Archive of Our Own

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Every moment. Every hour. Every day and month and second that Dream had been manipulating Tommy—manipulating everyone—it all led here.

His heart is pounding in his ears. Logically he should have caught his breath by now, but he still panted like the fight had never ended. His chest heaved, sweat that had been gathering on his brow began to trickle down his face. His shirt is even more ripped than before. He’s lost a shoe. At some point during the battle, the precise swing of his opponent’s Netherite axe had left a slice on the side of his head. The bleeding was minimal, and had stopped long ago, but he just knew that it would scar.

Dream seemed better off. His breathing was quieter, but the fact that Tommy could hear it—get the smallest hint of the human Dream might’ve been—it meant that Tommy had put up a good fight. His armor is dented. His mask is burned at the edges (Sapnap’s doing), and on the bottom right is a particularly long cut through the plastic. Tommy was proud of that. Despite his current state being more disheveled than he’d been in ages, Dream still looked mostly put together. 

Neither of them knew what to say. Slowly, they regained their breathing.

Dream knew better than to make a move now. Tommy’s diamond sword—while not quite as good as his axe—was still pointed directly at his throat. From all his time with Tommy, learning his mannerisms and breaking points, Dream could tell that Tommy was closer than ever before to plunging his blade straight through him. So he made no moves. He stayed completely still on the platform even as it creaked under them, threatening to join the rest of the server on the ground in a pile of destruction. 

Time passed. Tommy never stopped glaring down at Dream.

Slowly, others started to get up from the wreckage. A true battle had been waged here between Dream and the entirety of the SMP. Fires burned. Smoke blurred into the darkening sky, blotting out most of the sunset. It might’ve been pretty on any other day.

There didn’t seem to be any casualties. Everyone had taken a hit of some kind, either by Dream or someone they considered an enemy. Sapnap had a limp when he stood up after shoving giant chunks of cobblestone off of him. Technoblade, always seeming so invincible, had his waist-length hair chopped to his shoulders; he tugged on his cape, using it to stop bleeding from somewhere and snuff out small fires. Tubbo was nowhere to be seen. George clutched his arm that had been bent at an all-too-wrong angle. Niki and Jack were trying to help up Phil, whose wings were matted with blood. 

No one spoke. No one tried to continue the fight, just soaked in the utter silence. 

Then the inevitable happened.

“Tommy,” someone breathed. With a glance (Tommy still wasn’t turning away) Dream saw that the voice had come from Ranboo. There was blood all over his hands. His mouth moved, like he had something to say, but it died on his tongue. He looked between Dream, defeated on the floor, and Tommy, whose sword remained at his throat. 

“Tommy?” Niki asked. Still, the teen did not answer.

“It’s over, Tommy.” Techno called. He had shed his broken armor but an axe remained clutched in his hand.

“Tommy!” Someone yelled. Quackity and Karl poked their heads up from a distant pile of snapped planks and charred wood.

“Tubbo’s not good, man.” Quackity said nervously. “He’s barely conscious.”

“I think something happened to his ribs.” Karl added.

Then they both looked down in unison. Tubbo appeared to be talking.

“Explosion is what he said.” Karl repeats. “TNT, about ten minutes ago.”

There was silence. Everyone looked to Tommy, who hadn’t blinked or reacted in so long that even Dream was becoming unsettled. Finally, the teen sighed. He relaxed his posture, never moving his sword or his head.

“Bring him over, we’ll...we’ll get someone on it. Technoblade?”

“...Fine.” Came the latter’s reply. 

With that, a different kind of atmosphere settled over everyone. Uncertainly tinged with exhaustion. They all started to gather themselves. No one made any moves, or got mad. They spoke in whispers. 

This was the point after a big war that everyone tends to the wounded, so for a moment, that’s what they did. Purpled and Punz restrained Fundy as they pulled three arrows from his thigh. (He screamed just a little.) Skeppy was leaning heavily on Bad, but they walked together towards the platform. Eret and Antfrost had apparently stabbed one another at some point in the battle and they were talking through it quietly. Puffy had been hit with a splash potion of poison, and Sam was offering her milk and food. 

Sapnap reconvened with George and they seemed to be making half-hearted banter about how good they fought. Phil was sitting on a piece of a destroyed building, with Jack carefully combing through his feathers—from the way he was clenching his pants with white knuckles, it hurt a hell of a lot more than they thought. 

Quackity and Karl carried a limp Tubbo over to Techno, who immediately began checking him over. His pig mask hid his expression, but from the tremble in his hands, he needed medical attention too. The two troublemakers themselves seemed like they could be the only ones unscathed—until Karl looked at Quackity, nodded, and then straight-up fainted onto him. He barely managed to catch his friend; in the process, he rolled his ankle and hit the ground hard, apparently opening up another wound and bleeding from his abdomen. Niki dashed over to help. 

So many others also started to undergo the healing process. It was a shaky step away from the war, but it was a necessary step. The fighting was over. Now it was time to heal, process, and grow. No one said it but they could feel in the air that the understanding was clear. No more fighting. We will learn to live together. 

...Everyone but the figureheads of the war got the message.

Tommy still refused to move himself or his weapon away from Dream. Dream did the same, deciding against shifting around. If he made the slightest indication that he was going to lift his axe and jumpstart the battle again, Tommy would kill him. Or try, anyway. Plus there were about thirty other people who kept their eyes on him and waited for him to do just that. He was too tired to fight anymore. 

There was about five more minutes of calm before everyone started to gather in front of the platform. There wasn’t any sort of announcement. They just floated over, pointing at Dream’s prone body and whispering. Not quite mockingly. More like they were shocked, or just studying him; some people were glaring at him outright. 

He expected as much. 

After a few more moments, the server all found themselves looking at Tommy. Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for directions or someone to step forward and claim leadership. 

“Tommy…” Fundy murmured. He cleared his throat. Eyes turned to him. “What should we do with him, exactly?” He said, with a weak wave at Dream. “You know, cause we can’t just kill him, right?”

Dream smirked, partially hidden by his mask. At the very least, he still had that. Despite his exhaustion he couldn’t be killed. He was too fast, too agile. Even if he was battle-worn no one could catch him.

...Right?

He squashed that doubt.

Tommy paused before responding. Then, he lifted his sword to touch Dream’s chin. He jerked his head up. “Stand up.” He ordered. 

Dream snorted. His confidence could easily overtake Tommy, tired as they both were. Keeping his confidence meant keeping people afraid of him. It was a kind of power that Dream specialized in beyond combat. 

“What are you gonna do, Tommy? Hold me at swordpoint and—”

“STAND. UP.” Tommy demanded, ten times more aggressively. 

Dream almost jumped. His confidence wavered. He knew Tommy, he knew him well, so why did the tone of his voice actually strike a nerve? Dream knew what Tommy could, could not, would, and would not do. So what is this?

The teen pressed his sword a little closer to Dream’s throat. His gaze never changed from rage.

Dream stood, slowly. He held his arms up to let everyone know that he wasn’t about to attack—yet. 

It was here that Dream could really feel some of his injuries. Bruising almost everywhere, aches and groans, and a weariness in his bones. Even with his fingerless gloves on he could feel the blisters underneath. At least he didn’t seem to be bleeding everywhere.

The crowd regarded him with a mix of curiosity and disgust. He ignored it. 

Across from him, Tommy finally took a step backwards, but of course, kept his sword up. He looked away from Dream for the first time—down to a hole in the platform. Dream followed his eyes. Trying to reestablish his stance as the person with the constant upper hand, he raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “What? Were you attached to the stage?”

Tommy looked back at him. Dream watched something click in his eyes, but he didn’t know what it was. That was concerning. He wasn’t worried yet, but a bad feeling was settling in his gut and he didn’t know if it was a “run for it” or “destroy everything” type of feeling. 

“Dream.” Tommy states. “You’ve ruined the lives of everyone on this server. You’ve hurt everyone, and we fought back for the sake of revenge. But I, Dream—” Tommy’s eyes sparkled with a surge of cockiness that sent a chill down the latter’s spine. “I want true revenge.”

“...Kill me, you mean.” Dream kept his voice even and calm. His old ward was being pretty intimidating, true, but he couldn’t afford to show any weakness. Not in front of the others. He’d lose his leverage over them in a matter of minutes. 

Tommy chuckled dryly. “No.” He turned to the crowd. “Does anyone have anything to say? ‘Cause I’m going to ruin him if no one says anything.”

Dream expected the silence, but hearing absolutely no protest or even the hint of a whisper hurt just a bit. Especially since he could feel George and Sapnap’s eyes on him. 

“Alright.” Tommy turned back to Dream. “Dream, put everything in the hole.”

Dream glanced at the hole in the platform. He knew that this moment would give Tommy a lot of power over him—finally giving him the same treatment he gave to the Brit in isolation.

“Tommy—”

“NOW Dream.” Tommy says, jabbing his sword at him. 

He  jolts back in genuine surprise. 

“Alright, okay...” He says, trying to cover up the momentary lapse in power. His social position above everyone was starting to fall, the pillars of fear and strength he balanced his throne upon crumbling. Usually, he’d punish anyone for opposing him and daring to challenge his power. But he simply didn’t have the upper hand in this situation. 

So Dream removed his armor. It was breaking anyway, so he tried to tell himself it didn’t matter at all, that he’d get a new set with better enchantments. He did it all quickly and silently. It was hard to avoid upsetting his wounds but he refused to let anyone use the knowledge he was hurt against him.

When he brought his arms back up by his head, his armor kicked down the hole and onto the ground, Tommy was smiling wickedly. 

“I said everything.”

For a moment, he was confused. He didn’t have any more weapons. He’d dumped his inventory onto the ground, even though it was basically just his armor and some arrows. The only things he was still wearing were his hoodie, pants, boots, and gloves. Did he expect him to get naked in front of everyone?

“Tommy—” He tried again. 

“EVERYTHING.” Tommy growled. “Put your mask in the hole!”

The world froze around him. He couldn’t even focus on hiding his emotions. He didn’t notice when the crowd shifted and a couple of tiny gasps and breathless words added to the tension. A different type of unease formed.

He hadn’t even considered his mask an item. It was part of him. The mask was his face for the world to see and he hadn’t taken it off in so long that the mere thought of removing it filled him with nausea. Dream, the guy with the mask who could chop your arm off whenever he felt like it. Dream, the guy with the mask who could kill someone in front of you and convince you it was your fault. Dream, the mask. 

He swallowed thickly. His arms dropped to his sides. “You can’t be serious.”

Tommy was delighting in his reactions. It was obvious now that Tommy had the power and Dream was under his foot. “Oh I am Green Boy. Do it or I’ll kill you.”

He could, Dream thought. Tommy probably could kill him without any trouble. Dream had no items. No protection. There was an entire crowd of people who hated him just a few feet away, one of them being the only person to ever match him in combat.

“Okay...okay…” He finally said, putting his hands up in a placating manner. 

Dream trembled as he brought his hands up and pulled down his hood. His sandy blond hair was exposed, as was the buckle that secured his mask. This was already more than most people on the server had seen. 

“Tommy, man, don’t make him.” A voice spoke up.

Dream immediately threw down his hands away from his head. The owner of the voice came to be Sapnap. His ex-friend didn’t look at him, but his eyes were tired and worried.

Sapnap was the only one who had seen Dream without his mask. It had been forever ago, when they were really close—way before the war. It was an accident, but Sapnap assured him that he didn’t care and he should just do what makes him comfortable. He said he’d never tell anyone about it, and as far he knew, Sapnap never had. 

Tommy did not show any of the same sympathy. “This is revenge, Sapnap, don’t you see? All we’ve done is fight and fight. Dream’s used to fighting. It doesn’t matter to him anymore. Can’t you see how much this does? How upset he is? This is what will have an impact on him. This is what will teach him a lesson.”

“Everyone seeing Dream visibly upset is already going to eat him alive.” Techno piped up. He stood at the back of the crowd with bandages on almost every limb. “What you’re doing is public psychological torture.”

“Oh and that’s where you cross the line Technoblade?” Tommy sneered. He jabbed his sword again, and Dream took a step back. “This piece of shit has done everything under the sun to me. This is the only thing I can do to get true revenge.

“The mask, Dream. Now!” Tommy snapped back to him. 

No one else tried to defend him. Sapnap faded back into the crowd with a frown. Techno made no moves to stop Tommy or prevent the situation. 

He was actually going to take off his mask. In front of everyone. Not even George had seen his face. And now not only were his ex-friends about to know his deepest secret, but so would the people he hated most. 

Tommy stepped closer to Dream and angled his sword diagonally, poised to slash the plastic off if he didn’t do it. 

His hands shook again as he reached up behind his head and delicately unbuckled his straps. One hand grabbed the front of his mask as the straps fell, dangling in front of him. 

The air was thick with disgust, he felt, but he couldn’t tell who it was directed at. 

Dream tilted his head down. His hand felt frozen, holding the mask. His last secret. His last wall of defense. 

He knew everyone was dying to see what he looked like. Maybe even Sapnap, since it had been so long. Until this moment he never pondered what they’d think of his appearance, since he wasn’t going to show himself anyway. Now he was filled with all the things they could say. No one would care about how he felt after everything he’s done. 

His hand fought against him. He was trying to follow Tommy’s demands, but the primal fear coursing through his veins had locked his muscles.

“Hurry up.” Tommy said.

He overrode his fear by angling his body away from the crowd. When the mask fell, only Tommy had to see it. Maybe that’d be enough for him. 

Dream yanked his hand down. 

It was easy to imagine how he looked, because it was exactly how he felt. His forehead was sweaty, hair wild—he tried to make sure no emotion showed in his green eyes. Freckles, the last time he’d checked, were sprinkled all over his face like a child had been given glitter. He’d gained a bit of stubble as well. 

When he scrunched his nose, unused to being without the constant plastic, he could feel the scar tissue stretch on his face. He hadn’t gained any new facial scars since the last time he saw himself, so he remembered where each one was. The biggest, deepest scar was on the left side of his face, starting at his roots, going through his brow and eye and trailing at the bottom of his chin. There was one across his nose. Two were parallel to each other on his right cheek, one of them extending over his lips. The second deepest criss-crossed the biggest on his left cheek. The smallest scar was on his left eyebrow, just a nick straight down. 

He swallowed and steeled himself. Dream can’t remember the last time he was so vividly and intensely uncomfortable. (Maybe that time George called him by his real name, without Dream ever telling him what it was. (They laughed about it after.))

Subconsciously, his hand chucked his mask into the hole with the rest of his items. He was more vulnerable than he’d ever been.

“There.” He rasps, failing to sound defiant and annoyed. He peaks at Tommy.

Tommy is still smug. No signs of regret or second thoughts pass over him. He’s actually enjoying this so much. 

“Oh, you’re one ugly son of a bitch.” He says. Tommy leans to see Dream better, and Dream stops himself from turning away. Instead, he regains a bit of composure. He huffs, succeeding in sounding like he’s over the whole thing. He projects all his attitude onto Tommy with his eyes, but he doesn’t react.

Dream hardly cares about Tommy’s opinion on his face. Yes, he knows, he looks like seventeen kinds of fucked, and he knows that everyone thinks that. Was there really any need to continue?

Tommy stands up straight again. He steps closer to Dream. Dream steps back. He takes another step, and Dream has a retort on the tip of his tongue—

“But I really don’t think that’s enough.” Tommy says.

Anger flickers in Dream. This wasn’t enough? It wasn’t enough to publicly humiliate him? What was it Techno said—public psychological torture. It’s not enough? 

“What?” He hisses. A thought comes over him. “You can’t k—”

“I really think you should face those you hurt.” Tommy continues. 

His muscles freeze over again. His eyes briefly look in the direction of the crowd, where they are probably hanging on every word the two are saying.

He forces a small laugh. He tries to sound angry. He tries to channel the manipulator he was around Tommy, putting in a dash of the condescending, “I’m-getting-mad-now” voice. “Tommy—”

Suddenly, a sword is under his chin again. His eyes go wide and he instinctively reaches to grab the blade, but Tommy presses it harder against his throat, drawing a bit of blood this time. His hands hang at his side in clenched fists.

No mask. No armor. No weapons, not a single item in his inventory. He had nothing to use. His mind tried to come up with an epic escape plan or trick, like he used to do when he played Manhunt with his friends. Not a single thing came up.

He was out of time. “Go ahead!” Tommy says with showmanship, turning his sword and forcing Dream to look at everyone.

No one made a sound. 

Dream could barely stop himself from crying. His jaw twitched, and even though he told himself not to, he instantly looked at his ex-friends’ faces.

George is staring openly, his eyes completely unreadable. Sapnap seems to be biting his tongue hard as he turns away almost immediately. Bad glances between him and Skeppy, the two sharing a few silent thoughts. Eret stares at Dream with pity. Techno is clutching his axe at his side, seemingly fighting with himself. Quackity is murmuring something to himself and Karl is staring at Dream with far-away eyes. 

Niki and Jack both have tears in their eyes, leaning into one another. Ant puts a hand on Bad’s shoulder, apparently refusing to look at Dream at all. Punz, Purpled, Fundy, Sam, Puffy—they look at each other, then Dream, then each other, all making different faces of confusion and anger. Tubbo, who must’ve just woken up, stares at Dream slack-jawed before looking at Tommy sadly.

No one is obviously upset—that is until Phil stands up, his wings sagging on the ground behind him. 

“Right, Tommy, that’s enough. Let’s take him to prison.”

Tommy frowns. He lifts his sword just a bit, taking Dream’s chin with it. The latter attempts to subtly blink the tears out of his eyes.

“Why, Phil? Why not put him on display here?” Tommy waves his other hand. “Encase him in glass. Never let him hide again. Vulnerable. It’s like exile in the middle of town. Sounds fine to me.”

“Public psychological torture, Tommy.” Phil echoes Techno. “Don’t be fucking stupid. He’s barely keepin’ it together already. What he did to you is one thing but you’ve taken away his most sacred thing in front of the entire server. You were the only one who wanted to do that. And because he was cruel to you, we let you have it, but now it’s enough, mate.”

Phil always was too fatherly at heart. He did not like to see anything suffer, even if that something was Dream. 

The more Phil talks the more people start to study Dream. His face, his scars, his expression. It has to be painfully obvious how close he is to breaking down. But his pride refuses, so he swallows the shuddering sobs and tries to remember the person he’d been just hours ago. The confident fighter with nothing to lose but a couple of puppets. 

Right...what was that like? His mind asks. He ignores it harder. 

“Enough.” Tommy repeats. He chuckles. “Right. Well. I don’t think anything can make up for what Dream’s done, so I’ll just keep at it until he breaks. That was your plan with everyone else, right Dream?”

Tommy nudges the sword into his neck more, drawing more blood. Dream might start choking soon. 

“Tommy, come on.” Karl says from the back of the crowd. “Don’t—Don’t, like, stoop to his level. Don’t become him.”

“Become him. Become him!” Tommy says incredulously. He stomped over to Dream in two quick strides and forced him to his knees. Dream hardly puts up a fight; it’s not like there’s anything he can do to help himself at this point. What does he have to protect? His life?

Tommy slides the hilt of his sword slowly down to Dream’s face. He crouches with it.

“I will make sure you rot from the inside out, Dream.” He spits. “It’s what you deserve.”

“Tommy, come on!” Phil insists. 

“Cruel and unusual punishment.” Sam points out. 

“Tommy. Just—Let’s just take him to the prison.” Tubbo pleads, leaned up against one of the only posts still standing. “Please Tommy.”

“You’re all so quick to defend him!” Tommy shouts. “I can’t believe this. I get exiled from the home I helped build and no one acts like they care, but when I decide to give Dream—the most hated person on the server—a taste of his own medicine, you all protest! Do you all still have sympathy for this monster? Has he manipulated all so badly that you can’t see what he is and what he deserves?”

“We know what he’s done, Tommy, that’s not the issue here.” Sapnap says coldly. He still won’t look at Dream, which is starting to hurt more and more. “The issue is that we all need to move on from it and not repeat it. It benefits no one. Putting him in a secure prison is punishment enough.”

Tommy shakes his head. Dream can see his fingers flexing on the hilt of the blade out of the corner of his eye. 

“Right. No one is on my side here?” Tommy asks. 

Ranboo raises his hand. “No sides, Tommy, we shouldn’t—”

Dream doesn’t hear the rest of Ranboo’s proposal. He barely knows what’s happened when his mouth fills with blood and he finds himself choking and sputtering, the tears finally spilling from his eyes with glee as he shuts his eyes and falls onto his hands and knees. 

A lot of commotion comes next. The thing Dream’s ears pick up first is George screaming...then a lot of voices coming at him. 

It’s so hard to focus. Some part of his mind deduced that Tommy must have slit his throat, finally, after threatening it for the past half hour. Some of the voices he hears are shouting Tommy’s name but the teen himself doesn’t seem to be speaking. He can’t feel any pain, just uncomfortable warmth, but the taste in his mouth and sticky feeling on his hands provides no comfort. 

A hand grabs his shoulder and he jerks away, trying to open his eyes through a blur of tears. 

It’s George. 

Something in Dream screams for him to keep fighting, to stop making eye contact with his best friend for the first time, but he doesn’t push George away. 

George’s face holds no disgust. No anger or confusion or pity like everyone else has. George is just…

Dream’s brain reminds him that he’s bleeding out and he starts hacking and heaving once more. Everyone and everything else starts to blend together and his mind grows fuzzy—he knows he’s passing out. In front of people. But he’s way too close to death to protest now, so he gives up and puts his fate in the hands of the server. They could kill him or save him...only to imprison him. 

“Let him die! LET HIM DIE!”

“SHUT UP TOMMY OR YOU’RE NEXT!”

“LOOK WHAT YOU’VE DONE! IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED? IS THIS THE TARGET YOU WANTED ON YOUR BACK? WELL IT’S THERE, TOMMY, AND I WILL NEVER STOP AIMING!”

And Dream slips away.

—

He never expected to wake up. 

The last few seconds of consciousness he had were filled with confusion, dread, and terrible, sinking nausea. He figured, hey, this must be death, and he fell into emptiness without another thought. 

But no. No, he’s still alive, and it is painfully obvious now.

Dream opens his eyes. 

He is greeted by a warm-toned ceiling of wood planks. Oak, it seems. The air is warm. His body is sore. He can still smell the smoke of the battle and—what was that? Strawberries? It’s an interesting combination.

The tiniest of twitching from his arm doubles the aching of his limbs, and he silences a groan. 

His head tilts to the left; a brick wall. Immediately he thinks of the community house. The one he’d destroyed. But why would they bring him here? Why not the prison? 

A soft purple blanket had been thrown over him. He was lying in a bed, a decent one, and his body had been rigid. He shifted again. 

“Oh.” 

Instantly he sits up, completely disregarding his body’s screams to relax. He turns to the voice, which proves to be Eret. 

Eret averted their gaze. They stood from their chair near the bed and stared down at the floor. Without any of the anticipated venom, Eret says, “I’ll—I’ll go get someone. I’m—” They stop. Whatever they were going to say, they seem to have swallowed, so they walk to the other side of the small room and exit through a wooden door.

Dream’s mouth feels dry. A wooden door. He was imprisoned in a room with a door that he could easily stand up and open?

His heart ba-bumps painfully. He relaxes, just a little bit, and his body shoves its soreness on him in revenge. He reaches a hand up under his mask to rub his temple—

And he chokes. Then coughs.

Right. Tommy had removed his mask in front of everyone. No wonder Eret didn’t look at him. Dream couldn’t decide if he appreciated that or if he wanted to punch them square across the jaw. He ultimately decided not to decide and to focus on something else.

The room he was in clearly wasn’t the community house. It was hard to say exactly where he was, just that it was homely and clearly not where Dream should be. It was small but not quite cramped. The only things inside were the bed Dream laid on and the chair Eret had been sat in. Through the holes in the oak door, Dream could see another, larger room, and what might’ve been other people and seats.

Eret’s exit from his room—the room he’s in, he corrects himself—seems to hush the quiet chatter outside. 

There’s several seconds of silence and Dream waits for everyone to barge in and escort him to Pandora’s Vault. He waits for mockery and threats and people walking in with their shiny new armor and claims that they’ve seen his face. 

Sapnap enters instead. 

His hair is down, which is such a stupid thing for Dream to notice right away. He’s missing his iconic headband. But then Dream sees it held loosely in his hand, and his eyes drift up to meet Sapnap’s.

They stare at one another briefly.

“Eret sent me in.” Sapnap says. He looks away. “Said you were awake this time.”

Dream doesn’t need to say anything for Sapnap to know what he wants to ask. Even after so long, the things they picked up as friends will never really leave.

His old friend sighs and walks over to the chair, sitting down slowly. He still has a limp. “You woke up once before. You weren’t actually awake, you just opened your eyes. But it freaked Purpled out because you weren’t blinking like a real creepy motherfucker.

“When I came in here to check on you your eyes were shut again.” Sapnap glances at him. He doesn’t seem to show the same amount of hesitance he’d had when Dream was first unmasked. How long had he looked at Dream’s face while he was unconscious?

“How’re you feeling.” Sapnap doesn’t phrase it as a question or a concern.

Fine, Dream wants to hiss. He wants to fill the word with collected anger and remind Sapnap and everyone who could hear that just because they’d apparently stopped him from dying he wouldn’t turn a new leaf. He wasn’t going to reciprocate the tired, sad sympathy that everyone else echoed like frequencies bouncing around in a soggy cardboard box. He is Dream and as soon as he finds a way to make his blanket into a deadly weapon he’s out of here.

When he opens his mouth, no sound comes out. He gags on his silence and tries again, only to cough. And cough. And cough and cough harder and harder until he’s gasping for air that just isn’t getting to his brain. 

Sapnap is at his side in seconds, a tentative hand landing on his back. He gives Dream a quick pat-pat, which Dream glowers at him for. Sapnap huffs. 

“Your throat was slit, Dream, just give me a thumbs up or down. Don’t try to talk.”

Dream furrows his brow and ignores his eyes welling to give the other a look that said something along the lines of ‘ You weren’t going to tell me I can’t talk before asking me a question?’

Sapnap picks up on it. “Well I figured that you would remember what happened to you yesterday since it happened to you but sorry, I guess! I’ll just remind you of everything that happens to you so you—”

A tear falls from Dream’s eye as a particularly hard hack and gasp comes out of him. It’s a sharp, almost agonizing pain that no one is ever prepared for. He really wished he had his mask. It’s a bit easier to bear when you know no one can see it.

Sapnap cuts himself off. 

They say nothing while Dream composes himself. He tries to use his hoodie sleeve to wipe away the tear tracks, but is suddenly accosted by bright blues and purples. With an almost-frantic glance down, he notices for the first time that someone had changed his clothes. 

“Yeah,” Sapnap mutters, watching him study himself, “Your hoodie was covered in blood and stuff so we gave you one of Karl’s. He’s one of the only people with your size. The pants are Techno’s. He just kind of offered them without anyone asking. Said you have the same style, and they’re just like your old black ones so whatever.”

Dream pursed his lips. He kept one hand on the thick layer of bandages on his neck—he doesn’t even want to think about what the clean slice of a sharpened diamond sword looks like—and used the other to wave somewhat aggressively at his bare feet.

“Your shoes?” Sapnap asks. Dream doesn’t respond but he continues anyway. “Well we had to take ‘em off to put your pants on, they need some cleaning b—”

Dream cuts him off with a raised hand. He tries to mime ‘back up.’

Sapnap raises an eyebrow. He studied Dream’s gestures and took a second to think. “Where are they? With the rest of your clothes. I think someone offered to wash them, dunno who.”

Dream shakes his head and repeats his motion.

“Uhh…” Sapnap looks at Dream (still very weird, knowing that his mask was off but Sapnap wasn’t reacting) and shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

The unmasked man drops his hands and starts thinking of other ways to mime his message. Then, duh, he thinks. 

He faces Sapnap and makes wary eye contact. Sapnap sort of startles, unsure, but he stares back. 

Who is ‘we?’ Dream mouths slowly. 

“Oh. Me. And George helped undress you and clean off the blood, but we—we’re the only ones who have really been looking after your unconscious ass. Everybody else is trying to show a bit of respect. Or they’re scared, I don’t know.”

Sapnap stands from the floor and returns to his chair. He definitely doesn’t seem to be one of the people that still fear him. “Phil gave us a big lecture. Sat everyone down this morning and went on about how Tommy had gone too far for a minute there, and how he won’t tolerate anyone attacking your appearance or scars.”

Classic Philza. Dream thought. He claims not to be the dad friend, but when it came down to it his instincts to protect people from making mistakes always showed itself.

“We all agreed.” Sapnap continues, surprising Dream a little. “Tommy’s blowing off steam somewhere ‘cause he really pissed everyone off with slitting your throat on top of—you know, unmasking you. No one was comfortable with it.”

Dream absorbs this. After everything that had happened between him and the SMP, it made sense that they all still had a line they didn’t want to cross. Especially since, as far as anyone knew, Dream’s face was his best kept secret.

He turns to Sapnap again. Sapnap straightens up and waits.

Where are we? He mouths.

It takes him a few seconds to process, but Sapnap leans back in his chair when it clicks. “This is our field infirmary. Puffy and Alyssa built it since we had a lot of injuries and it was getting close to night. They worked through the night to make sure it was secure, and it might’ve been rushed but it’s not that bad. I’m pretty sure the first thing Puffy did when she woke up was start decorating.”

Where is everyone else?

“Uh, a few people stayed last night. People whose bases were portals away mostly. No one really had, like, life-threatening injuries. Tubbo has bruised ribs and maybe a concussion, so he’s in the room next door. Ponk fucked his leg pretty bad so he’s been benched for the last several hours while Foolish is making him crutches. I think they’ve just been talking for the last hour though…”

George? Dream asks without thinking. 

Sapnap nods absently. “He ran back to our base for supplies and stuff. I messaged him and let him know that you were up for real this time.”

Dream nods. 

They sit quietly for a bit. 

“You know, uh, Callahan offered to teach you sign language.” His ex-friend starts to tie his headband back onto his forehead. “Ponk said you shouldn’t use your voice for a month or so to let your throat recover. If you end up staying—” He cuts himself off. He finishes tying his headband and stares at the ground. A thousand unreadable thoughts radiate from him.

Dream snaps for his attention. I won’t stay, he mouths. He steels his expression. I can’t.

They maintain eye contact for a long while. Sapnap is searching for something in his eyes, and Dream can’t imagine what it is or what he’s actually seeing. 

He told Sapnap that he couldn’t stay but he didn’t have a particular reason at the top of the list. There was always the terrible deeds he’d done...the wars...manipulating Tommy…and Ranboo...destroying his friendship with Sapnap and George...but those things hadn’t bothered him a few days ago. 

Was something else keeping him running? But at the same time, was he actually running? Did he not want to admit it? No, he just did. He’s running. From what? Why?

And if he’s running, why is he in denial about wanting to stay?

Oh. He does want to stay.

Sapnap makes a humming noise and slouches down in his chair. He found whatever he was looking for apparently. He starts to pick at a burn hole in his pants.

Dream scoots back on the bed and leans against the wall. He’s still sore, but it’s fading. His neck doesn’t hurt. 

...That was the most he’d thought about his feelings in months. 

And it was just a few sentences, his mind supplied helpfully. Good job!

Well, even though he was so well-versed in emotional debates with himself, he couldn’t debate the simple fact that Tommy had made great points about him in his speech. He’d reminded everyone of the destruction and chaos he spread through the server like weeds. And Dream won’t deny any of it. He was the main cause of trauma and distrust in most people—and was he proud?

...Was he proud?

“Dream.” Sapnap said.

He faced his old friend. 

“I was saying earlier...a few of us talked about not putting you in prison,” he starts, “and just putting you on, like, house arrest. Sam suggested that you wouldn’t be allowed to have any armor or weapons. Someone would always be with you. We’d take shifts. And you just wouldn’t be allowed to fuck off into the woods and disappear for weeks on end, you know? You could—” He sighed. “You could come back.”

Sapnap turned to him, waiting for Dream’s mouth to move so he could communicate.

I shouldn’t, Dream tells him. He doesn’t tack-on I don’t deserve to or I’m not ready even though they were on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t know which one is more true.

“You gotta work through your thoughts right?” Sapnap smirks when Dream glares at him. “I know you, Dream, I see how hard the gears are turning right now. I know everyone expected you to wake up and get all pissed off and start looking for Tommy with a knife in your hands but something—must’ve—” He stares into Dream’s eyes again, and Dream tries to hide whatever is making Sapnap grin. But he doesn't know what that is so Sapnap finds it again and his eyes twinkle with the same excitement he has when he gets to start a big, mostly harmless fire. “Something struck a nerve for you. Might’ve been Tommy or losing your voice or—you know, being unmasked like a Scooby-Doo villain.

“Whatever it was dude, it’s got you thinking. And you need to think for a while.”

Dream rolls his eyes. He won’t deny that, but he also knew Sapnap was enjoying this situation quite a bit. And just maybe he had a point.

The door opened. Dream had already forgotten that he wasn’t currently wearing his mask, so he turned straight towards the sound. 

It was George. His left arm was in a sling and he held something in his other hand, which he moved behind himself. When Dream looked at his face, George looked to the side. Dream’s chest twisted and he looked at the bed. 

“Hey.” Sapnap greeted him. “Did you find everything?”

“Yeah. You’re the messiest person I’ve ever met but I got it all. Only took me fifteen minutes.” George relaxes, finally walking fully into the room and taking a seat on the other end of the bed. 

Dream decides he won’t look at George unless he asks, or needs to talk to him directly. Having open conversation with Sapnap is one thing—long time friends, he’d seen his face before—they were comfortable around each other despite all that had happened, seeing as it took them about ten minutes for Sapnap to tease him. And Dream never forgot how understanding Sapnap had been when he did see his face the first time. 

George was different. Dream had practically betrayed George outright, calling him a King and then taking it back. And for whatever reason, it was so easy for the atmosphere to change around George. Sometimes it felt like walking on eggshells, but rather than someone getting upset, George could become completely unreadable in a matter of seconds. It was unnerving; how George could simultaneously place all his trust in Dream and act like he doesn’t know him. 

“How are you?” George asks, but he’s staring down at his sling instead of at Dream’s face.

Dream looks at Sapnap to answer.

“He’s fine. Can’t speak though.” Sapnap explains.

George hums. “Not hurting?” 

Dream shakes his head slightly. Sapnap repeats the message. 

“Good...Did Sapnap tell you what we were thinking about the prison?”

“I did.”

“What did you think…?”

Dream doesn’t have a response for either of them. He gives Sapnap a glance that he thankfully reads easily.

“He’s gotta think about it, but he was saying he shouldn’t stay.”

“So you’re just going to isolate yourself again?” George’s tone becomes a bit accusatory. He intertwined his fingers and drummed them against his knuckles.

Maybe, Dream mouths. The tiniest whisper of his voice comes out. 

That catches George’s attention and he tilts his head up to properly make eye contact with Dream. 

Dream stares into George’s opaque goggles, knowing that George was taking in every detail of his face. He wasn’t quite nervous as much as he was just waiting for what he was going to say. 

Instead of commenting right away, George reaches up and lifts his goggles to sit on his forehead. It wasn’t as big of a gesture as Dream’s unmasking, but considering how rarely George takes off his goggles, it felt significant. His brown eyes are bouncing all over Dream’s face.

“Your eyes are green, aren’t they?” He says.

Sapnap laughs. Dream blinks. He nods. 

“And your hair is actually—what, blond? I knew that.” George tilts his head. “The scars,” he states bluntly. “They’re so deep. How did you—? Sorry. I won’t ask. They’re cool.” 

Then George replaces his goggles over his eyes and leans back. 

Dream’s mouth hangs open. “That’s it?” He wheezes, his voice small and deflated.

Sapnap snaps at him and points, like he was scolding a child. “Hey. Don’t talk.”

Dream waves his arms at George in exasperation. He can’t count how many times over the course of their friendship that he’d considered showing George his face, how much anxiety sunk in his lungs thinking of what he’d say—and that was all? “Cool scars, your eyes are green”? What the hell?

I’ll have so much to process. He thinks glumly. 

“Anyway.” George lets out a breath, as if he was the nervous one in the room. “I brought this for you. Sapnap and I made it.”

“Techno helped.” Sapnap adds. “He’s got the expertise.”

The Brit lifts his other arm and reveals a...

Mask? Dream mouths. He accepts the thing delicately.

It was different from his original. Instead of plastic, it was a thin piece of polished wood painted a solid coat of white; the black smile had been carefully painted with a fine brush. The straps, rather than being haphazardly glued on, were embedded into the sides of the wood. They were adjustable and made from tough leather—hoglin, if he had to guess. 

“We made it ages ago.” Sapnap steps over and taps on the wood with his knuckle. “I think I’d seen one of the straps on your old one snap during a fight and when I brought it up to George, we decided to have a backup ready for you. We had to ask Techno about a hundred questions, but yeah. It’s wood so it’s harder to tear up. And the polish means that you can wash off gunk without ruining the paint.”

“There’s actually—” George reaches over and flips the mask. The other side is a relaxed, light gray and has a large rune painted on it. Ender language? “This is like, a protection symbol according to Ranboo. It’s supposed to help guard against magic. Like an enchantment but less obvious.”

“Maybe it’ll help you suck less.” Sapnap bumps his arm.

Even if Dream could speak properly, he wouldn’t be able to express his emotions. He’s grateful beyond belief but also embarrassed that they’re being such good friends. He feels guilty ‘cause he shouldn’t be treated so nicely after the person he’s been. 

Instead of mouthing these things, Dream tries to give his closest friends a look of genuine gratitude. 

They look at each other with wide eyes.

“That was weird.” George snorts.

“Yeah, just put the mask on so we can only read body language again.” Sapnap agrees. 

Dream sighs out a laugh and places the mask on his face. Without being prompted, Sapnap grabs the straps and buckles them. He tightens it so it’ll stay secured when the other moves. 

When Dream nods that it’s positioned, Sapnap steps in front of him and he and George admire their work.

“Fuckin’ nailed it.” 

“Yup. Looks good.”

Dream smiles. The mask fits comfortably and is about the same size as his old one.

Speaking of…

He reaches a hand up and lifts the mask on top of his head—this, again, surprises George and Sapnap, until they realize he wants to “talk.”

My old mask? He mouths. 

The calm, healing energy in the room begins to fade away. With the question they all remember what had happened in the past twenty-four hours, and the memory of their past friendship reminds them that it’s just that: a memory.

“Tommy didn’t get to burn it if that’s what you mean.” Sapnap sits on the floor. “I think Phil actually grabbed your stuff. No one’s seen him since this morning but I heard his wings got pretty wrecked, so he could be in the infirmary too, who knows.”

George’s hands twitch. “Who did that to him?”

Dream claps and they turn to him. Bomb exploded when he flew in, he recalls. Shrapnel got him the worst. He kept trying to fly and it made it worse.

“For such—For a guy who always tell people not to be stupid, that was really stupid.” Fidgeting with the edge of the blanket, Sapnap shakes his head in disappointment. “Supposedly he’s got a collection of ‘relics’ that he keeps in his ender chest.”

“So he’s going to keep the mask?” 

“Probably not. I bet if Dream asked for it he’d give it back. The armor…I doubt anyone plans to give him any. Especially not—what’d you call it? Nightmare?”

He nodded.

“Edgy. Yeah, no, maybe just the mask for now.”

“If Phil wants to talk to him at all. I mean, you haven’t done anything to him directly, right?”

He nodded.

“See. Phil’s cool.”

If Phil didn’t want to talk with Dream, it probably wasn’t due to their personal discourse (which was non-existent). Most of their interactions were just extensions of the people around him, like Tommy and fighting the war. At some point, he could probably get his armor and tools back from Phil. It might take a good trade but he’s reasonable. 

A knock came on the door. 

Dream slid his new mask back over his face as George called “Come in.”

A familiar pink-haired half-piglin man entered. He had a hand over the eyeholes of his mask and he carried a ton of clothes folded over his arm. Dream’s outfit, freshly cleaned of soot and blood.

Unlike the other two people in the room, who remained the same since yesterday, he was lacking his usual glamorous style; namely his red cape. Rather than the white shirt and black pants, he wore a yellow sweater and jeans. Of course he kept the tall leather boots. His hair—which Dream remembered had been chopped off at a diagonal angle—had been cleaned up to just touch his shoulders in length. He stubbornly tied what he could in a low bun and let random strands hang around his face.

“Hey.” Technoblade said. “I heard you woke up Dream. Here’s your clothes. Got pretty much every stain out, sewed up some of the holes. Phil has your mask though and since he’s been cleaning his feathers for the past seven hours, I decided against asking for it.”

Techno took careful steps forward. Even while blinding himself he didn’t stumble or trip. He lowered the clothes to Dream, who took them. Sapnap, always able to read Dream with ease, thanked the man for him.

“He’s also got another mask on, so you don’t have to cover your eyes.” George told him.

His hand dropped from his face slowly, and he paused. “Ah. Is this the one I helped you two make?”

“Yup.”

“It looks good. Great job.” Techno took a slow breath. “I also wanted to mention to you Dream—I assume you were updated on our plans for you?—we all spoke again. We think that Sapnap’s idea about you being on house arrest is fine. So that would mean you have a bodyguard everywhere you go, you can’t leave a designated area, and no weapons or armor ever.”

They looked at Dream.

Really, he wasn’t sure. When Sapnap suggested the plan he didn’t see himself going through with it. Constant surveillance? No armor or weapons allowed? It was the exact opposite of how Dream usually lived. 

Would it be better that way? Is that the best way for him to go back to being friends with George and Sanap? (Did he even deserve that?)

What would it be like, he wondered, to just build a house somewhere and live there. No more getting involved in wars. No more hunting and being hunted. Just growing and making up for what he’s done. And with everyone already seeing his face, maybe he could get comfortable around the server and start being an honest person with nothing to hide.

...Yeah, he couldn’t imagine anything worse. 

“I think I should go.” Dream whispers. If he keeps his voice steady, it doesn’t hurt as much. 

George and Sapnap frown at the same time.

“So you are gonna fuck off into the woods.” Sapnap says.

Dream shakes his head, surprising himself. “I need to think. I can’t—” He gasps for a second. “I need to be alone for a while. Not too long. I—I’ll come back, someday. When I feel ready.” He holds in a cough that would put his moment of strength to bed. 

The other three exchange looks. 

“If we do get everyone to let you go, which is unlikely, Dream, after all the work it took to immobilize you last night...we don’t have any guarantee that you won’t come up with another plan to cause chaos.” Techno argued calmly. “Not everyone here wants you dead, but we all agreed no more wars. If you—”

“I’m done Techno.” Dream interrupts. “Sapnap is right. Something—struck a nerve with me and I n-need to process.” The cough forces its way out, but it hurts less than the last fit.

“Stop talking,” George says softly. 

Technoblade hums. He tucks a strand of rogue hair behind his ear. “I’ll bring it up to everyone else.” He turns to Sapnap then. “After that, I’m going home. I’m sick of people again.”

With a wave, the half-piglin walks to the door, not even waiting for Sapnap’s confused “okay?”

“Techno.” Dream calls.

“Heh?”

“Consider the—” His throat twinges in momentary agony. “—favor repaid.”

Techno doesn’t say anything else, just tilts his head at Dream. It was the kind of response only mysterious people with masks can do. It was his way of saying thanks, but I won’t let you think I’m being decent to you by saying that , and Dream understood perfectly. 

That left three old friends sitting in the room together, the air full of tentative peace and calm. Relief, maybe. A sense of unease and stubborn understanding that the future would bring.

“I doubt they’ll come to a decision soon.” Sapnap pulls a loose thread from the blanket. “We’ll be here a while.”

“Hm.”

“And you’ll probably be on probation for a week until the infirmary is cleared out, and more order is established…”

George meets Sapnaps eyes and they pass some sort of agreement of mischief between them. 

George scoots on the bed, folding his legs on top of Dream’s. His voice is coy when he gazes around the room nonchalantly, saying, “We wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable Dream, but it would be a good way to pass the time to...I dunno...tell stories.”

“Mm-hm…”

They grin and face Dream, posed to listen.

Sapnap flicks his mask. “Why don’t you lift your mask and—if you’re comfortable—tell us how you got such badass scars?”

Dream pauses. Then he does lift his mask, just to show his friends an expression that he hopes captures what he wants to say, if he had a working voice: fuck you guys.

The halls of the infirmary are instantly filled with loud laughter that startles everyone sitting in the rooms. The laughter is quickly followed by harsh coughing, and George yelling “TECHNO! TECHNO! ” at the same time that Sapnap screeches “STOP FUCKING USING YOUR VOCAL CORDS!”