Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waves crashed against the Manhunt’s bow, sea spray salting the air, as Tubbo watched dark clouds blossom across the horizon. A lone albatross circled his perch high up on the mast. As it wheeled in the air, the huge bird seemed to trill in warning before heading towards the distant shore as if leading the ship on.

“Dream!” The brunet called down to the captain, who glanced back up at him. Or maybe not. Tubbo was so high up that the figure below was practically a smudge of green and black against the wooden deck and its illicit cargo, and the reply was tossed away by the wind. He swung out from his makeshift watchtower and began to climb down the complicated knots of rope that served as a ladder to anyone wanting a view of the surrounding area.

Once he had reached the deck, Tubbo tried again. “Dream. We don’t have much time until that storm hits. It’s not my place to say this, but you need to realize that Noninveni is the only place we’ll be safe.” The city’s port was the largest and most sheltered within hundreds of miles, but since joining the crew of the Manhunt, Tubbo had never been even close.

Dream’s brows creased in a rare show of frustration. “It isn’t safe for us, Tubbo. I’m willing to risk even that” —he pointed to the dark blot slowly creeping towards the ship—“and the Manhunt’s the fastest corsair in these seas. If we’re lucky we can sail right around it.”

“No.” A new voice from behind Tubbo cut in. Thank the Foolish God. It was Sapnap, the first mate and probably the only person on the ship who could get away with directly contradicting Dream. “Maybe we can outrun most bounty hunter ships easily, but this storm is no joke. I might agree with you, but we’ve also got multiple hunters on our tail. We can’t turn around now. Besides, I wasn’t even up where Tubbo was and even I could see how fast that thing was moving. We can’t outrun it. I don’t care about whatever hatred you have of Noninveni, and even what hatred it has for you, Dream. We need to get to a port.”

Dream looked from Sapnap to Tubbo, to the rest of the crew watching out of the corners of their eyes. Though he was the captain, even Dream knew that sometimes he had to listen to the others, and those others knew it.

“Sapnap, help the others take everything on the deck down below. I’ll take the Manhunt into Noninveni. Tubbo, come with me.” Dream was hesitant, but Tubbo knew him well enough to see that Dream didn’t quite want to risk the Manhunt in that storm, anyway. Besides, how bad could the captain’s bad blood with Noninveni be?

It was a few minutes before Dream, who was currently gripping the ship’s helm like he wanted to strangle it, spoke to Tubbo. When he did, it was a tumble of words that barely allowed the other time to speak.

“Do you still remember when I hauled you out of the water in the port? In Noninveni?”

Tubbo barely had time to nod before he was practically run over.

“Okay, good. It wouldn’t matter if you didn't, actually. What matters is that you’re still technically a citizen. None of the others are actually from here except me, and I got my citizenship revoked after I, ah, well, poisoned the previous ruler of the city. Then I stabbed him a few times to make sure he was really dead. Fifteen times? Eighteen? He deserved it.”

The younger boy looked at him silently, wide-eyed. Dream appeared to see his stare and gave a small laugh as he quickly calmed down his tone from anger to only slight aggression.

“Eighteen, I think. I can explain later, but I think you get the idea. The bastard’s sons, George and Tommy, are still alive, sadly. The older one—George—is in charge now, and he’s single-handedly funding quite a few of the people trying to kill us. Well, I guess there’s a lot of people who want to kill us because we either stole their cargo or killed their friend, but he’s still making our life slightly more hellish.” He let out a huff of breath. “Sorry, I’m getting sidetracked. The point is, you’re the only one technically allowed into the city, so I need you to go to George Noninveni and ask him to let me negotiate with him without being potentially decapitated. After that, I can go with you into Noninveni.”

Tubbo’s throat felt suddenly dry. There are so many things that could go wrong with this. “I- uh-”

Dream wrapped his arms around the boy after seeing the look of terror on his face. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I’m sorry. I can go myself,” he said quietly but sincerely.

Visions of Dream dead flashed before Tubbo’s eyes despite the captain’s hug. In some of them, there was a sword or an arrow or a dagger in his heart. Others had Dream facedown, with knives turning his back into target practice. Tubbo pushed the intrusive thoughts away with some difficulty, then composed himself as much as he could in his situation. “No, it’s fine. I’ll go. Can I have a sword, though? You’ve taught me how to fight. I can stay safe.” The words came out muffled, probably because Tubbo was speaking directly into Dream’s shoulder, but he doubted Dream couldn't hear him.

The blond sighed, letting go of Tubbo when he started to write out of the hug, unable to sit still. “We’ve talked about this. You could hurt yourself, or a soldier or anyone armed could see the sword, feel threatened, stab you, and then claim it was self-defense. Not to mention the fact that you’d never be let into the palace. I’ll give you a dagger, okay? And you can wear a spare cloak of mine and hide it under that.”

I guess that’s the best I’ll get. No use pushing it. “That sounds fine. I know how you are about letting me carry a weapon, so thank you.” Tubbo smiled at Dream.

The other shrugged in return, pulling out a dagger from his belt and handing it to Tubbo. “I’m not going to let you go into that city unarmed. It’s the least I can do. Maybe later I’ll let you bring a sword.” Without looking, Dream reached out and slightly adjusted the helm. “We’ll be there soon. Ask Quackity for a cloak. He should be below deck somewhere.”

Tubbo leaned in for one last hug then darted off down the stairs. He examined the knife in his hand. It was obviously custom-made: golden, with intricate metalworking around the handle and a crimson ruby embedded in the hilt. He tilted the dagger and suddenly the blade caught the light. When Tubbo saw the vibrant iridescent sheen coating the gold, he nearly dropped the dagger. Enchanted items, especially a high-level one like this, were both extremely rare and expensive: a hundred knives of the same quality wouldn’t even come close to covering the cost of an enchanted one. What if he lost it, or somehow managed to break it? Even with the Manhunt’s prodigious—and stolen—income, a replacement would be extremely hard to obtain. As an enchantment’s power grew with the lifeforce put into it, this dagger had either claimed many lives or been crafted by a master enchanter. Maybe this dagger would help keep him safe, but he would protect it with his life.

As Dream had said, Quackity was indeed downstairs. More often than not, he was whining about one thing or another, but right now the sometimes-cook was rearranging crates with rare focus.

“Hey, do you know where Dream keeps his cloaks? He told me to ask you.” Tubbo slipped the dagger Dream had given him into a loop on his belt.

Quackity put down his current box with a grunt. “Yeah, check behind the door in his room. Or on the floor somewhere in the map room. That man loses them all the time, though. I have no idea how he forgets about them, and I wouldn’t care, but I always end up having to pick them up again.” Maybe Quackity was doing more than his share of heavy labor for once, but that certainly didn’t stop his good-natured grumbling about anything and everything.

“Thanks, Big Q! Don’t drop one of those crates on your foot.” The memory of doing that exact thing a few years ago rose to the front of Tubbo’s mind and he suppressed a wince at the pain that had been long forgotten until now as he walked to Dream’s cabin.

Surprisingly, there was a cloak on the peg behind Dream’s door. Perfect for cold, coastal port cities such as the one he was about to visit, it was dark forest green, with a generous cowl and a nondescript clasp. Because Dream was on the taller side, the cape was a little long, brushing the heels of his boots, but it was comfortable and just barely short enough to be unable to be tripped over.

By the time Tubbo returned to the deck, Noninveni was much closer. The storm was slowly closing in, too, despite the speed at which the Manhunt’s sleek form and billowing sails propelled the ship across the water. The cargo had been stored belowdecks, and the crew gathered at the railings at the front of the boat. Tubbo glanced at Dream, who gave him a reassuring smile, then joined the others.

To put it simply, the city of Noninveni was beautiful. At least, the part he could see from this far away was. The buildings closest to the docks were obscured by an assortment of boats and their sails, but as the city climbed further up the small mountain it was built next to, the buildings began to be made of white quartz, various high-quality types of stone, and what looked like gold, instead of basic stone and wood. The building highest up the gentle incline seemed to be the palace, or possibly the city hall. It was the largest and most opulent, with what looked like a huge garden and intricate but sturdy architecture that looked like it could hold off a siege and still look just as exquisite.

I can’t imagine anyone actually living there. Yes, the building was beautiful, but this very quality seemed to make it inhospitable. Maybe George didn’t like living there. He hoped he didn’t. Like father, like son, and though Dream was certainly no saint, he wouldn’t kill such an important person without reason. Right?

“I know you all want to burn the image of that city into your minds, but we’ll be at the port in a little over two minutes! Get to your docking stations!” Sapnap bellowed, needing to yell as the wind often snatched away quieter voices. The rest of the crew dispersed, and Tubbo turned to join them, but Dream, a master at approaching quietly, put a hand on his shoulder.

“Normally I’d want you getting the ropes ready and all that, but even though you technically aren’t wanted for anything and I doubt the guards know your face, I want you off the boat as soon as possible so they don’t connect you with the Manhunt. I’d feel more comfortable knowing you don’t have hundreds of city patrols itching for the chance to put a crossbow bolt through your back. As soon as we get close to the dock, you need to get out of the area.”

“I understand.” Unusually for a return to land, the mood on the ship was slightly apprehensive, and the tension crackled through Tubbo, weighing him down like the cloak on his shoulders and the coin purse that Dream dropped with a clink into his hand.

“Use it as you see fit, but try not to blow through the money. It might take a few days before you can return to the ship. Come on, let’s head over to the side. We’re almost there—”

The city loomed above the Manhunt as the captain returned the other’s sudden and slightly crushing hug. Over Dream’s shoulder, Tubbo watched the harbor grow swiftly closer, but as soon as he felt the soft shudder of the ship slowing down as it was suddenly stopped by its hasty ties to the pier, he pulled away from the embrace and vaulted over the low railing, hastily pulling up his cloak’s hood.

Tubbo didn’t dare to look back before the ground had changed from planks to narrow streets, and then to a wide-open plaza. Fuck. Where the hell was he? Noninveni had seemed so clearly laid out from the sea, but this was overwhelming.

Carts rattled across the cobble-paved streets, the horses pulling them seemingly unbothered by the crush of people in the square. Everywhere he looked, the city was bustling with life: every assortment of people lined its streets. Vendors were yelling at anyone and everyone to buy their fresh fish, merchants selling imported goods, pickpockets roaming the crowd. And all of them seemed to be looking at him, boring holes through his cloak to the pouch of coins, to the enchanted dagger, to the clothes that no doubt marked him as a pirate.

There were four guards, stationed on the other side of the plaza. Not the harmless sort, either: iron and diamond armor, with glinting swords and crossbows slung over their back and a full quiver of arrows and—

Tubbo could swear one of them looked right at him, the leader of the patrol as well. Dream’s old lessons ran through his head again. Don’t act suspicious. If you run, they’ll know you have something to hide. Somehow, he managed to keep his feet anchored to the ground out of sheer willpower. His breath caught in his throat as another soldier ran up to the sentries. The messenger said something to them, but Tubbo couldn’t hear it over the suddenly deafening noise of the crowd.

There were five of them, now, and the crowd parted—despite its significant size—quickly parted to let them through as they burst into a run. Straight towards him. That same force that had kept him rooted to the ground with fear didn’t abate until a hand grabbed his wrist and pulled him safely into the crowd.

Tubbo stumbled back, out of the way of the guards. They rushed right past him, back the way he had come. The person who had dragged him out of the way gave him a grin and pushed his floppy blond hair out of his face.

“Careful big man, wouldn’t want to get run over by the city guards, would you?” he laughed. “You must have just gotten here. Everyone else knows to get out of their way when there's somewhere they need to get. Are you all right?”

Though Tubbo was only a little below the average height, this kid towered over him. He was obviously a noble or at least the son of a rich merchant, judging by the fancy jacket and boots he was dressed in. Why would someone like him care about Tubbo? In most cities, people weren’t as nice. Maybe this guy was just sheltered.

“Hey, you okay?” The blond waved his hand in front of Tubbo’s face. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he answered, still slightly dazed. “Just lost. I’m trying to get to the palace, could you just point me in the right direction? I’m Tubbo, by the way.”

His rescuer shaded his eyes and looked in the direction of the beginning-to-set sun. “Yeah, it’s just that way. But I’ll take you there.” He held out a hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tommy Noninveni.”

Chapter Text

“I’m Tommy Noninveni.”

Tubbo stared at Tommy’s outstretched hand, doing nothing. Of all the people to run into, fate shoved him into the damn prince? Whose father Tubbo’s adoptive brother had poisoned and stabbed? “Why are you even here? Isn’t it dangerous?” he asked, thinking of something, anything, that would make his disbelief seem more normal.

Tommy snorted. “No, it’s fine. No one cares about younger sons except as a backup. And I’m more useful in the city anyway, as you have just witnessed. You’re welcome.” His words weren’t particularly kind, but he said them in a joking tone that implied no true ill will. “Come on, let’s get you to the palace.”

“Thank you,” Tubbo replied, struggling to keep up with the fast pace of his new friend as he confidently led Tubbo off of the main road and into the less-packed side roads. The buildings seemed to hang over the narrower streets, creating a significantly greater amount of shade—and more than a bit of claustrophobia, as well.

“You’re used to the ocean, aren’t you,” Tommy commented. “Spend a lot of time on ships?”

Tubbo walked faster, eager to get out of the vice-like grip the narrow space between the buildings seemed to have on him. “Is it really that obvious?”

The blond shrugged, easily keeping up with him. “Not particularly. Don’t worry, Big T. It’s just that my brother’s friend is the same way.” Tubbo had to stifle a laugh. Five minutes into befriending the person he should be enemies with, he already had a nickname. Maybe it was for the better that he had run into Tommy, though: getting an audience with George was bound to be easier if he was with the other prince. How Tommy would react, though, when he found out which ship Tubbo spent so much time on, might be a different story.

“Who’s your brother’s friend?” Tubbo asked. Any information I can get out of this guy might end up being useful. As he queried the prince, the street began to widen, lessening the pressure between his shoulder blades somewhat.

“Oh, his name’s Wilbur. Wilbur Soot? If you’re a sailor, you’ll probably have heard of him. He’s the captain of the Elytra.”

Tubbo had heard of Wilbur Soot, all right. He had heard a damn lot about him and his Elytra. Of all the Totem-damned bounty hunter ships to try to claim the price on Dream’s head, Wilbur’s ship by far had come the closest and kept up the longest. Doggedly pursuing the Manhunt for months on end, the two ships had barely been out of bow range more than once. Before the storm had pushed Dream to dock at Noninveni, the Manhunt had had a good run of pillaging while the Elytra was in dry dock to be repaired after a lucky shot from Sapnap’s powerful enchanted bow lit a barrel of gunpowder on fire. Now, with Dream’s ship in port as well, it seemed that it might be quite a bit harder to seek haven in Noninveni.

“...Tubbo?” Tommy looked down at him, concerned. “You’re quiet. What’s wrong?”

Tubbo scrambled for a lie, a skill that Dream had drilled into him so many times one came naturally. “I was trying to remember if I’ve seen the Elytra.”

“Well, she’s being repaired at the moment”—Tubbo smirked behind his cowl at Tommy’s look of sadness—“but she’s not hard to miss: weird gray sails and super fast, with lots of gold at the prow so it can ram pirate corsairs.” Corsairs like the Manhunt? Maybe the Elytra technically has the capability, but our ship’s faster anyway. Dream could dance circles around Wilbur any day.

Tubbo pretended to be dredging up memories for a moment. “I think that sounds familiar. Isn't the Elytra always chasing around some ship though? I think it was the Manhunt or something.”

The two emerged out into an open-air courtyard, a stark contrast from the dark alleys Tommy had navigated Tubbo through. Beyond the courtyard were the palace gates, then the gleaming building itself. Despite the view, either from the reminder of the Manhunt’s easy evasion of his brother’s favorite hunter ship or the mention of the ship itself, Tommy’s eyebrows furrowed. This time, it was Tubbo’s turn to innocently ask the question, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh. Nothing, just the sun in my eyes. It’s bright, innit?” Tommy had obviously not been taught to lie by someone like Dream: his words came out oddly rushed, and he suddenly looked away from the other boy.

Tubbo nodded, grateful for the change in subject. Just because he had been taught how to lie didn't mean he liked actually doing it. “It really is. Good thing the palace is right there, huh?”

“Yeah. Come on, let’s get inside. It really is kind of cold out here. I’ll race you to the gates!” Tommy broke into a run immediately after finishing talking, leaving Tubbo to catch up. The prince may have had the advantage of longer legs and a head start, but he quickly couldn’t keep up with the other’s training. The wind yanked Tubbo’s hood off his head as he sped by his opponent with a mocking salute. Maybe being trained by… No, maybe being only half-jokingly threatened by an armed pyromaniac to sprint laps around the ship at the ass crack of dawn is coming in handy for once. In the end, the race wasn’t even close. Tubbo lightly tapped the netherite fencing, barely out of breath, and it took a good six seconds for Tommy to slam into the bars at an uncomfortable second place.

After taking multiple panting breaths, the loser grumbled between gasps of air, “Undying Totem, how the hell are you so short but still so fast?”

“Maybe all that fine clothing just gets in the way. I couldn’t tell if you were tripping over your cape or your legs more,” Tubbo laughed. Tommy responded with a good-natured punch in the shoulder, but then his eyes widened.

“Hey, Tubbo, you’re a ram hybrid?”

Tubbo self-consciously reached up to the sides of his head, where small horns poked out of his hair and were beginning to curl around his ears. “I- Yeah. Please don’t call the guards, I promise the superstitions aren’t true!” The Manhunt was obviously accepting towards hybrids, treating Tubbo and multiple other crew members no differently than their human friends, but many other places were far more hostile, viewing hybrids as ill omens and setting laws that discriminated against those with animal features. Though it was most common for hybrids to inherit their features from a hybrid mother or father, those born to human couples were viewed as curses from the Foolish god and killed or abandoned—like Tubbo was.

He must have looked desperate, because Tommy put up a steadying hand, looking horrified as he tried to calm down the spooked brunet. “Of course I’m not going to get you arrested! Hybrids are treated no differently than non-hybrids here! I just said it because I thought they were cool. Please, I’m not a bad person.”

Tubbo looked away, embarrassed despite Tommy’s clarification. “I’m sorry. I overreacted.”

“Nonono, it’s fine. Don’t worry. I promise no one will hurt you. Oh, Sam’s here!” Tommy sped up as they walked towards the open gates into the palace, guarded by two wardens. Tommy waved to the one on the left, grinning at him. “Hey, Sam!”

The guard waved back, going from stoic to cheerful. “Hi, Tommy.” Though he was in heavy, enchanted netherite armor and wore a mask over the lower half of his face, Tubbo noticed with a start that the man was a creeper hybrid. Holy shit, Tommy’s not wrong. In some places, it was almost unheard of for even the most harmless hybrid to be allowed to carry a weapon, especially a supposedly ‘volatile’ one like a creeper hybrid, but here this royal guard was, wearing full netherite and carrying a huge trident. It was a welcome change, and Tubbo gave Sam a large grin as he passed by.

“You really aren’t wrong,” Tubbo breathed in wonder as he glanced over his shoulder at the two sentries. Tommy had a satisfied smile on his face when Tubbo looked back at him. “Sorry, this is just really strange for me. Strange but nice.”

If Tubbo thought the outside of the palace was beautiful, the inside was beyond words. The vaulted ceilings were set with diamond chandeliers or accented with gold and glowstone. Cutting a path through the marble floor and covering a grand set of stairs was an opulent blue carpet thick and soft enough to completely muffle the sound of the two sets of boots treading on it. Finally, the walls were covered with portraits of Noninveni rulers and warriors and their conquests and achievements. And Tommy acted like it was all completely normal. Well, he grew up here. I guess for him, all this is commonplace.

Tommy was obviously giving time for Tubbo to absorb the scenery, as at the foot of the stairs he asked, “So, what brings you to the palace. Not literally. I was the one taking you here. I guess what I mean is, why did you want to come here?”

Tubbo shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I need to talk to your brother. It’s a bit time-sensitive,” he said cautiously, feeling out of place in the uncomfortably opulent atrium.

“Okay! I do have to warn you, you sadly can’t take any weapons into the room. Do you have any? I can hold them for you!” Tommy was awfully energetic for someone talking about objects mainly used for killing people. Besides, Tubbo wasn’t quite ready to give him the dagger, especially since it wasn’t even his, and Tommy already had an enchanted rapier strapped to his belt. It looked high-level, too, but Tubbo wasn’t quite sure.

“Yeah, just a dagger,” Tubbo replied nonchalantly. The prince visibly deflated.

“That’s it?” he whined. “You seem like the type of person to carry a cool sword, especially with the name Big T. Oh well, follow me.”

“Tommy, I think you were the one who called me Big T,” the other laughed. “I guess you should be called that, though, with that oversized, glowy toothpick hanging off your belt.” They went up the left side of the stairs, where more Noninveni ancestors silently looked at Tubbo, seeming to judge him. I guess this place is seriously throwing me off if I’m imagining the stares of some long-dead bigots.

“I like the sound of that. Big T and Big T, best friends forever,” Tommy said with a grin. “And it’s not a toothpick, thank you very much.” They neared the end of the wide hallway where a huge door waited, guarded by another two soldiers. Well, not quite a door. There was a doorframe, yes, but it had glowing runes etched into it, the same type drawn on objects to enchant them. And instead of a door, there was a translucent something. Whatever it was, he wasn’t sure, but it was slightly sickening to look into its shifting colors. Tubbo added it to the mental list of the things he had never seen before today.

“Please hand over any weapons before entering the throne room.” The guard’s tone was unthreatening, but his demonic appearance easily made up for it. Almost seven feet tall with a set of jet-black horns, glowing eyes, and a faint halo of light around his head, he carried an arsenal of weapons, all enchanted, and wore netherite armor. To his side, a cubby was built into the wall where a few more weapons rested, presumably confiscated or property of current visitors.

“Bad, can I take my weapon in? Come on, big man. Just once.” Tommy gave the guard—Bad—a grin, something the prince tossed around easily. He seems to know the names of all the guards, Tubbo noted.

Bad crossed his arms, but Tommy’s pleading smile seemed to convince him. “It’s against protocol, but okay. Don’t tell your brother. Oh, and your friend here still has to check his weapons with me.” He turned to Tubbo, glowing eyes shining like lamps. “Do you need me to explain the scanner to you? I don’t remember you visiting before.”

“Yes, please.” Tubbo couldn’t tell if he was purely interested in what the portal-like doorway was, or if a small part of him just wanted to know in case it would come in handy someday. Either way, he wanted to hear.

“Well,” Bad started. “I’m not sure how exactly the mechanics and runes of it work, but it detects weapons. You’ll need to walk through it to get to the throne room. If it does catch a weapon, an alarm will sound and it’ll teleport you to a prison cell in the Vault. Otherwise, you can just walk right through it with nothing but a bit of nausea. It’s unavoidable but usually, people don’t notice it after the first few times. So, weapons please, if you have them?”

Not particularly wanting to end up in prison over a dagger, Tubbo pulled out the dagger and handed it to Bad. Both the guard and Tommy’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Holy shit,” Tommy murmured.

Bad was more composed, if only by a slim margin. “Thank you. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s safe. There’s a lot of people who would kill to own something like that. You’re, uh, welcome to go through the scanner now, unless you have any other weapons.” Tubbo already keenly missed the comfortable weight of Dream’s dagger at his side, but it was worth giving up for a few minutes to talk with George. Tommy stepped through the scanner first, leaving nothing but a ripple in the colors, and a second later, after he worked up the small amount of courage to enter, Tubbo took a step through the portal.

Hues no one should be able to see flashed in front of Tubbo’s eyes as he felt like he had just stepped off the edge of a cliff. Then, the sensation was over—mostly. He doubled over, suppressing the urge to vomit on the marble floor, as he stumbled and nearly fell. It didn’t help that Tommy immediately began basically shooting words at him. Either he was talking quite loudly, or the scanner was continuing to impress its side effects on him. Probably both.

“That's not ‘just a dagger’. I don’t know how you got something like that, Big T, you lucky bastard, but damn. No, but actually, why do you have it? What do you even need something like that for? It’s complete overkill.” The nausea wore off, and it seemed that Tommy was really just being emphatic, though maybe a little less than before.

Tubbo began to explain in the least incriminating way he could think of. It still came out bad. “Basically, I haven’t been in a city by myself for a while, and I haven’t been in Noninveni for a very long time. My older brother is, well, a bit overprotective, so he taught me how to use a weapon and lent me this dagger.”

Tommy didn’t relent. “Still, why does he have an item like that? What enchantments does it even have? How in the name of the Foolish God do you even get such a powerful weapon? Holy fuck! Is he-”

“Tommy! Don’t be so rude!”

The silence was deafening.

There had been soft chatter coming from the back of the room, but it had stopped as soon as the person had shouted, whoever he was. It must be the older son, George Noninveni, right? No one else would talk to an heir like that. Tubbo looked towards where the yell came from, and saw everyone staring at him and Tommy. Including the king.

George sat on a gold, lapis, and obsidian throne, and though it didn’t look rather comfortable, he was lounging in the chair like he owned it. Tubbo supposed he did. Tommy, as a prince, was of course dressed regally, but the king looked like he could buy an entire country with the finery he was wearing: a white and blue cape trimmed with fur and clasped by precious gems, the damn fanciest dress shirt Tubbo had ever seen, embroidered black pants, and leather boots with gold buckles, and a crown of sapphires and lapis. Not to mention the various rings and chains he had on, and the enchanted netherite sword that shone even more powerfully than Dream’s dagger.

“...I’m sorry.” Tommy’s apology was quiet but seemed to carry across the room to his brother, as George’s gaze softened and he went back to talking to an array of people at the foot of the dais his throne stood on.

“I’m sorry about that,” Tubbo offered. ”It was my fault.”

His friend looked miffed at the scolding he had taken from George, but his expression quickly bounced back to a smile. “No, it’s mine. George is just an ass sometimes. He doesn’t really mean it.” He laughed. “Come on, let’s go talk to my brother.”

Instead of baleful Noninvenis, arched windows lined the walls, casting the afternoon sun into the room and providing natural light. It seemed that the Noninveni flag was light blue, with two white circles connected by a white line and a smaller black circle inside each white one, as the pattern was repeated on various banners hanging from the walls and ceiling.

The other visitors quickly quieted again as Tommy, followed by Tubbo, made his way to the edge of the dais. The only exception was a crow hybrid in green standing next to George, who continued quietly talking to him. “That’s Philza Soot. Everyone just calls him Phil, though. He’s Wilbur’s father and advisor to George,” Tommy muttered to Tubbo. Somehow, I never actually imagined Wilbur having parents. He always just seemed as if he just arbitrarily popped out of the Void one day, fully grown and stubborn as all hell.

“I apologize about the welcome, Tommy,” George said with a wry smile after Phil had finished his sentence. “But it’s not so polite to talk so loudly, especially if you’re cursing and I’m trying to negotiate a trade deal. I suppose what’s said had already been said, though. So, what do you need?”

“Oh, I just brought him here.” As Tommy pointed to him, Tubbo once again felt the room’s attention. “He says he needs to talk to you, though.”

The king looked like he wanted to sigh, and Tubbo was a little surprised he didn’t. “Say it, then. I’m here.” George sounded tired. On the other hand, the neon butterflies in Tubbo’s stomach burst from their chrysalises, flapping frantically and fearfully like the only thing holding them in was the shirt he wore. Their fragile wings scattered the lessons Dream had taught him about charisma and negotiation and left Tubbo piecing together the request alone.

“As a citizen born in Noninveni, I was sent ashore to represent the corsair Manhunt,” Tubbo started, ignoring the gasps that echoed through the chamber. “As the only crew member legally allowed into the city, Dream wanted me to ask you to let him into Noninveni so he can negotiate some sort of peace with you.”

Tommy was staring at Tubbo with an expression somewhere between disbelief, anger, and shock, and his rapier was halfway unsheathed. Phil looked like he had seen a ghost, with his wings involuntarily spread in some unconscious fear response. George looked even paler than he was earlier, and he was sitting up straight, far from bored now. When he finally spoke, the king’s voice was cautious and clear, probing for information. “You can’t be any older than seventeen. How do you even know that felon? He’s been convicted of hundreds of crimes, including at least ten confirmed cases of murder. What are you doing, cavorting around with him?”

“Dream saved me when I was a child. That felon is my brother.”

The room erupted into chaos.

Chapter Text

“Silence!” George roared, slamming the point of his sword into the wood of the platform. “Guards, I order you to stand down. Escort the trade delegation out of the room.” No one moved. In the back of his mind, Tubbo was aware of dozens of crossbow bolts.

“Now!”

The others were hurried out of the room. It was now just two armed and angry royals, a spooked crow man, and Tubbo.

Phil was the first to speak. “George, by the Foolish God, if you let that bastard take a single step into this city, you cannot hold my sons responsible for any actions they might take.” He took a deep breath, forcing his wings to their natural resting place against his back. Tubbo could swear the hybrid nearly shook with the effort to keep his feathers from puffing out again.

“Quiet, Phil. Please. I… I just need a second,” the king replied, eyes locked on the sword planted in front of him as if it was the only thing stopping him from yelling for the guards to come back and execute Tubbo where he stood.

Tommy stayed silent, the blond’s shaking, white-knuckled grip on his unsheathed rapier speaking for him: Tell me why I shouldn’t just kill you now. I trusted you, Tubbo. Tubbo could feel the anger radiating off the prince. It was a shit thing to do, use Tommy like that, but it wasn’t just using him. Right? Tubbo was loyal to Dream and the Manhunt, but he didn’t want to lose Tommy as a friend because he omitted a few details.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt any of you. I promise I won’t.” Tubbo’s heart ran ahead of his head. He regretted nothing.

Tommy’s voice was bitter as he spoke. “Swear it.”

“What?”

“Swear it on the Undying God. Make an oath to the Totem of Death that you will do anything in your power to keep me and George from being hurt by your scheming weapon of a brother. Not. A single. Scratch.”

“Tommy!” George interrupted, leaning forward, as Phil looked on silently. “You realize what you’re saying, right? Oaths sworn to the Undying Totem are binding. If Tubbo breaks his oath, you’ll have his blood on your hands.” As if punctuating his words, the first rumbles of the storm sweeping into the city echoed through the room as rain began to violently batter the windows. Lightning lit up the others’ faces and flashed off of the two enchanted weapons.

“No. It’s fine. I’ll make an oath to the Totem, to whatever the fuck you want me to. I want to make reparations, okay? I don’t want to cause harm!” Tubbo had to raise his voice to be heard over the suddenly angry sky. He looked out the windows. “I make an oath to the Undying Totem, the Foolish God himself, that I will do anything and everything in my power to prevent my brother or myself from hurting either Tommy Noninveni or George Noninveni with the intent to cause harm.”

The responding clap of thunder roared through the building, shaking the room and sending shards of rainbow light across the four as the accompanying fork of lightning lit the room brighter than day.

“So it’s settled. Tommy, Tubbo, Phil. We’re going back to the docks to tell the guards there to let him pass. The others will have to stay. Understood?” George stood up from the throne, stepping off the dais. Phil didn’t move, instead letting out a deep sign and rubbing his eyes.

“Go, George. I’m not prepared for this yet. I’ll find a messenger to inform the rest of the guards and try to calm down the delegates. And take Sam and Bad with you, won’t you? They’re the two most experienced wardens on duty right now, and you’re not going into the city alone,” the avian hybrid instructed.

“Thank you, Phil,” the king replied wearily. “I’ll try not to forget.” George reached over and tugged his sword out of the wood. “Shit, I’ll have to get that fixed later,” he muttered to himself.

Leaving the advisor behind, the other three stepped back through the portal. Tubbo managed to hide his nausea this time around, as George explained the situation to Bad. The guard gave Tubbo Dream’s dagger back, then picked up his own arsenal and fell in line with the others. The presence of the knife at his side was oddly reassuring, as if Dream was right there next to him. As they followed the king down the stairs, Tommy slowed down to stay next to the other boy.

“Look, I’m sorry about what happened. You didn’t have to swear that oath. I shouldn’t have forced it on you and I overreacted. I really hope you’re not too mad.” The remorse on the prince’s face was genuine, and Tubbo couldn’t help but forgive him.

“As I said earlier: it’s all right, and I’m not mad at all,” Tubbo reassured his hopefully-still-friend. “Besides, even if I hadn’t sworn it, I would still stop Dream from stabbing you or some shit. Not that I would need to. He doesn’t want to hurt either of you, so it’s not a big deal.” He paused for a second. “Hey, we’re still friends, right?”

The other’s face slowly shifted towards a smile as they continued walking. “Of course. And either way, thanks, big man. Just think of all the shit we’ll get up to while George is preoccupied with negotiations with your brother.” The other hummed affirmatively, but was silent for a moment. Tommy looked at him questioningly. After a second of hesitation, Tubbo spit out the question that had been bothering him. “You seem awfully unbothered by the fact the brother of your father’s killer is your new best friend. Why?”

Tommy glanced away.

Tubbo didn't press the subject, and the silence hung between them. As the group trudged out of the palace into the open air, all thoughts involving anything but the howling storm they were caught in were soon pushed away.

Despite Dream’s heavy cloak and its hood, by the time the five reached the port sector of Noninveni, Tubbo was soaked and frozen to the bone. Water dripped off of his eyelashes, turning his vision into barely more than a sea of muted colors. He had given up on trying to wipe the rain away, as every drop he managed to clear off his face was replaced by what seemed like at least sixty more. Annoyingly, it appeared that Sam and Bad were having no trouble seeing or navigating the city. At least George and Tommy seemed to be having the same problem as the ram hybrid, though, as Tubbo was nearly tripped over by the blond and his brother multiple times.

“That’s your ship, right?” Sam didn’t stop but pointed to a vaguely ivory swatch of color in the middle of multiple other ivory blobs. Tubbo rubbed his eyes, clearing the water for a moment. The ship was far away and blocked by other sails and buildings, but it was the Manhunt, probably. After all, what other ship would have a legion of guards surrounding it?

“Sadly, I believe so,” George answered bitterly before Tubbo could decide on an answer he was a hundred percent sure of. The king glanced at him. “Is it?”

Tubbo nodded. “I didn’t realize you’d seen it before, sir.” He wasn’t used to saying the honorific, as Dream disliked anything of that sort, but it wouldn’t hurt to ingratiate himself further with the most powerful person in the city. However, a scoff could be heard behind him.

“Yes, sir, there’s my evil little pirate brother and his evil little pirate ship, sir,” Tommy teased mockingly, taking a long stride to catch up to the brunet. “Why don’t you call me sir, Big T?”

Tubbo sent an elbow to his ribs in return, sending the tall-but-featherweight boy stumbling. “Alright.” He pointedly left a pause after the sentence, highlighting the lack of a sir. “Maybe if you could actually beat me in a fight, you’ll get a sir in front of my sentences. No Your Royal Highness for you either. The only high thing about you is how tall you are.”

“I could easily punt you into the harbor. I slipped because the stones were wet, anyway,” Tommy scoffed, attempting to bodyslam his friend. However, he hit nothing but thin air, and ended up being the one flailing across the cobble: Tubbo had dashed forward, letting the prince stumble. “Dickhead,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Just wait. I’ll fight you and I’ll kick your ass. Soon.”

“Your Majesty! What are you doing here! It’s unsafe. There are multiple armed felons on that ship—as well as Dream himself!” The leader of the patrol from the square ran up to their group rather hastily, crossbow loaded with a wickedly barbed arrow. Dream shot through the back, floating dead in the water. Blood leaking out of Sapnap’s mouth and the hole in his side as he stared forward, seeing nothing. And one new thought. Tommy looking at Tubbo accusingly as he clutched the arrow in his chest: “You did this.” Tubbo shuddered: the cold that had been forgotten since he and the blond began to joke around was beginning to dig its claws back into his spine.

George’s exhausted voice hooked onto Tubbo and dragged him out of his mind. “Maybe I'm here to see the Manhunt, the armed felons, and even Dream himself,” the king replied to the soldier, exasperated. George took a deep breath, apparently trying to calm himself down after his harsh tone. "I'm here to talk to the captain of the Manhunt and invite him to the palace to personally negotiate. My friend here knows Dream and made an Oath to keep me out of any harm here. I even have elite guards here. I promise you, I will be fine. Please dismiss the patrols here, they could be better used somewhere else and there is now no need for them here. Oh, and waive the Manhunt's docking fee."

The patrol leader gaped, not knowing what to do. He glanced first at Sam and Bad, then to Tubbo. He can't hurt me here. So, instead of looking away, Tubbo held the guard's gaze, unblinking and perfectly still as thunder rolled through the sky.

The soldier was the first to look away.

He mumbled an excuse and began to relay George's orders to his subordinates. Slowly, the guards began to disperse, shadows and whispers slipping away through the grey haze of rain. Only the five were left: the crews of the surrounding ships were wise enough to either avoid the rain or the attention of the spooked armed forces right next to them.

The king spoke. "Tubbo, as you're the only one here who knows Dream, it would probably be for the best if you were to explain the situation to him on the ship rather than risking our lives over a misunderstanding."

"Okay, sir." Tubbo studied the ship looming in the water as it kept vigil at the end of the dock. Please, O almighty king, let me think for a second. You're, what, twice my age? That's seventeen years more of figuring out what the hell you're supposed to do than me. As Tubbo stepped uneasily forward, the Manhunt's oddest detail showed itself through the rain. Its familiar gray-planked hull was a warning and a welcome, the second reserved for Dream only. He had just shown up one day with it, Quackity had said. Even Sapnap had admitted to a younger and more fearful Tubbo that the ship made him uneasy. The Manhunt, on the darker nights where Tubbo could see no sky out the window, crackled with static in the oddly still air. Even on those days in the middle of July where the sun was high and the temperature even more so, when he touched the planks and rails they were always, always cold.

Tubbo glanced back at the others one last time. George and Sam’s expressions were carefully neutral, but both Bad and Tommy were less skilled at keeping their emotions masked. Bad was looking anywhere but Tubbo and the ship, and though the hybrid wasn’t exactly close, he could have sworn the demon’s torch-like eyes were glowing with a visibly diminished light. On the other hand, Tommy looked directly at Tubbo with a slight grin: it was somewhere between a challenge and reassurance, in a way. Tubbo gave him a nervous smile back, then looked back at the Manhunt.

Great, of course they took the ladder. It wasn’t exactly a problem, but it certainly was an annoyance. Tubbo took a few steps back, then inhaled sharply as he vaulted over the side of the ship, the comfortably worn rail providing a familiar grip.

The boy hadn’t even touched down on the other side before being very generously provided a knee to the stomach. “It’s me,” he managed to choke out, and the knife at his throat eased, its wielder looking nearly as shocked as Tubbo was sure he did. Sapnap’s eyes were wide as he looked down at his crew member, coughing for breath and lying flat on the floor.

“Tubbo! Shit! I thought you were one of those guard bastards. I’m so sorry!” The first mate offered him a hand, which Tubbo gratefully took. Sapnap yanked him off the floor easily as well as more than a little roughly, and he winced. “Oh. Sorry,” Sapnap apologized for the second time. “God. You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

Tubbo rubbed his knuckles, both his hand and shoulder in slight pain from the first mate’s always surprising strength. “You almost gave me one too, Snapmap.” He earned a raised eyebrow for using the other’s hated nickname, but it was suitable revenge for his left arm. “I arrive back to the ship bringing the entire ruling family, and you congratulate me by kicking me and nearly cutting my head off? Just wait, I’ll get you back.”

Sapnap began to scoff, abruptly stopped so quickly he coughed, and finally went silent after violently pounding his own chest a few times. “Damn,” the first mate croaked, coughing one last time then managing to finish his thought. “Almost choked there. Would you mind repeating that second-to-last sentence? I don’t think I heard you right.”

“You heard me just fine, dickhead.” Tubbo laughed. “Where’s Dream? Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to banter, but I need to talk to you two. I’d rather not tell the story twice if that’s okay.”

Sapnap shrugged. “Hey, I’m down for business as soon as you are—and when there’s no one to joke around with. Dream’s downstairs. We’d better go, every second you’re gone the man seems to get closer to massacring the guards outside.”

“Oh, they're gone. George sent them away.”

“Of course he did.”

As the two went down the stairs, Tubbo was ambushed for the second time in as many minutes, this time by a worried, 6’3” felon. “Dream!” he yelped as his brother practically tackled him with a flying hug. Sapnap looked on, quietly laughing, and Tubbo gave him a rude hand sign before hugging Dream back.

“So, how did it go?” Dream let go of Tubbo, scrutinizing him for any scrapes or cuts. “You're soaked,” he continued plainly.

Tubbo put on a joking air of humility. “Oh, I didn't do much. I only got the king of Noninveni and his younger brother to wait outside the ship for you. I could be wrong, but the king even offered to waive a tiny little thing called a docking fee? And I really don't know, but I could swear he was ready to negotiate and it didn't even take much convincing to let me and you go into the city-”

“Oh, Tubbo!” Dream laughed, the first true laugh without some kind of stress invisibly weighing down the captain's shoulders in a long time. “Undying Totem, how the hell did you manage that?”

Tubbo suddenly couldn't meet his brother's eyes. “I, uh, funny you should say that. The Totem actually did have something to do with it.” At this point, Tubbo was getting used to the long silences after he said something he had 'forgot' to mention until then. And just like that, the other two's faces fell.

“…You didn't,” Sapnap stated in flat-out disbelief. The first mate looked over at Dream, hoping beyond hope that the captain wasn't missing something that he might be. But Tubbo knew they were both thinking the same thing. Guilt pressed in on him, the small room seeming even more so. I'm sorry, Dream. It had to be done.

“Tubbo, you're joking, right?” Dream seemed to be floundering for an explanation. So much for that carefree moment.

“No. I'm not. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. It wasn't a bad Oath, even. I just have to do 'anything and everything in my power to prevent my brother or myself from hurting either Tommy Noninveni or George Noninveni with the intent to cause harm.’ ”

The two stared at him, aghast. It was almost funny how many times Tubbo had made people speechless today, and he had to fight down a rogue giggle. Not the time, Tubbo. Dream finally spoke, absentmindedly fidgeting with a plain iron knife: “Not bad? I'm not going to go right up to George or Tommy and just stab them, but I like to keep my options open. I guess it's not the worst, but don't you think that any promise that, if broken, would cause a literal deity to smite my brother is certainly not ideal! Dammit, Tubbo!”

“Just don't attack them. I didn't think you would anyway, or I wouldn't have agreed to make an Oath. I'm not sure what George has done, but Tommy certainly doesn't seem to be deserving of a Dream-related death. Probably George too,” he added as an afterthought.

Dream sighed and put the knife back, then theatrically sunk his head into his hands. “Tubbo, Tubbo. Tubbo. Please don't tell me you're now friends with the prince of Noninveni.” He left his brother briefly scrambling for an explanation, but the captain soon continued, speaking his thoughts aloud. “Oh, no, that's actually good. Disregard that earlier bit, Tubbo. If you're friends with George's younger brother, that means he'll be less likely to just throw me in prison if in his eyes I demand something unreasonable. God, I send you out into the city, worrying you'll be captured or even killed, and you come back to me, bringing George and a new best friend who just happens to be named Prince Tommy Inis Noninveni. And Sapnap, you're in control of the Manhunt when I'm ashore, as usual.”

Always the voice of reason, Sapnap began to speak before Dream could regurgitate more thoughts. "Okay. Dream, I don't particularly mind when you just talk in a stream of unfiltered consciousness, but you don't want to keep them waiting.” He gestured through the wall in the vague direction of Sam, Bad, and the royals. “I'll catch the crew up on what's happening, and draft a list of the supplies we need. Now go.”

Sapnap managed to shoo the two up onto the deck after Dream grabbed a few things from his room. Of course, the first mate carefully managed to not get caught in the rain himself, and Tubbo heard the slight click of the trapdoor's lock mechanism engaging. Dream had a key, but the sound still felt final in a way.

“Well, shall we go confront some Noninvenis, then?” Dream laughed. “After you.” Tubbo jumped onto the dock in answer. Dream landed lightly behind his brother, his black cloak billowing behind him, unsoaked yet. Tubbo looked back at the captain and noticed something with a start.

“Hey, Dream? Why are you wearing your mask?”

“I have...history with George. It's best if I wear it, I think. I'd rather he not see my face.” Dream's voice wasn't muffled, despite the white porcelain covering his face. The mask was inscribed with a basic black smiley face, and between it and Dream's black hood, all his head was covered. Tubbo had seen his brother in the mask many times, but it always made him slightly uncomfortable. Besides, the excuse he used was new. Usually, Dream would say that it was safer if people didn't know what he looked like, as a wanted poster with a simple smile on it was far less identifying than a specific face.

They got closer to the others waiting, and the guards' hands went to their weapons. Unneeded, but okay. George smiled. Tubbo couldn't tell if it was a facade or not. The king took a breath as if steeling himself for a confrontation, but the words out of his mouth were perfectly pleasant.

“Well, Dream. It's good to finally meet you.”

Chapter Text

Tubbo sat on the ground, legs crossed. He had alternated between sitting positions for upward of five hours, judging by the soft moonlight pooling at his feet: it was far more than late enough for the moon to have risen all the way to shine through the tall windows. One minute, rain had been making its presence steadily known through its staccato rhythm on the glass, but just for a quiet moment, the sky over the city was calm.

“I’m so bored,” Tommy grumbled, lying facedown on the stone floor. Tubbo hummed in assent. Maybe their respective brothers were being productive in their negotiations, but the two were bored out of their minds with waiting for a break in the negotiations. A break that doesn’t seem to be anywhere remotely in sight. Tubbo yawned and stretched, absentmindedly cracking his knuckles one by one with a soft pop. "Hey, big man?" Tommy continued after the pause. "Why are we just sitting around? Can't we just go wander around Noninveni at midnight or whatever Totem-cursed time it is? There is literally nothing stopping us."

The other sighed. "Make that one thing. Dream would kill me if I went out alone, in an unfamiliar city."

"Don't worry, you won't be alone."

"What?"

"I'm coming with you of course, dumbass. I know how to fight, you know how to fight, we've both got weapons. If anyone tries to mug us, I'll just stab 'em!" Tommy gestured wildly from where he was lying down, as if trying to pierce the sky with an imaginary sword. "I'll just go tell them”—he gestured vaguely towards the door leading to the negotiations—“that we're just going to go around the city for a bit, okay? I'll give you the grand tour if you agree." There was no stopping the prince. He jumped to his feet and quickly strode across the room, opening the door to probably yell. The only yelling Tubbo could hear was from Dream, though.

"—and my history is none of your business, thank you very much! I didn't come here for you to just keep asking me your damn questions like you always have—"

George cut in, quieter but still forceful. "It was an innocent question, Dream! You just reminded me of someone I used to know, that's all!" He paused; Tommy looked back at Tubbo. The gravity of the situation was immense, but the prince's shoulders were shaking with silent laughter. George paid no attention, his previously steady voice rising. "You're so combative, you asshole! I know you'd just love to stab me for not immediately following your absolutely unreasonable demands, but I am so very sorry that killing people isn't actually how you deal with issues in the normal world!"

“You’re an idiot, George! Why would I want to stab you—”

Tommy closed the door and absolutely lost it, nearly choking on his own laughter. Tubbo, for his part, couldn’t contain himself anymore and began nearly crying. “Oh-oh my god,” he hiccuped between bursts of laughter. “Why was that s-so fucking funny?”

“I’ve got no idea,” Tommy gasped, attempting to steady himself with a few deep breaths. It didn’t work. Every time they looked at each other, their fits of giggles would deny any attempt to be stifled, setting the other off on a fresh bout of laughter. “I’ve never seen George get yelled at before, please thank Dream for me.” The prince choked a laugh down. “I’ve got tears in my eyes.”

“So much f-for politely informing them about our plan!” Tubbo could barely get the sentence out. He took a cautious, shuddering breath in, and let a similarly shaky one out. Calm. He continued repeating the breathing until both their laughter was somewhat under control, which didn’t take very long after Tommy noticed and replicated the success Tubbo was having at composing himself. He exhaled one last time, then got to his feet. “Well. You promised me that grand tour, didn’t you?”

“Of course, Big T. I guess it’s good we’ve been up waiting for so long—there was no way I’d be able to slip through the guards twice in one day, but now that it’s night, they mainly focus on keeping everything out, rather than us in.”

However, the more Tubbo thought about it, the more he began to doubt agreeing to Tommy’s plot. “Well, just make the tour quick, alright? As quick as a tour of an entire city can be, that is. Your brother and mine may be preoccupied, but Dream isn't only good for putting kings in their place. He is also skilled at the art of tracking me down and overbearingly scolding me when I do things he thinks I might get stabbed doing.” He realized he was picking at the skin next to his nails, a subconscious habit he had picked up from Dream, and stopped. Tubbo had been attempting—and failing—to break the habit for quite a long time now, and it had mostly gone, but often doubt or anxiety still brought red or bloodied fingers.

“Got it: not a word will get out of my lips about this little escapade in front of either of our brothers. Your secret is very safe. I am a big man and I would never do something like that. Now let’s go. Let’s just be quiet.” Tommy began shepherding Tubbo through various labyrinthine passages. Even if the latter had a sense of direction, a map of the palace, or a ball of string, he still would have been utterly lost. However, Tommy managed to navigate the convoluted mess of halls and rooms without fail. In the huge amount of rooms the prince lead Tubbo through, they only caught a glimpse of one guard.

“You really are right, there are barely any guards inside,” Tubbo breathed, his voice barely even loud enough to count as a whisper. Tommy shook his head, looking back at him.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I’m just really quite good at avoiding them. I’ve got lots of practice doing this; if you wanted to see guards I would have just taken you out the front door. We’re almost there, though.” Indeed, as Tommy lead Tubbo around one last corner, the labyrinth ended in a nondescript door and he pulled out a key ring. “Now we just have to run across the flagstones out there, and go through another door. Quietly. Think you can handle that all right?”

“I’ve got the running part covered, remember?” Tubbo scoffed half-jokingly. Tommy punched him in the arm and he stifled a yelp before continuing. “And I think I was pretty quiet back there, big man.”

Tommy shrugged, shuffling through the keys. “But I was quieter, you know.”

“Oh, shut up!” Tubbo bumped the other with his shoulder, hard enough to set the keys jangling. The sound rang out and hung in the air for an agonizingly long moment. Tommy cursed quietly as footsteps sounded down the hall around the corner.

“Who’s there?” The guard called around the corner, sending Tubbo’s mind whirling. What if we get caught? Then the negotiations might get disrupted, and we won’t be safe, and—

“Tubbo! Please, we have to go.” Tommy’s voice faded in and out as if stolen by some phantom wind. The same breeze seemed to devour any air in Tubbo’s lungs as well, sending him trembling like a leaf. No, no, no. What if I get caught. Tommy will just abandon me, and Dream will have to get me and explain because it would kill me to explain and I'll just shut down and then it’ll stop the negotiations, and Dream won’t be safe and I won’t be safe and George and Tommy will hate us but mostly me because I got caught—

Tommy insistently tugged at Tubbo’s arm, clearing the fog somewhat as he locked eyes with the brunet. “Okay, Tubbo. Here’s what we’re going to do.” The prince glanced down the hallway. The guard’s almost there I need to run I need to hide no it won’t work—“You just have to follow me, okay? Just focus on me.” He looked away again, cursing under his breath as he jammed the key into the lock, and twisted it. I’m going to be shot I’m going to die he’ll leave me for dead like Dad did—“Okay. Okay. Shit, what did George tell me? Right, deep breaths. No, wait, we don’t have time. Come on, Tubbo. We just need to get across the courtyard. I’m not leaving you and I’ll drag you across the flagstones if I have to.”

Tommy pushed the door open, letting in a gust of wind that sent the torches on the wall guttering out and washed over the two with a vengeful cold. Tubbo felt his head clear a little.

They ran.

The flagstones were shining with rain, and the clouds were swallowing the moon once again, but neither slipped. The guard yelled something incoherent from behind, but Tubbo was too focused on following Tommy and keeping a steady footing to hear him. The prince’s earlier words interrupted the shadows of the thoughts clinging to his heels, slicing through them and leaving them behind: I’m not leaving you. Despite their full-speed flight, Tubbo felt his breaths come easier, his heart no longer frantically mimicking the flickering torches. And when they finally stopped, tucked away in the shade of an arched alley, he managed to get his voice back.

“Does that…Does that normally happen?”

Tommy spun the key ring around his finger, its keys softly clinking against each other as they whirled around the circle. “Not usually. I was loud, sorry. Should have held the keys tighter so they didn’t make such a loud noise.” He winced as one of the brass trinkets whipped into his knuckle. “Ow. Karma, I guess. Hey, were you okay back there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I just—I just zoned out for a minute there.” Yeah, right. Tubbo tried to hide a scowl at the encroaching, unwanted thought.

“Oh. Okay. Shit, I’m sorry, I thought you were having a panic attack. I’m really sorry.” Tommy couldn’t meet his eyes suddenly. It might have been for the better, though—Tubbo could feel a sinkhole open in his chest, guilt boring itself down to his core and punching through. It left him feeling hollow.

“Well, anyway! Tour time!” Tommy chirped, changing the subject. “You ready?”

“Hell yeah.” Tubbo was more than happy to move on, both figuratively and literally.

Despite the light rain and late hours, the city was busy. Prismatic lanterns, some permanent streetlights and others floating and enchanted, lit the duo’s way. It seemed that after some time they had made their way to the food district, as the smell of cinnamon, fresh bread, and some dish Tubbo couldn’t name wafted towards him. Tommy, previously walking a comfortable distance next to Tubbo, now sidled closer. “Heeeey, big man!” He drew out his words, obviously wanting something.

“Go on…” Tubbo was pretty sure he knew what Tommy wanted, and after all, the coin pouch in his pocket was weighing his pocket down a little more than was comfortable, wasn’t it?

“Do you have any coins? I forgot to have lunch. And dinner. Can we get food, please? I may or may not have forgotten to bring money.” Tommy’s eyes sparkled with something akin to mischief.

“I’ve never had to pay for anything before,” Tubbo stated flatly. The prince’s face fell. “But…I do have some money, I think. Dream gave it to me. How much would this pay for?” He pulled out the pouch, grabbing a handful of shiny metal and showing it to Tommy. Platinum glinted in the rainbow array of lights, sending pinpricks of light across his palm.

“Oh my God. Holy shit, Tubbo. Why are you rich! This is incredibly not fair. Two or three of those coins could buy a whole shop here.” The blonde’s eyes were as wide, looking like two twin full moons and shining just as brightly from the shine of the valuable coins. “Okay, we’ll just have to make a detour to a bank. Or somewhere else with enough money to give us change. Food will only cost us a few coppers, a silver at the most.”

“You mean these?” Tubbo dug around the bag a little more, picking out a smaller silver coin. “I’m really sorry, I have no idea how much things are worth. I don’t really take care of purchasing supplies when I’m on shore, otherwise—” He stopped. “Sorry, I’m rambling. Where should we get food? I’m really fucking hungry.”

“I may or may not have ever been able to actually buy anything from the shops here, but George sometimes sends people to get pastries from the bakery over there. I don’t know if they just take special orders or if they have anything readymade, but from what I’ve tried of theirs, it’s insanely good.” Tommy pointed back the way they came to a corner shop a block away.

Tubbo sifted through the pouch and pulled out a few more silvers. “Well, I guess we can try a few shops if they don’t have anything; it’s not like we just ate.”

“Or like we’re out of money.”

“Yeah, and that. Hurry up, won’t you?” Tubbo broke into a quick jog back to the shop, causing passersby to give him and Tommy odd looks as they dodged wagons and pedestrians. Apparently, Tommy’s recommendation was called Puffy’s Pastries, if the sign above the door was to be trusted.

The bakery was warm inside, a pleasant change from the cold air the sea constantly brought in. Behind the counter stood a man writing in a ledger, who looked up when the bell hung on the door announced the two customers. “Hi, I’m Velvet! Or Vel, either one works. What can I get for you today, or would you like a minute to think?” he greeted the two, then paused as he quickly sunk into a shallow bow. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you at first! Welcome to our shop, Your Royal Highness. Usually, your brother sends someone less…royal to pick up his orders. Will it be the usual torte and a dozen palmiers?”

Tommy spoke politely for the first time since Tubbo had met him. “Oh no, I’m not here to pick up anything for the king, I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” He looked down at the display case with around two dozen options, then over at Tubbo and back to Vel again. “Could you give us some suggestions?”

Velvet looked to the back of the shop, yelling to presumably the store owner. “Miss! The prince is here and he’s asking what he should get, do you mind coming over here and giving any recommendations?” He turned back to the two after. “I just started working here last week, so I don’t really know what the best options here are, but I can safely say that you’ll be happy with whatever you get.”

“Then we’ll have one of everything on display, please, sir,” Tubbo spoke up. “How much will that be?” Tommy looked over at him, slightly shocked but grinning almost maniacally. Vel’s eyes were slightly wide as well, but he was better at keeping his surprise under control as he quickly jotted down figures.

“Hey, Velvet, customers needed suggestions, right?” A woman hurried through the door behind the counter. Though she was dressed in an immaculate red-and-gold cape matching the tricorn on her head, the rest of her clothing had at least a light dusting of flour somewhere on it. There didn’t seem to be any flour in her hair, at least, but it was hard to tell as it was the same pristine white as the fine powder. She stopped when she saw the visitors, sending flour falling to the floor with the sudden change of momentum. “Welcome, Prince. May I recommend the chocolate éclairs? Actually, you two look rather hungry, I—”

“I think they are, Puffy. They ordered one of everything being displayed.” Velvet was still adding up the numbers frantically.

Puffy seemed to snap out of her trance, dusting the flour off her hands and brushing herself down before pulling out a box from under the counter. “Oh, I see. Here, Vel, let me pack the order up for you. That may take you a minute.” She began to carefully place the various pastries between layers of waxed paper.

Velvet finished totaling their cost a moment later, as Puffy closed the box and put it on the counter. “That will be twenty-six coppers, or two silvers and six coppers,” he said with a smile. “I hope you have a nice day.” Puffy nodded with him.

Tubbo reached through the pouch Dream gave him, looking for the right change. He saw a few of the copper-colored discs, but decided against it and pulled out three of their silver counterparts. “Here you go!” He slid three silver across the glass. “Please, keep the extra as a tip.”

“Have a nice night!” Tommy practically sang, taking the box. Puffy waved to the two as they made their way back out the door.

No sooner had they taken a step onto the street when the prince opened the lid as quickly as he could with the hand that wasn’t supporting their precious cargo. “Well, Puffy suggested an éclair. You can have the chocolate one, I’ll have the plain one. We should find somewhere to sit down, though.”

Tubbo recalled a fountain a few streets back, and said so. His suggestion was readily approved by the prince, and they made their way to the plaza where it was located. The stone forming the rim of the water basin was cold, but the éclairs were still piping hot and kept the two warm.

“This is really good,” Tubbo mumbled around a pastry-filled mouth. “The city is really pretty, by the way. Thank you for the tour, big man.”

“I’d readily trade a few hours of walking around a city for this,” the prince said, gesturing to the mostly empty box. Before they knew it, the food was gone. Neither Tubbo nor Tommy had realized how hungry they were until they had eaten the éclairs, and the rest of the pastries vanished soon after. Time wore on quickly as they made their way back to the palace, the streets emptying as many of Noninveni’s more nocturnal residents either went home or to their jobs, the two boys among them.

Thankfully, there were no more encounters with guards as Tommy and Tubbo found their way back to the atrium they had been previously in. The pirate captain and the king may have been arguing still, but they kept the door closed.

“Hey, Big T?” Tubbo looked over at the prince, sitting across the room from him. He got no response: Tommy had apparently fallen asleep. Not wanting to wake him up and explain, Tubbo dug through his pockets, pulling out a scrap of paper and a pen. He spent a few seconds attempting to iron out the creases, but as the paper seemed to curl up despite his efforts, it was easier just to write on the crumpled paper.

Went back to the Manhunt to get some sleep. Be back in the morning. —Tubbo

Satisfied, the brunet kicked the paper vaguely in Tommy’s direction and began the long walk back to the harbor district, quickly falling asleep in his familiar bunk.

It was nice to have a friend.

Chapter Text

The days went by, and life went on. The negotiations continued along with the storm, and while the Manhunt continued to sit unharmed in the port, neither the king nor the captain was willing to give any ground. The two boys were as much in the dark as everyone else in the city, kept sustained on the scraps of arguments they heard and rumors overheard from the guards and servants.

Dream had stopped returning to the Manhunt after the first few days. Tommy offered the captain’s brother a spare room in the Noninveni palace, and Tubbo took it. The two still rarely crossed paths: Dream seemed to be nocturnal, sleeping or sulking in his room until George’s audiences were done with their pleas and treaties. Tubbo didn’t know if it was true, but Sam had told the boys that a servant had said there were knives embedded in the king’s portrait on the wall.

Tubbo’s own brother scared him sometimes. He tried to forget about that fact.

It usually worked.

For example, he was distracting himself by listening to Tommy recount a plot to steal two elytras. Not the ship—Not yet at least, he thought—but the flying device made out of powerful enchantments and phantom wings. Phantoms were nearly extinct nowadays, keeping mainly to the dark wastes of the south or the middle of the ocean where even the most seasoned hunters didn’t dare to venture. However, it didn’t quite take an adventurer to sneak into the palace armory and smuggle a couple elytras out, right? And George had the keys.

“…So, from there you can just go back up the stairs while the guards are changing shifts, and then we have two slightly dangerous sets of wings. Quite simple, really. We just meet back here after I’ve got the keys back in their place.”

“And then what? We just jump off a building?” Tubbo was skeptical.

Tommy smirked, obviously having planned the whole thing out in advance. “Don’t worry, I know a place. We just need our wings.”

“Well, shall we then?” The pirate stood up from his chair by the window, unclasping Dream’s cape and neatly draping it over the backrest. Tommy followed, quickly pushing his way in front of Tubbo and earning a half-hearted punch to the side for his troubles. After all, he was the one who knew his way around the palace. It would be up to Tubbo to do the real…borrowing—and Tubbo happened to be very good at it.

Dream had taught Tubbo many things, many of which he was still less-than-skilled at, but if he could do one thing, it was stealing. He didn’t exactly like doing it, but it was addicting and often necessary. Yes, wings were necessary. Besides, we can just put them back when we’re done. No harm, no foul. And if they got caught, well, didn’t the Noninvenis technically own everything in that armory?

Tubbo didn’t get caught. Obviously, a small, prideful part of him remarked. I’ve been doing this for years. It had been easier than he expected: the devices were extremely collapsible, there were probably enough of them that the armorers wouldn’t notice, and it seemed that the guards weren’t actually expecting anyone to just waltz in and take their shit.

Tommy was off returning the key to George’s quarters. The blond was closer to being caught, due to the guards outside the king’s suite of rooms, but being the prince he was allowed in with a few excuses and an almost-true story of how he had borrowed something of George’s and wanted to return it. Tommy knew enough about lying to know that the best facades were cousins of truth; besides, who would dare to question a prince without direct orders from another royal?

They met up in the hallway outside their rooms, and Tubbo tossed Tommy a collapsed elytra. Tommy held it tightly but carefully, as if it was a family heirloom. Tubbo supposed the prince had many. As usual, everything was going completely according to plan. Until it only mostly did. Tommy was looking at his elytra strangely. Tubbo couldn’t quite find a name for his expression. ‘Oddly’ also works, he noted. Or ‘confusedly’. Wait, is that even a word? Oh, Foolish God, why is he making that face? I think I should be concerned.

“Tubbo? Were there any other elytras in the armory?”

Uh oh. Tubbo searched his memory, hoping to overturn any recollections. After a moment, he replied. “Yeah, there were some other ones at the back, but these ones looked nicer, and I just wanted to get out without getting caught.”

Tommy buried his face in his hands, tucking the elytra under his arm. “Tubbo. Walk with me. I don’t know if you know a lot about elytras or enchantments, but on our way to go be birds, I think I might have to explain a few things.”

They set off, by this point used to the rain. Mostly. Why is it so fucking cold, though? Why can’t it just snow? It sure feels cold enough.

“So, let me explain. There are normal elytras, right?” Tubbo nearly jumped when Tommy talked, as the prince had been uncommonly silent ever since they headed out. He had apparently been brainstorming ways to explain whatever was going on.

Turning his ill-concealed fright into a still rather jerky nod, Tubbo replied, “‘Normal’ elytras? Aren’t they all?”

“Undying Totem, Tubbo, I have some news to break. Basically, there are normal elytras. Not particularly good, as wings go, but passable. Anyone can use them, as they don’t have binding enchantments on them. Even these are still rather expensive, and sometimes they’ll have basic enchantments that help with wear and tear or gliding speed, but they’re shit to a connoisseur like me.”

Tubbo gave him a Look.

Tommy grudgingly amended his statement. “Okay, okay, fine. They’re shit even to someone who knows very little about elytras. Not that that would be me at all. Of course not. Yeah, who the shit would think that? Then, we have enchanted elytras. They have Binding enchantments on them, meaning only one person can use them. Binding enchantments are sometimes considered a curse when paired with normal items, but for a powerful item, a well-crafted Binding enchantment can actually amplify the power of the item’s other enchantments.”

The brunet didn’t know much about enchantments past the crash course Dream had given him some time ago, so all this was new to him. It made sense that Tommy knew a lot about them, though, as nobility were expected to know about a wide range of subjects. Just like Dream does. Tubbo made a note to himself to ask Dream about his past. He’ll just avoid the subject, though. Like usual.

Tommy continued, happily rambling on. “Of course, this means that Binding enchantments are only used on items with already powerful enchantments to maximize their effect. Like these elytras. Hey, did you know that they don’t have owners yet?”

“I can return these if you want, Big T, it’d be no trouble,” Tubbo offered, holding out his folded elytra to the other. Tommy swatted it away.

“You think I’m giving this motherfucker up?” Tommy snorted. “Totem, we earned it fair and square. I’ll get George to pay for them. Sam will take care of it, though. He’s got a soft spot for me, y’know. Everyone does. It’s because I’m the big man, the biggest man out of everyone. I am charismatic and handsome and I’m just so cool. Don’t worry, your best friend will take care of you. Everything will be fine. Especially the elytras; they’re got Mending.”

Tubbo couldn’t help but laugh. Besides, they were going to fly. With wings. Holy shit. I mean, who fucking cares what happens? Tommy must know what he’s doing…?

They continued along the street, Tubbo following the prince and heading out of the eastern city gate. Tubbo was fully expecting to be taken to some sort of tall building or tower, but it seemed like it at least wouldn’t be one in Noninveni. “Hey, Big T,” Tubbo queried. “Where are we going?”

Tommy’s mouth tilted up into a smile. “I told you, you’ll see. It’ll only be a few more minutes, and it’s not even raining hard. Poor you. Is it so hard to not whine?” he joked.

“Hey, dickhead, who got you that elytra?” Tubbo tilted his head to the collapsed wings Tommy was holding.

The blond took one hand off the elytra and balled it into a fist, ready to punch the other in defense of his acquisition. “As far as I personally remember, this was my idea, idiot. Stay away from me and my child.”

“Well, your idea is damn cold. I’m freezing!” Tubbo wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the Noninveni weather if storms like this were frequent. Sure, he was dry, but outside of the city, it was windy and cold. Probably because the ocean wasn’t very far away. “And you look a little young to be a dad, no offense.”

The sea suddenly wasn’t the only thing right there: Tommy swung his fist at Tubbo’s arm. The pirate danced out of the way, poking Tommy in his shoulder. “On second thought, you are getting old. Too slow, Big T! Is it arthritis?”

Tommy yelled incomprehensibly, jokingly lunging at Tubbo again. Tubbo dodged. “Asshole.”

“Old.”

“Shut up!”

The banter continued for a few minutes until the blond suddenly stopped. “Well, we’re here!” It was odd: Tubbo had fully expected to be jumping off some sort of abandoned building, but there weren't any in sight. Then, the realization hit.

“Tommy, are we going to be, um, jumping off a cliff…?” To their right, a scattered assortment of wind-battered shrubs paved the road to the mountain Noninveni nestled against. The left continued the scenery from where they were standing: short, uniform tufts of grass with an occasional second sun of a dandelion or two. It all dropped away abruptly a short distance away. Tubbo did not want to go near that edge, but a quick glance at the cliffs down the coast told him all he needed to know. The drop to the sea was at least two hundred feet, and inky water raged against both the cliffs themselves and jutting rocks that seemed to be the teeth of some ancient, monolithic dragon.

Tubbo looked back at Tommy, aghast. The prince grinned blithely, replacing his cape with the still-folded elytra. The red-and-gold cloth laid in a heap on the ground. Much like how every instinct is yelling at me to do. “It’s nice here, isn't it?” Tommy remarked, somehow completely at ease with the situation. “Hurry up, get your elytra on. We might not have much time until that tempest decides it wants to stop taking a break.”

“You know, you’re very reassuring.” Tubbo looked up, eyeing the darkening clouds, but dumped Dream’s cloak on the ground next to the cape. He shrugged on the straps of the elytra. They were awfully loose, considering there was no visible buckle or tightening device. Tommy’s, of course, looked fine. Totem damn him. “Am I missing something?”

Tommy looked over at the other. “Yeah, big man, don’t worry, you just have to do this.”

Tubbo yelped as Tommy jabbed his finger with a knife. “What the hell, man? You’re a wrong’un, you fucking psycho!”

The blond wiped the blood off the dagger onto the elytra’s runes, which pulsed gold for a moment. The straps tightened comfortably. “See? It’s fine. Your hand isn't even bleeding anymore, idiot,” Tommy sniped. “Just tap that rune on the strap to loosen them again. It’s pretty simple, but it’ll only respond to you now that the Binding enchantment is bound. And the wings’ll open and close on instinct. Same thing for flight, you’ll catch on quickly.”

The wind sang more insistently as the boys neared the edge. If it wasn’t for Tommy’s constant prodding, Tubbo would have gone nowhere near, but the prince was annoyingly stubborn. More annoying was the fact that Tommy knew how to work his elytra, as its—his?—wings kept fluttering right in Tubbo’s face.

“You know, if you just jump, you’d be fine and I wouldn’t keep accidentally smacking you,” Tommy muttered, battering Tubbo one more time for good measure. The brunet, off-balance, stumbled closer to the edge. Too close.

Quickly regaining his balance, Tubbo whirled on Tommy, truly annoyed for the first time since arriving in the city. “What the hell? I could have fallen.”

The prince stared right back at him, yelling, “You’ll be fine! Completely fine! I’ve told you that like a million times!” His wings beat faster as he stood his ground. Neither refused to move. Tommy was practically levitating, causing him to tower over the other even more, but Tubbo looked up at him defiantly.

“I’m not going to just jump off a cliff, that’s madness. What if the elytra doesn’t deploy? What if it doesn’t work? What then? I die. On a ship, in the crow’s nest, at least I know what I’m doing.” He felt bad about flat-out denying Tommy’s idea, but not bad enough to hurl himself off a cliff.

“Well, maybe you won’t have to jump. How about that?”

“What do you-”

Tommy shoved Tubbo off the cliff.

When Icarus first flew away from that prison of his, was he scared to fall? That the one he trusted might have betrayed him? The myths never say. He must have tasted the sheer thrill of falling along with its fear. Why would he have flown so high, otherwise?

This Icarus fell with little grace, dropping backwards through the sky like a fallen star. His elytra dragged behind him like the trail of a comet. The only difference was, these wings would not burn.

Tubbo was falling, someone’s scream following him down the cliff. His throat hurt. I’m going to die, and all I can think about is the fact that my throat hurts. The dark maw of water dipped closer, and he realized he was the one screaming. Time seemed to drag out as he dropped close enough to see each wave, each sun-filled droplet of raging surf as it held a stark contrast against its inky cousins below.

And then, Tubbo flew. His whole body jolted as the elytra unfurled with a whump. Something intrinsic clicked, and then he was skimming the waves. The sea spray stung his eyes, but he didn’t care. Tommy let out a whoop from somewhere on his left, then shot ahead with a barrel roll.

“Hey, big man! I forgive you!” the prince yelled back, spreading his wings and coming to a near halt. It wasn’t an easy task, as the wind had picked up even more, and Tommy certainly looked to be struggling.

Tubbo laughed, then gave him the middle-finger salute and sped past him, leaving only a yell of “Not sure what for, but I forgive you too!” in his wake. Flying was intoxicating. Some innate part of him knew how to do it, it seemed, and the elytra just gave him the means to soar.

“Tubbo! Look!” Tommy called, catching up to him and pointing further down the shore. “They’re fishing!” The they in question was a flock of albatrosses, plunging into the water and coming out with glittering silver fish in their beaks.

The other replied flatly, “We are not doing that.” They were closer to the birds now, but at the intruders’ presence, the albatrosses scattered. Or maybe not because of the two—lightning ripped across the horizon, sending a whip of thunder their way.

As if someone had broken a dam in the clouds, rain began to sluice down from the sky. Had the hurricane come back? Of course. We must have been in the eye. And now, it’s back.

Wind and water slammed against the boys as if holding a personal grudge. Tubbo angled closer to Tommy, tilting his wings to combat the angry currents. Tommy didn’t seem to be doing as well, and the ram hybrid had to constantly course-correct to keep next to him. Though it would have been exhausting work if the elytra were flesh and bone, the effort of focusing on minute movements that quickly spiralled into danger if he made a single mistake was quickly wearing him down. I’m just glad Dream taught me how to sail; it’s a lot like using a sail. Just feathered, and a lot more complicated. How many feathers do phantoms have? Tubbo shook himself out of the irrelevant thoughts before he lost focus. “Tommy, we need to get to shore now.”

“I’m trying! But this bloody wind is making it impossible!”

Indeed, the storm was pushing them further down the coastline and away from the city. Tubbo cursed under his breath. “Just follow me!” It was a struggle to speak over the thunder and crashing waves—Totem, some of them must be fifteen feet tall—but he was pretty sure Tommy heard him, as when Tubbo banked left, the blond stayed with him. They let the storm do most of the work, sacrificing distance from the city for a slight tilt towards the now-distant cliffs.

It took a few minutes, but they were getting closer. Then, disaster struck, hurling a particularly spiteful gust that sent the blond spiralling uncontrollably away, and further out to sea.

“Tubbo—” Tommy’s yell was colored with absolute fear as thunder rumbled over his words.

“Tommy! Hold on a minute, I’m coming to get you!”

The Totem-cursed hurricane had returned, all right. This time, Tubbo wasn’t in a city, or on a ship. He was completely at the storm’s mercy, and it was only going to get worse.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t put up a good fight.

Tubbo dove back into the storm.

Chapter Text

A terrible symphony raged, some great conductor sending masses of black water hissing against barely visible cliffs. Lightning and thunder rumbled, shaking Tubbo’s small figure in a manner that a bass drum could never hope to match. The rain played percussion as it beat a steady staccato rhythm against his back.

I need to find Tommy. The thought was no match for the hurricane’s deadly stanzas, but it nonetheless played on repeat in the brunet’s head. Where is he? I need to find him.

“Tubbo!” The storm nearly snatched the prince’s voice, but Tubbo heard it. He sharply banked left to where the scream had come from. Through sheer force of will he didn’t even know he had, he pushed the elytra faster by a few more feet per second. Tubbo’s shoulders ached. He didn’t care.

“Tommy! Where are you?!”

A more unintelligible yell came in reply, but if nothing else it was in the direction Tubbo was heading. Now, he could either dive down to gain more speed and keep away from the wind or continue at his current height, which made the gargantuan waves look normal-sized. The first option would clearly be the better option—if it wasn’t for the previously mentioned forty-foot waves. If he made one mistake, the bottom of the ocean might very well be the only thing he would find.

The choice was easy, really. Too easy.

Tubbo tucked his wings and dove towards the inky water. It was immediately overwhelming, at the speed he was flying. However, the shock and fear of possibly being crushed by tons upon tons of water was quickly masked by adrenaline. If there wasn’t a danger of being struck by lightning, I might actually like this.

All the while, Tubbo periodically kept up a call of “Tommy!” as his own personal echolocation. Most of the time, he would just be returned a yell made undecipherable by distance and other noise, but as lightning bit the sea only a few hundred feet away, the flash illuminated a winged silhouette. The resounding thunder rattled Tubbo’s bones, but even a hurricane couldn’t stop his mad rush towards Tommy.

“Foolish God, are you all right?” If not for their current situation, Tubbo might have crushed the prince’s ribs in a hug. Tommy gave him a weak smile, his elytra singed at the edges of its primaries.

“Yeah. Let’s just go back, all right?” Tommy asked, letting his confident demeanor slip for a minute. The two were both exhausted; Tubbo couldn’t blame him.

“Of course.”

The two began to unsteadily pick their way back to the cliffs. Tommy would often suddenly drop a few feet due to his burnt feathers, which despite the hassle helped to keep the boys alert to the constantly shifting wind currents. Now that Tubbo knew what to expect, there were thankfully no more incidences of his friend being carried off practically to the Void.

There was still lightning, though. Tubbo was beginning to get sick of it. As if trying to scare the boys, the bolts would crack down just far enough away to leave them unharmed but shaking. After a strike hit so close that Tubbo could smell sparks and ozone, Tommy looked over at him and, as always, began to ease the tension of the situation by rambling about whatever came to mind.

“You know, this whole situation reminds me of that myth about the Foolish God. You know, the one with the lightning?”

“No.” Dream wasn’t one for tall tales, and it had been a long time since Tubbo blocked out the memories from before the Manhunt.

Tommy paused for a moment. “Okay, basically there was this other deity a long, long time ago. I don’t quite remember, but if I’m not wrong it was called the Egg. So one day it decides that it wants to pick a fight with the Totem because it thinks it’s more powerful. Four Egg acolytes show up to the Foolish God’s temple in full armor and try to convince the god to join them, but obviously, he refuses. They start threatening him, saying that that it isn’t too late for him to join them but that there will be consequences if he doesn’t. After he refuses again, they even call upon the Egg’s power to blow up one of the statues outside the shrine.”

Tubbo’s vision briefly lit up white as lightning struck directly in front of them. What if I get hit? What if Tommy gets hit? In the corner of his eye, superimposed over a purple afterimage, he noticed the prince looking over at him and shook off the thoughts as Tommy continued.

“The Foolish God then orders them to leave. They don’t, so he says—wait, let me remember—‘Your empty threats mean nothing. I’m a peaceful man, but if I must defend myself, I can. Should I show you?’ The leader of the Egg’s acolytes sorta scoffs. He goes, ‘Defend yourself against this, then!’ as he hurls his trident at the Totem. Despite being enchanted by the Egg itself, the weapon barely scratches the god. So now he’s really mad, right?”

Tubbo was fully invested in this story. It seemed vaguely familiar for some reason, but Tommy told the myth well and without his usual expletives. If he had to bet, he’d say that someone had recited it to the prince so many times that Tommy had basically memorized the speech.

“‘What are you gonna do? Nothing. Nothing! Nothing at all!’ the leader yells. ‘Try it again,’ the Totem responds evenly. He does so, and the trident simply bounces off him again. What a cool man. The Foolish God is the biggest man. Except for me. But anyway, the god, he goes—”

Rain cut through the air. It had long since soaked through the coats of the two people on the cliffs, but the brown-haired man stood steady. Behind him, the younger one was huddled on the ground, practically shaking. The man didn’t notice—or didn’t care.

“Get me a bow,” he snapped at the small figure, still carefully watching the horizon. “The hurricane hasn’t only brought the Manhunt, it’s even scared phantoms to land.”

“Here, captain.” The boy handed the man the bow. The receiver pretended not to hear the tremor in his voice as he did. Why would it matter to him, anyway?

Instead, he examined the carefully crafted bow as it reflected the flashes of lightning with the sheen of a master enchanter’s work. Though his lessons on glyph lettering were years ago, someone well-versed in the runic alphabet used by enchanters might be able to make out the word ‘Multishot’.

That was the first mistake.

He reached over his shoulder with the timeworn familiarity of an expert archer. When he drew his hand back, it held an arrow. It was windy out, but he had shot out a ravager’s eye from two hundred feet—in a windstorm, no less. This shot would be easy.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the soft impact of the rain as it continued to soak the grass they stood on. He was waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect angle. The phantoms were closer now, and one of them had a much more irregular flight path. That one might be easier to bring down, but what if its wings were damaged? That was the most likely reason it was flying like that. No, he would aim for the other.

The man drew back the arrow, now nocked on the bow, and made a few last adjustments to his stance and positioning. Not that he needed it. His assistant continued to wince as water poured down on him, too busy gritting his teeth against the pain to take a closer look at the two dark smudges nearing the cliffs. He should have: that made the second mistake.

The third and final mistake came when the other released the string.

“‘—I might be the Totem of Undying, but in darker times, I have been called the Totem of Death. Let me show you!’ He lowers his voice in a sinister way, and his eyes start to glow before he continues. ‘You know, as a god of the ocean, I also have control of the skies. It’s not just one or the other, it’s both, you have to understand. I’ll make you understand! Have you ever felt the taste of lightning?’ So then, the others finally realize that they’re facing a god.”

Yeah, I can relate. The hurricane and its lightning weren’t exactly the creation of the Foolish God this time, but they certainly held the fury of a deity. If nothing else, they were almost to the cliffs and still hadn’t been struck down, despite a few close calls.

“The four of them start to back away, but despite his retreat, the representatives’ leader talks. ‘Do you see where we are? Are you that much of a fool?’ They’re brave words to hide his fear, and the Totem knows it. He laughs, looking up at the sky, and replies, ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter. A sunny day, it does not matter.’ The leader’s obviously scared, but he continues to try pretending he’s not. ‘I don’t—I don’t believe you,’ he goes. The god scowls.”

“‘Then let me show you. Right. Now.’”

Two things flew through the air, punching great gaping holes through Tubbo’s elytra. Though they were moving nearly too fast to be seen, he felt their impact reverberate through his chest as feathers snapped and supports splintered in the projectiles’ wake.

So, as a prince told of a god’s lightning striking down men, Icarus fell for the second time.

“Tommy!” he screamed, spreading his broken wings to slow his descent. Tubbo’s head was empty, filled with no thoughts but survival.

“You—we—just need to get to the shore! Past the cliffs, that’s all,” Tommy yelled, soaring by overhead.

“I’m trying, worry about yourself!” If we had started at a lower altitude, I might be in trouble, but thank the Foolish God that it was easier on Tommy’s wings to keep away from the waves. Tubbo felt a breeze pull at his hair as the wind began to pick up at his increased speed. And the quicker he fell, the more both gravity and the storm both competed to pull him down faster. This landing was going to be rough.

The shore loomed ahead, a beast that swallowed towering waves like they were utterly insignificant. And if Tubbo wasn’t mistaken, behind the veil of rain stood two people. One of them was holding a bow.

Shit.

An avenging angel, brandishing a white and gold rapier, shot over Tubbo’s head as if attempting to break the sound barrier. “You bastards! You shot him! I’ll fucking stab you, don’t doubt me,” Tommy bellowed.

“I’m fine, you idiot, stop harassing—”

The ground flew up to meet Tubbo’s vision as the realisation of how truly fast he was going suddenly hit him like a second volley of arrows. He tried to spread his wings to create some semblance of control, but his body suddenly wasn’t responding. Tubbo smashed into the ground, skidding a few feet on his side in a tumble of feathers and water.

Everything hurt, and his vision bled to darkness at the edges. Dimly, as if watching through someone else’s eyes, Tubbo saw one of the two people, the one with the bow, yell something in Tommy’s face. A high-pitched ringing briefly replaced the words as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Stop fighting, won’t you?” Tubbo had to raise his voice to be heard. “The two arrows just went through the elytra, and it’s got Mending. Leave the man alone, Tommy.”

Both looked over at him, going suddenly silent. The prince’s rapier dropped to the ground. And somewhere probably between a hallucination and reality, the second stranger appeared in between the two as the world began to swirl. Definitely a hallucination. When Tommy finally spoke, it was haltingly, as if he didn’t quite believe the words he was saying.

“...Tubbo, Multishot shoots three arrows,” he said quietly. “There’s an arrow sticking out of your chest.”

The world tilted as Tubbo looked down. The feathered end of an arrow jutted out of his ribs as blood—My own blood? No, this can’t be right—painted his shirt red. The colors swirled in front of his eyes, black stars blossoming and bursting in tiny pinpricks as the darkness around the edges clawed closer. Pain hit him like a sledgehammer to the ribs.

“I—” Tubbo suppressed the urge to vomit as the ground violently wrenched itself sideways. All three of the others rushed to catch him. Oh, I’m falling. That’s odd. Again, the taller of the two strangers flickered out of sight but didn’t reappear. Was he an enderman hybrid? He was replaced by Tommy, who practically dove to his side.

“Tubbo? Tubbo!” Tommy glanced from Tubbo to the archer, standing impassively and back again. His face darkened as he examined the wound. “Tubbo, you’re going to be fine, just fine, don’t worry. Big T, you are not allowed to die on me.”

“That’s your lying tone,” Tubbo mumbled. Everything feels numb. It was suddenly hard to focus on one thing; Tommy’s face went from blurry to half-focused as if Tubbo’s eyes weren’t sure if they wanted to work or not.

“No, you are not going to die. No, no, no.” Tommy turned away, vanishing from Tubbo’s view. “Wil, do something, won’t you? Stop fucking standing there, you just shot him!” the prince pleaded, probably to the remaining stranger. The archer yelled something back, but both’s voices seemed to be getting quieter. Please, don’t leave—

A figure blotted out what little light there was left, appearing above Tubbo as if having never left. In his hand, he held two glowing red bottles. “You’re going to be okay, alright? It’s going to be fine. You’re Tubbo, right? I’m Ranboo, and I’m going to help,” he hissed, sinking to his knees next to Tubbo. Tubbo’s vision was tunneling further, and the speaker’s face was a blur, but it was probably the teleporter from before. Probably. It was hard to think through the pain.

Tubbo opened his mouth to reply, but the words suddenly wouldn’t come. Covering his mouth, the brunet let out a cough instead. His hand came away bloody.

Shit.

Reacting similarly, the stranger—Ranboo?—made a shushing sound before checking over his shoulder. When he looked back, his eyes were wide with fear. “Okay, never mind. Please, don’t try to talk, I think the arrow went through a lung and it might make things worse. I’d tell you not to move, but I’m actually going to need you to drink this potion for me while I pull out the arrow. Can you do that?” Ranboo asked.

Suppressing the urge to cough again, Tubbo nodded mutely as Ranboo pulled the cork out of one of the potions’ bottles. He could taste metal. Blood. The thought of it alone made him want to throw up. The sanguine color of the healing potion handed to him didn’t help, either, and it took all of Tubbo’s effort not to vomit.

“Okay, you need to drink that, so I can pull out the arrow.” The enderman hybrid looked nervously at the projectile lodged in Tubbo’s chest. “Whenever you’re ready, I guess?”

Tubbo simply dumped the contents of the bottle down his throat in reply. The pain sparking through his body vanished for a moment—then Ranboo pulled out the arrow. Tubbo physically had to cover his mouth to keep from screaming. He had never had lava poured on him, but it sure felt like a close approximation.

“See, you’re fine now,” Ranboo said, and Tubbo would have laughed at the current situation his makeshift medic was in if he wasn’t actively gritting his teeth together. The enderman hybrid’s hands were soaked with blood and he was shaking, but he was talking about everything being completely fine.

Hey, wait, I can see again. Tubbo took a few test blinks as the pain began to untangle itself from his chest. Sure enough, his sight was clear despite the rain pouring down. Ranboo was most definitely an enderman hybrid, with the characteristic fangs, horns, and lanky figure that one possessed. Along with the water sensitivity. That explained a lot, including the scars of past tears running down his cheeks and Ranboo’s pained expression.

“A-are you fine?” Tubbo tentatively asked, touching his own cheek in reference. “I mean—wait, sorry, that was insensitive. You don’t have to answer that.”

Ranboo seemingly forgot how to make eye contact, and his answer came a little too quickly to contain the truth. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just fine. Perfectly fine, really. Don’t worry.”

“…Okay.”

Tubbo stood up and stretched. I feel like I just ran a marathon. He was tired, but it wasn’t the weary type of tired. It was the bone-aching one that transmutes limbs into lead and makes you never want to move again. He offered Ranboo an outstretched hand, and when the boy took it, Tubbo pulled him to his feet.

Ranboo smiled weakly, absolutely towering over the ram hybrid. He opened his mouth to talk, but a shout from the stranger silenced him.

“Ranboo! Don’t tell me that you just fucking wasted a healing potion on that useless stranger, do you know how bloody expensive they are?” The archer’s hand gripped the pommel of his sword in a silent warning as he strode over. Tommy trailed behind him, looking apologetic and defeated. The great Prince Tommy Inis Noninveni, one of the most defiant people he knew, following this man like a kicked puppy.

Well, this is concerning. Tubbo looked to Ranboo as he took a few stumbling steps back, then placed himself between his newest friend and the stranger. “It’s not his fault, it’s yours. You shot me, remember?” He regretted the words as soon as they came out of his mouth.

Tommy had to grab the man’s wrist to hold him back. “What the shit, Wil. Don’t you dare hurt him,” he stated. The prince’s voice trembled when the archer whirled to face him, but he didn’t back down. “Stop it, Wilbur. You don’t even pay for the potions. And you should be damn glad that he didn’t die, because maybe then Dream would stop letting you follow him around and hunt you instead.”

“Tommy. Tommy, think about it,” the other murmured, carefully prying the boy’s hand off of his wrist. “Why would Dream care? If this is one of your bits, its not funny. I don’t care about whatever’s going on with him and George, but anyone could tell you he’s not going to do anything—”

Tubbo cut in, finally processing Tommy’s words. “You’re Wilbur, aren’t you. Wilbur Soot,” he said. Please, tell me I’m wrong.

“Yes, I am. Would you like an autograph? What’s your name, or do you want me to write it to someone else?” Wilbur turned up the charm as he turned back to Tubbo, going from a glower to an easygoing grin as he ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to get out some of the rain.

Tubbo saw right through the act. “I don’t want one of your damn autographs. And you would have heard my name if you weren’t too busy arguing with Tommy—who isn't wrong, by the way.”

Something suddenly seemed to click in Wilbur’s mind, and his flippant facade flickered as he struggled to keep his horror from showing. The mask had only slipped for a moment, but it was enough, despite his silver-tongued words:

“I should have known. Tubbo, I’d like to thank you for finally giving me a face to match with the name. And when you go running back to your little ship, do send my regards to your brother.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Text

This time, Tommy and Tubbo were waiting outside of George’s official chambers, rather than his throne room. The king had taken to negotiating from the comfort of his quarters, rather than the wrought iron of his throne, supposedly for Philza’s benefit. Tubbo doubted it; whatever the cause of the animosity between Phil and Dream, it often prevented them from exchanging purely civil words.

Tubbo had been hesitant to leave Ranboo with Wilbur, but Tommy had made the very valid point that if Dream and George had learned that the two of them had stolen elytras and were flying around in the worst storm in recent history, they would probably go out themselves and hunt the boys down.

The actual story would probably result in a lot worse of a situation, which was why Tommy had lent Tubbo a pair of clothes that weren’t bloodstained and covered in dirt.

“Do I look normal? No blood or anything?” Tubbo slowly turned in place so Tommy could give him a cursory once-over.

The prince hummed in agreement. “No blood, but your boots are two or three sizes too large. Try not to trip. Oh, and pull down your sleeves a little; I can see that scrape on your palm from that broken tile after we landed on the roof. The scratches from climbing through the window to my rooms, too.”

The ram hybrid obligingly did so: Tommy’s shirt’s sleeves were slightly long and made it easy to cover the various scratches and bruises accumulated when sneaking back in. Hopefully, Dream wouldn’t notice. Whatever his brother would do to Wilbur wouldn’t be pretty. Does the guy even deserve it? He thought we were phantoms, it was just an accident. But the image of Ranboo, tear-scarred and terrified, stopped any sympathy he had for the man.

Both boys looked at each other as the frantic clicking of boots against marble sounded around the corner. The prince looked panicked as he mouthed a single word: "Dream."

"George, they're gone! I checked the Manhunt, the whole Totem-damned city even! And there are—"

Tubbo had never seen Dream stop so fast from a full sprint. His cloak swirled around his feet, unable to slow down as quickly.

“…two elytras missing from the armory,” Dream finished weakly, looking back and forth between the two. His mask had slipped halfway off with the force he had planted his feet with, exposing blond hair, and he slowly pushed it up. “Well, this is a surprise. I’m beginning to regret having docked in this city, but sails and storms don’t mix well. Now I’ve got my hands full with negotiations with your”—he motioned with a gloved hand to Tommy—“brother, and you’re”—this time, Dream’s cape swished with the motion of his other hand being flicked in Tubbo’s general direction—“running around with Tommy and causing more trouble. Do you know how long I spent looking for you two? I went down practically every street in the city.”

The double doors swung open, revealing George’s slim figure looking more disheveled than usual. “Dream, they’re probably not in the city, then—” He, too, saw Tommy and Tubbo and abruptly shut his mouth. “Okay, scratch that,” he said with a loud sigh. “Where the hell did you two go? I have a very important meeting in ten minutes, so start talking.”

“Are my meetings with you not important?” Dream teased, dropping his serious persona now that he had found the boys. Tubbo was glad for it; dealing with his brother while he was stressed was like trying to convince the impassive sky itself to abandon its stars.

However, George didn’t take the bait. He simply slumped against the wall. “I don’t have time for this, Dream.” When he looked in Tubbo’s direction, his gaze was weary. “Will one of you just explain what happened? I don’t want to hear any excuses, either, just the truth.”

It seemed that the weight George’s crown placed upon his shoulders was far heavier than the porcelain Dream hid behind.

“Well, we snuck into the armory and took the elytras,” Tubbo started, trying to break the silence with the beginning of the cover story they had both rehearsed. “Then we went out of the city and we were going to fly around, but it started getting really windy so we headed back.”

Once Tubbo was done with his recitation, George glanced over at Tommy. “Is this true?”

“Yeah, big man, don’t worry,” Tommy replied flippantly.

Dream was normally inscrutable behind the mask whose smile, since stepping off the ship for the first time, had become his one expression, but now disbelief radiated off the man like the hazy air above the wasteland deserts to the south.

“They’re lying, George.”

The king stopped spinning his signet ring around his finger. The flashes of torchlit gold subsided to a faint flicker: though no one breathed, the lantern’s flame held no regard for the stillness of the air, even in the presence of those who could shatter it with barely a thought.

George looked just as fragile, right now. “Why,” he asked, the word sounding more like a statement than a question.

Dream tilted his head, sending a thin strip of cloud-muffled light from one of the windows above streaking across his mask like an old wound. “The rapier. He doesn’t have it. When have you ever seen Tommy without that sword? There’s blood under Tubbo’s nails, too. Foolish God, George, aren’t you wondering why Tubbo’s completely dry and Tommy’s soaked, yet they both went out in the rain?” His tone was strained as if he was trying not to yell.

“No, I can explain,” Tommy asserted, not taking a single step away from the masked captain though Dream stared him down. Tubbo remembered what Tommy had said to him once, during one of their midnight snack runs. Something about Sam having taught him to deal with the bigger threat first when in a fight. Was that what Tommy was doing now?

Does he see Dream as a threat?

No, that couldn’t be right. Dream might have looked formidable, shrouded in soft pools of green fabric and shadow and safe behind armor wrought of dark thorns and a mask of porcelain, but his calloused hands were bare but for a pair of black gloves and his belt hung lightly in the absence of daggers.

“Tommy, I can tell them—” Tubbo began, but stopped as the prince finally took a step back, apparently having realized that it wasn’t a good idea to pick a fight with Dream.

The smile Tommy gave him was weak and apologetic, and a hint of fear glinted in his eyes, but nevertheless, it was genuine. “No, this was my fault, wasn’t it? I’ve got this, big man. After all, you’re probably recovering from that arrow to the heart.”

Dream slammed his hand into the wall. “I’m sorry, recovering from what?”

“Oh, Foolish God, they’re never going to let us out of their sight again,” Tommy grumbled, swatting at the lantern despite the glaringly obvious fact that it was suspended far out of his reach.

“They just did, dumbass, it’s fine,” Tubbo laughed, his perch of choice being the windowsill rather than on the floor. It was smart of Tommy to leave out the Wilbur bit. There’s definitely something between the Soots and Dream that’s unrelated to the whole being-commissioned-to-catch-the-Manhunt situation, but I doubt now’s the right time to bring it up. “But they’re right behind that door, don’t give your brother any ideas,” he added in retrospect.

“They’re not listening,” Tommy replied. “I am a big man and I would be able to tell if they were.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tubbo saw the blond sit up a little straighter.

Tubbo gave him a grin. “Watch this,” he mouthed, then continued more audibly, “Hey, Tommy, do you know what? We have our elytras still, so we could just, y’know, jump out the window if we wanted to.”

George quickly opened the door, leaning halfway out into the hallway. “Absolutely not,” he admonished. The man glanced back into the rooms, probably at Dream, then looked back at the boys. “You know what, just come inside. I don’t trust you two not to break your necks while launching yourself out of a window in the pouring rain.” Despite the scolding words, his tone was light-hearted.

“See, he was listening,” Tubbo whispered as George shepherded the two into the room. The king either didn’t hear or pretended not to notice.

When Tommy had told him this place was George’s ‘personal chambers’, Tubbo had expected a room or two. The room that the three stepped into, however, was just the atrium—albeit a huge one—and without moving his head he could count at least four doors.

Wow.

Dream was sprawled on a bone-white couch, his hand lightly tapping out a staccato rhythm against the armrest. “What did they do now?” he asked as he sat up.

“Well, nothing, but there was an open window and—”

“Maybe we just wanted to get my sword back, Gogy,” Tommy interrupted.

“Gogy?” Dream, shaking with laughter, slammed his hand into the coffee table as he practically fell off his chair with the force of the wheeze he let out. “Gogy? Oh, Foolish God, George—wait, Gogy actually—I’m never letting you live that down!”

Tubbo had to join in with a taunt. “Sorry, Gogy,” he managed to say through barely dammed laughter, “But you should go by that on your royal decrees.”

“Signed, His Royal Highness, Defender of the Realm, King Gogy Noninveni.” Tommy ran with the joke, and despite his best efforts, a giggle escaped Tubbo’s mouth. The ram hybrid looked over to see the other boy, going as red as George now was, letting gravity tip him face-first onto another couch. But while the king flushed crimson out of embarrassment, Tommy was simply attempting to hold back laughter.

George frowned. “Careful, Tommy, or I’ll be the one laughing when you jump out of the window to get your sword and break your leg,” he scolded, then dropped similarly into a chair.

Oh, they’re all sitting. I probably should, too. Tubbo cautiously sat down in an ivory chair after checking the others were still seated. Even the furniture here was huge, and he felt more than a little trapped by the tall backrest as the fabric scraped against his horns. What if someone comes in the door, I won’t be able to see them, what if they hurt Tommy or Dream, or George, and—

“No, Sam taught me well, but even without his help, I would be fine, as I’m a big man. Huge, if you will.”

“I won’t,” Tubbo teased, settling into the chair. “Dream’s taller than you, you know. You are just a small child still, Tommy.”

“I’m seventeen, you are too! We are not children. It is legal for me to jump out windows now.”

“Leave the retrieval of swords, especially one like George’s old rapier, to the tall people.” Dream jumped into the conversation, leaving George the only one silent.

Until, suddenly, the mood of the room shifted, and the three fell quiet. There was no herald of the sudden contrast from a few seconds ago: thunder didn’t rumble, nor did lightning strike, but there was a difference.

The air feels different. Darker, somehow.

“‘George’s old rapier.’ How would you know that?” The king pushed himself to his feet, and Dream stood to match him. Tubbo managed to catch Tommy’s eye and give him a questioning look: What’s going on?

Tommy shrugged: “No idea.” The ram hybrid was suddenly glad he had picked the wingback chair. The backrest felt like a bastion in some kind of war he didn’t understand.

Dream said nothing, standing perfectly still as if he was the reincarnation of some statue of a forgotten god abandoned on a festival day: covered in both finery and the dark hues of moss and thorns. And he was, like that lost god, completely alien, in a way. Tubbo would never be able to comprehend either.

“I asked you a question, Dream. You’re lucky I’ve put up with your cryptic remarks for so long, but I’m done with them. Done with that and how you go from my friend to a stranger. An enemy, even. Stop shutting me out whenever you say something you regret. You can’t just ignore me every time you get a little upset!”

Silence. Tommy became suddenly focused on a loose thread on the cushion of his couch. Tubbo realized he had been picking at the already-rough skin next to his nails to the point of pain, and slowly, as to not get involved in the confrontation, sat on his hands.

“Answer me. Or I’ll call in my guards and have them make you answer me!” George yelled, grabbing Dream’s shoulders and shaking the captain.

Dream’s answer was glacially cold. “I’d like to see them try. And think about what you’re saying, George. I don’t take threats lightly.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tubbo saw Tommy—despite keeping his eyes locked on his brother—lean towards him over the armrest. “Your Oath,” the prince whispered. “Don’t let him hurt George.”

Shit.

The sinking feeling in Tubbo’s stomach only grew worse when he stood up and all three looked at him. He immediately regretted it, but he couldn’t exactly just sit down now. “Dream, stop threatening George. Just sit down and explain, he deserves to hear it. I deserve to hear it, and so does Tommy, if it’s interfering with the negotiations. Please.” Finishing his rant, he took a shuddering breath.

“Tubbo, don’t worry, it’s not important—”

“No, Dream, it is. I’ve seen the way Phil looks at you, and it’s not just hate over the fact that we’re faster than the Elytra. It’s loathing,” Tubbo interrupted, the memories of Phil quickly exiting rooms or making excuses to leave whenever Dream walked in coming to memory. Dream has been nothing but kind to me, and I know he’s killed people, but so has Wilbur.

Dream was silent, and George slowly let go of him, going red again as he took an embarrassed step back and managed to look everywhere but at the captain. Tubbo saw him open his mouth, then close it again; George seemed to be momentarily struggling for words.

“You owe me, Dream,” the king said quietly. “I let your ship into my city—waived the docking fee, too—and provided a safe haven for you and Tubbo. Do this one thing for me.”

“You’d be better off not knowing. I wear this mask for both of our sakes,” Dream gave a hollow laugh, lacking any real humor in his tone. “But I think taking it off would explain some things.”

George looked skeptical, but there was desperation written across his face as he looked into the blank eyes of Dream’s mask. He squared his shoulders and straightened his crown before giving his verdict: “Do it.”

“Are you sure—”

“Do it.”

Dream unceremoniously took off his hood, then untied the black ribbon holding up the mask. He was still the same Dream that Tubbo had known since he was a child, with a generous amount of freckles scattered like stars across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, familiar emerald eyes, and a shock of dirty blond hair.

Well, what was that supposed to accomplish? By the blank expression on Tommy’s face as he looked at Dream, he seemed to be thinking the same thing. However, George was frozen in place, eyes wide as if seeing a ghost appear in front of him. By no means would Tubbo ever be able to describe the king as tan, but somehow his fair skin had managed to pale even further at the sight of Dream.

“N-no. No, no, no. You—you died,” George whispered, stumbling back. “Wilbur told me that you died. That his brother killed you. He said you tried to murder him and that th-the only way he could stop you was by killing you.” And then, even quieter: “Clay?”

The captain nodded, and the lanterns cast a warm shine onto the unshed tears welling up in his eyes. “It’s okay.”

George gave a muffled sob in reply, burying his head in Dream’s shoulder.

“No, don’t cry, please,” Dream pleaded, awkwardly patting the king on the back as he wiped away his own tears with the gloved back of his other hand. “You weren’t close with me, you barely even talked to me. Why are you sad? Oh, Foolish God, please stop crying, I don’t know what to do.”

The door to the hallway flew open with a bang. A trio of footsteps sounded, and George shoved himself away from Dream as Tubbo flew to his feet. “Okay, what the shit is going on?” Tommy swore, getting up out of his chair.

Wilbur smirked, perfectly camouflaging his surprise as he watched Dream step in front of George from across the room.

“Well, George never showed up to our meeting, so Phil showed me where he was.”

Philza, standing behind Wilbur and to his left, ducked his head as if wordlessly apologizing for the help he had given his son. The last member of the triad stayed similarly silent, merely crossing his arms. Though his pink hair was neatly braided and he was dressed more formally than Wilbur, who was wearing the same long brown coat and yellow sweater as he had at the cliffs, scars littered his exposed hands and his red eyes flicked around the room as if assessing it for any threats. This guy’s a fighter.

Dream spread his arms wide. Though the gesture could be interpreted as friendly to an observer, the captain’s tone was harsh and his grin was that of a predator’s as he paced towards the Soots. “It’s been a while, Wilbur,” he remarked, then turned to the man’s father.

“Phil, you’re looking tired.” The crow hybrid did look tired, but he also looked like he wanted to attack Dream with his bare hands. He’d have to go through me first.

Tubbo wanted to reach for his dagger, but pulling out a weapon probably wouldn’t be the best idea with the current situation. Especially with the greatsword strapped to the pink-haired man’s back that even Dream would probably struggle to lift, let alone carry around like it weighed nothing. But when Dream turned to the warrior, he showed no hint of fear. Instead, his smile softened into a slightly more genuine one. “Even Technoblade himself has graced us with his presence, it seems! Hello, old friend.”

Technoblade smiled the same affectionate hunter’s grin Dream wore, revealing pointed canines much like boar tusks. “I must say, you’re looking oddly alive for a man who I supposedly killed.”

Chapter Text

The sun rose, and with it, the voices of George, Wilbur, and Phil. Somewhere around three in the morning, Technoblade had slipped from the room. Dream had similarly disappeared at some point during the night, vanishing from his seat like an angry specter. And now, Phil was going on about some sort of trade deal, being careful not to disturb the sleeping prince huddled against his side.

Yeah, Tubbo should have probably left. Tommy had convinced him to stay, but he was asleep now. And Dream was gone; there was no reason to listen to the three’s quiet negotiations.

What’s even stopping me from leaving?

Wilbur was intently cleaning his nails with a dagger. Phil, animatedly gesturing with his free arm and wing, seemed to be explaining some legal issue. Tommy was presumably curled up under Phil’s other wing, unmoving and unresponsive as a rock. Finally, George was listening to Phil talk despite the fact that he looked just as tired as his brother.

Nothing.

A bitter wave of jealousy swept into Tubbo as Wilbur leaned towards Phil and the older man put an arm around him. Sure, Tubbo had Dream, but he could be distant. Just because the captain had adopted a six-year-old by pulling him out of the water didn’t mean he suddenly became a brother by blood. Pretty damn close, but not completely.

It wasn’t like Tubbo had known his biological father either. There were snippets of memories that would suddenly well up despite his best attempts, of a ram hybrid holding his hand to keep him steady as he walked along the rim of a fountain, or the same man with a spark of anger in his eyes as another whiskey bottle smashed against the wall and joined the broken glass littering the ground of the tiny flat they lived in, or—No. I can’t think of him. Not now, out of the blue like this after so many years of trying to forget.

He’s probably dead by now.

The thought, instead of comforting him as Tubbo had expected it to, began to eat away at a small piece of his heart he didn’t even know still existed. It was like Totem-damned acid, except even acid didn’t sting this much.

“Hey, mate, you okay?”

Tubbo looked up to see Phil staring at him with a concerned frown. He didn’t need to check if the other two were watching him; their eyes seared into his skin. Like his lighter, the one he said he’d only use on cigarettes.

He lied.

“I—yeah. I’m fine,” Tubbo choked out, suddenly unable to breathe in enough air to speak above a whisper. Phil’s gaze softened, and he halfway reached out towards Tubbo. For a split second, the avian hybrid was ram-horned as he held out a hand to help a younger Tubbo up, sideburned and unkempt as the hand morphed to a balled fist.

Tubbo flinched away. Phil, blonde-haired, black-winged, and most definitely Philza Soot again, quickly pulled back his hand.

Foolish God. What’s wrong with me? I’m goddamned seventeen, I haven’t seen him in eleven fucking years, Tubbo berated himself. Realizing that the pad of his thumb was slick with blood, he surreptitiously glanced down at his shaking hands. Torn skin bloomed into angry crimson beads at the edges of his nails, and Tubbo quickly shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Shit, did I get blood on George's couch? I can't do anything right, I can't even manage to drop this stupid habit.

Despite his best efforts to keep still, Tubbo jumped when Phil talked again. “I’m sorry. You were just, you know…” The eldest Soot trailed off, looking away for a moment as if embarrassed. “Crying.”

Tubbo couldn’t bring himself to look at the obviously forced masks of pity on the three’s faces anymore. He bolted out, vision blurry and barely unable to hear or care about Phil’s cry of “Wait!” over the deafening sound of his own racing heartbeat.

I just need to get out, I don't even care where or how. Dream had always told Tubbo to take deep breaths and find a quiet place, but this castle was always so completely full. He nevertheless slowed, leaning against the wall for a moment and letting the cold comfort of the smooth stone leach some of the burning panic out of him. Tubbo roughly wiped tears off of his face, the saline solution mixing with the blood on his hands and leaving red streaks on his palms.

There was no one in the hallway to watch or offer a word of reassurance as Tubbo slid down the wall, collapsing to the ground.

Until Ranboo rounded the corner. The tall boy let out a soft cry of surprise, immediately vanishing, and the rasp of boots against stones echoed down the passage as he stumbled out of a teleport and dropped to his knees next to the ram hybrid.

"Hey, it's going to be okay. I promise everything'll be fine," Ranboo reassured, but Tubbo flinched as he felt an arm settle around his shoulders.

It's just Ranboo. The brunet had to force the thought to the front of his mind, repeating it over and over again until it blotted out everything else. It still couldn't stop his shaking. It's just Ranboo. It's just Ranboo. It's just Ranboo.

"I need you to take a deep breath, Tubbo," Ranboo said quietly. Tubbo could practically feel the weight of his gaze. "You're hyperventilating. Just breathe with me."

It's just Ranboo.

Shaky breaths slowly lined up with calmer exhalations, and by the time Ranboo spoke again, Tubbo realized he was able to breathe on his own. The memories lurked in a dark corner of his mind, but the fog around his head had cleared a little.

"Do you want to tell me what happened? It's fine if you don't, of course. I understand. It's also fine if you do, though—actually, you know what, I'm going to shut up now. Sorry."

Tubbo's own voice sounded unfamiliar, and it felt like he hadn't spoken in years. "N-no, you're fine. Don't apologize." He paused, sniffing back tears. "Just give m-me a minute, I don't really want to cry all over your jacket."

Ranboo nodded. "Mhm. That's perfectly all right, take your time."

Tubbo stayed silent as his nails strayed to his thumbs' cuticles once again. The twinge of pain gave him a moment of clarity: Every time I run into this guy he ends up having to help me; he must be sick of me by now.

Ranboo abruptly pulled Tubbo's hands away from each other. "Nope. No. That's self-destructive. You're hurting your body; do you not see the blood all over your hands?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize—" Tubbo apologized, unable to hide the lingering tremor in his voice any longer. Undying Totem, he hates me. Fuck, why I can't do anything right? Why am I like this?

Ranboo sighed, rubbing his tear scars. "No, I'm sorry. That came out wrong. Don't apologize. It's not your fault."

"It fucking is, though. I should be able to stop, but I just can't. Please, I don't know why. I'm weak, don't deny it." The words tumbled out of Tubbo like a waterfall, and he looked away as his eyes stung with the pressure to do the same. I don't want him to see me like this.

Ranboo wrapped his other arm around Tubbo as if trying to shelter him from the storm that had raged outside for days and days. “Tubbo, look at me. I am denying it. You're far stronger than me. You’re not a burden. I don’t know what you’re going through, but I believe in you. It's not. Your. Fault.”

"I'm sorry, I just—why can't life be a little fairer?" the ram hybrid hiccuped, glancing at Ranboo as he cautiously returned the hug. It felt like his tears would carve their tracks down his cheeks either way, and the dam finally broke.

Ranboo looked caught off guard by both the return of his embrace and Tubbo's tears, but he quickly reassured the other boy. "It will get better. Please, believe me. I promise it will. If you can get shot in the chest and still manage to make it to shore with your elytra ripped halfway apart, you can get through this. Tommy's really lucky to have you as a friend, you know."

The Tommy comment was Tubbo's final straw. "N-no. That's really not true," he sobbed. "Wilbur's like his older brother, Phil's basically his dad, and he's got George as an actual brother. I'm just his fourth fucking option when the Soots are busy off plotting to kill Dream or something. I-I'm not even a good option, because here I am, crying in the hallway crying because of my dead father!" As if he would want to be friends with me other than out of necessity. I have fucking nothing to offer, he's a prince and I'm nobody. We only even met because of my stupidity.

"Listen to me, Tubbo. I've been here with Wilbur for over half a year. Before he knew you, I saw him smile maybe two times? Now I see you two around the castle and he's always smiling. You're always together, it's like you're conjoined twins or something."

Tubbo felt wrong thinking it was funny, but here he was, unable to decide whether to laugh or continue to sob after having to be comforted by a guy who he had basically just met and who had pulled an arrow out of him not too long ago. Probably the former; he was feeling a little better. Maybe I just had to let the emotions out or something. Why the fuck is life so complicated—

A rumbling noise sounded, and Tubbo, tears forgotten, practically launched himself out of Ranboo's grip. "What the shit was that?!"

"Your stomach, dumbass. When was the last time you ate?" Ranboo's expression was gently scolding, made even more so by the fact that Tubbo couldn't actually remember.

"I, well, have no idea," Tubbo finally admitted. "But Wilbur’s pretty preoccupied with some sort of trade thing, and I know a place.”

The flagstones were wet with dew and littered with sprawling swaths of unevaporated water. It seemed the still-rising sun hadn't burnt the dull shine off of the rough granite—or perhaps the shadow the bakery cast still blocked the worst of the rays. While Ranboo could casually stride across the puddles, Tubbo had to splash through most of them.

“Next time you land directly into the middle of the largest puddle in a ten-mile radius, can you make sure the water isn't going to get all over me?” Ranboo was laughing, but the details Dream had taught Tubbo to look for stood against the enderman hybrid’s words: the sharp gasp of pain he had taken just a second before, and the way he had shoved his hand into his pocket immediately after. Right, water hurts endermen.

“Shit, I’m really sorry,” Tubbo apologized. “Hey, is your hand alright? I have a healing potion if you need it.” At some point during the night, Dream had handed Tubbo an assortment of tiny flasks in all colors of the rainbow, each type labeled with its specific effect in the captain’s messy scrawl. Speed. Water Breathing. Regeneration. Night Vision. Strength. And one more, the only bottle without a duplicate: Poison. Even the recollection of the vial, transparent like the liquid it contained and nervously shoved to the bottom of the small bag on his belt, seemed to spread frostbite through his veins.

Ranboo shook his head fervently. “No, I’m alright. There’s really no need to waste one on me, Tubbo.”

The ram-horned boy sifted through his bag in an obvious response, cautiously splitting his attention between finding a healing potion and picking his way around a puddle. He held it out to Ranboo, feeling the world take on a reddish glow as the sun sent cascades of light through the bottle and onto his face. Ninety million miles in the span of eight minutes, and all of it just for this. “Look, either you drink this, or I drop it on the ground and it smashes.”

“I—”

“Or I can forcefully empty its contents into your mouth, which would not be pleasant for either of us.”

“I’ll bite you.”

Caught off guard by the completely serious tone the other had used, Tubbo wheezed, “You’ll what?” The small flask slipped from his grasp as he instinctively jerked a step away.

Almost too quick to track, Ranboo flashed out of existence then back in again, ending up two feet closer to Tubbo and darting a hand out to snatch the crimson vial out of the air. The enderman hybrid’s expression wasn’t malicious, but he nevertheless bared his considerably pointed canines in a warning smile. “I’ll bite you if you try to force feed me something. Lucky for you, I’d rather not.”

The angry red skin on the back of his hand faded back to its normal pale hue as Ranboo flicked the cork over his shoulder—intentionally aiming it at Tubbo—and swallowed the bitter potion. “Doesn’t taste very good, huh?” Tubbo laughed, stepping around the flying piece of bark.

Ranboo wrinkled his nose. “Just tell me we’re close to that bakery or whatever it was before my appetite gets ruined.”

“Did you get water in your eyes, too?” the ram hybrid ribbed. “We’re almost here, big man. See?” He pointed up at the signage across the street. If Ranboo had been moving quickly before, upon seeing the sign he was now setting speedwalking records.

“Puffy’s Pastries.” The taller boy seemed to be testing out the words, but he nevertheless looked pleased with the way they sounded. “Are we talking about that shop? The one painted white? If not, I may just be blind. That’s always a possibility.”

Tubbo’s voice was laced with soft sarcasm. “Yeah, we’re going to some other random shop despite the fact I’m standing right by the door here.”

The soft clinking of bells strung on a red ribbon and nailed to the soft pine wood of the pastry shop’s door filled the air where Ranboo’s jokingly vengeful silence had briefly hung. The bakery was cozily warm as usual, and Velvet offered the two boys a thumbs up and a smile over a precariously balanced tray of assorted types of muffins. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Wait, where’s Ranboo? The thought briefly shook Tubbo—before he stopped looking up and realized that his friend was crouched in front of the display case showing off Pufffy and Vel’s baked goods.

“Get your face off the glass, Boo. The other customers don’t want to see a print of your nose in front of their precious tortes,” Tubbo hissed, tugging on the enderman hybrid’s jacket sleeve. Ranboo stolidly planted his feet, refusing to let himself be be dragged away. All the while, he kept eye contact with the pastries like a moth drawn to the bright flicker of a glass-robed lamp flame.

Only when Velvet gave him a curious glance did Ranboo move. Seizing the opportunity, Tubbo quickly ducked over to where Ranboo had stood. The baker was thankfully focused on transferring the muffins evenly onto a cooling rack in the corner as he used a corner of Dream’s cloak to wipe the offending imprint away.

“I think I want one of those blueberry muffins. Or two. Or four,” Ranboo whispered, having teleported right behind Tubbo. Unfortunately, Tubbo training had taught him rather well—his dagger was halfway off his belt by the time the brunet had recognized that the person behind him was Ranboo. He quickly turned the movement into a casual reach for the coin purse Dream had given him. I’m still jumpy from earlier, I guess.

“Y-you can order for us, I’ll pay for whatever you get,” Tubbo said. Despite knowing that the enderman hybrid was right behind him, looking up to see Ranboo loom above him was distinctly disconcerting—made no better by the fact that he immediately ordered six blueberry muffins.

Vel totaled up the cost, then packaged and exchanged the muffins for the eight copper pieces Tubbo slid across the counter. Ranboo immediately grabbed the bag with a cheery “TubboletsgoI’mreallyhungry”—he paused to take a breath and turn to Velvet even as he backed towards the door—“anywaythankyousomuchhaveaniceday!”

Upon exiting the shop, Tubbo was greeted with two muffins being roughly shoved into his hands. “You’re really excited about this, huh?” he remarked with a grin.

Ranboo, in response, mumbled something completely intelligible through a bite of berry-dappled bread.

Tubbo elbowed him. “Big man, I don’t really know what you‘re trying to say, but you’re sort of spotting crumbs everywhere—”

A flash of pink hair in the crowd.

Technoblade.

Any appetite Tubbo had vanished.

“What’s wrong?” Ranboo queried, having finished his first muffin. “You look like you’ve just been stabbed.”

Tubbo looked over back at where he had seen the second Soot brother. He was gone, absent as a ghost or a fragment of Tubbo’s sleep-deprived imagination.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” It didn’t take much more than three words and a smile to wave Ranboo‘s concerns off; the enderman hybrid was too busy inhaling the rest of his considerably large breakfast.

I was probably just imagining it, Tubbo reassured himself.

I’m sure everything’s fine.

Chapter Text

Technoblade was annoyed. He would hesitate to name the feeling as anger, per se, but the wire cutting a line between the two was razor-thin. Sharper than his sword, even.

Emotions were complicated. Anger usually sent the voices howling for blood, and subsequently Techno would end up with hands tainted by that same red river. This was different. Cold, bitter. Sending the red haze blossoming through the hollowness in his chest rather than in a haze in his vision.

technomad

looks like the blood god wants out, took him long enough

does he know what’s going on with—

“Shut up,” Techno growled. The chatter dulled slightly in response, whispers blending into each other as the voices backed down to a low hum; they knew better than to antagonize their host.

“Thanks, Chat.” Techno wasn’t sure if it was him or one of the legions of decidedly not-him that had come up with the nickname, but it had stuck.

Much like him on this stupid roof.

Technoblade hadn’t expected to see the kid, much less be spotted by him, but he should have known better. You’re getting careless. Too comfortable, he berated himself.

hiding on a roof from a child you could kill in a second

ranbooranbooranboo

the enderman hybrid is no threat either, wilbur can’t give him the killer instinct no matter how much he tries

Technoblade tuned Chat out. Its last comment had stung. Everything always came back to Wilbur. The golden child. Wilbur was the real threat here. Him and that stupid Oath. Loyalty, that was something that tridents had etched down their sides. It was fitting, in a twisted way; Techno was pretty sure Wilbur saw him as a weapon.

He missed the Wilbur from his childhood, when the four would roam the city and act like they owned the world. But everyone grew up. The wariness in Ranboo’s eyes, the constant check for his dagger that the ram hybrid— Tubbo , the voices chorused—carried out even as the two laughed. Other than those smallest signs, it was easy to forget that they had seen so much death. That their stories were penned with blood rather than ink.

Humanity was vast. Every person carried with them their own story, their own small victories, their own losses. The protagonists of their own books.

Techno hated it all.

He had skimmed through that library of people more times than he would have liked, and though some tales ended better than others, it was all useless. Every person in the Totem-damned city was just a part of some colossal game of chess.

Even Techno was such a piece. That thought didn’t scare him.

He wouldn’t let it—

TECHNO HIS DAGGER

look look look it’s not his

FUCK

The voices would not stay silenced. Chat’s buzzing grew to a frantic clamor, and their normally even crackle ceased to confine itself to Technoblade’s hearing as static crept around the edges of his vision.

“Oh, fuck this.”

Technoblade was a piece in a game, yes, but every piece knows when they must move. To sacrifice. And his gambit drew near.

Humanity was vast. Every person carried with them their own story, their own small victories, their own losses. The protagonists of their own books.

Tubbo finally could imagine a happy ending for himself. Maybe the Manhunt wouldn’t have to be always running. Maybe they could see the world without the constant threat of the Elytra at Dream’s back. Or maybe he would stay a little longer.

I’ll deal with all that when it’s time.

“…Hey, are you alright?” Ranboo asked. “You’re just—just staring off into the distance or something?”

Shit, zoned out there for a minute. “Yeah, sorry, I just sort of spaced out for a second. What were you saying?”

“Just thanking you for this, it’s been ages since I had any proper food.” The enderman hybrid somehow sounded apologetic, although it might have just been his natural tone. Or he feels like he has to apologize for everything. Tubbo had the prickling sense that it was the second—and Wilbur’s fault, too. Rage wasn’t the word he would direct towards the Elytra’s captain; his anger was something far beyond an arbitrary scattering of letters. First, there’s whatever he’s done to Dream. And now Ranboo. He’s known Tommy for a long time, too, which explains why Tommy didn’t end up stabbing him when he shot me.

Tubbo stepped over a lingering pool of water. “Well, find me anytime you need anything. Hell, Dream would probably let you travel on the Manhunt once all of this is over. You’d be safe with us.”

“He would find me. I’ve tried.” Ranboo stubbornly refused to make eye contact, though Tubbo was sure that he could see the ram hybrid looking up at him. “It’s useless. You should get out of this Totem-cursed city as soon as you can. Without me.”

“I wouldn’t doubt Dream so much, kid.”

Tubbo was looking towards the rest of the people filling the square, but Ranboo’s sharp gasp and the soft scrape of his lace-up boots scuffing against the flagstones were enough of a warning for him to quickly catch a glimpse of pink hair before the taller boy practically slammed into him.

“Tubbo, we need to ru—“

A shadow fell over the two. The man, his armored frame towering over Tubbo, glanced down at him, then shifted his gaze to Ranboo.

Tubbo grabbed his dagger, immediately shoving Ranboo further behind him and taking a step back himself as he shifted his weight to the stance Dream had drilled into him so many summers ago.

He’s not holding weapons. Still could probably take me out bare-handed. The sword on his back looks heavy, it might take him a few seconds to draw it—no, better not underestimate him—so if I need to I can go for an artery or his face, which might leave enough time to grab Ranboo and use the crowd to get away.

Tubbo may have been taught by the best. However, Technoblade was still a prodigal warrior and an expert with more weapons than most probably knew existed.

So despite how Tubbo swung his dagger with a nearly flawless form, Techno was faster. His hand blurred as he quickly grabbed Tubbo’s arm, effectively disabling the pirate’s ability to do any stabbing. The Soot brother’s grasp was like solid netherite, and no matter how much Tubbo attempted to writhe out of his makeshift handcuff, he had no success.

“I swear to the Foolish God, Technoblade, I’ll fuckin’ stab you if you don’t let go of me,” the brunet spit, resorting to threats he knew he couldn’t fulfill. Ranboo was holding onto his other wrist as if it was keeping him from drowning, and even if Tubbo could actually manage to stick Dream’s dagger in that red-cloaked bastard, there was no way he was letting go of his friend to do it.

Thankfully, Technoblade loosened his grip. “Relax. I just want to talk, I’m not trying to get in a fight.” He paused, then let of Tubbo’s arm entirely. “But we do need to go somewhere else. People are staring and this isn’t quite the type of discussion to have out in the middle of a city like Noninveni.”

“And what if I don’t want to talk with you? What then? How can I trust you to not stab us in an alley?” Tubbo shot back. Technoblade was staring him down, but he wasn’t about to let a Soot win. Not today.

Techno let out a pained sigh, and his red eyes broke away from the other’s grey as he closed them. “I could count over twenty different ways in the last few minutes I could have killed you, but instead I decided to walk up to you. So no, you can’t trust me, but this is too important to squabble over societal constructs like your trust—or lack of it.“

Tubbo scowled. “I just don’t want to get stabbed for the second time in under a week.” Though it was nothing compared to Technoblade’s broadsword, he deliberately placed a hand on the pommel of Dream’s dagger. I don’t want to be scared of you, he wanted to say. So let me show you how much I’m definitely not.

“He isn’t his brother,” Ranboo interjected. His voice shook, but the hand he put on Tubbo’s shoulder had no trace of uncertainty. “He’s never hurt me. He’s not like Wilbur.”

Great, you’re going to get us both killed. “I don’t know if you realize this,” Tubbo scoffed in reply, “but that’s a pretty fuckin’ low bar, Boo.”

“Better than nothing.” Technoblade used a sweep of his hand in the direction of the palace to accompany his words. Tubbo realized he was clearly implying Wilbur, but what struck him was the dignified way the pink-haired man made the gesture. It was all too easy to forget he had been raised along with courtly Wilbur and grown up in the company of people like George. Phil was his father, after all.

So why was Techno stuck so far in the shadows behind Wilbur? The man could be George’s military strategist or even his general. And yet he wasn’t.

Maybe I should hear him out. And then: He might be able to tell me about Dream’s past. About their past.

Oh, this was such a bad idea. However, did Tubbo care? Probably not. “I suppose we’d better get walking, Mr. Blade,” he finally said.

“I was guessing you’d end up coming to that conclusion. Who mentioned anything about walking, though?” Technoblade gave a sharp-toothed smile, then turned towards the road leading north out of the courtyard and gave a sharp whistle.

People scattered and carts were forced to a creaking halt as a large bay warhorse trotted towards the three. Despite his daunting appearance, it simply puffed a gentle breath into the back of its owner’s head. “This is Carl,” Techno laughed, reaching up to smooth out a few errant strands of the horse’s mane from where they were pinned under its heavy armor. Carl leaned his head down to knock his muzzle into the fighter’s shoulder—to which Technoblade responded with a pat on the bay’s cheek—then looked over at Tubbo.

“What do I do?” the ram hybrid whispered, not wanting to spook Carl as the horse sniffed first his horns, then his face. “Techno, please tell me he’s not going to bite my head off.”

The noble snorted with derision but pulled out two carrots from one of the small satchels attached to the iron that flanked the warhorse’s sides. “Each of you can give one to him. After that, you can be assured that the thought of violence towards you two won’t even cross his mind,” Technoblade instructed as he held the orange vegetables out to the pair. Tubbo hesitantly took his but waited for Ranboo to go first. Just in case Carl feels a sudden craving for flesh.

Ranboo, fortunately, had no problems in the form of suddenly missing fingers, but Tubbo wasn’t reassured. Oh Undying Totem, it’s my turn to feed the horse quite literally bred to fight in battle. However, as if taking note of Tubbo’s hesitation, Carl exhaled softly into his open palm before carefully taking the carrot. The shorter boy let out an incredulous snort. “His breath tickles!”

“I guess he likes you,” Ranboo replied, stroking the small strip of the warhorse’s mahogany coat that was uncovered by armor. “Or the carrot you gave him. That too.”

Technoblade swept the hair Carl had blown out of its plait away from his face, then tucked it back into his braid. “Both, probably, but the former makes more sense. Generally, he tends to be more fond of hybrids than normal hu—Carl, I know!”

Realizing that his feeding time was now over, Carl had stomped a black-pointed leg against the cobblestones to interrupt his rider. The message that the horseshoe’s percussive click conveyed was clear; if Carl was able to talk, he would be yelling at the three to hurry up.

“We’d better leave, I don’t really want to keep him waiting,” Tubbo intoned nervously, glancing over at Carl. The warhorse impatiently stared back for a second, and the look he gave Tubbo almost seemed to imply that he knew perfectly well how scared the brunet was of both him and his rider. No. Tubbo ran his hands through his hair in an attempt to clear the fog of sleep to the edges of his head. Carl’s just a horse. Stop projecting, idiot.

Carl shook his mane.

Great, now even the stupid horse is mocking me.

Techno rolled his shoulders with an ominous pop. "Let's go, then," he yawned, then swung a black-laced shoe up into the stirrup—the impact of the steel-toed boot into the metal piece sounding not unlike the melodic lament of a sword being drawn—and swung over Carl's back into the saddle. The warhorse tossed his head, and Tubbo remembered the way that Tommy would always talk about Technoblade. His reverence suddenly made sense. The man looked like he could destroy an entire army.

Apparently oblivious to Tubbo's evaluations, Techno's expression stayed fairly neutral as he stretched a hand down to the two boys. "Carl can carry us three easily. Hell, I've even ridden him at a full-out gallop while wearing full plate armor and carrying a dead guy in equally heavy netherite, and he wasn't even winded." The warrior said the second sentence so casually that it took a full second for the impact of his words to sink in. Standing beside Tubbo, Ranboo's eyes widened.

"Oh, don't look at me like that. I'm not going to kill either of you; I have enough blood on my hands already. Besides, I don't relish the idea of starting a war against probably the one person who could kill me."

‘I have enough blood on my hands already.' No, that's definitely not foreboding at all. But Ranboo says he trusts him. And I trust Ranboo, I think? So despite Techno's ominous words, Tubbo still grabbed his hand. The pink-haired man's grip was firm despite the strips of cloth wrapped around his palms. As Technoblade didn't seem to specialize in hand-to-hand combat, the black linen seemed to act as padding between his skin and the oddly-shaped netherite bracers shielding his forearms and wrists. Tubbo had no further time to muse on their impractical two-layered shape, as Techno tightened his grasp further and hoisted him up. Tubbo had to scramble to find his balance; it seemed that standing on a rocking ship didn't completely translate to horseback riding.

"Thank you," the brunet grudgingly acknowledged.

Techno shrugged, then leaned around Tubbo to pull Ranboo onto the warhorse behind him. "No problem. And feel free to hold on to me, if you need. Carl can take off pretty quickly, and I don't want to waste even more time by coming back to get you after you fall off."

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yeah, I will—”

Ranboo, at some point during the argument, had been wiser than Tubbo and wrapped his arms around the ram-horned boy’s rib cage. Besides helping to secure himself on his precarious seat, Ranboo’s action was the only thing that saved Tubbo from reenacting Technoblade’s warning. When the noble sharply clicked his tongue three times and Carl shot off like an arrow out of a crossbow in response, Tubbo was practically thrown off the warhorse’s back.

“Well, what did I tell you,” Technoblade remarked smugly, echoed by a muffled snort of laughter from Ranboo. Tubbo stayed silent and dug his hands in tighter to the ivory fur trimming Techno’s cloak. He wasn’t sure which was redder; the crimson fabric of the cape or the burning humiliation that made its presence known across his cheeks. Reminder to self: listen to Technoblade.

Tubbo's embarrassment was quickly cooled by the force of the wind. Carl's swift pace meant that the city quickly diminished to nothing but a set of obsidian-and-iron gates, and with no buildings to shield the three from the gales which swept across the cliffs through the two mountains that Noninveni nestled between, there was nothing blocking the air currents from howling through the valley like a malevolent god voicing their fury. And yet, the paved road that they traveled along was not left alone to its own devices. Sprawling meadows were replaced by small settlements bordered with farmland.

As the path curved south, hugging the base of one mountain, the hamlets on the right gave way to expansive orchards and well-kept rows of grapevines. On the left, however, *temperate* woodlands swallowed civilization in a matter of minutes.

Technoblade had mostly failed to make small talk in the forty-five minutes they traveled, but from what Tubbo could hear, the fighter and Ranboo would occasionally converse about things he either couldn’t relate to. Those were the times he was listening, at least. Much of the time Tubbo either struggled to pay attention through the veil of sleepiness or was simply unable to make out full sentences: the speed at which Carl practically flew stole Techno’s words from the air before they could reach Tubbo.

Time went on, and the terrain softened from mountainous ridges to rolling hills. The agrarian scenery was beautiful to watch, but it was becoming harder and harder for Tubbo to keep his eyes forced open. If he tried hard enough, he could imagine that the soft tones of Techno and Ranboo lightheartedly debating the merits of various ruling systems to be the familiar crash of waves against the Manhunt’s hull.

His last drowsy thought before drifting off to sleep against Technoblade’s back was one that would cloud his sleep: I miss Dream.

Chapter Text

So I've, uh, decided to put OSAS on a haitus.

My mental health hasn't been great lately, and most days I end up getting nothing done on the chapter due to be published. I feel like I have to write and so I rush in the last 2 or 3 days and still end up going over the deadlines I've set. On top of pressure from my parents to have a worthwhile summer, it's been giving me a lot more guilt and anxiety. Which obviously Isn't Good lmao

Yeah. I've been losing a lot of motivation on this fic to be honest, and I initially wanted to fully discontinue it, but I still have ideas planned out for the future for it that I don't want to completely scrap. The fact that I've put almost 30k words into it mayyyy also be a factor. Of course, I want to be honest, though. There definitely is a high chance that OSAS will never have another chapter, of course, but whether haitus-ed or discontinued, I plan to keep writing fics.

I actually do have a few fic ideas right now, but I don't know which to pick; I'll give you all a few options:
1. karl dies, sapnap avenges him. there's probably going to be a lot of violence (i need to work on writing violence LMAO)
2. AU where they aren't streamers -- I don't want to spoil this one and I'm not 100% sure how to write it but it could be actually Quite Cool if I managed to pull it off
3. medieval sbi AU :))))
4. canon-divergent beeduo nuclear shit >:)

I hope this update wasn't too much of a shock, leave a comment with which fic sounds the most interesting :))) ily all /p