Chapter Text
They don’t leave the clearing.
The sun sets, and the sun rises, and they don’t leave the clearing.
Skeppy builds a makeshift tent, but they still spend hours at night, staring at the sky. They look at the constellations, and they laugh together.
They don’t leave the clearing.
They don’t speak about it for a few days.
It’s just a silent agreement between the two of them. They are both shaken up. It is not time to go home yet.
Neither of them can bear returning to the capital.
It’s a silent agreement that they make when they go, hand in hand, to find the best spot for wild berries and fishing traps.
It’s a silent agreement that they make every night, when they huddle under the small tent and Bad jokes about how small and fragile its structure is.
It’s a silent agreement that they make when Bad bandages Skeppy’s shoulder and hip, and when Skeppy watches the burn on the underside of Bad’s jaw and tells him that it’s healing properly.
It’s a silent agreement until it’s not.
* * *
When Technoblade’s army finds the clearing, Skeppy’s first reaction is to press himself against Bad, ready to protect him with his life.
His second reaction is to acknowledge Techno.
And Phil.
And… an Avian child.
And two other children.
He swears loudly to express his surprise and disbelief. Bad scolds him, and it brings a smile to Skeppy’s lips.
And then they explain. Bad’s master, Dream, hired people to kidnap the Angel of Death and bring him all the way to his mansion in the mountainous area of Esempi.
He had a small Avian of his own – a boisterous child named Tommy whose very presence seems to fill Bad with conflicting emotions – and he wanted the Angel to train him.
And the Angel killed him instead.
Phil killed him.
Phil killed the man who would have been his master, and everyone else in the castle. Everyone who tried to own him.
Phil killed Dream, and Punz, and all those stood against him.
And then he saved the Avian child and his brothers.
It… makes sense. In the strangest of worlds.
But Phil killed Dream and, in doing so, Phil saved Bad – Phil freed Bad, and so Skeppy decides to be thankful.
And so they both smile, they both express their relief and their gratitude. (And Skeppy apologizes for stealing Roberto the Third).
But when Technoblade suggests that they join them in their journey back to the city, the both of them go quiet.
And their silent agreement is not so silent anymore.
They look at each other, and there is a lot of unsaid. Too much maybe.
And they decide that they need more time for it to be said.
‘We’ll be up there in a few days,’ Skeppy responds and, though Bad gives him a confused glance, he does not protest.
Technoblade does not argue. He seems too relieved to have found his best friend safe and sound to try to really protest.
The army leaves after donating a large amount of provisions, some actual tents, and some medical supplies.
They leave, and Skeppy and Bad remain alone, in the clearing.
And maybe they speak about their dream of a cottage in the woods, two dogs, pastries baking in the oven, freedom, and quiet healing away from their trauma. If they do though, it is whispered as secrets, just for each other, and with the stars as only witnesses.
* * *
The cottage is everything Skeppy ever dreamt of. It’s small and cozy, and everything they’ve both wanted. It’s home.
And home is under threat of being burnt because Skeppy can’t fucking bake.
“Shit! Shit, Bad, is it supposed to do that?”
“Produce black smoke? Skeppy, nothing you cook is supposed to produce black smoke!”
Skeppy sticks his tongue at a laughing Puffy. “Then do it if you’re so smart!”
She presses a hand to her chest, pretending to be offended. “Me? Skeppy, I’m supposed to be a guest!”
“And I’m not supposed to ever be allowed near the kitchen, and yet, here we are.”
Puffy rolls her eyes. “Okay, move over,” she orders before raising her voice. “Velvet! Come help in the kitchen! Skeppy’s burning the fucking muffins!”
He hears a cacophony of laughs, a ‘Yes, Captain!’ and a ‘Language!’ and Puffy chuckles.
The door opens, and Skeppy smiles at the sight of a grinning Velvet accompanied by Bad who looks far too concerned.
“Puffy, oh my goodness, I’m sorry. You two don’t have to actually cook- I’ll just-”
Puffy’s look alone makes him stop. “Bad. Do you know how much fish I’ve been eating in the past few months?” Bad shakes his head. “Too much. Let us make the muffins.”
Bad frowns. “Are you su-”
“Bad, get out of my kitchen!”
“Hey!” Skeppy protests. “It’s our kitchen!”
“Both of you get out, then!” Velvet demands. “Let me and the captain fix this monstrosity and go be good hosts.” He flicks his hand at them, shooing them out of the room.
Skeppy rolls his eyes but does not protest and follows Bad back to the living room, waving lazily at the three men on the couch.
“Are we going to starve then?” Ant asks, eyes shining with amusement.
“Nah,” Skeppy says. “Puffy’s got it. I think.”
“And if all else fails, Sammy Wammy made a pumpkin pie!” Ponk declares. “Actually, you all better eat some of the pie anyway! He worked very hard on it!”
Sam sighs and looks away, embarrassed. “Ponk…”
“It’s true!”
Ant rolls his eyes, looking away from the two men, and he focuses back on Skeppy and Bad. “So!” he says. “Now that we’ve finally got rid of the sea shanties singers, how have you two been?”
Skeppy grins as he sits down and Bad comes to join him.
“Good!” Bad says. “The village next door has this really nice summer festival that we went to. It was really fun!”
Skeppy nods. “It’s so different from the city!” he says. “It’s smaller, so it makes it all so much more personal, you know?”
“Vurb, Spifey, and Tapl have demanded to come to the next festival,” Bad adds with a smile. “But maybe you guys could-?”
“As long as Puffy and Velvet are not in the middle of the ocean, I’d be happy to attend!” Ant replies. “Wait, scratch that. I will also attend if they are stuck at sea. If Sam gives me some holidays.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Depends on your work performance.”
“If Bad asks you politely to give Ant some vacation, you’ll do it,” Ponk teases, and Sam chuckles.
“Probably,” he responds. “I’ll probably do it.”
“Oh!” Skeppy exclaims. “The town folks also told us that they had this litter of puppies! Bad and I are going to pick some!”
Bad nods fervently. “They are so small and cute and nice!” he describes, “They look like-”
“Rats,” Skeppy completes. “They look like rats. He wants to call one of them Rat.”
“Hey!” Bad protests. “I don’t! I just think it would be a cute nickname!”
“A nickname?" Ant repeats. "Dude, they’re going to think that you’re bullying her!”
“Rat will know that I love her very much!”
Bad puffs his cheeks petulantly, and Skeppy is taken aback for a second by how much he loves him. His white eyes are glinting with mirth, even as he pretends to be offended by Ant’s comment about their future dog. Bad looks so happy, so carefree, and Skeppy feels so incredibly relieved.
He was scared that the memories of the months Bad spent in the cell and the years he spent at Dream’s service would haunt them. He was scared that Bad would never truly forgive himself.
That it would become hard for him to smile.
And yes, the first few months were rough. Bad woke up with nightmares almost every night, jumped at random sounds, and, sometimes, Skeppy would find him sitting outside, his eyes glazed, clearly lost in memories.
And for months, Bad wore large scarfs around his neck, keeping the burn mark hidden. He had visibly decided to keep the proof of his past concealed, and Skeppy accepted it. He bought Bad soft scarves from the village market, and colourful yarn for his knitting projects.
Slowly but surely, Bad started talking about Dream.
About what he made him do. About the way he kept him captive. About his training. About his punishments. About Bad’s regrets, and fears, and hopes.
Slowly but surely, his past that was a complete secret, something that Bad kept hidden from everyone, even his best friend, was no longer secret.
And, sometimes, Bad cried, worried that Skeppy would hate him for the things Dream made him so.
And, every time, Skeppy found himself loving his best friend even more. Admiring him for his tenacity. Celebrating his freedom.
Bad laughs on the couch now, in response to whatever it is that Ponk said, and Skeppy can’t find himself to focus on the conversation. He watches his best friend, smiling at the way his white eyes shine with pure joy. Bad throws his head back as he laughs revealing the burn mark on the underside of his jaw. And Skeppy loves him.
Bad is free, and Skeppy loves him so much.
Bad and Skeppy’s cottage is warm and full of light.
And Skeppy is happy.