see the doubt dancing in those golden flecks that reminded him so much of Sally. Wilbur ran a hand through his son’s hair, wincing at the way the strands stuck to his fingers. Fundy needed a bath, but they’d have to wait until the fever died down. Wilbur didn’t want Fundy to get even worse. He held his son closer, the memory of last night still fresh on his mind. He knew he was unreasonable. He knew anyone would call him a bit mad for being so protective. But they didn’t know his history, didn’t know the dangers that lurked. “Until L’Manburg is free, not a single one of us is safe out there.”
It pained him to be so strict, knowing that Fundy missed the man who’d willingly give in to his little son’s demands. Wilbur couldn’t help it. He loved his son, enough to give him some peace and a piece of the world. L’Manberg will be safe, safer than any country that dared to exist in Dream’s realm. It will be a nation for the free and for those sickened by tyranny. A nation for all.
Fundy was too young to remember when the walls were built so he’d always assumed that they’d been there ever since he was a baby. His son thought that Wilbur built the walls, and in a way, he did. It was his idea, in the end. It was his order that was followed. But he wasn’t the hand who built those walls. Wilbur could never tell Fundy the truth, lest Fundy gain any rebellious ideas about them. Wilbur couldn’t. How could he ever tell Fundy the truth of their creation? Wilbur placed his head on his son’s hair, the fox hybrid whining as Wilbur pressed a soft kiss against his head. Fundy was still conscious enough to be embarrassed by Wilbur’s affection. He chuckled, pressing another kiss to Fundy’s forehead. Sometimes he forgot how old Fundy was. His little champion was growing up, but to Wilbur, Fundy would always be his and Sally’s little fox kit.
Wilbur knew he’d have to leave Fundy alone by the time he’d fallen asleep. War was not merciful to a father who only wished to care for his son. He had a plan for the day, half of which he’d have to move for the next day since he’d spent half of the morning taking care of Fundy. Wilbur laughed, a mirthless noise that caused Fundy’s eyes to flicker open. He quickly shushed his poor son, lulling him back to the edge of sleep. As Fundy snuggled closer to him, he pressed the back of his hand against Fundy’s forehead. Shit. This wasn’t going to be a normal fever.
“Don’t fall asleep yet, baby. Don’t sleep yet, Fundy. You should drink a healing potion first一”
“No.” Wilbur sighed through his nose. Too late. Fundy had fallen into what they both called ‘The No Stage’ , which was one small step away from ‘The Clingy Stage’ . He frowned, pulling the potion from his inventory. Fundy needed to drink it or else he’d never get better. He held the back of Fundy’s head, tilting it up a bit as he pressed the potion to Fundy’s lips. “No! Gross!”
“Fundy… This is for the fever. You don’t want to be sick forever, do you?” Fundy groaned underneath his breath, sticking out his tongue before finally drinking the potion. Wilbur sighed in relief. He couldn’t really bear to see Fundy so sick. “There. That was pretty easy, huh champ?”
“I… don’t like you anymore. Your potions suck, all I ever taste is melon.” Wilbur pouted at the comment. He’ll have his son know, he was a master at potion making. His father and mother had always said he was born with a talent for it despite… Wilbur sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Fundy’s forehead as he slowly lowered Fundy back onto the warm bed. He reached for the thin quilted blanket that Tommy had created when Fundy was just a kit, draping it over Fundy who then promptly kicked it away. Wilbur chuckled, shaking his head at his son’s antics. As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his day caring for his sick son, they had a war to win, he couldn’t stay for long. Wilbur turned to leave, “Don’t leave, dad…! I-I was lying! I didn’t mean it…”
“I know, my little champion, but dad has to make sure L’Manburg doesn’t lose the war.” He placed a hand on his son’s ginger curls, a discontented groan rumbling through his son’s prone form as Fundy tried to bury his face beneath the pillows. If Wilbur didn’t leave before the fever progressed, he’d never be able to. Fundy wouldn’t let him leave, his poor baby... Wilbur didn’t mind the clinginess, but Fundy had to understand that he couldn’t stay. “I’ll be back by lunchtime, alright? Besides, we wouldn’t want to leave Tommy in charge, now, would we?”
“No…” Fundy let out what sounded like a choked laugh, settling underneath the warm covers as Wilbur finally pulled away. A small frown climbed its way to his face. Fundy had barely eaten at breakfast, how could Wilbur just leave his poor son to suffer? A sigh slipped past his lips, he’d have to ask Eret to watch over Fundy. As much as the thought sent a bitter taste down his throat, Wilbur could trust no one else in the army to watch over his son. With one last look at his son, Wilbur turned to leave the room, pausing at the doorway when he realized one other agenda on his list for the day. He threw a short glance towards Fundy, hesitating before realizing that Fundy hadn’t fallen asleep just yet. He should have been asleep already though. “I’ll be sending a letter to your Grandza later this afternoon. Would you want me to relay anything for you? A ‘hello’ ?”
“Mmm… Tell them I said hi… or something…” Fundy groaned, placing a pillow on the top of his head. Wilbur took that as his cue to leave. Fundy may be insistent on sleeping now, but that won’t last soon the moment Fundy decides he’d rather have someone to cuddle. It was times like that where Wilbur asked the gods why his son had been blessed with fox traits. He loved Fundy, he really did, but the fox instincts were worse when he was sick. Wilbur chuckled to himself, slowing down as he went down the stairs. It was nearing lunch, and he could only hope that Eret, Jack, Tommy, and Tubbo had been training in his absence. He headed towards his small office underneath the stairs, a cozy spot that looked more like a lounging area than an actual office.
He and Tommy had tried to make it look more professional, but by the end, it turned into a space where anyone could lay down and rest. A safe place to pretend that the war wasn’t at their door.
Today, he wasn’t alone. The crow cawed at him impatiently, jumping here and there at the little coffee table that served as Wilbur’s desk. He didn’t bother to sit on the couch, choosing the carpeted floor instead. The crow, in its eagerness to return to its master, had already placed a bottle of ink and a few letter papers on the table. It tapped its beak on the wood, cawing again.
“Impatient! What? Is the old man going to keel over at any moment now?” Wilbur petted the top of the crow’s head, nearly losing a finger in the process. He huffed. On business then, or perhaps this crow wasn’t too particularly fond of him. The crow was new, he could tell. All of Phil’s crows absolutely adored him, well, what was there not to like? He picked up the quill. Still, if Phil sent a more serious crow as his messenger, it meant Wilbur that Phil wasn’t asking for news on the rest of his family’s well-being. His father wanted a report. “Trouble in the Antarctic?”
The crow cawed, its feathers ruffling.
“I am not being nosy, I am simply asking a question.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, though a smile played on his lips. The crow’s rude behavior didn’t upset him one bit. It probably wanted to return home as soon as it could. Wilbur couldn’t blame it for that. He missed home sometimes too, and he could only hope that one day Fundy would be able to see the Antarctic, their home.
Wilbur reflected on any significant occurrence in the past month. Dream and his closest allies - George and Sapnap - had nearly burned down the forest near L’Manburg a few weeks prior. He didn’t need to be a strategic genius to realize that it was Sapnap who had instigated that attack.
He pressed the tip of the quill to the parchment:
‘To His Majesty, the King of the Antarctic Empire…’
---
He awoke to the sound of scratching. Fundy groaned, burying his head deeper under the covers. His fever had gotten better, but his head was still killing him. He wasn’t going to move from the bed, not even if the house decided to spontaneously combust. The scratching grew louder, more insistent, more demanding. He scowled, pressing a pillow to his ear. If it was Tommy and Tubbo pulling a stupid prank on him, well he’d have to get even with them later. So long as his head didn’t decide to kill him right then and there. After a moment, he started to fall asleep again…
Until he heard the screech, the glass shattering against impact. He shrieked, rolling off the bed in fear that they were under attack. It was cowardly, but he remained on the floor, barely moving.
He wondered where his dad was. If he was alone in the house. If another had broken out. If his dad was dead in a room somewhere nearby. He shuddered, pausing once he realized that there was scratching coming from the bottom of his head. After a moment, a familiar face popped up from beneath his bed. He blinked. The fox from last night sniffed at his clothes, sneezing and pawing at its nose after taking just one whiff. Fundy rolled his eyes, it could smell his sickness.
“You little shit.” He took the fox into his hands, pausing once he realized there was a letter tied to its leg. He gently took it off, the fox curling into his chest despite initially showing disgust at the faint sickness that rolled off Fundy’s entire being. Fundy petted the fox, its tail hitting him on the face. He laughed, adjusting the fox so that it wouldn’t keep hitting him. It was clearly very excited, squeaking as it urged Fundy to open the letter. Fundy took his sweet time to do so.
He thought back on the events of the night, his face heating up at the remembrance of his brief night of freedom. Of course, it would be the night he’d meet someone other than his dad, his uncles, his best friend, and Jack. Someone from outside L’Manburg. He should tell his dad about the encounter. But it was his secret. Eret once said that it wasn’t wrong to have secrets, so long as it wasn’t really harming anyone. He took a deep breath, finally opening the letter.
‘Dearest, acquaintance of mine,
I apologize for where this letter may find you, though I hope it finds you well. The previous night is quite different from the life I’ve grown accustomed to, though whether that bodes well or not depends on fate. You’re an interesting individual, and if the gods allow it, I’d like to know you even more. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship… or a trainwreck waiting to happen. I don’t know which one it will be, but I do want to try. I know not of your residence, so perhaps we may meet again at the lake. If you wish to. Though, perhaps not tonight or the next night as I do have other business to attend to, and I assume that you do as well. So, on another night then.
There is a large rock by the lake. You could leave your letters there if you ever wish to meet up. I go to the lake most nights when I wish to unwind from the troubles of the day. I hope to meet you again near the lake, though that may take weeks. Otherwise, Zigzag - that is the fox’s name, he was previously named Zagreus but a friend of mine changed his name to Zigzag - would be our little messenger. He likes berries. If you could, do give him a treat for being a very good boy.
Until our next correspondence. I will remember the night we met with fondness, or perhaps regret depending on the future outcome of this relationship. Do promise me, though, that you refrain from telling anyone of our encounter. I… I prefer to remain mysterious and enigmatic :).
Sincerely,
Your M.F.C. (Aka Masked Forest Creep, Aka Dre) :)’
He blinked, his laughter escaping him. Zigzag sniffed at his wrist, little eyes stared up at him in interest. Fundy would read it out loud, but it would be just his luck if Wilbur were to pass by and hear him. He’d think Fundy has some… creeper (not the monster, and that would not be very preferable since they were terrible at conversation) after him. He couldn’t believe that Dre remembered the nickname - playful insult - that Fundy had given him during their goodbye.
He climbed back onto the bed, his bones arguing against his mind, but eventually he was able to get back under the covers. Ziggy licked his cheek, curling up beside him. He held onto the fox, glad that he wasn’t alone. Fundy looked over at the broken window, his mind racing to come up with an excuse. His dad would freak if he thought Fundy had been attacked. If he was lucky, maybe he could convince Eret to help him fix it before his dad ever found out. If he was lucky.
Fundy sighed, slowly shaking his head, the letter was still in his hand.
Somehow, reading the letter made him feel somewhat better.
Though his aching head still wanted him dead.
He petted the back of his Ziggy’s ears.
He’d have to get Ziggy a few berries, and write a letter.
He looked at Dream’s letter again.
And tried to ignore the misplaced comma.
---
“Awwww, Dreamy has got a little cwush.” He scowled, sliding the letter back into the envelope before tossing it into an open book. Sapnap had snuck behind him, much to the masked man’s chagrin. He didn’t know how long his friend’s been there, glancing over his shoulder as he read the words Fundy had written. It was very short, nothing all too damning, but Sapnap must have assumed another meaning since he was mocking Dream with kissy noises. He playfully pushed his friend away, standing up from his seat. He blinked in surprise, it seemed like Sapnap wasn’t the only one who had entered his room undetected. George was by his bed, reading one of the draft letters he’d made. “Dude, what’s with the secrecy? Scared I’d steal them from you?”
“You’re not their type.” Dream snatched the letter from George’s hands, his friend sticking his tongue out. Dream found it to be quite childish, which is why he returned the gesture. He picked up the rest of the draft letters, intending on burning them on a pyre that afternoon so that Sapnap wouldn’t get his grubby little hands on them. “We’re… acquaintances. Possible friends, Sap.”
“You don’t give acquaintances letters.” George spoke up, a passive look on his face. Dream could never tell what his friend was thinking, though it was the same for him. Sometimes he wondered how Sapnap dealt with the two of them, his best friends who hid behind their masks. George laid further on the bed, resting a hand against his head, his other hand splayed against his cheek in thought. Sapnap - ever the man who could never stand still - suddenly jumped onto the bed, breaking George out of whatever thought he had. George scowled, shaking his head, but there was an amused smile playing on the edge of his lips. “You were out last night, weren’t you? On patrol. I read a bit of the letter… you met them in the middle of the forest? So… a hermit?”
“Didn’t know you liked the feral, haven’t-taken-a-shower-in-years type, Dream. But I guess you wanted someone like you—” Sapnap shrieked (like a girl, might Dream add) the moment Dream threw a pillow at him. George sighed, ignoring both their antics. “But seriously, who are they?”
“No one of concern.” George raised a brow at that, lips pursed. He wanted to ask, wanted Dream to elaborate, but he kept silent. Dream took a deep breath, “You don’t need to know. It’s…”
“Dude at least tell us if they’re… smoking hot! Great personality? Something, dude! How the hell am I supposed to figure out who they are!” He refrained from throwing another pillow at Sapnap’s face, though it was quite tempting. He sat at the edge of the bed, one foot on the bed and the other on the floor. He rested his arm on his knee, his head leaned against the wooden frame. He couldn’t tell his best friends. Because they’d either do something stupid, or… tell him that he was stupid for picking the one person who fate would never let him be friends with. And that’s all it was! They were friends, no, acquaintances. Just… acquaintances… An acquaintance he’d invited over to the lake. A hand landed on his shoulder, a look of genuine concern dancing in Sapnap’s gaze. “Dream. I’m just joking, man. But… we never keep secrets from each other.”
“Yeah, man. I get it.” He patted Sapnap’s hand, waiting for the blaze hybrid to pull away from him. His friend hesitated but eventually moved his hand away. Dream stood up, wiping his pants despite the lack of dirt on them. George said it was a force of habit, and Sapnap jokingly teased him about it whenever he could. Sapnap kept quiet this time. George followed after him. Sapnap stayed on the bed. He and George gave him a pointed look. Sapnap groaned, rolling off the bed before collapsing on the ground. Dream watched as George pulled Sapnap up by the arm, barely even breaking a sweat despite Sapnap’s heavier stature. “They’re just a potential friend, dude.”
“Whatever, man.” Sapnap shrugged, leaning against George who looked extremely eager to let him faceplant on the carpet. Dream wheezed, placing a hand on both his friends’ backs. They had to train for the coming days. They still had a war to win, after all. He led them to the door. George didn’t complain, exiting the room without even a single glance back. Sapnap paused, furrowing his brows at Dream. “If it doesn’t work out… Tell them that I’m always available—”
“Out! What the hell, Sapnap!” He slammed the door, Sapnap’s laughter bouncing off the walls of his room. He shook his head, relishing in the silent aftermath. Dream still needed to meet them at the training grounds in an hour, but until then, he had a few minutes to himself. He made his way to the pile of drafted letters, feeling a rush of heat climb to his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault! He kept accidentally writing Fundy’s name, and he couldn’t let anyone know of their correspondence. Dre wasn’t… the best cover name. He is a bit surprised that Fundy didn’t connect the dots… or maybe he did. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. He unclasped the mask, letting it drop to his hand before tossing it onto the bed. Dream made his way back to the desk, reaching down to pet Zigzag who had fallen asleep after a few berry treats. His good little messenger fox.
He grabbed the letter again:
‘Dear “acquaintance” (we’re friends now, lol don’t call me acquaintance),
Thanks for the letter and I would like to meet you again. The lake is nice, but bring Zigzag, I’ll only meet you if you bring Zigzag with you. I will also, hereby, call him Ziggy because Zigzag is stupid and so was Zagreus :p
Sincerely,
Your S.F. (Aka Strange Fox, Aka Fundy)
P.S. Thanks, also, for getting me wet. Now I’m sick! >:(‘
Dream groaned, putting his head in his hands.
WHY DID FUNDY HAVE TO PHRASE IT LIKE THAT?!