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Chapter Text

Tommy had a glock.

If you were a normal person, you’d ask why anyone would give Tommy a weapon.

Unfortunately, it was Wilbur who gave him the glock when he destroyed Tommy’s vlog guns.

The pair approached the entrance of “Dream and Drista's Merry Ho Ho Santa Store With Sixty-Nine Percent Discount Off" with a sense of quiet solemnity building in their hearts. Wilbur pulled on his Tinky Winky mask and gave Tommy a Dipsy one.

“We rob this store as the Teletubbies,” Wilbur grandly announced, his Tinky Winky antenna bobbing enthusiastically beneath the winter sunlight. Tommy pulled the Dipsy mask over his head with eagerness bubbling in his chest.

“HERE’S WILBUR!” the Tinky Winky Kinnie yelled as he kicked open the doors to Dream and Drista’s Merry Ho Ho Santa Store With Sixty-Nine Percent Discount Off, which will be kindly referred to as DADMHHSSWSNPDO from now on.

A man with brown hair looked up from the cashier. “Hello, my name’s Tubbo, how may I help-”

Tommy levelled the glock at Tubbo’s face. The only thing Tubbo could see, however, was a soulless Dipsy Teletubby holding a gun incorrectly as it yelled, “MONEY YOUR HANDS AND WEAPON YOUR DROPS!"

Tubbo blinked.

“What?”

The green teletubby spluttered. “Wait, shit- I meant DROP ALL YOUR WEAPONS AND HAND OVER YOUR MONEY!”

Tubbo shook his head rapidly. “No, no, I meant- look, you’re holding your gun wrong!”

Tommy balked in confusion as Tubbo reached across the counter and tried to teach him how to hold a gun.

“Like this?” Tommy asked, confusedly fumbling around the trigger. Tubbo sighed, “No, like this.”

“This?”

“How are you so incapable of holding a gun?!”

“Well, first of all-”

“Uh… Tommy?” Wilbur interrupted, scratching his mask, “are we still going to rob the store?”

“Be quiet, Wil,” Tommy snapped before almost shooting Tubbo in the head. Tubbo yelped as a gunshot rang throughout the store. He rapidly ducked beneath the counter to save himself. Thankfully, the bullet only hit a swinging chandelier dangling from the oak ceiling of DADMHHSSWSNPDO, one of its expensive candles now containing a scrap of metal wedged into its half-melted wax.

“I’m-” Wilbur gaped in disbelief, eyes trailing upwards to inspect the damage, “I’m going to go check out the rest of the store… yeah… bye Tommy.”

Wilbur slinked away, praying Tommy would quickly learn how to properly hold a gun.

The Tinky Winky mask wearer stopped his inner monologue upon noticing something lurking in the corner of his sight.

“Oh my god,” Wilbur whispered, approaching the aisle, “is that edible sand?”

Indeed it was. Wilbur yanked off his Tinky Winky mask as he quickly grabbed a tin of edible sand. He ripped open the tin lid and tore the individual packagings between his teeth. He immediately proceeded to pour an entire packet of sand down his throat.

Technoblade, who was casually slurping on a slushy in the store’s CCTV room, blanched in shock as he saw a man haphazardly eating all the edible sand products available in DADMHHSSWSNPDO.

Techno leaned forward in his squeaky chair. He slurped his slushy harder, wondering whether or not he should call for security.

Wait, Techno realized, I’m security.

He slumped back. Not like this store is any special. I’ll call for Drista later.

As Techno started regretting every single life choice he had made over the past few years, Wilbur started hungrily ransacking the entire edible sand aisle.

“Chocolate sand,” he gushed to himself as he downed the entire package in one go.

“Eggnog sand! Christmas exclusive!” Wilbur whispered in delight, throwing more granules of silicon dioxide down his esophagus.

Then, Wilbur saw it. He dropped all the sand tins he was holding and stared straight ahead, his eyes widening at the absolute beauty before him.

“No way.”

Sitting atop a golden pedestal, its rhinestone-embedded lid covered by a sheet of glass, was a single tin of salmon sand.

Wilbur swore he was flying in heaven. Salmon sand, salmon sand, salmon sand. The words kept looping in his head like a cursed mantra.

Wilbur approached the display with hesitation in his every step. He caressed the glass with a featherlight touch, marvelling every angle of the salmon sand can.

“I’m marrying you,” Wilbur blurted, and he immediately began devising a plan to break the salmon sand out of this wretched store. He could finally bring the love of his life back into his warm home. What a gift!

“All I need is for Tommy to shoot the glass,” Wilbur murmured, and his wish came true on the spot. Another loud gunshot rang through the store. This time, glass exploded, and Wilbur found himself curled on the ground avoiding danger as Tommy yelled, “SORRY!”

Wilbur shakily stood up, his rapid heartbeat slowly calming as he realized the salmon sand was now free of its cage.

“My love, my sweetheart, my lovely little salmon sand,” Wilbur sobbed, swiping the tin off its golden pedestal. He ignored the loud alarms going off the moment the tin left its place. “I’ve finally got what I wanted the most in life!”

Wilbur planted a kiss on top of the salmon sand’s lid, tears pouring from his eyes.

It was at that moment when a young and sensible Drista decided to walk in.

“So,” she began as she inspected the damage done to the store, “who broke it?” She jabbed a finger at the shattered glass display. Strangely, Wilbur was nowhere to be found.

Techno emerged from the CCTV room. “It wasn’t me,” he supplied, crossing his arms. “Look at Tubbo.”

Tubbo made a face. “Me?! No, I didn’t break it! It was probably George!”

Out of the blue, GeorgeNotFound rolled down a set of stairs behind the cashier, his neck full of bruises. “Uh,” he said, brushing the dust off his backwards shirt, “if it helps, I was with Dream the entire time.”

It was Drista’s turn to make a face. “Yuck,” she commented, and George limped his way back up the stairs. “Well, if it wasn’t Techno, Tubbo, Dream, or George, who broke the display?”

All eyes turned to the Teletubby mask-wearer sitting in front of the cashier counter, who was still holding a glock incorrectly between his fingers.

Tommy nervously laughed. “Hey, look, Drista-”

“You broke it,” Drista growled, the mask hiding her face starting to give off a strange eerie glow. “Why did you break it, Dipsy?”

“It was an accident!” Tommy screeched, hands in the air. “That’s all there is to it, it was an accident!”

Drista raised an eyebrow. “And why should I trust you?”

Tommy clucked his tongue. “Well, you shouldn’t, but I can show you how bad my aim is.”

Tubbo wordlessly crawled to hide beneath the cashier counter once more. Tommy cocked his glock.

Before Drista could say anything, Tommy shot at the ceiling.

Two seconds later, Drista fell to the floor, dead.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Tommy shrieked, throwing down his Dipsy mask. “HOLY SHIT, I JUST KILLED A WOMAN!”

“You killed Dream’s sister,” Techno applauded from across the room. “You’re going to die, Tommy.”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?”

“I am an all omnipotent being.”

Tommy perked up. “Oh. Then can you save me from dying?”

“No.”

“FUCK!”

Tommy kicked the glock away and cradled his head between his arms. “I just killed Dream’s sister. Man, I’m going to die, fuck, fuck, fuck-”

“You know, I think Dream’s too occupied right now to know that his sister’s dead,” Tubbo piped up from beneath the counter. Tommy paused.

“You’re telling me to book it?” Tommy incredulously wheezed out, and Tubbo gave him a thumbs-up in reply. Techno also gave Tommy a thumbs-up. Tommy’s head whipped back and forth between the two and Drista’s still body.

“I- I can’t. It feels wrong. I need to apologize.”

“Tommy, with all due respect, I don’t think apologizing will save you from literal murder,” Techno chimed in.

Tommy heaved, “I am so fucked.”

The doors to DADMHHSSWSNPDO chose that exact second to swing open. A blond man with a white and green hat walked in, carrying two more Teletubby masks. “Tommy, Wilbur, are you done robbing the-”

Bang.

Everyone stared at Tommy’s smoking glock and a dead Philza laying on the ground.

“WHAT THE FU-”

Tommy fainted.

Drista cracked an eye open. “Is he out?”

Everyone screamed, including the supposedly-dead body of one Philza, father of many.

“Drista? But I thought you died!” Tubbo exclaimed, and Drista coughed into her hoodie sleeve.

“I pulled a billion IQ gamer move and came in a clutch,” was her only response. Philza- who was for some insane reason completely alive and well- shook his head.

“I’m pretty sure you can’t pull a clutch in situations like these,” he said while lifting himself off the floor. Drista shrugged.

“We both just pulled a billion IQ gamer move,” Drista pointed out. “You’re alive, right?”

Philza was pretty sure he was alive, but was surprisingly not opposed to a Ghostza arc.

“How did you even survive a gun wound?” Tubbo remarked as he hauled himself out of his hiding spot. “Drista I understand, clutches probably run in the Dream family bloodline. But Phil?!”

Drista shut her eyes. “Tubbo,” she mused, “your time will come one day. Soon you will learn of our secrets.”

Tommy chose that moment as a cue to wake. Tubbo immediately grabbed the glock to avoid any more casualties.

“Tommy,” Drista smiled, “please explain yourself.”

“I- wait, WEREN’T YOU DEAD?!” Tommy hollered, pointing at Drista. “AND YOU TOO!” He jabbed a finger at Philza. “DIDN’T I-”

“STOP YELLING!” both GeorgeNotFound and DreamWasTaken roared from the top floor, and Tommy went silent.

Nobody spoke for a good while.

Finally, Tommy decided to ask, “Where’s Wilbur?”

“Who?” Tubbo questioned. Tommy looked around the store. “Uh, he came in with me. He wore a Tinky Winky mask, last seen near the edible sand aisle.”

Wilbur was completely gone from the scene.

“Wait a sec…” Drista muttered. “Edible sand?”

She turned her line of sight and pinned it on the empty display.

“Holy crap. Wilbur stole the salmon sand.”

The store immediately erupted into chaos.

Dream and George tumbled down the set of stairs, this time completely armoured. “Wilbur stole the salmon sand,” Dream repeated darkly, and his sister nodded.

Tommy could only watch in fear as everyone in the store save Philza began plotting Wilbur’s demise.

“Wait wait wait. Aren’t we moving a bit too fast here?” Tommy winced, and he shrunk beneath Dream’s smoldering gaze. Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, hoping he could warn Wilbur in time.

It seemed like it was not needed after all. Tommy nearly dropped his device when he saw Wilbur’s latest text.

[Wilbur Soot]: Gone on a honeymoon with my new wife, salmon sand can! Named her Sally.

Tommy wrote back.

[TommyInnit]: WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU

[Wilbur Soot]: In Hawaii

Tommy lost it.

“WILBUR’S IN FUCKING HAWAII!”

The store went silent.

“Hawaii,” Techno repeated, looking at Tommy.

“Hawaii,” Tommy repeated back.

No one questioned how Wilbur managed to fly from Britain to Hawaii in a span of sixty-four paragraphs. No one questioned why the whole DreamSMP and DADMHHSSWSNPDO were in Britain either.

“I’m just going to… sit down.” Tommy sat on the floor and immediately turned into a low-resolution blob of self-regret.

Somewhere across the ocean, Wilbur was having the time of his life. It soon turned into shock and horror when he realized he had left Tommy hanging.

“Oh no. Now he’s going to get charged for robbery!”

Wilbur hurried back to DADMHHSSWSNPDO. He kicked the doors open once more, grabbed the low-resolution blob on the ground by its shoulders, and finally hauled it out.

“GOTTA GO!” Wilbur shrieked. He then ran from the store and slammed the door shut behind him.

Quietness permeated the air.

“Well,” Philza said, breaking the silence, “I’m not very happy that they didn’t use my getaway car.”

“Are we not going to file a police report after them?” Tubbo asked.

Drista shook her head. “I don’t think it’s necessary. It’s not like they can help catch Wilbur and Tommy- Wilbur just sped across the Pacific Ocean in two paragraphs flat.”

Dream sent a side-eye in his sister’s direction. “Drista,” he whispered, “I don’t think it’s a good idea to break the fourth wall.”

“My bad,” she whispered back. “But I think everyone is interested in learning how Wilbur sped across seven-thousand-or-so miles across an ocean.”

Wilbur, who was still holding a low-resolution Tommy in his arms, laughed to himself. Through the power of plot convenience, he was near-invincible.

“Oh, and what should we do with this?” Tubbo said, spinning Tommy’s magic glock in his palms. Everyone took a step back from Tubbo.

“You should put that away,” Techno suggested.

Tubbo slipped the gun into his pocket. “Fair enough,” he replied. “But did we just let Wilbur eat all of our edible sand and rob us of our prized salmon sand can?”

“Did we also let them get away with a failed robbery attempt?” George inputted.

“I wouldn’t say failed,” Philza coughed.

Everyone said nothing after that.

Low-resolution Tommy finally rebooted. He found himself on the beaches of Hawaii next to a polished tin of salmon sand. Tropical sun rays beat down on his skin as Tommy slowly moved to sit in an upright position. He saw Wilbur preparing to snort some of his precious salmon sand up his nose.

“Wil,” Tommy groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safer,” Wilbur grinned, and he cocked his head in a shop’s direction. Tommy squinted at the shop name.

“BadBoyHalo and Skeppy’s Super Swag Surfboard Selling Shop?” Tommy read aloud.

“Yep,” Wilbur nodded. “Now you know why I brought you here, right?”

Tommy patted his pocket and found a Princess Celestia mask. When he turned back to look at Wilbur, Tommy saw him wearing a Twilight Sparkle getup, complete with her alicorn wings and all.

“Well. Come on, Wilbur,” Tommy said, tugging the My Little Pony mask over his head. It was obvious he had not yet learned his lesson.

“Let’s go rob that store.”

Wilbur snorted the last bits of his salmon sand.

“With pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Tommy no longer had a glock.

If you were Wilbur, you'd persuade him to actually rob a store instead of shooting another Drista to death.

Unfortunately, BadBoyHalo is easily swayed when it comes to scamming, and the DreamSMP are still in Britain.

In a beautiful beach with a single shop standing somewhere near the shore was a lonesome surfboard store selling their famed sea bass surfboards. According to YouTube statistics, Wilbur and Tommy were legally required to approach and rob that establishment. So, like normal men, that’s what they did.

Tommy power-walked forwards to face BadBoyHalo and Skeppy’s Super Swag Surfboard Selling Shop like a Jojo character preparing to beat the shit out of a completely empty store. Behind Tommy was the mastermind of it all—Wilbur ‘Salmon-fucking’ Soot—the renowned Teletubby kinnie, master of all things robbery.

Wilbur, in his fabulous Twilight Sparkle getup, flipped the fake mane that was flying all over his face due to unspoken Hawaiian wind reasons. His poorly-designed floppy wings shone beneath the beach sun. Tommy, who was in a plastic Princess Celestia mask, impatiently waited for Wilbur’s grandiose speech.

“Well, Wilbur? Let’s hear it,” Tommy urged, excited to hear whatever Wilbur had to announce.

Wilbur closed his eyes.

“Friendship is magic,” he finally said in the blandest tone possible.

Silence.

“That is all,” he added after a second of contemplation.

Tommy stared. Wilbur stared back.

Then, Wilbur yelled in the exact same voice as Twilight Sparkle, “FOR EQUESTRIA!” and used his hoof-hands to smack the door to BadBoyHalo and Skeppy’s Super Swag Surfboard Selling Shop open, which, again, will be kindly referred to as BBHASSSSSS from now on.

The glass door was thrown off its hinges despite being an automatic door. Skeppy, who was sitting behind the counter while counting his money, blanched at the large frame of glass that was currently hurtling towards him at Mach 20.

Skeppy screamed, “HOLY SH—”

Bonk.

A body dropped on the ground, presumably dead, despite the fic only lasting for no more than seventeen-or-so paragraphs.

“WILBUR! YOU—YOU FUCKING KILLED SKEPPY!” Tommy shrieked, throwing down his Princess Celestia mask because that wasn’t very Friendship-Is-Magic of Wilbur.

Wilbur laughed evilly. “Now now, Tommy, remember that we’re the bad guys in this story. We always were.”

Tommy looked at the sprawling, probably-dead body of one, very rich Skeppy lying on the floor. “But…”

“If it makes you feel better, we can rob the store."

Tommy immediately kicked Skeppy’s body into the storage room. “DEAL!”

As Wilbur prepared to yank open the cash register, BadBoyHalo returned from his break like a true saint.

“Skeppy, I’ve bought some ice-cream—wait, who are you two?” Bad asked, looking at one toddler and a fully-grown man in Twilight Sparkle cosplay.

Wilbur paused and slowly moved his hands away from the cash register.

“Uh,” he began, nervously sweating beneath his costume, “it’s… not what it looks like.”

“Hey! You’re BadBoyHalo, aren’t you?” Tommy piped up, throwing a bunch of stolen surfboards back onto the floor. Bad awkwardly scratched his chin.

“Yes?” he replied, confused. Tommy immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulder, smiling. “Great! ‘Cause I was just wondering if you’d let us borrow some of your money. And your surfboards.”

Bad went silent for a second. “Borrow? Wait, aren’t you Tommy? Is this a robbery?!”

“Nooooo. No, big man, this isn’t a robbery,” Tommy vehemently insisted, shooting a very indiscreet glance at Wilbur, his eyes screaming, ‘STEAL THE MONEY LATER, SHITHEAD’. “See? Who robs a store in Twilight Sparkle cosplay? Amirite, Wilbur?”

Wilbur said nothing in reply and quietly opened the cash register. Tommy immediately reached up to shield Bad’s vision.

Bad awkwardly spoke up, “Wait—is Wilbur—”

“YOU SAW NOTHING!” Tommy yelled, spinning Bad on his feet and pushing him out of the store. “WILBUR! I’m going to have a talk with Bad. Bye!”

Wilbur stopped. “But… Tommy, we were supposed to ro—”

The one remaining automatic glass door slid shut as Tommy picked Bad up and threw him unceremoniously out onto the beach. Tommy followed in suit and threw himself too, propelling his body through the air via the undeniable power of breaking gameplay mechanics.

Wilbur, now alone, began crying to himself.

He was sure it was becoming his Danganronpa Ultimate Talent at this point. Tears slid down his cheeks as he threw away his Twilight Sparkle costume, which he tossed on top of a conked-out Skeppy.

“This is so unfair,” he sobbed, because every time he wanted to rob a store with Tommy the blond just had to sidetrack. “I can’t believe I have to do everything myself!”

Against his better judgment, Wilbur took out his new wife, Sally the salmon sand can, and began talking to it.

“My love, what shall I do?”

The can said nothing.

“I agree,” Wilbur sagely replied while nodding. He pressed a kiss on the sand can’s lid before pocketing it once more. Wilbur took out his phone and texted Dream.

[Wilbur Soot]: hey

[DreamWasTaken]: Wtf come back to Britain and return the salmon sand

[Wilbur Soot]: no

[DreamWasTaken]: Why

[Wilbur Soot]: we’re married

[DreamWasTaken]: That’s it I’m coming to take the can back

[DreamWasTaken]: Stay put we’re coming to find you

[Wilbur Soot]: haha IRL manhunt

[Wilbur Soot]: dudududu

[You blocked DreamWasTaken.]

Wilbur smiled to himself. The bait was successful. Time to begin his revenge.

As Wilbur started his convoluted three-step plan to become the next anime villain/pseudo-antagonist, Tommy was getting increasingly better at persuading people not to kill him. He was also learning how to scam people out of their money, which, to be fair, was a very valuable life skill.

“Look, BadBoyHalo,” Tommy said while making Bad sit on the sand, “you see this? This is a very special chart that I’ve drawn to show you how lending us your money will help benefit your future investments and profit.”

Tommy pulled out a piece of paper that had one simple graph on it.

“What… is that?” Bad asked, peering at the paper.

On the x-axis in crude, bolded comic sans: ‘MONEY YOU GIVE ME’. On the y-axis, also in comic sans: ‘YOUR FUTURE WEALTH’. The red line on the chart shot directly up, signifying increasing profit.

Bad was stunned speechless.

Tommy smiled. “Isn’t this the most accurate thing ever? You should totally give me and Wilbur your money. We’re gonna use it to build the biggest empire, and we’ll name it after you.”

“After me?” Bad squeaked. “No, that’s too much! But, Tommy… this graph looks a little…”

“Too professional? Yeah, I get it, I’m the most amazing salesman ever, aren’t I?” Tommy bragged, slapping Bad on the back. “Right big man? TommyInnit, best scam—seller! I meant seller. Not scammer. I swear.”

Bad raised a suspicious eyebrow. “Seller?” he inquired. “What do you sell, Tommy?”

A pause. “Stuff,” Tommy unhelpfully provided. Bad’s already-raised eyebrows soared to the top of his forehead. Tommy spluttered, “UH—well, we also sell sand—YEAH! WE SELL SAND!”

“Sand? Tommy, I’m not sure if I can believe that,” Bad said, crossing his arms.

Tommy went still and patted his magical pockets. He pulled out, lo and behold, a completely empty canister. He reached down and scooped up some Hawaiian sand, shook it around, and showed it to Bad.

“What did I say, big man? Me and Wilbur—the best sand sellers in the whole of Britain.”

“We’re in Hawaii!”

“In the whole wide world.”

“Alright, fair enough.”

Tommy popped open the can’s lid and dumped the now-edible sand down his throat. After he was finished, he cleared his lungs and absorbed the raw power of the granules slowly flowing through his veins.

“Well, what do you say, BadBoyHalo? Deal or no deal?” Tommy pushed, pointing at the very-accurate, one-sextuplekajillion percent real line graph of prophesized increased wealth.

Bad closed his eyes and thought about it.

“You see Tommy, this is a pretty big decision to make,” Bad sighed. “After all, we don’t get many customers in our shop…”

“What? Isn’t your shop super swag and super popular?” Tommy said with an incredulous peak in his voice. “Because scamming—I mean, doing business with broke people is just not very pogchamp. Goes against my moral conduct and all that.”

Bad tapped a hand against his chin. “Well, our most popular surfboard is the sea bass surfboard. It’s been sold three times.”

“…”

“Tommy?”

“…”

Bad looked at the low-resolution Tommy now bubbling on the ground.

He screamed.

“WHAT THE MUFFIN?” Bad shrieked at the 4-bit TommyInnit lying innocently on the sand. “TOMMY!”

“Yes.”

“Tommy, are you alright? Do you need help? Was it because you ate that sand?” Bad worriedly asked, kneeling down. The tiny, very pixelated Tommy said nothing for a good while.

“No,” it finally replied after much consideration.

“No, you’re not alright, or no, you need help?!” Bad fretted.

“No.”

“Tommy, with all due respect, you aren’t helping!”

4-bit Tommy moved a little. Finally, it said, “Fuck.”

“Language!”

Bad picked up the line graph paper and pocketed it. He turned to face 4-bit Tommy.

“How do I return you back to normal?” he questioned.

4-bit Tommy said, “Shit.”

“Language, dang it!” Bad chided. He scooped up 4-bit Tommy and began heading back to BBHASSSSSS. “Maybe your friend can help you.”

“Motherfuck.”

“Argh—language, Tommy! Jeez!”

BadBoyHalo casually entered the shop due to a missing glass door forming a quite convenient entrance. Strangely, no one was in the shop.

“Tommy, where’s Wilbur?”

Pixelated Tommy shuffled around and re-arranged its pixels. It finally muttered, “Manhunt.”

“…Manhunt?” Bad asked. “What man—”

DUDUDUDU.

A very, very familiar and very, very speedrun-y tune began playing in the distance.

“You’re kidding. How is Dream here?!”

4-bit Tommy, who apparently had the power of prophetic vision, only replied with one word:

“Bitch.”

“LANGUAGE!”

Dream burst through the back wall carrying one screaming, not-so-dead Skeppy somehow in a loose-fitting Twilight Sparkle cosplay followed by one dad, one half-pig Richie Rich kinnie, and one not-actually-Dream’s-boyfriend boyfriend. Tubbo and Drista were strangely nowhere to be found.

“Give us the salmon sand.” Dream flung a dazed but alive Skeppy somewhere off-camera. Bad watched in horror.

“Wait, did Skeppy just die?!” Bad yelped.

“BITCH,” 4-bit Tommy yelled, this time at Dream.

“LANGUAGE, TOMATHYINNIT! AND DREAM! HOW DID YOU EVEN GET HERE?!”

Dream readied his stance. “Roll the footage, chat.”

“CHAT?!”

The following scenes are brought to you by Wilbur’s special plot-convenience powers and Drista’s ever-increasing IQ.

When Wilbur had sent out the texts to bait Dream and his friends to find him in Hawaii, Dream was very serious and totally not kidding when he said he’d find Wilbur and demand the sand can back.

“Drista, how long does it take to fly from the UK to Hawaii?” he asked. His sister contemplated it for a moment.

“Eighteen or more hours,” she said after mentally Googling it. “But we have to get there before Wilbur uses all the salmon sand.”

“And how long do we have till Wilbur uses all of it?” George asked.

“Around two hours or so,” Dream replied after also mentally Googling it. “Which gives us a very large disadvantage.”

“Don’t worry, brother,” Drista said, pulling out her phone. “I have an idea. Who’s the richest person in this room?”

Everyone turned to stare at Technoblade—the Elon Musk of potatoes—who was standing there in an outfit befitting of a royal’s.

“Techno, you’re ordering the plane tickets,” Dream said as Drista handed Techno her phone.

“What? Why?” Techno asked, not reaching out to take Drista’s device. “Give it to your brother. He’s richer than me.” Drista wordlessly gave Dream her phone.

“No, I’m not.” Dream took his sister’s phone and kindly shoved it into Techno’s hands, who once again returned it to Dream, who once again gave it back to Techno. “Come on, you’re literally dressed like a king!”

“Outfit does not equate to status. You dress like a homeless man, Dream. Are you homeless?” Techno retorted, giving the phone back to the blond. Dream held the phone quietly.

“Wait,” Techno said, looking at the way Dream’s smiley mask slowly drooped down to form a genuinely pathetic crying face. “No way. You’re actually homeless?”

“Techno! He’s sensitive about that,” George snapped, reaching out to comfort Dream, who was now a crying blob on the floor. “Don’t bully the homeless.”

Tubbo gave Techno an angry stare. “Don’t bully the homeless,” he repeated after George. Techno defensively flung his hands outwards, not knowing how to react.

Through the bickering, Drista picked her phone up from the ground. “Goddamnit, fine. I’ll just use my IQ powers to big brain my way through our money problem.”

“I’m sure we can afford six plane tickets,” Phil said, crossing his arms in defiance. “There’s absolutely no need to do anything illegal.”

“Shh. Crime is fun.” And that was all Drista said before the new Dream Team—Homeless, Criminal, Bully, Glockbbo, Bri’ish One and Bri’ish Two—found themselves on top of an airplane approximately thirty-eight thousand feet above ground, totally not dead and miraculously breathing.

“You know, Drista,” Tubbo piped up as she gave him a real kayak she had just pulled out of thin air, “I’m beginning to suspect that you and Dream are inhuman.”

“New episode of Game Theory: is Drista secretly a god?” George added.

Drista smiled politely in reply, but her mask radiated a quiet sense of muted fury as she said, “Please enter the kayak, George.”

“What? Why?” he asked. Against all of George’s wishes, Drista pushed him into the kayak. “Wait, Drista—LET ME OUT!”

“Adios, brother-fucker.”

Drista kicked the kayak off the plane roof.

As George screamed through the entire descent, he was unaware of the fact that he had somehow entered Hawaiian waters and was now hurtling towards the ocean at breakneck speed.

Naturally, of course, he survived.

Dream peered down from his spot on the plane roof. “Drista? How did you do that?”

Laughing, Drista pulled out another kayak from thin air. “Remember that boat trick you did in Minecraft while falling off a mountain?”

Dream snapped his fingers. “Oh, that! Ohhh, I get it now. You’re doing the same thing here. Haha, Wilbur was right. In-real-life manhunt. Minecraft creative mode but in real life.”

“Shh. They can’t know the secret to our clutches,” Drista whispered. Dream stifled his kettle-wheeze laughter, did an ‘OK’ hand-sign, and made a show of zipping his lips.

“Right, Tubbo, you’re next. Get in the kayak,” Drista commanded. Tubbo shakily stepped into the swaying boat, praying to whatever god that’d save him from his current predicament.

“Sayonara, Tubbo!” And he was punted into the sky.

Tubbo screeched and clenched his eyes shut, flailing around in the kayak as he slowly plummeted towards the ground. He curled into a fetal position before he felt himself hitting—

—land?

THUNK.

“Uh… Drista?” Tubbo weakly called out with a crack in his voice. He opened his eyes, surprised to be alive.

“Drista? Are you there? I think you missed your mark!”

Tubbo uncurled himself and looked around. He turned to face the left.

“Well how’d ya do, pard’ner?”

Tubbo found himself staring at a six-feet tall Applejack in all of her orange glory.

He immediately screamed like a little bitch and unfortunately dropped dead.

Tubbo respawned on top of the plane roof.

“D-Drista? Is that you?” Tubbo whimpered, pointing at the girl. There was only her and Dream left.

“Why yes, Tubbo. How are you not in Hawaii?” Drista replied, confused. Tubbo shook his head.

“I think—I think I went to the My Little Pony world… I just hopped realities!”

Drista clucked her tongue. “Well, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Let’s try this again.”

“DRISTA, PLEASE! NONONONONONO—”

Tubbo was forced into another kayak and booted off the plane roof, screaming the entire time.

Crash.

This time, Tubbo landed in a body of water. He was near an island shore.

“Oh, is that Hawaii?”

It was not.

“EYYYY, EL TUBO!” Loud maracas began shaking and the opening notes to ‘La Chona’ began blaring on earrape-quality speakers. Mexican Dream brought out his accordion and began playing along to the melody, a beautiful Mexican flag flying behind him.

“M-Mexican Dream?!” Tubbo shrieked. “Aren’t you dead?”

“NOOOO! Mexican Dream never dies, man! The power of the MD, man! Come join me and Mamacita!” Mexican Dream continued playing the jaunty Mexican song. Tubbo slowly began rowing his kayak away.

“Sorry Mexican Dream, I gotta go find Drista!”

“EL TUBO! DON’T LEAVE ME LIKE THAT, MAN!”

Tubbo pulled out Tommy’s glock and shot himself square in the head. He appeared back on the plane roof, and this time, only Drista was there.

“Are you serious?” Drista sighed. “I’m sure I sent you to Hawaii.”

“Apparently not. I just met Mexican Dream,” Tubbo replied, patting down his clothes. “He seemed very happy.”

“I’m glad for him,” Drista said, “but this is a problem. I don’t know why you’re not heading to Hawaii.”

“Maybe it’s the kayak’s fault,” Tubbo suggested. “I mean, I’m not trying to divert off-course.”

“That could be it,” Drista mused as she pulled out a raft. “Let’s go for a more rustic option.”

“Wait. That can’t be safe.”

Drista promptly ignored Tubbo, strapped him down onto the raft, and clicked his seatbelt into place. “You’ll live,” she assured, patting him on the back. “I’ve set your game mode to Survival, not Hardcore. Have fun!”

Before Tubbo could process Drista’s words, he was once again streaking down to the ground below, this time seatbelted to a poorly-constructed wooden raft already beginning to fall apart. During the whole trip down, Mexican Dream’s accordion skills and La Chona’s percussion repeatedly looped in his head.

Similar to a pancake flopping onto the floor after multiple rounds of airborne spinning, Tubbo smacked raft-first into a body of water. He unclasped his safety belt and looked at his surroundings.

“This is definitely not Hawaii.”

Correct. He was in Mother Russia, or more specifically, Lake Baikal. Before Tubbo could grab his glock to shoot himself again, Drista descended from the sky, frowning.

“Drista, I’m becoming Mr. Worldwide at this point,” Tubbo complained as Drista turned his game mode into Creative. She grabbed Tubbo by his collar as she hurled him back onto the plane roof. They both landed safely, with Tubbo still floating in the air.

“I really don’t get how you’re not even near Hawaii,” Drista grumbled as she started thinking really hard. Manhunt music began playing in the background, drowning out La Chona still going on and on in Tubbo’s mind.

Tubbo also thought alongside Drista. Kahoot music poorly harmonized with the manhunt theme.

“I have an idea,” Drista finally said. “But you won’t like it.”

“Why?” Tubbo asked.

“Because it involves blowing ourselves up into the air with a rocket,” Drista replied, “and potentially killing all the passengers on this plane.”

“What—Drista, that’s horrible! We can’t do that!” Tubbo yelped.

Drista slapped her hands together. “It’s the only way. Sorry if you get painful memories of being exploded by Schlatt.”

“Oh, you—you just had to remind me.” Drista tied Tubbo and herself to a rocket, wore an elytra, and lit the rocket fuse. “Hold on tight, Tubbo.” And off they shot into the sky, blowing up a commercial airplane behind them.

In case the reader was curious, yes, they really did blow up a commercial airplane, and many people have died.

Ignoring the fact that Tubbo and Drista now have multiple murders to their name: the duo landed safely in Hawaii.

Just… a few blocks off their intended mark.

Or a lot.

Because instead of BBHASSSSSS, in bright, neon orange was a huge billboard with the words: ‘FUNDY AND ANTFROST’S NOT-A-FURRY CRAFT STORE COOM GLUE GALORE’, commonly abbreviated to FAANAFCSCGG—which was currently standing tall and proud in front of the duo. Thankfully, the store was located not so far away from BBHASSSSSS, so Drista and Tubbo could walk to BBHASSSSSS if they tried.

They did not do that.

Despite Drista’s protesting, Tubbo decided to walk inside FAANAFCSCGC. He rang up the counter.

“Hello, is there anyone—”

Tubbo’s words died in his throat when a man in a fox fursuit came out of the backroom.

The furry stared at Tubbo. Tubbo stared at the furry.

“…Fundy?”

Fundy threw down his fursuit head. “NO! Tubbo, I’m not a furry.”

Drista, who was checking out the Coom Glue aisles, paused to look at Fundy. “That was the worst lie I’ve ever heard,” she plainly stated before continuing to chuck bottles of Coom Glue into her handheld shopping basket.

Fundy sputtered. “W-what?! I’m serious! I’m not a furry! This fursuit is not—it’s not—”

“Proof of your ‘furry citizenship’?” Tubbo provided. Fundy jabbed a finger at Tubbo, nodding. “Exactly,” he said, picking up his fox head from the floor with a very large and obvious tag saying ‘BELONGS TO FUNDY, DO NOT STEAL’ on it. “The only furry here is Antfrost. Speaking of Antfrost, where is he?”

“I’m sure he’ll show up later,” Drista smiled, dumping her basket of Coom Glue onto the counter. “Ring this up for me, won’t you?”

Fundy shuffled behind the counter and began scanning over thirty bottles of Coom Glue.

“Drista,” Tubbo began while picking up a bottle of the product, “why do we need so much Coom Glue?”

“Just in case something bad happens.” And that was that.

The duo finished purchasing thirty bottles of Coom Glue. They exited the accursed shop and began their travel to the horrifying lands of a Hawaiian beach housing one not-so-infamous BBHASSSSSS.

Drista pulled out a road map from her inventory and stared very hard at it.

“Where are we?” Tubbo asked after a while of silence, opting to peer over her shoulder.

She frowned and sighed. “Tubbo, I have a confession to make.”

“Yes?”

Drista grimly turned to face Tubbo with a dark shadow over her mask.

“I don’t know how to read maps.”

Tubbo gaped in disbelief.

“Well, this is bad. I don’t know how to read maps either.”

The two stood in front of FAANAFCSCGC with a strong sense of unbreakable, map-illiterate camaraderie lying between them, and both were speechless for a good minute. Eventually, Tubbo pulled out his phone.

The brunet kneaded the front of his eyes. “I’m going to look at Google Maps.”

“That would be great,” Drista sighed, putting away the road map after undergoing much difficulty trying to fold it.

And so, Drista and Tubbo began their speedrun in trying to get to BBHASSSSSS before Dream could first-handedly murder anyone.

Sadly, they arrived a tad too late, but at least a world record was set.

Returning to Tommy’s point of view—said man was now back to normal as Dream finished rolling the footage. Dream rose up to his full height and pointed an accusatory finger at Tommy, fury radiating from every inch of his lime-green hoodie as he did so.

“TommyInnit,” he snarled, “I will get that sand can back, no matter what it costs.”

Tommy raised an eyebrow. “You’re speaking to the wrong person, Dream.”

Dream paused. “Oh, true. Where’s Wilbur?”

Wilbur apparently had another talent: disappearing at the most crucial and critical times, especially when TommyInnit is in approaching danger; exactly like a dad going out to get milk and/or cigarettes.

“Well, since the sand can is gone, we can sit down and talk it out, right?” Bad meekly offered, trying to defuse the tension between Dream and Tommy.

“Get the fight started already,” Techno butted in as everyone promptly ignored Bad. George reached into his pocket to record the upcoming brawl so he could post it onto Twitter.

Dream swung out his axe. Tommy grabbed the nearest weapon he could find—a surfboard named ‘Bitch Stealer’—and readied his battle stance.

The shop was still for a second.

Dream lunged. He shot forward and delivered a swift downwards cut at Tommy’s chest, who, in turn, barely dodged in time as he hurled the Bitch Stealer at Dream’s face, nearly cracking his mask in the process.

“A nice throw,” Dream taunted. “But this won’t be enough to stop me.”

Bad watched in horror as Tommy chucked more surfboards at Dream. Dream slashed through the surfboards like butter, throwing chunky bits of polyurethane and fiberglass cloth all around the shop.

“I think I need to sit down,” the half-demon said in disbelief. Skeppy, thankfully okay, ushered Bad over to sit behind the counter.

As the bloodthirsty fight continued raging on, Bad, Skeppy, Philza, and Technoblade quietly began a round of UNO away from the chaos. George chose to continue recording the whole fight. He followed Tommy and Dream outside of the shop, which was now in irreparable disarray, much to the shop owners’ annoyance.

The battle continued and only increased in ferocity.

"Dream, this isn't going to solve any"—Tommy dodged another swing directed at his head—"this isn't going to solve any problems!"

"I'd feel better if I killed you, so yes, it'll solve one of my problems at hand."

"What? And what problem is that? 'Kill the innocent child'?"

"No. It's 'get rid of my increasingly souring mood'."

Tommy stumbled further and further back. To his horror, he suddenly felt the wetness of seawater soaking into his shoes. He looked down and paled upon noticing the fact he had entered the ocean, and Dream was only inching closer.

Dream smirked. "It ends here, Tommy."

"No, it doesn't."

Tommy decided to use Wilbur's guaranteed-to-work tactic that'll probably save his life.

"See ya later, Dream!"

He ran further into the ocean and immediately tried to plot-convenience run across the Pacific, but unfortunately, his feet caught against some rogue seaweed, and now he was stuck in the water without any nearby land in sight as he had sped too far out into an unknown direction.

Lesson number one: never plot-convenience run your way across a body of water unless you have a set destination.

Lesson number two: do not attempt plot-convenience running unless you are Wilbur Soot.

Since Tommy had learned a grand total of zero lessons in his lifetime, he was now stuck in the middle of nowhere without any hopes of rescue.

"Well, fuck."

Many many kilometers away, Dream gaped in shock at the settling cloud of dust where Tommy had once stood. It soon morphed into glee when he realized that the blond was stuck in the Pacific Ocean as Dream knew only Wilbur could attempt something so strange.

"Well folks, it looks like TommyInnit is going to drown, die, and stay dead."

Dream sauntered back into the shop after flashing a peace sign at George's camera. Before he could say anything, however, Drista and an out-of-breath Tubbo dashed into the store, carrying multiple plastic bags of Coom Glue.

"Where's Tommy?" Tubbo asked, panting. Drista looked around, took notice of the axe in her brother's hands, the lack of one TommyInnit, and immediately came to a conclusion.

She placed the plastic bags down on the floor. "Well," she said, "rest in peace, Tomathy."

Tubbo whipped his head around to look at Drista, eyes shining with tears. "No way. He's dead?!"

Drista pointed at her brother. "We were too late to stop the tragic murder of a former glock-wielding child—I almost feel sad. Tubbo, if you want to complain, file it at my dear old brother."

Tubbo dropped to the ground and began sobbing. Drista comfortingly patted his back, consoling him with a few nods as he began rambling about how he had wished Tommy could've learned the art of holding a gun before his untimely demise.

"I will hold a funeral for Tommy," Bad sniffled as he emerged from behind the counter. "He was a good salesman. He promised increasing wealth to our store if we gave him all our money and surfboards."

"Tommy was a good lad," Phil murmured, clasping his hands to utter a prayer to the blond's departed soul. "He may have attempted multiple crimes, but deep down, he was a young, ambitious person with big dreams and an even bigger heart."

George, who had stopped filming, also wiped a stray tear trickling down his face. "He was funny," he provided.

"He was a good friend, and an even better robber," Drista offered.

"He was... alright," Techno sighed.

"I don't even know who this guy is," Skeppy commented. Everybody ignored him and continued mourning the death of Tommy.

All except for Dream.

He had stomped out of the store in fury and completely ignored the mini sobfest going on inside of BBHASSSSSS. Perhaps it was this action that rolled the ball of impending doom building upon the gang, because an evil cackle to Dream's right snapped him out of his anger.

"Oh, brilliant! Everything is going according to plan."

Dream immediately brought up his axe and pinned the speaker to the ground, the blade pointed at their throat.

He faltered when he saw who it was. "Wilbur?!"

Wilbur grinned as if he wasn't beneath a very deadly weapon that could slit his throat any minute. "Hello, Dream! Fancy seeing you here."

Dream pressed his axe down harder. "Give us the sand can back," he snarled, but Wilbur only chuckled as he faced Dream with a maniacal gleam dancing in his eyes.

"No way in hell am I going to return my wife," he darkly answered, a shadow over his features. "You must be out of your mind if you think I won't put up a fight."

In a flash, Wilbur kneed Dream in the balls, and the masked man buckled over in agony.

"FUCKING HELL—"

"Time to take you hostage!" Wilbur cheered as he knocked Dream out with the sand can. The man crumpled onto the ground. Wilbur confiscated all of Dream's weaponry, tied a burlap sack over his head, and slung him over his shoulder. He then began speaking into a voice recorder and left the recorded message behind, confident that someone would stumble across it.

After an hour, the impromptu funeral for TommyInnit was finally over, and a small shrine made with the broken bits of Bitch Stealer had been erected in Tommy's place. It was then when Tubbo finally took notice of Dream's sudden disappearance.

"Guys, has anyone seen Dream this entire time?" he asked, and everybody shook their heads.

"Don't worry, he'll come running to me if I use the wake word," George assured as he stepped out of the shop. "Oh Dream!" he hollered into the sky, and out of nowhere, he tripped over the recording device Wilbur had left behind.

Everyone crowded around the machinery while George massaged the bruise on his forehead.

"Hello, everyone. This is Wilbur Soot, proud husband of the salmon sand can named Sally."

A collective gasp swept across the group.

"If you haven't noticed already, I have kidnapped DreamWasTaken, and if you want him alive, you must listen to me."

"Does anyone actually want him back?" Techno asked, and there were a few grumbles of affirmation while George shot an angry glare at Techno. Siding with George, Drista calmly reminded everyone, "if my brother dies, I will press charges against every single one of you here for being accomplices in a kidnapping."

No one said a word after that.

"In order to get your dear Dream back, you have to swear a demonic blood oath that none of you will ever attempt to steal my wife from me again," Wilbur continued. "BadBoyHalo will know how to conduct such an oath. Only I can untie Dream through some crazy My Little Pony magic shit, so if you do not go to the far end of this beach where a wooden shack lays by the end of today, I will be dropping Dream off in the middle of nowhere so he can succumb to the same fate as Tommy did.

So what will it be, fellow DADMHHSSTWSNPDO-ers? Your sand can, or Dream? The clock is ticking."

The recording ended with a dramatic guitar chord and muffled evil laughter.

"I think we should go save Dream," Phil said. Drista raised an eyebrow at the choice word of 'think', but agreed to his words anyway.

As the group began walking to the wooden shack, Drista asked Bad, "Hey, Bad, what exactly is a demonic blood oath?"

Bad shrugged. "You basically offer a very powerful relic, imbue it with your blood, and swear an oath to the relic in hopes that it will accept your oath. If it works, whatever you swore cannot be broken under any circumstances or else you'll face the penalty of death."

"And if it doesn't work?"

"Well, the spell will backfire, the oath is rendered useless, and the relic has a chance of turning into a high-level demon that can potentially kill us all."

Drista frowned. "I don't like how that sounds. Any methods to stop the relic if it turns evil?"

Bad thought about it. "Many have opted to trap and seal the demon beneath some sort of powerful talisman or a few extremely heavy items. Since the first is quite literally impossible to get our hands on, do we have any heavy items, say, a mountain or a volcano?"

Drista shook her head, and Bad grumbled in response. "Well," he said, "we just have to hope the spell won't backfire so that we won't have to deal with a bloodthirsty relic demon, yeah?"

"...Yeah."

Coincidentally, right as the conversation finished, the group arrived at the exchange point—the shitty wooden shack that smelled like rotten fish and glow squid piss.

Drista walked up to Wilbur with her hands on her hips. "We accept your offer," she said as the sun began setting behind her, casting an orange glow around the beach. "Give me my brother back, and we will swear your oath."

"Oath first, then Dream," Wilbur insisted. Drista's eye twitched in annoyance. She took in three deep breaths.

"Fine," she bit out, crossing her arms. "Bad, do you have any powerful relics?"

Bad fumbled around his pockets for a bit, and sheepishly shook his head.

"Does anyone have any powerful relics?" Drista asked incredulously. No one offered anything.

Tubbo coughed. "Does... does Tommy's glock count as a powerful relic?" he said as he pulled out the gun from his pockets. "It's pretty powerful, if you ask me."

"Works," Wilbur chimed in from the side as he snatched the glock from Tubbo's palms. He placed it on a rickety table and poured some edible eggnog sand around it, forming a crappy pentagram. "Now, time to slice open your palm and—"

"—nope, not doing that. Seriously? Why the palm? It has so many nerve endings, slice the arm or something," Drista snapped as she grabbed a knife and nicked the back of her arm. She then casted a glance at Wilbur. "Please don't tell me you cut your hand just for this."

Wilbur silently hid the messy bundle of bandages wrapped around his left palm, grabbed a small tin containing his blood, and dripped a few droplets of it onto the gun. "...No."

"Everybody here sucks at lying."

When they finished the preparations, Bad approached the gun and began chanting. The weapon began to glow slightly as it absorbed the trickles of blood and eggnog sand. Soon, the gun started spinning and jerking around as it rose into the air, a bright red aura surrounding it. Strong winds suddenly blew around the whole beach, and in a flash, storm clouds gathered in the sky.

"Is that normal?" Tubbo inquired over the howling wind-turning-into-a-hurricane.

"Probably not," Bad unhelpfully replied when he finished chanting. The gun was full-on doing loop de loops by now, twirling and spazzing like some sort of terribly rendered, badly modelled 3D item with horrible physics and pisspoor animations.

Almost as soon as the storm came, the glock suddenly stopped glitching its way into the tenth circle of hell and pitifully dropped onto the table.

Thunk.

All was quiet at the underwhelming climax.

"That's it?" Techno snorted, looking at the still-dark sky. "That's literally it. Unexpected, but okay."

"Alright, the blood oath is complete. Give my brother back, Wilbur." Drista pointed at the wooden shack.

Before Wilbur could go inside to grab Dream, a loud crackle of lightning splitted the night sky and nearly shattered everyone's eardrums.

FOOLS, a deep and super scary voice rumbled. THE OATH WAS A FAILURE.

"So this is where the anti-climatic scene went to," Techno offhandedly muttered.

BE SILENT, PIG! said the voice. I AM TRYING TO DO A DRAMATIC SPEECH!

Everyone gaped in a mix of disbelief and horror as the glock shuddered and began glowing again, this time in a deep shade of crimson. I AM THE TOMMY GLOCK, it announced, AND I AM HERE TO DESTROY HUMANITY AND CLEANSE IT OF ITS SINS.

"That's the stupidest motive ever!" Tubbo yelled at the glock, and everyone yelled back in agreement. The glock was stunned into silence.

W-WHAT?

"Choose a better motive next time, like 'my comrades, the vlog guns, were destroyed! I must avenge them!'. That's so much better, isn't it?" Drista said. The glock turned its muzzle to face her.

B-BUT...

"Yeah! You're just a low rate glock with even shittier reasonings!" Wilbur said as George nodded along, adding fuel to the fire. Bad snapped at Wilbur to mind his language.

THIS IS NOT FAIR. YOU'RE JUST BULLYING ME, WHAT THE FUCK.

"It's true," Phil shrugged, and the glock turned to it with an almost-hopeful feel to it. "It's true, I mean, that your motive is a little stupid."

The glock slumped downwards. DIAMOND BLOCK MAN, it said, PLEASE TELL ME YOU THINK MY MOTIVE IS COOL.

Skeppy frowned. "It's not that good, to be honest—"

The glock flipped the freak out. It spazzed and started throwing itself everywhere, glitching and clipping into multiple things at once.

NOOOOOOOOO! FUCK YOU. FUCK. YOU! THIS IS NOT FAIR! I WILL EXACT REVENGE—YOU! THE MAN WITH THE UGLY BANDAGES! YOU'RE MINE NOW!

Wilbur blanched. "What—"

The gun pointed itself at Wilbur. Tubbo shrieked, "DON'T KILL HIM! DREAM IS STILL TAKEN HOSTAGE AND ONLY HE KNOWS MY LITTLE PONY MAGIC!"

The gun did not listen. As a last resort, Tubbo looked at his left hand, which, for some insanely idiotic and incomprehensible reason, still carried a plastic bag with five bottles of Coom Glue. He grabbed a bottle, frantically screwed the cap open, and chucked all of its creamy, white, and glorious contents at the gun.

SPLAT.

Wilbur winced at the disturbingly wet sound.

The gun convulsed and clipped through many things again.

WHAT THE—HEY! WHAT IS THIS DISGUSTING THING?

"GRAB IT WHILE ITS DOWN!" Drista hollered, and since Wilbur was the closest one to it, he reached out to tackle the glock straight into the sand. He groaned when his hands immediately came in contact with the sticky and frankly yucky Coom Glue.

LET ME GO! the gun roared.

"I CAN'T!" Wilbur roared back.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN'T?!

"I LITERALLY MEAN I CAN'T!" Wilbur sobbed. "MY HANDS ARE FUCKING STUCK!"

Everyone paused and looked at Wilbur trying to wrestle his icky palms away from the slimy Coom Glue, which, unfortunately, was really, really sticky.

"THIS IS ACTUALLY THE MOST DISGUSTING THING I'VE EVER TOUCHED!" Wilbur shrieked, trying to yank his hands away from the glue. "WHAT IS THIS MADE OF? CUM AND DELOMONOPOX VE403728?"

"I mean," Tubbo said, taking a look at a Coom Glue bottle's label, "that's what it's named after, right?"

Both the gun and Wilbur let out an "EW!" of absolute repulsion.

NO MATTER! ALTHOUGH THIS... GLUE SAPS MY STRENGTH, I SHALL SIMPLY TAKE A HOST TO DESTROY YOU ALL!

The gun started glowing even brighter. Wilbur screamed as his hands started smoking, and a brilliant red light shot out from his eyes like blazing stage lights flaring to life.

WILBUR 'SALMON-FUCKING' SOOT, the glock sneered, I CLAIM YOU AS THE HOST TO MY DEMONIC POWERS.

Drista watched, stupefied, as Wilbur's hands somehow closed around the glock, holding it perfectly, much unlike Tommy once did.

"Oh no," she heaved. "Now Dream is stuck back there with no hopes of rescue. Well, this sucks."

WHY ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT THIS 'DREAM' GUY?! the gun squeaked. I JUST TOOK WILBUR AS MY HOST! I'M GOING TO MURDER THE WHOLE EARTH!

"Yeah, sounds like a normal day on the DreamSMP," Tubbo said, opting to unscrew another bottle of Coom Glue. He threw it at the glock.

ACK! YUCKYUCKYUCK—EWW!

"Stop! Don't throw any more of that!" George said, slapping Tubbo's hands. "Don't you see? The more Cum—er, Coom Glue you throw at it, the more it sticks to Wilbur, and we need to get that gun away from him!"

"Oh, thank you, Gogy. A colorblind man sees much more than one who isn't," Tubbo mused. George snorted.

YOU KNOW, I THINK THIS IS ENOUGH DILLY-DALLYING, the glock grunted. I SHOULD JUST KILL YOU ALL.

"Uh oh," Techno said without an ounce of emotion in his voice.

SOUND MORE EXCITED, PIG MAN!

The gun levelled itself at Techno's head. It began speaking through Wilbur, and red light emerged from the back of Wilbur's mouth as he said, "This is for calling me anti-climatic."

Before the glock could shoot, a really loud, "Hey guys—OH GOD, WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?!" rang throughout the area.

Everything and everyone paused. Standing near the ocean, hobbling towards the group was TommyInnit, definitely alive, smelling suspiciously like sea bass.

"TOMMY?!" everyone screeched. "What'd I miss?" he asked as if a wholeass funeral had not just been hosted for him.

Drista ran a hand over her mask. "I'm not surprised anymore," she sighed before snapping her fingers. "Roll the footage, Tommy's chat."

The following scenes are brought to you by Dream's subconsciousness, which is currently undergoing some sort of My Little Pony 'friendship-is-fuck' stupor of pure, hard crack.

While Tommy tried to survive his sad predicament of falling into an ocean, he spied a sea bass swimming warily around him.

"Hello," he said to the sea bass because if he was dying he might as well talk to a fish. "How are you?"

To his utter shock, the sea bass replied with a feminine voice, "I'm doing great, but it appears that you're going to drown."

Tommy stared very hard at the fish. "You—did you just talk?"

"Yep," the bass said. "I'm Bass, Wilbur's ex-wife."

If Tommy still had seawater in his mouth, he would've spat it out.

"WHAT?!"

"Yes, yes, I know. He actually only married me for a day while he was drunk on a yacht. Now he's gone, and I consider myself divorced..."

Tommy blinked. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that," he finally said, hoping he could console Bass. "I mean—I could talk to Wilbur and try to get you two back together if you want?"

"No, it's fine," Bass sighed. "I've gotten over it. Your name is Tommy, right?"

"Yeah."

"Alright, I need you to go inside my mouth for a second."

"Uh. What?"

Bass pointed one of her fins at her mouth. "Inside," she said. "So I can bring you back to Hawaii."

"How am I going to even fit in there?"

"Oh dear, fine. I'll just do it right now to show you."

"WAIT—"

Tommy instantly got vored by a fish.

Thankfully, Bass did not digest Tommy, and instead swam all the way back to Hawaii. She spat Tommy out when she was near the shore.

"You can swim the rest of the way," she assured. Tommy did not reply as he was still in a catatonic state of shock, just like anyone who got swallowed alive by a sea bass would be. "Bye, Tommy! Go save your friends!"

That snapped him out of it. He then saw Wilbur holding a glowing glock—his glock—and decided that was where all the action was happening.

"Oh man." Tommy immediately hurried over the best he can after being regurgitated by a fish.

Back to Drista—she was now stepping a few feet away from Tommy, who, according to her infinite knowledge, had just been doused in sea bass spit.

IS THAT TOMATHY? the gun said. MY OLD MASTER, WITH SUPER BAD AIMING SKILLS?

Tommy's eyes nearly popped out of his skull. "What the FUCK? YOU CAN TALK?!"

"And I can do this," Wilbur-Glock said with more red light pouring from his mouth, and Tommy slowly backed away from the scene.

"Uh... it's too early for this."

"It's 9PM," Wilbur-Glock deadpanned.

"It's too early for this," Tommy repeated as he started sprinting back into the ocean.

"WAIT! COME BACK, FOUL TELETUBBY!" Wilbur-Glock thundered. Rain began pouring from the sky as more lightning bolts crackled and zapped in the background. The sea, now churning and deadly, forced Tommy to go back to face Wilbur-Glock head-on.

"Drista, where's Dream? Can't he kill this thing?!" Tommy yelled over the raging thunderstorm.

"He's in a My Little Pony induced stupor! He's also been kidnapped by Wilbur!"

Tommy made an 'o' with his mouth. "That's... unfortunate."

"Indeed it is," Wilbur-Glock snarled. Tommy paled in fear as it pointed its muzzle straight at his forehead.

"Your time as a scammer"—Bad raised his eyebrows—"is over. Goodbye, Innit of the Tommy."

"What even is that title?" Tommy muttered beneath his breath. His upcoming comeback died in his throat when he realized what was going to happen next.

A red ball of energy began building up in front of the glock.

"Ah, fuck."

Tommy resigned to his fate, and the energy ball fired.

Chapter Text

Naturally, the energy ball missed.

"What the fuck?" Wilbur-Glock said, staring at the smoking crater next to Tommy, as the shot had missed him by a grand total of sixty-nine centimeters. "I’m sure that was aimed at your head. Wait, let me try again."

Wilbur-Glock loaded up another energy ball and fired it. This time, it soared over Tommy’s hair, barely grazing it by a jaw-dropping length of four-point-twenty inches.

Tommy turned to look at the flying ball of energy continuing its path behind him.

"Well Wilbur, it looks like I’m still the main character in this shitshow."

Wilbur-Glock sighed in misery and tried to shoot Tommy three more times, this time with normal bullets. None connected.

He squeaked in disbelief. "This is ridiculous! What the hell, Tommy? Are you dodging these or what?!"

Bang bang bang. All shots, again, did not hit its target.

Wilbur-Glock, absolutely infuriated, fired six more bullets. They still missed as they embedded themselves into the sand, thin trails of smoke rising from the tiny holes. Wilbur-Glock blanched in fear and gave up, because Tommy had successfully dodged twelve bullet shots—not to mention that two of them were blazing balls of demonic energy.

"Okay, maybe you weren’t kidding about the protagonist part," he mumbled. "Uh—you, the girl with that stupid mask?"

Drista pointed at herself. "Me?"

"Yes, you. Come here so I can test this gun on you."

"What? No thanks."

Wilbur-Glock let out a strangled sound. "No thanks?!" he hoarsely wheezed out. "That wasn’t a request! It was an order!"

"No thanks," Drista repeated, stepping away from the demon. "In fact, I have to go and find a way to save my brother. Bye now."

Drista disappeared into the ramshackle shelter in hopes of relieving her brother from his My Little Pony-induced suffering. Wilbur-Glock stared at Drista’s retreating backside with a muted sense of respect. Not many people had the balls to walk away from a demon without batting as much as an eye.

The beach was quiet once again.

"Is—uh, is anyone going to offer themselves up so I can shoot and kill you?" Wilbur-Glock meekly asked. No one moved. George brought out his phone and began texting someone. Tubbo yawned and started nodding off.

"No one at all…?"

Phil also pulled out his phone and started texting his wife, explaining why he was currently in Hawaii. Techno was already lying on the sand, snoring.

"I’m feeling a little ignored here," Wilbur-Glock continued. Even Tommy started to doze off out of sheer exhaustion. Wilbur-Glock, upon realizing no one was even listening to him, sat down on the beach and began to cry for the third time that day.

He was 100% certain that this was his Danganronpa Ultimate Talent now—crying because everytime he wanted to do something, someone sidetracks or completely ignores him.

"You guys all SUCK!" he screeched, tears pouring from his eyes. "THAT’S IT! I’m changing my motive. It’s to annihilate every single one of you here for never listening to my host, whose emotions are somehow connecting to mine!"

Techno snapped awake. "Oh, that’s pretty nice of you," he grunted before falling back asleep. Wilbur-Glock spluttered in fury.

"LISTEN TO ME WHEN I’M THREATENING DEATH AT YOU!" he hollered, aggressively reloading his gun again. "GODDAMNIT! THIS IS FOR THE TWO FAILED ROBBERY ATTEMPTS!"

Wilbur-Glock fired at Techno, and sadly, it connected.

Techno looked at the hole in his stomach, shrugged, and died.

"TECHNOBLADE!" Tubbo shrieked, now fully awake as he ran to the pink-haired man’s side. "Nonononono—we can’t lose you! I thought you never died!"

Techno did not answer, since he was already dead on the ground. Tubbo, as a last ditch effort, unscrewed a bottle of Coom Glue and poured it over the gun wound, hoping it would glue his body back into working order.

Somehow, it worked.

"What the—" Techno shot awake and began coughing, white glue dribbling from his mouth. He blinked.

"Oh god," Techno winced as he choked on the building amount of Coom Glue regurgitating itself from his stomach,"this tastes so bad."

He promptly threw up. Tubbo sobbed in relief and kowtowed to the plastic bag of Coom Glue still hanging around his arm.

"I’m seriously confused about the properties of this 'Coom Glue'," Phil commented as he looked at the ingredients label that no one ever reads. "It just—it just revived Technoblade. Into full health, nonetheless!"

Techno gurgled out a broken response—("Technoblade never dies, baby…")—as he gave Phil a weak thumbs-up. Phil corrected his words, "Okay, maybe not full health. But still!"

"I’ve learnt to stop doubting the powers of Coom Glue," Tubbo responded, taking back the bottle in Phil’s hands. "It’s too powerful to be ignored."

"It’s too powerful to even exist," Drista suddenly chimed in as she walked out of the shack, conveniently nabbing the half-empty bottle from Tubbo’s hands. "I’ll be needing this."

Drista disappeared into the shack once more. Moments later, a loud shriek, drowning noises, and a handful of Minecraft 'tik tik tik' damage sounds emerged from the back as Drista walked out with a smile on her face.

"Dream’s alive!" she cheerfully assured. "But probably dying," she added at the end after some afterthought. George screamed in sync with Dream’s dying yowls as he ran to make sure his friend/boyfriend/insignificant other was not currently pulling an infamous Tommy-wakes-up-and-drowns move. After a while, everyone stared with a mix of confusion, relief, and mild horror as Dream emerged with semi-translucent glue dripping from his mouth as it smeared all over his hoodie.

Drista looked back and forth between George and Dream. She winced. "Please don’t tell me George mouth-to-mouthed you." George, upon hearing this, hacked and spat out some saliva still left on his tongue as he sheepishly admitted that he did. Everyone turned away respectfully, including Wilbur-Glock.

"Well," Dream croaked out, "it's great to be back. I think I've been traumatized by Pinkie Pie. Where were we?"

He scanned the crowd and pinned his gaze on Wilbur-Glock. Immediately, Dream's eyes widened.

"Oh, what the fuck?"

He began praying to the gods that Wilbur was not in fact possessed by a demon (which he was, unfortunately for Dream). By comedic timing, he also noticed TommyInnit, who, according to his unreliable knowledge, was supposed to be dead under the sea.

"OH, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Promptly, due to an informational overload, Dream passed out. George caught him in his arms like a Disney princess. Wilbur-Glock retched in disgust.

"This is pandering," the demon said. "I won't stand for this! Seriously! I need to kill you now!"

Drista reached into her pockets and pulled out a wooden stick. "The author is trying to stretch the word count, so I will initiate a duel. Try me. I can best you in hand-to-hand combat with nothing but a stick."

Wilbur-Glock narrowed his eyes. (And blatantly ignored the usage of fourth wall breaking.) He lowered himself onto the beach, causing a few drifts of sand to swirl around him. "That's not hand-to-hand," he grunted. "That's stick-to-hand." 

"All's fair in love and war," Drista wisely mused before chucking the stick at Wilbur-Glock's face. The stick shot through the air like a senbon in the hands of a ninja, immediately embedding itself into one of Wilbur-Glock's flaming eyes. He shrieked in fury and attempted to wrestle the stick out of the organ, but Wilbur's hands were stuck to a gun, so in the end, Wilbur-Glock battled the fruitless cycle of attempting to claw a stick out of his eye with a blunt-headed weapon. Drista took advantage of his struggle and launched herself at Wilbur, but not before she uncorked a bottle of Coom Glue she had secretly stole from Tubbo—("Wait, when did Drista get that?!")—and downed it in one go. 

"URP—" She immediately gagged and groaned. She tackled Wilbur to the ground, who swatted at her in enraged fury. "Ew—guh, what the fuck, that glue was rancid." Drista ignored the pungent aftertaste and concentrated on the feeling of A-grade Coom Glue thrumming through her body. She wrestled Wilbur-Glock defiantly, pinning the demon to the ground as Wilbur-Glock thrashed and fought back. Blindly, Wilbur-Glock shot a few rounds at Drista, and they all deflected off of her due to unannounced Coom Glue reasons. 

"WHAT THE FUCK IS UP WITH THIS 'COOM GLUE' PLOT DEVICE?!" Wilbur-Glock slammed the butt of the glock at the side of Drista's head. She ducked and used one of her hands to grapple at Wilbur-Glock's neck. Wilbur-Glock choked. "OKAY, OKAY! I SURREN—" Drista tightened her grip around Wilbur-Glock's neck. "Hrrk—STOP! I GIVE UP!" 

Drista let go of Wilbur-Glock. The demon wheezed and hastily swallowed a dozen mouthfuls of sweet, fresh air. Sweat slid down his forehead for a few tense moments as he tried to refill his lungs of their painfully deprived oxygen. Immediately, everyone on the beach swarmed to surround Wilbur-Glock with more deadly sticks in hand, faces dark. Wilbur-Glock paled.

"C-can we talk this out?"

Three sticks were hurled at Wilbur-Glock.

"Okay—fine! You guys are terrifying, horrible, absolutely scary—" 

With a sharp inhale, Wilbur-Glock's eyes glowed bright red again. Out ejected a crimson spirit escaping through Wilbur's mouth, and in an instant, Wilbur Soot dropped onto the sand, dead. 

"NOOOOO!" Tubbo howled again. "Oh wait," he quickly amended, "I have Coom Glue." 

Wilbur was force-fed Coom Glue. He then convulsed and jolted alive, much to everyone's disappointment and/or relief. 

"Uh," Wilbur said, blinking his eyes rapidly, "what the hell happened?" 

He gingerly slunk his hands away from the glock, which was now completely devoid of sticky Coom Glue. Afterwards, he immediately wiped his hands on his pants, determined to erase any glue stains still lingering on his palms. 

Hey, said the glock, and everyone paused to glare at it. This is a disappointing resolution. 

"You're right," Phil said. "We need to get rid of you."

No, said the glock. You daren't.

"We dare," Bad said. 

You don't dare, the glock said again, but it sounded like it was trying to convince itself more. Please spare me. Pretty please? I'll grant you a wish!

Ignoring the glock, Technoblade lifted one leg and immediately stomped on it.

OW!

Everyone looked at each other. They nodded in sync and followed in suit to bully the living shit out of the poor glock demon.

STOP! The glock was trying to levitate away, but the mass of feet kicking and stomping it around did not help. I DIDN'T LEAVE THE HOST'S BODY JUST TO GET BEATEN UP LIKE THIS! OW! FUCK!

"Die," Techno spat. 

AHHHHHHHHH! HARASSMENT! THIS IS BULLYING, I SAY! I'M CALLING THE COPS! OW! OWIE! OWWWWW!

"I'd like to see you try." Tommy aimed a foot at the glock's muzzle. During this moment, Dream stirred to life. He took one look at everyone beating up a glock on the ground and decided to join in. However, because he was still in a semi-woozy state, he unknowingly activated some MLP bullshit magic and blew the gun into smithereens. 

"Oh," said Dream as he stared at the crater in the sand with glops of metal bubbling in it. Everyone stared at him dumbfoundedly. "This was not what I was expecting."

Quite the bullshit ending, was it not? But Dream was getting supremely tired of this story continuing, and Drista had to agree. 

With nothing being able to be done, the group finally could return to their original locations. Dream and Drista combined their IQ and teleported everyone back to Britain, leaving Wilbur and his subordinate alone on the beach. 

The glock was destroyed. The story was over. Everyone could now live in peace.

Tommy and Wilbur both sat down quietly near the shore, a nice breeze tousling their hair. The sun lowered into the ocean. A crater smoked dangerously behind them. It was a beautiful sunset overall.  

"You know, Wilbur," Tommy started, "I'm done robbing stores for the rest of my lifetime."

"Me too, Tommy, me too." Wilbur patted Tommy's head. "Let's retire. We can go live by the ocean and fish for salmon everyday." He conveniently brought out Sally, ate the remaining contents of the sand can, and tucked it back into his pocket.

"No thanks," Tommy replied. "I'm done with the sea for a long time to come."

"Fair enough."

Right as the duo was about to take a break and fall asleep on the tranquil beach, the sounds of police sirens wailing shrieked through the bay. 

"YOU TWO!"

Wilbur shot up and whipped his head around to look behind him. "Wha—" 

An officer with the name tag 'SAPNAP' came up to him. "You're both under arrest," he said as Wilbur and Tommy were forced to wear handcuffs. Infuriated, Tommy made an angry sound. "Under arrest?! For what?!" he sputtered. Sapnap gave him a grave look. 

"For violence, robbery, arson, stealing, and owning a gun without a license. Let's not forget fifty more criminal offences reported against you," he added at the end as he pulled out an entire scroll of things Wilbur and Tommy had apparently done wrong. The paper hit the sand with a thud and continued unfurling, not stopping until it was a mere few inches away from the water.

It dawned on Tommy that the glock had not lied when it said it would call the police.

Tommy exhaled loudly. Eloquently, he said, "Fuck."

As they were forced into the back of a police car, Wilbur could not help but agree. 

THE END. 

(Not really.)