Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

This is usually the part of the nightmare where he appears in his bed soaked in cold sweat, nonchalantly goes to the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water and some potato chips, and feels mildly bitter that he’s once again managed to ruin the little sleep he gets.
This is usually the part of the night where he isn’t really there mentally, but his hands turn on the pc and win yet another one or two bedwars matches, as the sun slowly but surely finds its way to the horizon.
This is usually when he feels the strange sense of community with humankind that ensues after watching the giant ball of flaming gas rise while most of the world is still asleep. He briefly wonders if he’s just wasting his life away locked down in an apartment, and maybe if he knew the extent of his ignorance he’d be left terrified for the rest of his life. And then he usually goes back to the kitchen, makes coffee, lights a cigarette and forgets about it.

But this time, he doesn’t wake up. Not even after he’s looked at his bloodied sword for so long he could’ve probably turned it to thin dust with his stare. He still feels the mushy texture of the body succumbing to his weapon, the short and high-pitched terrified scream he heard, which sounded too uncomfortably close to “Idon’twannadie”.
He realizes way too late that none of it was a dream. No one he’s talked to seems to know what a dream is, but they all seem to have agreed on looking extremely uncomfortable when he brings the subject up.
He hastily puts his sword back in the scabbard as he looks at his creation- the perfect ode to violence, colored in red and guts, silence and whatever it is that follows it.
And even then, Technoblade still can’t feel guilty.
-‘Damn right it is the universal language’- Techno replies to no one in particular- or to the deafening silence, outside and within.

Chapter Text

“At the peak of a mountain, the rooftop of a tall building, where everything below looks just as inconsequential as it is, where breathing feels like an achievement rather than a ticking clock, a human being may feel momentarily free. Too free, almost.
Is there something stopping us from leaping into the void, if for a moment, we forget the shackles of fear? It’d all be over so fast, and the difference made is minimal; if I just stepped ahe-
That is, usually, when we look away in discomfort. We take a cautious step back, and we reassure ourselves that we didn’t actually mean to think that. That we are bound by the laws of nature and other men, and jumping would be folly.
With legs still shaking and a considerable rush of adrenaline just having reached our brain, it seems like the passing breeze wants to tell us something we’ll never know. And we wonder what the point of the thought was.
We even wonder why no one does anything to prevent people from being so free that all the difference there is between life and death is a couple of steps.
It terrifies us for the brief instant before we realize that the next thing to do is to climb back down and move on, provide for our family, meet up with a friend, go to work or whatever it is that we have to do. ‘There is no such thing as freedom’- we seem to sigh in relief, and irony laughs in our oblivious face.
If one decided to stay…”

Technoblade closes his notebook and throws it on the cluttered desk. No matter how much he stares at the end of the phrase, it just keeps hanging there, looking at him with intent, with nothing else to add onto its end. He nervously taps his pen against the cover as he keeps spiraling in thought.
It’s always the same story when he tries to write- two great paragraphs followed by a sudden lack of motivation and a complete abandonment of the task at hand. If he had to write an autobiography, he’d write that- and then 178 pages of “Subscribe to Technoblade”
He wonders how spending months outdoing himself mentally in every way possible to beat a kid at potato farming in a videogame is easy, but putting his ever-abundant thoughts into written words for like, ten minutes a day is such an exhausting task. His brain seems to be working hard to make things just difficult enough for life to be as infuriating as the layout of old internet sites but easy enough for it to have no real interest.

He knows he’s taken his meds a bit later than he should’ve, he vaguely remembers putting them away in the squeaky drawer in the living room’s bureau, which is not where he usually is in the morning. He could be wrong, but his eyes are itchy and wide open, and no matter how much he tosses and turns in those bedsheets that get more uncomfortable by the second, he just can’t sleep.
He wonders if he’ll ever wake up and find out that his entire life was a construct of his own mind made to make him resilient against passive suffering. Now that he can stand for.
Be careful what you wish for, they say. Yeah, right, whatever.

-‘Oh, you’re finally awake!’ Technoblade registers the words being spoken to him as the finest form of dramatic irony, for he knows he’s just landed in a dream- and a pretty neat one at that, he notes feeling the weight of a sword hanging from his waist, even lying down as he is, the softness of grass below him and the distinctly pleasant scent of recently wet soil.
That’s unusual, he notes- Technoblade doesn’t usually know that he’s dreaming, when he does. It usually all consists of a quite grotesque mashup of bizarre elements such as worms that suck people’s souls out and books that can only be read by blind people.
He slowly and painfully opens his eyes to see the face of Wilbur Soot hanging right above him and below a sickeningly blue sky. He feels like he just got his soul punched to death and put right back into his body, and he also feels like it’s the first day of his life- which turn out to be surprisingly similar emotions.
He’s only seen Wilbur in a dream once before- he recalls the nightmare vividly, better than any other he’s ever had, in fact, but he’s never told Wilbur- he really doesn’t have to. And today’s not the day either. He’s never thought of the nightmare besides in the time that elapsed between the moment he jumped up from his bedsheets and the moment he opened his window to an already pinkish sky, which was about two minutes and a half.
And he doesn’t want to make it more.

-‘Sir?’- Wilbur is frowning, and he’s squeezing Techno’s arm now. Techno really just wants to be left alone so he can stare at the few trees around them, or use dream magic to teleport himself to the discernible mountains in the distance, or roll around in the mud and forget that he has to do things like pay rent.
-‘Wilbu- he starts before his brain has time to compute the fact that dream Wilbur doesn’t act like he knows who Techno is, then stops himself mid word. A particularly mean mix of confusion and embarrassment grips his throat with force, as he watches Wilbur’s expressive face go from worry to mild fear. He briefly wonders if there is some kind of dream etiquette that he’s unaware of, before deciding that no, there’s no darn way he lets social anxiety make even his sleep awkward.

-‘Do I know you?’- Wilbur’s suspicion-filled voice breaks Techno out from his trance, and the smile on his face could mean anything from “I am deeply uncomfortable” to “please bear my children” –‘I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you around in any of these lands’
-‘Ehhh, not really’- Wilbur’s expression turns snarky, and now Techno has to make something better up so he can be left alone in all freedom to roll around in the grass –‘I feel like you wouldn’t exactly believe me if I told you, and even if you did, it wouldn’t be useful to you, really- anyhow, let’s just say I come in peace, for now, alright?’- he finishes his sentence and realizes that the world still looks very horizontal..
Who would take a man lying down in the grass seriously? Definitely not Technoblade- he sits up, effectively getting Wilbur at eye-level. Scary.
-‘You’re asking me to trust someone who has evaded the only question he’s been asked? Someone who’ very clearly knows who I am, my whereabouts…’ – Wilbur smiles, and the edges of his mouth twist in a way that make Techno’s arm hairs stand up.
-‘Who?’- the sound hasn’t even left his lips yet and Techno already feels stupid .
-‘They should send better spies, I’m honestly starting to feel insulted’- Wilbur slowly, casually, calculatedly, combs his hair with his hand, and as slowly, casually, calculatedly, he stands up
-‘They- who are…? Look, this is not what it seems like’
-‘Then what is it? Surprise me.’- though reluctantly, Wilbur reaches for the sword on his belt and slowly starts to unsheathe it. The sun directly hits the blade, then Techno’s eyes, and for a moment Techno envisions what the rest of his life as a blind man will be like.

Then when he sees, actually sees, it hits him- not the sword, the realization. It doesn’t look like iron, it doesn’t look like glass, it rather looks like titanium desperately trying to look like a crystal. Something that looks like actual blue crystals is encrusted on the fuller.
Of course he’s dreaming about minecraft, again. Not so weird, considering he spends the majority of his waking hours playing the game. He has to admit it’s the prettiest diamond sword he’s ever seen, and he’ll genuinely miss it when he wakes back up- not that he wants to see it up close right now; Wilbur looks more than ready to use it. But, hopefully, Techno knows what to say next.

-‘Wait wait wait, I think we’re having a misunderstanding here, I’ve seen you before, yes but- I, it was in a- I’ve seen the future, like, like a vision’- and oh well, that sounded far more structured and believable in his head.
-‘You what?’- Wilbur is still gripping the sword so hard he could probably drill a hole through his hand, but his shoulders are getting less and less tense.
Technoblade takes a deep breath. He feels a heat wave crash through his body, like the first time he read his favorite book, like the first time someone unironically held his hand. And he doesn’t understand why this moment feels like it’s going to be engraved in his memory forever, but it does. He pushes against the damp ground, mud getting in between his fingers, gets up, feeling the weight of a cape on his back, and that of a headpiece that he highly suspects to be his crown.
He notices which clothes Wilbur is wearing: a yellow sweater, possibly handmade, plain brown pants- Techno has seen them before. The mere thought of it makes his whole body ready to flee at the slightest signal.

-‘I said I can help you take your country back’- he offers his dirty hand to Wilbur, whose eyes open widely in both fear and awe –‘viva la revolution, baby’- this, this is going to be one of the fun nights.

Chapter Text

The good thing about owning the entire world is that you really can’t forget your stuff on someone else’s land. The downside, though, is that you easily lose track of all the things you’ve left behind.

Dream is so far up the mountain that if there were less clouds and less of a snowstorm going on, he'd probably be able to see a still very small portion of all that's his.

Dream’s land. The sound of it clicks just right in his head, like the sound of steel after all the talking is done.

Still, something feels terribly wrong. Missing. Out of place.

It's the tallest mountain he's ever climbed, but it's been so many times already... At the peak, he can take a break. Exhaling a couple of heavy breaths, he covers his head with the green hood and calmly walks to the cliff's edge. It's an almost vertical fall, encompassing the entire east side of the mountain. Slowly taking in the beauty of it, he looks to the place he know the stronghold is. Dense clouds and several thousands of blocks of terrain stand before it, but in his mind he can always find the anchor. His mind is like a compass.

His feet itch to take the run, to leave it all behind and go back there to find what he lost, but his fist clenches in determination. Not now. Not yet.

That’s not what he’s here for. And, soon enough:

-“You”- Dream hears behind him. The man’s usually cheerful voice is afflicted with a darker tone this time. He sounds like a teacher who just caught his favorite student cheating.

-“Yes, me”- Dream replies, still gazing at the clouds, watching his breath slowly join them –‘what brings YOU here, though?’

-“Bit chilly up here, right? Thought it’d be nice for a change”- he says casually, the usual laugh and spark of his tone is still present through the tenseness –“actually I’m here to tell you to leave my sons out of your business”- Phil always talks as if he’s going to add something to the end of the sentence, but never does.

Dream stands in silence, listening to the soft crack-crack of Phil’s sandals in the snow. Let someone talk, and they’ll give you the answers before you can even think of the questions. Dream knows. Philza knows.

Phil gives in first.

-“I don’t think it’s too much to ask, Dream.”- Phil now stands beside him, at the edge of the cliff, smile on his face –‘this world isn’t what it used to be’- his smile turns sadder –‘but there’s still no reason for you to bring my children into your- your games, if you will.’

Dream holds a grin back, turning to Phil. The man has changed. From a hopeful young man into a tired one, the feathers on his wings look so uncharacteristically ruffled, and he looks a tad older, if more melancholic.

-“I don’t play games. Your son came to me for help, and I gave it to him, that’s all.”- Dream chooses his words carefully, but Phil gives him a look that says “no, that’s not all”. Fine, if that’s what he wants to talk about –“the other two, well- they’re kind of- you know how they are, Phil.”

-“No I don’t”- the sarcastic remark leaves his lips with a sigh. Phil laughs, passes it off as a joke, Dream chuckles, but feels the bite of the half-truth in Phil’s heart. This promises to be interesting.

Phil is looking at him intently, his gaze almost piercing a hole through Dream’s armor.

-“I don’t get more involved than I have to.”- Dream nonchalantly says, knowing very well that Philza won’t take that for an answer.

Phil’s laugh is friendly, the look he gives Dream isn’t.

-“I reckon it’s easier to say things like these behind a mask”- he says, his wings quickly spreading in a protective fashion, smile still on his face like it isn’t as much of a mask as Dream’s –“and, to be completely honest, I don’t know what kind of help my son would ask you for that would-

Phil freezes. He could’ve very well just been an overly realistic statue of an upset angel, and for a few seconds, Dream wonders if he’s just been talking alone, and Phil has actually lost his only life long ago. Maybe a semblance of guilt has made its way to him, which would explain-

-“He’s- did you do that?”- Philza sounds out of breath, and his eyes are wide open.

-“Do what?”- already? Dream wonders.

Phil’s knees are weak, Dream can tell. He could just summon his sword, take him by surprise- no, no, if he’s ever come up with a piece of good advice for himself, it has to be “never underestimate Philza”. Especially when his strongest son is back in the game.

-“I thought- where was he, for the past three days? His trace was just… not there, it just came back”– Phil stutters for a bit, running his hands through his blond hair nervously.

Shit.

-“What do you mean?”

-“Techno. Where’s Techno been?”- there is a clear menace in Phil's voice. Dream can almost tate the desperation.

-“I guess you’d have to ask him if you want to know”

Phil stays quiet, a stoic expression on his face, vanishing his wings. He steps forward and grabs Dream’s shoulder peacefully but firmly, looking him straight where his eyes would be if he didn’t have the mask on.

-“Dream. You’re lying to me”- He still just sounds like a disappointed father. Maybe because he is.

Dream stares at Phil, and he doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows his voice has reached the older man. ‘What makes you think that?’, he’s asked him.

-“Don’t do that”- Phil tells him off, and strengthens his grip on Dream’s shoulder –“getting in someone else’s thoughts is rude, even where you come from”- he cracks a smile again, but he’s urging Dream to take the hint, to realize. But what?

Oh.

Phil looks in the stronghold’s direction at the same time as Dream does. It’s fifteen days away on a good horse, but it’s never felt closer since the time he left.

-“You said you didn’t remember anything”- Dream feels naïve the second the words leave his mouth, but he needs the answer.

-“And I still don’t”- Phil lets go of Dream’s shoulder, and sits on the edge of the cliff, covering his clothes in snow–“I trust my better judgment, and if I didn’t have a good reason to forget what I saw, I wouldn’t have. So, I highly suspect that what I just remembered is something pertinent.”

-“Wait, wait- you wanted to forget?”- Dream blurts out. Careless. Should’ve thought twice.

The look Phil gives him is like an ocean in the summer- warm and inviting, yet still filled with dangers one would be too eager to ignore just to dip one foot in the waters. He doesn’t answer.

Dream sits beside him.

-“Dream.”

-“Yeah?”

-“That’s not your name, is it? It’s not just your name.”

The silence that ensues would make weaker men crumble.

Suddenly he’s there again.

George was gripping his arm with all the force his frail body was capable of, and he was worried so sick his face was livid.

Far behind them now, the village. Before  them, the deepest ravine he’d ever seen, splitting the world in two for thousands of blocks, ready to precipitate any unprepared traveler to their death.

And Dream wasn’t scared. He was… sad. Sad because he’d have to run from George when all he wanted was to get closer. As he shook George’s hand off, he took one last moment to gaze into his eyes, smiled, and ran towards the ravine. ‘I’ll be back’- he would’ve wanted to say, but Dream hated lying, back then.

-“CLAY!”- George’s desperate voice stopped him dead in his tracks for a second, but the burning fire in his heart only got stronger –“Stop this madness!”- Dream gave himself in to the fall, picked a god, and prayed –“please…”

…everything alright?”- Phil’s worried voice reaches Dream through the haze of the distant memory, and he nods.

-“Tell me why you promised to stay away from everyone else”- Dream demands. He knows the answer, but he wants Phil to know it even better.

-“I…”- the older man looks at him, frowning –“I doomed the world, didn’t I?”

You’re not that important, you don’t matter that much- Dream wants to spit it out, but he patiently nods in agreement.

-“If you want to stay true to that, all you can do for your sons is pray, Philza”- Dream stands up, gets his feet ready to jump –“pray that they picked the right side”- he doesn’t turn around. Something about the prospect of seeing a scared Phil makes him uneasy –“pray for mercy to find its way into me before it’s too late”

He takes the leap, and swallowed by the endless void beneath him, feeling as fragile as the first time, he pearls away.

---------------------

Techno looks up, feeling the sun touch his face. A sudden wave of sadness washes over him, leaving him almost unable to keep walking. Wilbur is a few steps behind, the same glazed look on his eyes.

-“I haven’t asked you”- the man in the yellow sweater asks with a quivering voice –“but what’s your name?”