Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The smoke burns his nose.

The lingering stench of gunpowder nearly makes him nauseous as he peers down into the day-old crater that used to be Logsted. There is a tower leering above him, taunting him with it’s aborted intention to take his last remaining life.

This is the night, he’s decided. He is leaving this clusterfuck of an exile. He’s going to get the fuck away from here- from Dream. He is going to be free.

The sun is just beginning to set on the horizon, and Tommy has packed up his meager, meager belongings. Dream said he would be gone for at least a week, so it’s now or never. If he doesn’t leave now he supposes he probably never will.

So with one last look over the camp, Tommy walks just to the edge of it all, and raises his fist in one final salute to the site that housed his months-long torment.

It feels good to flip something off again.

He only makes it to the nearby village when things go wrong. He’s in the middle of robbing the fucking place for all it’s worth when someone steps behind him and his blood runs cold. “Oh, Tommy…” Dream drawls from behind his back, “I thought we learned our lesson already. You have to learn to behave.” Dream takes the bundles of wheat out of his arms and drops them in a hole. Tommy knows where this is going.

“Dream. Please don’t.” He pleads. Dream lights the TNT anyway.

“Tommy I’m about at the end of my rope with you. I’ve given you chance, after chance, after chance and you still don’t learn. Are you stupid? At this point...” Tommy can physically feel the air around them run cold. “Tommy I don’t think there’s any saving you.” The implication of the words sends Tommy skittering back and away from his friend enemy.

Dream’s axe glints dangerously in his hand. “Dream please.” He begs, as fear pools and coils tight in his stomach. “Dream I can be good. I can do it I promise. I’ll stay. I’ll be good.”

Dream comes closer. “I’m sorry, Tommy.” The words are light and airy and Tommy knows he doesn’t mean that. “You’re just too much. We made an agreement that you would stay at Logstedshire and you broke that agreement. There’s nothing I can do.”

It’s bullshit and Dream knows it. Tommy knows it too, but right here, at this moment, he’s too scared to call him out for it, so Tommy does the one thing left that he can do in this situation. Tommy takes a deep breath, turns, and runs into the woods a few yards away.

Behind him, he can hear Dream’s high, wheezing laughs. “Oh, Tommy!” He calls, like this is some kind of game to him- hunting Tommy down through a dark forest that was going to be infested with mobs soon.

He stumbles past low branches and every step hurts just a little worse as twigs and stray rocks dig into the foot he’d lost the shoe for a few days ago. This must be Manhunt, he realizes, except instead of Dream running from friends, it’s Tommy running from his very own murderer.

And the thing is, Tommy knows Dream isn’t even really trying. Dream does this shit for fun. He’s somewhere around, laughing or watching Tommy fumble through unfamiliar woods as the sun sets, and he’s getting some sick sort of satisfaction from it. Tommy isn’t going to get out of this and he knows it, but it doesn’t mean he can’t try.

He runs for what has to be hours. It started to rain at some point, and the water just makes it harder to keep his footing and sucks what little heat he has away like a leech. His sides burn in agony and he can never seem to get enough oxygen into his lungs and his foot has to be bleeding by now but he can’t stop or slow down because the minute he does he knows he’s as good as dead. He can barely see five feet ahead of him, the moonlight blocked by the thick canopy of trees above them and eliminating what little visibility it would have provided.

It's the reason he doesn’t see the root sticking up and out of the ground before it’s already too late. It catches on his ankle- the one with the shoe, thankfully- and sends him tumbling to the ground just out of reach of a small open clearing.

Tommy heaves. He almost throws up. He can’t bring himself to stand back up again and as footsteps begin to approach him (from in front of him. Dream was playing with him he knew it) he knows he’s lost. “I’m sorry you couldn’t learn, Tommy.” Dream says, and Tommy lowers his forehead to the ground and mutters apologies to all his friends and all his family that he’s sorry he failed. Dream gives him a little, soft pat on the head that almost sends Tommy’s tiny lunch lurching up and out of him, but he settles it best he can and braces for impact.

And with Tommy cowering under the imposing figure, and the rain beating down hard on the unfamiliar forest floor around them, and the glint of an axe in the moonlight raised over a masked man’s head, it was impossible to hear anyone else who might be around.

Anyone like whoever the hell just ran screaming through the tree line and barreled into Dream, successfully knocking him over and into the muddy grass below.

The shock of it all kept Tommy from saying… well, anything really. He was still reeling from the setback to his impending doom, so close to death yet again, and so soon after the last time he was in Logstedshire and his secret room had been discovered. So really, can you blame him if he had nothing to say quite yet to whomever had decided to tip his tormentor over like one of those old boxing dolls but without the getting back up part?

At the very least, he didn't seem to be the only one lost for words. With Dream groaning on the ground, Tommy had just enough confidence in his temporary state of living that he could observe his savior and see if maybe one of his old friends had finally pulled their head out of their ass and came to rescue him. He hoped it was Tubbo, or maybe Ranboo, who had written him a few letters here and there.

He didn’t, actually, he wanted his friends as far away from this psychopath as humanly possible

It didn’t seem to be anyone from L’Manberg, though. It didn’t seem to be anyone Tommy even recognized.

Whoever had just decided to go cow tipping with an actual human participant instead stood before Tommy in the dim light of the moon, hands on their knees and panting so hard Tommy swore they were going to collapse. They had blonde-looking hair (although it was kind of hard to tell what shade it would be with the lighting and all the water) cut just to the top of their shoulders with the front pieces tied behind their head in a style Tommy swears he remembered Techno wearing at some point in his childhood. They wore a dull and battered green jacket over a soaked gray sweater and at least one other layer judging by the turtle-neck collar peeking out from under it, and loose black pants fitted with several full-looking pockets.

If you asked Tommy he’d say they looked kind of homeless.

The clearing around them was enveloped in a tense silence shattered only by the roaring of the storm around them as Dream slowly picked himself up from the ground and the dream-tipper caught their breath after apparently hauling ass to earn the name.

All while Tommy sat knocked on his ass and contemplated the meaning of his fucking existence.

“Who… the hell…” panted Dream as he wiped wet dirt and grass from his face, “are you?”

Well at least he and Dream are on the same page about one thing.

The guy in green (who Tommy is realising he should clarify is the one who just about punted his months-long abuser and not the abuser himself seeing as they share the same general color scheme) finished hacking up what could be a lung, and stands up straight with one hand bracing his back like the dead-sprint he’d done to get there had injured his goddamn spine as well as his diaphragm. The whole thing would be almost comedic if Tommy wasn’t just seconds away from joining Wilbur not three minutes ago. It would be almost comedic if Tommy’s heart didn’t drop through his ass when his savior actually spoke.

“Oh, come on now.” Came a horrifyingly, pants-shittingly similar voice to the guy covered in mud a few blocks away. “You think you’d recognize the guy you banished from his own damn server.”

It shouldn’t be possible. It isn’t possible. Because there are two Dreams standing just feet away from Tommy and it is a core piece of Tommy’s knowledge and mental health that there is only one of those. Other-Dream doesn’t seem to care about Tommy’s imploding understanding of reality, though. He only has eyes for Tommy’s Dream, who steps back in what could be shock if Tommy didn’t know that Dream didn’t get shocked. (He didn’t get shocked, or scared, or happy, or sad, he just got angry and satisfied when other people suffered. Tommy would know. He’d been the cause of a lot of that satisfaction over the past few months.)

But, yeah, despite Tommy’s crumbling understanding of the universe, Other-Dream only has eyes for Dream-who-almost-drove-Tommy-to-suicide. And for just a moment, Tommy has an awed thought of what eyes they are.

It's the first time Tommy has ever seen Dream’s face. He has a long nose and a sharp chin and kind eyebrows and Tommy assumes there are freckles there too but it’s too dark to see for sure. And by god he has the greenest eyes Tommy has ever seen in his life. They’re the color of rolling fields he can remember running through with Tubbo before everything started to go wrong. They’re the color of summer trees he could nap under with Wilbur when they were little and were hiding from Phil after some dastardly prank. They’re not the color of a green coat and striped bucket hat, but they remind him of those anyway. The eyes are the green of good memories and the happiness of a time long-gone, and the eyes are angry. So angry they glow.

Thunder crackles overhead as Other-Dream stalks forward and Regular-Dream’s smiling mask is illuminated by the haunting glow. “I’m a little offended,” he drawls, “all this time I spent thinking of you, and you don’t even recognize me? Kinda funny considering you. Stole. My. FACE!”

Each word is punctuated with rising volume and a quicker step forward until Other-Dream is once again lunging toward Tommy’s with a fist in the air. This time it’s met with a shield and a narrowly dodged returning swipe of a glittering axe.

It’s almost like watching two massive tidal waves crash into each other in a raging storm. One is armed to the teeth and slipping on mud, and the other isn’t even wearing armor, but the force behind them both is no joke. Tommy thinks he sees a dent where his Dream had been thrown into a tree at some point, and there are definitely suspiciously large cracks splintering along the ground where their feet make contact too hard. (Tommy comes to the startling realization that normal humans can’t do that. He comes to the realization that he doesn’t know what can.)

A shield is lost to the chaos and falls open at Tommy’s feet, which he hastily pulls up and in front of him as a small branch hurtles his way. With shaky legs he pushes himself back as far as he can until his back hits a tree and he can’t get any farther away from the carnage in front of him. At the very least it lets him see that somehow, despite the lack of armor, despite the lack of a weapon, Other-Dream is winning. He seems untouchable in the way he dodges the blade of Nightmare with large, graceful steps and swooping bows and returns them with devastating hits of his own balled up fists. Dream is losing health, and he’s doing it fast.

It comes to head when Other-Dream lets out one last roaring cry of anger as he sends his right hand forward so fast it blurs and knocks into Dream’s mask so hard a crack goes spidering up from the bottom and past the left eye of the thing. It sends him back on his ass again, and before Other-Dream can get on top of him and start punching again like it looks like he wants to, Dream seems to recognize his own loss and pearls just a few yards away before throwing another even farther. Other-Dream stumbles for just a moment when he turns. It’s enough for Dream to send Nightmare flying one last time and slicing delicately through the not-so-stranger’s side before falling to the ground a few blocks away from Tommy’s tree. Off in the distance, the pearl lands, and Dream disappears.

A thick, heavy silence falls once again over the clearing as Other-Dream catches his breath and the dim glow of his eyes returns to nothing. The surrounding area is wrecked to all hell; trees have been downed, there are craters littering the ground, and Tommy is pretty sure he sees a few small fires braving the torrential fucking downpour that doesn’t seem to have the decency to fuck off. He’s a bit shellshocked, but it doesn’t stop him from scrambling to his feet and holding Nightmare and the shield tight in front of him when he finally gets to speak what's been on his mind ever since Other-Dream first hurdled in here like the world’s most graceless ballerina.

“WHAT THE HELL?!”

Other-Dream turns around so fast it must sting when his hair goes with him and whips at his eyes. There’s a pregnant pause when Other-Dream catches sight of him with the axe and the shield held in front of him threateningly. He doesn’t seem scared though, Tommy thinks bitterly.

“Tommy?” He asks after a moment, staring the teen down with potent confusion. Tommy can relate. “What are you doing here? Where’s Wilbur?”

It stings. The death of his brother is still fresh in his heart and his head. The thought off Wilbur- of Ghostbur- brings a fresh wave of resentment for the man in front of him barrelling forward in his chest, tipping him over the edge of confused to angry. And he is so, so angry, and for once he has a weapon and a shield and Dream has nothing and just that sends a wave of smug satisfaction forward too. It's so powerful a feeling he almost forgets the dying trees and ditches scattered around him. Almost. So he doesn’t answer the question and hefts his battered shield up higher.

Other-Dream takes his silence in stride, like he didn’t even notice or at least didn’t expect an answer. He smiles bright and wide (it’s the first time Tommy has thought of Dream smiling like that in a long time) and scrubs his hand over his bruised face and through his hair. Some blood smears over his cheek but he doesn’t seem to know or care. “Man, am I glad to see you. How you been? I hope I haven’t caused too much trouble disappearing like that. It was a pain in my ass to get back- I’m on so many block lists right now it's insane. That guy was really determined to keep me out- what an asshole. I’ll be glad to beat his ass once I can get my hands on my stuff.” There’s a brief pause where his eyes scan around them and then land on the sparkling axe in Tommy’s hand. “Oh, good. He left his axe. Here let me see what kind of stuff he had on it so I know what I’m up against.”

Other-Dream walks forward with an openness that speaks volumes of trust in Tommy that the teen can’t return. “Stay the hell away from me.” He growls as low and threatening as he can muster. To his credit, Dream does stop in his tracks, but he looks more confused than scared. Oh well, whatever Tommy can get. “I don’t know who the hell- what you are, and frankly I don’t care. All I know is you look like him and that’s enough for me. So get the fuck away from me right this fucking second or I will gut you like a goddamn fish.” Tommy highly doubts he has the skill level or strength to pull that off, but the threat sticks anyway. Dream takes a few steps back and his brow furrows for a second before a sickening look of realization crosses his face.

“Tommy,” he starts, and he raises his hands in front him, palms spread open placatingly, “I don’t know what he did to you, but I promise I am not him. He is not me.”

“Bullshit!” Tommy sneers. “You sound just fucking like him, asshat. I’m not stupid.” He says it with conviction. He isn’t Dream’s plaything anymore. He won’t be a stupid puppet that Dream can manipulate into thinking whatever he wants.

“I didn’t say you were, kid.” Dream is a fucking liar.

“Yeah you did.” He growls. “Every damn day on that stupid beach- you know you did- stop lying. Stop. Fucking. Lying. To me. I’m over it, Dream. Im over you and your stupid games and everyone else who ever pretended to give a shit about me.” It's just the start really. Tommy has always been big. He’s gigantic in every sense of the word and every facet of himself. He’s tall. He’s loud. He’s been called annoying more times than he can count. But more importantly, his emotions have always been big, too. He loves strong and he hurts strong, and that means when he gets started, it's very hard to stop him. So after months of isolation and months of pain, this small little freedom of speaking his mind is the thing that sends all the water crashing through the steady wall of the dam holding everything back. It's the beginning of a rant that’s been a long time coming. He doesn’t talk about everything, but he talks about a lot.

And surprisingly, Dream lets him work himself through it. Dream sits there and lets Tommy yell his feelings out in the middle of a massive rainstorm in a dark forest surrounded by dying trees. It's so unlike anything Dream has done since before the first war for L’Manberg that after what feels like hours of angry, tearful hollering, it’s the thought that pulls him back.

Dream is still there, of course, already soaked to the bone it seems, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks… well, devastated would be a light term for it. The green of his eyes has dulled so much that instead of emitting light like he’d seen earlier, it's almost like they’re sucking light in. They are dark and sad and angry the way he saw earlier, but somehow they’re different at the same time. During the fight, they were angry. Now, they look enraged.

There are shadows covering his face but they don’t stop Tommy from seeing what could be a tear or a stray raindrop roll down the man’s face. The rain is beginning to lighten up, and the lessened roar of water hitting the surface of the world lets him hear the shuddering intake of breath and the soft. “Oh…”

The world stands still for just a moment as the both of them collect themselves. Tommy heaves and sucks air into his lungs with greed. Dream wipes his cheek and takes a deep, steadying breath. Neither of them talk until the rain has finally stopped, and when it does it’s Tommy who starts. His voice is hoarse from the yelling and panting, but the words are clear. “I just don’t understand you, Dream. Why won’t you just leave us- leave me alone? What did I do wrong?”

He doesn’t actually expect an answer. He expects to get hit, maybe, or to look up and see an empty clearing devoid of any sign of anybody else. It’s what the other version of him would’ve done- punish him with force or with loneliness again. Instead, this Dream gives him a sad, longing look. “I… never meant for this to happen. I’m sorry, Tommy.”

Tommy has never heard Dream apologize for anything and mean it. Ever.

“Listen to me, Tommy. You did nothing wrong. What happened to you- what he did to you- nothing like that will ever, ever be your fault. The Dream you know- he’s not real. He’s not me. That Dream is a monster, and he stole my face and took me away and I am so, so fucking sorry that I couldn’t protect you like I was supposed to. I’m sorry.”

Tommy takes a minute to unpack that. This Dream is claiming an imposter somehow took his place, that at one point the Dream that Tommy had chosen to follow into a near-empty world and the Dream that once upon a time Tommy had considered a friend had existed. All those memories Tommy used to look at with disdain and disbelief that he had ever thought Dream was a good person- this Dream was claiming they were real.

Maybe it's the emotional exhaustion that does it. Maybe it's the physical exhaustion instead. Maybe it just because Tommy still doesn’t know what the fuck is going on and why there are suddenly two versions of his worst nightmare running around and why they seem so different from eachother. Whatever it is, something in him lets him trust just a little bit. It lets him trust this Dream with longer hair and patchy clothes and no weapons and a real live face just enough that he lowers his shield and stands up straight. Tommy is tired. Tommy is tired and confused and he's tired of being confused. So if this Dream wants Tommy not to slit his throat with his own axe he's going to answer some questions.

Chapter Text

The first questions Tommy asks are the important ones. He asks, “Who are you?” (I’m Dream).

He asks, “Are you going to kill me?” (Of course not.)

And because he’s wondering, Tommy asks, “Are you homeless?” (No! I’ve just been gone a while!) Tommy doubts that, but because he’s tired and freaked the fuck out he’ll let it slide just this once.

Overall, it isn’t a very enlightening beginning to an interrogation, but whether that’s because Tommy is just asking bad questions or because he doesn’t truly trust anything coming out of Other-Dream’s mouth is up for debate. Regardless, by the time the sun should be beginning to peek over the horizon- surrounded by trees as they are Tommy can’t really tell- Tommy has to reluctantly shut the fuck up in order to let New-Guy-Dream deal with his slowly bleeding side. The axe that caused the wound hums in Tommy’s grasp with the power of the enchantments infused in the metal. The knowledge that It left that mark comforts Tommy greatly- it’s nice to have solid proof that Dream isn’t some untouchable god running around hellbent on ruining Tommy’s life.

It’s the little things in life.

And, actually, with Dream thoroughly occupied with stopping himself from bleeding out, Tommy feels comfortable enough to cradle Nightmare in the crook of his arm instead of pointed defensively in front of him. With the firm netherite of the axe’s blade resting solidly against his chest, Tommy can tentatively nurse the splinters and scrapes on his own palms.

Now that he’s taking the chance to pay attention to his own body, though, more issues are beginning to make themselves known. First of all, his ankle hurts like a bitch from where that stupid fucking root snagged him and sent him stumbling face-first into what-the-fuck-ville. It's throbbing in time with the tiny pebbles lodged into the flesh of his hands and the open cuts on his knees, and the in-syncness of it all makes his head spin, which is just another check on the Whats-wrong-with-Tommyinnit list at this point.

Jesus fuck. He’s having a great goddamn day isn’t he?

He’s busy bitching to himself about his place in the world when Dream finishes mummifying his torso, and he’s going to blame it on someone who isn’t him- Tubbo, maybe, he’s been acting like a bit of a wrongin’ lately so he supposes that’s fair- that he doesn’t notice until Dream is carefully peering over his shoulder and dropping leftover bandages in his grasp before scurrying back a few steps.

For just a moment Tommy’s brain devolves into a cacophony of too close too close tooclosetooclose and at the same time his body screams closer closer closer. It nearly knocks all the air from his chest. The conflicting feelings of wanting to crawl out of his skin to get away and the need to be close to another person make his heart clench up so tightly he can physically feel the pressure in his chest increasing. It’s… a lot to deal with, but it really is for only a moment, because as soon as it comes it’s gone. Dream doesn’t even touch him before he’s already backing away to perch himself on one of the few remaining rocks jutting out of the ground to pick nonchalantly at his nails.

It’s a move that’s very unlike the Dream that Tommy spent his exile with. It’s very unlike… well it’s unlike anyone Tommy knows on this stupid server because now that he thinks about it, if it were anyone else giving him bandages for his wounds would they take his own comfort and personal space into consideration? Would they have given him the bandages in the first place?

There is some trauma there, Tommy thinks, but he doesn’t really feel like unpacking it right now so he zips his lips and focuses on winding soft paper-wool (what are bandages made of? Did Dream make these himself?) around his stinging palms. He very pointedly does not think of how nobody ever came to check on him after he got fucking kicked out and banned from seeing anyone he knew.

He doesn’t think of that at all.

The bandages run out just as he finishes with his second hand, and a part of him wants to ask if Dream has any more for his knees and foot but at the same time he doesn’t want to show quite that much weakness so he keeps his big mouth shut and catches Dream’s eye as the first rays of sunshine finally pilfer their way through the thick forest around him. Dream stretches his arms out over his head- and Tommy resists the urge to call him an old man when he hears several cracks coming from his back- and hops off his perch with a sigh.

“I have more questions.” Tommy gripes when Dream starts to wander off to the side somewhere to poke around a crater and a few downed trees.

“I know.” Dream hums for a moment likes he’s found something particularly interesting before picking up a few disconnected sticks to tuck under his arm. “You can ask them later. Right now, we need to set up camp. Unless you know the way back to civilization.”

“We?”

“‘Course. I’m not just gonna leave you alone in the middle of the woods somewhere.” Tommy wonders if Other-Dream fully comprehends the irony there.

“I don’t want to go camping with you.”

“Well that’s too bad. It doesn’t seem like a very high IQ play to leave a little kid in the woods.” Dream meets his eyes with a smile and tosses a few sticks his way. Tommy dutifully collects them into a little bundle to carry with him, but he levels Dream with an unimpressed stare so the guy knows he’s irritated. He ignores the faint memories of a time long-passed when he used to make stupid jokes about having a high IQ with a faceless ally.

“I’m not a kid.”

Dream sighs, but he doesn’t seem particularly upset with Tommy. “Look, if you come help me set up camp for the day I’ll answer some more questions, but first we need to rest and dry-off. Sound like a deal?”

Tommy doesn’t want to spend any amount of time with any version of Dream, but he wants to know whats going on more, so he scrunches up is nose and grits his teeth. “Deal.”

They don’t shake on it, but Dream looks satisfied anyway as he traipses past Tommy and back into the woods the way they came.

...

Despite the tentative trust they have, Tommy still wont let Dream get too close. He keeps him at at least an arm’s length away at all times, no matter how much Dream wants to treat the thin cuts he can see on his face, and no matter how many times Dream offers Tommy his spare pair of leather boots he’s been carrying around for who knows how long.

Dream supposes that’s fair enough, even if each time he catches Tommy looking at him with that little look of distrust and fear it sends waves of regret spiraling into his heart.

The thing is, Dream has been gone for a very long time. He doesn’t get to coddle Tommy like he would pretend not to when the server was just getting started and Tommy mainly just ran around tormenting anyone he could and stealing whatever his greedy little heart desired. Not anymore. He doesn’t have the right. He doesn’t have the privilege.

It hurts worse because for as long as he can remember, Dream has always had a soft spot for kids. Dream has always had an even softer spot for Tommy, because the kid was always just so unapologetically himself that Dream almost envied him for it. The Tommy he sees now is nothing like the kid he’d jokingingly banished for like 20 minutes within his first week here. This Tommy doesn’t laugh at his own jokes. This Tommy doesn’t make those jokes.

This Tommy keeps a tight grip on a stolen axe that had almost killed him mere hours ago and won’t let Dream walk behind him because the thought of turning his back to Dream sent him into a panic. This Tommy is not a kid anymore, not like he used to be, and Dream wants so badly to know what the hell has happened in his absence, but he knows better than to ask.

So far, he only knows bits and pieces gleamed off of Tommy’s nonsensical rant in the rain. There had been a second war- something about an election? There was something in there about a ravine and brothers and a wither and Dream is honestly terribly confused but right now his main concern is getting Tommy out of his wet clothes and into something warm and dry- preferably including two matching shoes- so he holds off his own questions for later and promises to answer some of Tommy’s if the kid agrees to find a suitable spot to camp for the next day or so with him and dry off.

Tommy himself seems incredibly apprehensive about it but Dream won’t budge on this one. Not when he can clearly see dark bags under the blonde’s eyes and begins running out of fingers to use counting the rips and tears he’s already planning to mend in the boy’s clothes. Tommy has always been a bit of a disaster, but this is just absurd.

They walk for about a half-hour. Dream doesn’t know where they are, but since Tommy isn’t making any move to point him in a particular direction, he decides to just follow the obvious trail of crushed shrubbery and snapped sticks he assumes were Tommy’s doing and pray they’ll pass a good clearing on the way. Lucky for Tommy, Dream has an excellent eye for this type of thing- a skill honed over a period of decades filled with non-stop camping- and they come across a decently sized opening in the trees soon enough.They make it relatively unharmed, too, save for a few stray bruises where a zombie had managed to surprise them, which Dream counts as a win.

After a quick look around, Dream has Tommy help him light the few torches Dream can produce from his pockets to ward off any lingering mobs and suddenly they have a semi-functioning base. His first order of business is setting up a small campfire to help dry them off, and then he sets about searching his inventory for anything edible he can force-feed to the bean pole in front of him. His first offering of a slightly bruised apple is rejected, but the mostly-fresh loaf of bread is taken easily enough- at least it is once Dream promises to go hunt down a sheep or something to cook fresh for Tommy instead.

At first, Dream agrees simply because it will give him more time to procrastinate answering any of what Dream is sure will be slightly annoying if not majorly invasive questions that have to be bouncing around in Tommy’s head by now. Well, he agrees because of that and because he knows fresh meat will do the both of them some good. He starts to regret it when he reaches the thirty minute mark after making a wooden axe and wandering around aimlessly and still has yet to come across a single damn sheep. Or cow. Or anything that would serve as a decent meal for two whole people.

It's a bit ridiculous, honestly. There has never been a point where Dream can remember taking this long to find food. He wonders if this is his doppleganger’s doing for just a moment, but he knows that isn’t in the his powerset- its not in Dream’s, either- so he dismisses the thought as nothing more than his bitterness being pent-up for so long.

The time frame is making him a little anxious, though. Especially with Tommy still waiting for him back at camp, probably starving or getting mauled to death by zombies, or oh god catching himself on fire by getting too close to the flame Dream had left him with to dry.

...That’s it. Dream is heading back to base, food be damned. He’ll just make Tommy eat the stupid apple.

Swiftly, Dream turns back around and marches his way through the dense devoid-of-fucking-food forest. The anxiety in his gut is heavy, and the longer he goes without concrete knowledge that his charge is safe, the worse it gets until he isn’t just marching anymore but sprinting through the trees and past the little carved markers he’d left to lead him back. It’s a quick journey, but it feels like years.

The hammering of his heart finally calms when the light of the clearing comes back into view, and with it comes elation and just a tiny bit of annoyance, because there is a huge fucking cow standing right smack-dab in the center of his clearing. He’s been searching for nearly an hour and a cow just happens to wander towards his fire? Seems unlikely, but at this point he isn’t going to look an oversized gift horse- cow?- in the mouth.

Dream creeps as quietly as he can towards the beast, and just as he breaches the tree line he hefts his wooden axe over his head with a wicked grin and charges. The wind whips in his eyes and his feet pound at the ground and he feels sweet vindication welling up inside him at the thought of his hunt finally coming to an end.

And just as his glee at the thought of the kill begins to take over, hot burning panic takes its place when it isn’t just the cow in front of him but Tommy. Tommy with bright blue angry eyes and outstretched arms and one goddamn shoe.

Dream is almost certain his heart fucking stops. Just for a second.

At the last second before his axe would’ve embedded itself into the kid in front of him, Dream jerks his arm to the left and sends his axe flying into a nearby tree. It hits with a thunk, stuck in place with it’s blade wedged into the bark. If it wasn’t the exact thing Dream was trying to avoid, he would kill Tommy right there.

“Tommy, what the fuck?!”

Tommy, frazzled as he is, looks right up at him and suddenly Dream sees the tears in his eyes.

Tommy looks right up at him and begs. “Please. Please leave this one alone. I can’t lose another one.”

Dream just has more questions the longer he’s in Tommy’s presence. They aren’t very happy questions.

“Please, I’ll be good. Just leave him alone.”

But despite the actual real-live heart palpitations Tommy has just given him, he is still hungry. He gestures futilely at the cow now nosing around at his pockets, completely unaware that it was supposed to be Dream’s dinner. “But,” he pants, “food??”

Tommy’s face screws up. “Henry the second isn’t food.”

Dream’s stomach would beg to differ, but Tommy looks way too upset at the thought of eating this stupid cow and his axe is already stuck in a tree anyway, so with a heavy heart, and a labored sigh, he gives in. “Fine. ok, we leave the cow. Just please don’t ever jump in front of an axe like that again. You’re going to give me a heart attack.”

Dream pretends he doesn’t see the fleeting little look of temptation dancing around in Tommy’s eyes at the thought of Dream’s own heart doing him in.

With a tense nod, Tommy relaxes just enough to drop his arms and begin pulling at the cow’s (Henry the Second’s?) neck to guide it back around the fire. In the meantime, Dream busies himself with dislodging his weapon from its wooden prison.

Tommy doesn’t ask about food. Dream doesn’t mention it either.

With his axe back in his hand, he begrudgingly digs through his pockets for his bruised apple. It won’t fill him up entirely, but it will be enough to keep him going.

What’s odd though, is that the apple isn’t where he’s almost certain he left it. Dream in general is very particular about his pockets. Ever since he’d been forced away, he’d had to start getting picky about what items went where, and food was always left in his top pockets for easy access.

So why isn’t his apple here?

Why isn’t his apple in his top right pocket next to three partly squashed berries exactly where he’s left it?

He remembers offering the thing to Tommy, getting a very visceral “no way” in response, and putting it back in his pockets. Had he put it somewhere else? It doesn’t sound like something he would do, but then again he was having a bit of a strange day so was it entirely out of the question that he’d misplaced it? (Yes. Dream doesn’t misplace things, ever.)

He checks his top left pocket. It's empty. He checks his others. Empty, again. He pushes his fingers through both, checking for holes, only to be sure that each one he’d sewn on himself have all withstood whatever abuse he’d put them through.

Where the hell is his apple??

Crunch

Dream turns very, very slowly around to look across the fire. His eye twitches. The stupid cow has gotten a hold of his apple and is now thoroughly enjoying it as Tommy absently pats at its flank.

Dream is beginning to understand the feeling of hatred.

... 

The sunset is a welcome change when it comes.

Dream has had a hard day of hunting, but he’s brought back two dead chickens as a reward, and Tommy has spent his hours making nice with a gigantic cow.

In another life, Dream would probably be annoyed about being forced to do all the work for a team of two, but presently, he’s just glad to see a smile on Tommy’s face. Even if it is caused by the world’s ugliest cow.

At some point, Tommy had squinted at him and told him very point-blank that, “You look ‘omeless, Big Man.”

To which Dream had groaned and fired right back, “You’re literally missing a shoe.”

They fall into comfortable banter after that. It reminds Dream of what it used to be like before he’d been replaced. Before his face had been stolen and apparently used to traumatise a young teenager.

He doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he focuses on roasting his chickens over the fire and trying to bully Tommy into taking his spare boots. It's the nicest dinner he’s had in a long time.

Tommy enjoys it too, if the smacking of his lips is any indicator. They are both hungry enough that the friendly bickering comes to a close as they eat, and as much as Dream wishes he could, he knows he can’t eat forever.

The meal comes to an end with the left-over bones tossed into the fire, and Dream knows exactly what’s coming. He’s dreading it.

The silence of dinner is finally broken by a suspicious but otherwise open Tommy.

“You really aren’t my Dream, are you?” Dream wonders what gave him away. The fact that he’d cooked Tommy food or that he’d literally beat the shit out of the other one hours prior.

“Actually, I am your Dream. He’s just a doppelganger of sorts.”

Tommy eyes him down over the fire.

“So who is he?”

And there is the question Dream has been avoiding like the plague. It's a question with an answer so painful it had taken him years (decades) to be able to admit. But with the look in Tommy’s eyes, the way he flinches away when Dream gets too close, and the way he won’t even accept something as basic as shoes from him, Dream knows Tommy, if anyone, deserves to know it.

It doesn’t make it any easier to admit.

Dream sighs and huddles closer to himself. “Well… I guess you could say he’s my brother.”

Chapter Text

The story begins like this; once upon a time, a long time ago, three brothers were created to save the world.

…

“Bullshit.” Tommy rises from his seat by the fire and proceeds to begin pacing around the campsite with his face pushed into his hands. “No, no, no, no, no.”

Dream, not faring much better, sighs and lets his head fall between his knees.

…

The first brother is created to protect. He slays the monsters threatening his creators with deadly efficiency, and he is the perfect manifestation of a defender of the people.

(They name him after their dream of safety, though he will not keep his name forever.)

But this Dream is too perfect.

When he refuses to bend to the will of his creators after they begin to recognize how his power could work for their own benefit, the people decide to make him a brother. This time, they will make themselves a sword, not a shield.

…

“So you mean to tell me that it's your fuckin’ brother out there runnin’ around and screwing everything up?”

It's the next day when their conversation is picked up and Tommy has gotten his mind wrapped around the concept of Dream having a brother.

And that brother being Dream’s evil fucking twin, aparently.

After the revelation by the campsite the previous night, Tommy had promptly shut down to process, and Dream had let him, pushing sweet berries into his hands so Tommy could chew on those and not his slowly reddening lip.

Now though, Tommy is riding on Henry the Second’s back while Dream leads them through a particularly dense patch of the forest, and without the need to use half of his brain power on avoiding getting caught on wayward branches and roots, he can safely start the interrogation of his lifetime.

“I mean, we aren’t technically blood related?”

Tommy is not impressed. “Neither were me and Wilbur. Blood doesn’t mean shit. Get talking, Big Man.”

Were. Dream pointedly ignores that Tommy said were. Not are.

…

The second brother comes from the same code as the first, but this time, instead of pure source code, he is made of something else as well. Half of him is sourced from the earth, like his brother, but the other half is descended from exactly what his brother was born to destroy.

Dreamon (because while the Old Worlders knew how to build and string code together well enough to create fledgling gods, they were not creative) came from virus and glitch, two breeds of monster hellbent on the extinction of humans.

It left him… much more willing to push down the dissenters who claimed the creation of him and his brother were an abuse of power by their leaders- a cruel attempt of humans to play god.

But again, the creators were dissatisfied with their creations.

Where their first Dream was too loyal and unbending, their second was too flighty and rough.

It doesn’t help that while their shield’s eyes glow bright and comforting white light, their sword’s glow dark virus black. It throws everyone off kilter enough when they see it that both begin to wear masks. One to hide, and another in support.

Regardless, the creators decide the third time's the charm.

…

Dream sighs. “Listen, Tommy. My story- my brother’s story- it isn’t a good one. It's not all sunshine and rainbows and so far, there's been much more bad than good. If you don’t want to hear it I’ll understand.”

“Why the hell wouldn’t I want to hear it?” He swats a branch out of his way. “I’m not a little kid. I don’t get scared by horror stories anymore.”

Dream flashes him a weak smile over his shoulder as he tugs Henry and his rider around a wide tree. “It's more of a tragedy than a horror story, but if you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Well, then i guess I should start with telling you that we aren’t really human.”

Tommy stares at him incredulously for a solid ten seconds. “Well I got that, asshole! Normal people’s eyes don’t glow fucking green when they get mad.”

Dream decides they can take a quick break from their journey so he can recover his breath from wheezing so hard.

…

The third brother comes a little differently. He comes years after his brothers, long enough for the two of them to get used to only having the other, and he comes as a child.

Whereas the first Dream and the Dreamon came fully formed and prepared to beat down viruses and people alike, this Dream comes in the form of a toddler maybe four years old in a time where his brothers have largely hunted humanity’s main threats to extinction.

The creators tell them this; This is Dream, and he is yours to raise into our Axe. He is going to be the greatest of you.

They do not tell them where Dream’s code is from, but with the way Dream’s eyes glow green like the earth it isn’t hard to find out.

…

“So what I’m getting here is you’re old as hell.”

“I am NOT old!” Dream defends from his place behind Henry, who has stubbornly stuck his hooves into the ground and refused to move no matter how much Dream pushes. “I’m just… experienced.”

Tommy guffaws from his relaxed position leaning against a tree. “You’re an Old Worlder! Those guys have been extinct for centuries! Not even Philza’s that old!”

Dream gives up trying to push Henry when his feet slide out from under him and he lands exhausted on the ground. He winces when he forces himself back up and his back audibly cracks.

Tommy cackles.

…

The first thing to be done is choose new names. Dream and Dreamon, while perfectly fine for two brothers who never had use for names when there was only one other person to talk to, are bound to become confusing for a child who’d popped into existence not two days ago. Not to mention sharing the name of one of them.

So the first Dream gives up his name and chooses to be EcksDee instead. His choice rooted deep in the Old World tradition of adding an X to a name already in use. (And if his signature happens to match the face on his mask, no one says anything about it.)

The Dreamon, bitter about his replacement and in the midst of a bit of an emo phase, chooses the name Nightmare.

…

“The first thing I ever did was steal from ‘Dee. I don’t think Nightmare ever forgave me for it”

For once, Tommy’s quiet as Dream tells his story. The air around them is stagnant and tense, but not in a way that makes either of them overly uncomfortable. Not in a way that makes Tommy want to run away or crack a joke.

It's getting dark though, and Dream wants to stop even though Tommy is beginning to recognize some of the trees they’re passing. He knows they’re close to Logsted- that if they keep moving they will make it a few hours before sunrise- but when he tells Dream he just shakes his head and asks Tommy to clear off a patch of ground while he searches for firewood.

“You need to sleep, Tommy,” he says, as if Tommy’s been the one hauling a cow around all day and not the one riding said cow. As if he actually cares about Tommy’s batshit sleep schedule enough to enforce bedtime on him.

“But we’re so close! Only a mile or so out from Logsted. We'd make it in no time!”

He slides off Henry’s back with a huff and tries to follow Dream into the forest where the guy is stubbornly placing down far too many torches far too closely together to achieve the max amount of effectiveness, but he has to stop and try to force himself not to wince when his sore ankle decides to make itself known by sending a painful little twinge spiraling up his leg.

Dream, the bastard, definitely notices, and smugly points at a spot on the ground near Henry. “Sit.”

Tommy sits.

…

It's the newly dubbed EcksDee who takes on the majority of the responsibility regarding Dream. Afterall, Nightmare still can’t bear to look at him without malice slipping through his gaze.

EcksDee is the perfect big brother. He takes Dream for walks around their home and wide open field. He lets Dream roam around their pasture and make friends with the sheep that graze in it.

He teaches Dream how to use the powers that come from being the Old Worder’s creations.

He teaches him how to be an Operator, just like him, and gives all three of them a special set of code to lead them back to each other.

Nightmare watches from the sidelines. He watches as his older brother and only friend raises his own replacement and stews in his own jealousy that this Dream, just the same as him and ‘Dee, gets to have the childhood they never did.

Nightmare watches.

He watches and watches, and learns what it means to hate.

…

The trip has been majorly delayed. What took Tommy a few hours of running has taken the both of them around three days, and Tommy knows it's because Dream won’t stop mother henning him, but he can't find it in himself to care.

He can’t because he is familiar with these trees like he’s familiar with the back of his own hand. He knows that in less than ten minutes he and Dream will be in Logstedshire and then Dream- this maybe real one- is going to let him go home to L’Manburg and what’s left of his family.

His heart swells in thinly veiled hope, and the way Dream lets him start pointing in the correct direction instead of following Tommy’s messy trail of carnage has him delightfully picking at Henry II’s fur underneath him. It's almost like Dream trusts him, which isn’t something he can say for most people on the server.

He’s so excited about getting back that he forgets why he had to leave in the first place.

But when they finally breach the tree line, his tower serves as a good reminder.

…

With three Dreams protecting the Old Worlders, the species should be set for a long reign.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your opinion of them), as is sometimes the case, even though their larger threats are steadily being hunted to extinction by the fledgeling gods, they themselves have slowly been declining in numbers.

They call it devolution, and it's the world’s way of evening out the power.

Now, as viruses and glitches are wiped off the map, humans are steadily being born without the ability to look into the world’s code. The power goes into the making of new, smaller creatures called mobs, that don’t need to duplicate themselves or find a partner to procreate.

Instead, they just spawn in the dead of night, and they hunt down anything with a soul.

But still, humanity’s three Dreams continue to fight to protect. These smaller monsters are easier to kill, easy enough for the humans to do it themselves even without the help of code, and it leaves them enough time to finally track down the world’s last virus.

It's an ugly, red thing. Hiding somewhere deep in the jungle surrounded by corrupted trees and shrubs. EcksDee promises Dream, who, physically, has just reached eight years old though he’s actually been around much longer, that he and Nightmare will take care of it themselves. That Dream will never have to help them fight a monster again.

He promises that after this, they can settle down and be a normal family with a few operator-esque exceptions.

And as is often the case, EcksDee breaks his promise.

…

Logstedshire is exactly the way Tommy left it. That is- a giant crater.

At the very least, the air isn’t blanketed in smoke anymore.

“What’s this place?” Dream asks as they approach. “Why’s it all blown up?”

Tommy purses his lip and fists his hands into Henry's fur to ground himself. “Its, uh- this is Logsted.”

The ground cracks under Dream’s feet when he nears the edge of the remains of Tnret, so he gently steps away and pulls Tommy and the cow with him. “What the hell happened to it?”

And, well, what happened to it, indeed. “I made Dream- Nightmare, sorry- I made him mad because I wasn’t listening and he had to punish me, so… You know…” He gestured vaguely to the wreckage around him.

Dream stared around him, bewildered. “You made him mad so he… blew up your… town? Thing?”

Tommy nodded, head turned towards the ground.

“Seems a little… I don't know, overkill?” Nightmare always did have a flair for the dramatic.

“No, I think I probably deserved it. I was hiding shit from him.”

“Tommy I don’t think hiding anything could’ve warranted blowing up a whole area like this.”

Tommy shrugged. “Well, it really wouldn’t have mattered much because afterwards I was going to,” he paused for a second, and when Dream turned around to check on him he caught Tommy releasing a long breath. Everything about this kid just gets increasingly concerning.

“You were going to what, Tommy?” Tommy’s eyes flick towards a tall tower near the main crater and Dream feels his stomach drop.

“...nothing. I was just going to run away like I did.”

“...Right.” Dream, as much as he wants to believe him, does not.

But Tommy already looks a little queasy and Dream can see the beginning stages of another shut-down like when Dream had dropped Nightmare’s identity on him, so he leaves the topic alone. For now.

“So,” instead, he tries to change the subject. “Do you know where the mainland is? I wanna get you back to your family before I have to deal with mine.”

Tommy grimaces and points out across the ocean, “We’re gonna need some boats.”

Dream eyes the big ass cow Tommy’s attached himself to, grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Anyone else nearby with a working portal?”

Tommy scrunches up his face like someone just waved something rotten under his nose. “I think Techno lives in a nearby snow biome. Are you sure we can’t just use boats?”

Dream very pointedly stares in a grazing Henry II’s direction. “Absolutely not.”

…

When humanity’s first Dream dies, the sky turns black. It doesn’t rain, but the air smells of petrichor anyway, and it's what sends Dream sprinting straight into the forest, ignoring all the warnings his brother had given him before.

He follows the path of crushed leaves and broken branches just like EcksDee taught him to, and it leads him deep into the jungle until suddenly the plants aren’t just normal plants, but mixed in with deep red counterparts as well.

With the body of an eight year old, it takes him much longer to reach his destination than he’d like, but he makes it anyway, and what he sees there sends his feet stuttering to a stop.

Its Nightmare, leaning deeply over a still too still EcksDee with a bright red virus-root speared straight through his chest.

The world slows to a stop. “‘Dee!”

He lurches forward on unsteady feet and falls to his knees at Nightmare’s side. For what has to be the first time in his life, Nightmare lets him cling to his jacket, and even wraps his arm around Dreams head, like he’s protecting him from the sight of his dead sibling. “It’s ok,” he mumbles into Dream’s hair, “you’re going to be ok.”

And while humanity’s last Dream grieves, a code is copied and hidden from a baby brother in pain.

…

“Tommy, I swear to shit, put on the goddamn jacket.”

Tommy scowls from his place a few paces away from Dream. “I don’t want your nasty ass homeless man jacket, Dream. The cold is for pussies.”

Dream takes a steadying breath and wills himself not to growl. They’re a few yards into the beginning of the snow biome, and at the very least Dream has finally convinced Tommy to slip on his extra boots, but proper footwear isn’t going to do anything to protect Tommy and his god awful shirt from the cold.

“Tommy, I can literally see skin through that t-shirt. Please for the love of god take my jacket.”

It's a battle of wills. A battle that Dream ultimately wins when he threatens to tie the thing onto Tommy like a straightjacket if he doesn’t cooperate.

Dream tries not to seem too smug when an uncharacteristically strong wind blows past them and Tommy grumbles before hitching the oversized fabric tighter around his shoulders.

…

The little house seems big when they return.

Nightmare tugs Dream along behind him and through the door, and it hits Dream that this time EcksDee isn’t here to make him cake to celebrate a job well done.

But, really, it wasn’t a job well done, was it? ‘Dee was dead now, buried in a shoddy grave where his source code could return to the earth.

Dream sniffles.

“C’mon, kid.” Nightmare is behind him, gently petting his head as he leads Dream into his room, which he’d never actually been allowed into before.

That night, two brothers snuggle together in a bed that seems too big and small all at once, and when the sun rises again, a plan will be set in motion.

…

They have to be getting close by now, Dream knows, but he can’t stand to make Tommy and his godforsaken cow walk any longer in the dark while the weather’s like this, so he finds a cave, tunes out complaints, and makes camp for the night.

He reasons that it will be easier to see in the morning, anyway.

The fire he sets is smaller than previous ones he’s made, but it gets the job done enough so that he can sit and roast some mutton over it while Tommy paces around at the mouth of the cave.

“Tommy, come sit down.” He calls. Whatever is on the kids mind seems troubling, so he hopes some good food will help distract him.

But Tommy just keeps pacing. “You know, I’m not exactly allowed in the mainlands at the moment.”

Dream blanks. Tommy? Not allowed in the mainlands? “Why… not?”

“Tubbo exiled me.” He huffs, “I got banned all the way out here y’know? I’m not supposed to come back.”

That is incredibly concerning, actually. As far as he remembers, Tommy and Tubbo were always attached at the hip before Nightmare’s arrival. “Tubbo did what?! What about Wilbur? Did he just agree??”

It’s… not the right thing to say. It triggers… something in Tommy. Something Dream has spent days trying to avoid

“Wilbur?!” Tommy shouts as he spins around to face him and steps further from the mouth of the cave. Even Henry looks concerned from his place lounging on the stone floor a few feet back. “Wilbur’s fucking dead! He went insane and got himself stabbed so why should he give a shit about me?!”

It’s… not an unexpected realization, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. Even though Dream had picked up on the clues, he didn’t want to believe it before now. His heart aches when he thinks of Wilbur and as he looks at Tommy with tears bubbling past his eyes, he knows that things have gotten much worse without him than he’d originally thought.

But for now, Tommy is getting dangerously close to shadowed in the darkness outside the cave, and as much as he wants to curl into a ball and mourn the life of someone who used to be his friend, he knows his first priority has to be keeping Tommy safe. So with a steady hand he pushes himself up, leaving his mutton safely to the side, swallows down his shaky breaths, and calls, “come back inside, Tommy. It’s dark out there.”

Tommy, deep into his spiral, ignores him. “Wilbur got to be so batshit crazy because we got exiled from our own nation that he wanted to blow. It. Up.” Tommy huffs to catch his breath and Dream carefully takes a few steps closer with his hands outstretched in front of him placatingly.

“Tommy, come on man-”

“And you know what, Dream?” Tommy cuts him off. The whistling of the wind dims out in Dream’s ear. “He did! He really went and blew it all up sky high and Techno fucking helped him do it! And Wilbur just… he left me here.”

And Tommy stops. Tommy stops and his shoulders droop and his breathing evens out but he’s still crying and Dream doesn’t know what else to do. “Wilbur just. Left me here, all alone. I thought we were supposed to be brothers.”

Dream sighs. “Sometimes...” Dream starts, carefully, “sometimes people get so wrapped up in themselves that they forget the people who love them are there, too.” Dream would know.

Tommy’s bottom lip quivers, and for a moment he fights a war in his head. One side wants to kick and scream and push Dream away because Tommy-fucking-Innit doesn’t need anybody, especially not Dream, but the other? The other side desperately wants someone, anyone, to hug him tight and hide him away like a kid. It’s that side that bangs around in his head and against the sides of his pitter-pattering heart and it’s that side that makes Tommy wipe his eyes on his oversized jacket and outstretch his arms towards his maybe-friend to let himself be pulled back inside to the safety of the light.

Hiss

Suddenly, Tommy wishes he’d listened to Dream earlier and come back inside.

…

“Dream c’mon. Stop being a baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Nightmare. I just don’t think it’s right.” A twelve year Dream stands defiant at the edge of the forest. In front of them, a village stands, lighting up the night with warm lonely torches.

“Right?! Dream, they’re the reason ‘Dee died. If they didn’t make us go fight those stupid monsters then he would still be here!”

Dream shuffles uncomfortably in his place. “...I know. But-”

“But what, Dream? Do you want justice or not?”

Dream puffs and tries to cling on to Nightmare’s jacket like he used to do with ‘Dee, but Night shrugs him off. “I do. It’s just- there are only a few Old Worlders left anyway and it couldn’t have been all of them that made us do that.”

Nightmare growls and crouches down to be eye level with Dream. “Dream, I told you. All Old Worlders are selfish and evil. If we don’t kill them now, they’re going to keep taking from innocent people like you and me, and ‘Dee won’t ever get the justice he deserves. You don’t want that, DayDream, I know you don’t.”

“...no…” Dream is still unsure as he looks nervously at one of the houses with the lights still on. Inside, a mother and father smile and turn the page of the book they’re reading to their kids- two little girls in identical pink nightgowns. “Are you sure we have to kill all of them?”

Nightmare scoffs and starts on his way out of the forest and towards the village. “Dream, c’mon now. I told you this at home. If humans get to keep living like monsters then it’s our job to kill them like I killed ‘Dee’s virus. It’s fair.”

When Nightmare doesn’t look back, Dream whines and knows he’s lost the argument. He stomps his feet and follows his big brother’s footsteps.

…

“TOMMY!”

For just a second, the one after the creeper creeped up behind him and hissed its warning, Tommy thinks he’s going to die.

It’s a long time coming, he thinks. Realistically, Tommy should’ve died months, weeks, four days ago at the bottom of a tower. Tommy should be long dead by now, and he supposes it's about damn time.

But in the next second, Tommy is moving, and it isn’t him doing it. All in a single moment, Dream had lunged towards him faster than Tommy thinks he’s ever seen him (the real him or his evil brother) move ever. And then Dream’s arms are wrapped around his shoulder, chest, body, and spinning them around and backwards and back into their cave.

And then the explosion comes.

Dream and Tommy are blasted backwards into the cave and Tommy can’t hear anything but a steady ringing and screams and withers and he shuts his eyes tight and buries his head into the soft fabric of Dream’s sweater and hopes to god nothing else has heard them.

The impact is rough when they hit, rolling over a couple times on the cold stone floor, and then they stop.

Tommy breaths as deep as he can, counts the things he can feel and when his hearing comes back he counts that, too, and finally, he can open his eyes.

It isn’t dark, is the first thing he notices. At the very least, the campfire hasn’t been blown out. The second thing he notices is the soft fabric clutched tightly between his hands, Dream’s own hand cradling his head up and off the ground and the other used to support his body over Tommy’s.

And Tommy notices how Dream is breathing deep and shakily, and how the hand on his head scrubs gently through his hair oddly reminiscent of how Wilbur used to when he was little and afraid of thunderstorms. He notices how Dream has his back to the cave entrance, completely exposed and vulnerable like he’s…

He’s protecting Tommy.

How long has it been since anyone did that? How long has it been since someone looked at Tommy and saw something- someone- worth enough to keep safe at the risk of themselves.

The tears are back, and this time Tommy doesn’t fight them.

Instead, he loops his arms around Dream’s neck and just cries.

And, miraculously, this Dream lets him.

…

It’s a few decades later when Dream finally manages to make his brother hate him, too.

Physically, Dream is maybe seventeen, but really he and Nightmare have been walking the earth for centuries with no plans to stop. To his knowledge, Nightmare has spent the past twenty years hunting down any Old Worlders left, but Dream is almost certain they’re already all gone.

And now he’s just waiting for Nightmare to realise it, too, because when that happens Night’s mission will finally be over and they can be just what ‘Dee wanted to be: a proper family.

In the meantime, though, Dream realises he doesn’t actually know how to do that, so he decides to learn, and seeks out a nice human family to learn from. It comes with a mom, and a snarky little girl with blonde hair who immediately cozies right up to Dream despite his mask that he knows can be off putting to children, and his heart swells every time Drista teaches him something new like how to properly help in the kitchen or chase someone around with a fork without stabbing out an eye.

He hopes Nightmare will love them just as much as he does, when he returns, and when late at night he thinks of his other brother, he knows ‘Dee would have, too.

But then Nightmare does come back, and Dream learns he has been severely wrong.

Humanity’s second Dream comes in the dead of night, and he doesn’t come in search of a family.

Instead, he comes looking for a little girl with blonde hair and the ability to see into the code around her. He calls her an admin, and says the word like it’s venom on his lips. He tells Dream that despite what they thought, Old Worlders will never stop existing. They will come again and again, a handful every decade, with smaller sets of power no matter who the parents are, and that hunting them down is the true purpose of humanity’s last two Dreams.

Dream tries to reason with him, when he comes. Drista, although gifted, is just a child, and a lovely one at that. He tells Nightmare about helping in a kitchen, tells him about being chased around the dining table with a dirty fork. Dream tells Nightmare what it feels like to be a family.

Nightmare seethes and calls Dream a traitor. He pushes Dream to the side and razes the house to the ground. And when Dream tries to fight back he vows to kill Dream alongside them, brother or not. He claims that if Dream wants so bad to be a human then he can die like one, too.

Dream tries to save Drista and her mother.

When he fails, he turns and runs deep into the forest and back where he knows they buried EcksDee.

It's there, collapsed on his eldest brother’s dilapidated grave where he comes to understand that Old Worlders were never inherently evil. It’s there where he reaches deep into his source code and rips the only bit of it that truly connects him to Nightmare.

The world ripples around him for just a moment, and it hurts to sever the invisible cord that was supposed to always lead him back to his brother, but he knows that if he’s going to make this right- if he’s going to continue to protect the humans he can to make up for the ones he didn’t- well, he can’t let Nightmare find and stop him.

When Dream vows to never fail against Nightmare again, he finally feels as if he’s doing EcksDee proud.

…

The story ends like this; once upon a time, a long time ago, two brothers become each other's worst nightmare.

Chapter Text

The fire crackles idly from its place a few feet in front of Tommy. Across it sits Dream, quietly whittling the end of a twig he’s found into a point with a stone knife crafted from the wall of their cave.

The flame is warm against Tommy’s face, but it doesn’t help at all with the telltale dryness of his eyes that he knows only comes from crying.

The air around them is tense and awkward- it has been ever since Tommy had finally calmed down and painstakingly extricated himself from the bearhug he’d initiated with Dream, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the guy who had quite literally saved his life twice in the past week.

Here’s the thing: when Tommy thinks about it, and he means thinks really hard, like, considering-every-aspect-of-his-life-before-this-very-moment hard, he knows that objectively he should hate the man in front of him.

He should! Because maybe Dream didn’t leave on purpose, maybe his evil doppelganger is running around taking cracks at entire countries and Tommy’s personal relationships like they’re some shitty knockoff versions of those dumb little birthday pinatas, but he still left, and it was still his brother out there doing shit that had Tommy standing on the edge of a pillar in the sky ready to jump.

Because this is Dream’s server, and hadn’t it been his responsibility to protect everyone in it? Hadn’t that been what Dream promised him? Promised everyone?

...Ok, so maybe he’s being a little unfair to the guy that has apparently been in the world’s most complicated family feud for the past several centuries and had his identity stolen, but can you blame him? Maybe everything that’s happened hasn’t been Dream’s fault, but a little warning that he had an immortal-unless-killed evil brother out there with access to source code would’ve been nice.

It would’ve at least spared him some of the betrayal and maybe it would’ve made him a little more cautious of going up against someone who is apparently the closest thing they’re going to get to an actual fucking god.

Yeah, he shivers, a warning would’ve been real nice.

But, here’s the other thing: he doesn’t. He doesn’t hate Dream like he knows he should, even if sometimes when he looks at the guy out of the corner of his eye and sees those fun little shades of green chills get sent down his spine and memories of pits filled with items he’d worked for hours to get are pushed the the front of his mind.

He doesn’t hate Dream the way he should; doesn’t feel his stomach turn itself up in disgust the way it would if the Other Dream- Nightmare- were with him instead.

He doesn’t hate the man who bares the face of his every waking nightmare.

It’s a strange thought to have- for Tommy at least, who has always hated things at the drop of a hat (for example, peas, beavers, and rubber gloves with little flowery prints.) It’s strange for someone like him, who hates and loves so very easily, but sticks to those distinctions like an evangelical to a bible.

Tommy is weird like that. He always has been and he suspects he always will be. It’s what makes him the Biggest Man Ever and it’s what makes him Tommy fucking Innit.

But now he isn’t sure what he feels. It isn’t hate. Not like peas, and beavers, and rubber gloves with flowers, but it isn’t love either, and that’s what has Tommy so confused. The way he feels about Dream isn’t familiar. It isn’t strong and fiery like most of the things he feels, but it isn’t low and mellow like those months in exile.

It isn’t… bad. Not really. If he thinks about it then maybe it might feel like that tight coil in your stomach before the drop of a roller coaster. He doesn’t know whether or not he likes it.

It’s been years since he’s set foot in an amusement park.

Maybe when he gets back to L’Manberg he can check out his reverse coaster. Then he’ll have a reference for his opinion on the turning spring in his gut.

“You should get some sleep, Tommy.” Comes an oh-so-familiar voice from across the fire.

But for now, his impending crisis can wait. He is fucking exhausted.

------

They leave the cave an hour or so after dawn, when the sun is shining just enough to stave off some of the wintry chill of the biome.

The first thing Tommy does is bitch about it, actually. He complains that the sun is too bright and in a way Dream agrees because it does reflect off of the snow and it is just slightly blinding, but at the very least they can see for what has to be miles around them. It lets him keep a close eye on the surrounding mountains and steer them away from any wayward creepers or spiders still left over from the night before.

The last thing he wants is a repeat of Tommy’s brush with explosive, fiery death.

The silence is comfortable around them, broken only by the familiar sound of snow crunching under his boots and Henry’s hooves.

Tommy, for as much as he would deny it, can’t walk more than three yards on his swollen ankle without wincing, so he’s once again riding on top of his newly acquired pet. At least the cow is good for something, he reckons.

According to Tommy, they should be close to Techno’s by now. Granted, the kid had apparently never actually been before, and had conveniently forgotten to actually tell Dream that until they were already calf-deep in snow, but supposedly they were almost there.

Tentatively, Dream believes him.

And the belief isn’t unfounded. Because just as they reach the crest of a small hill of snow, a small cottage comes into view.

“I see it! There it is, Dream, look! Techno may be the Human GPS but I’m the Human Homing Beacon! Get fucked, Blade!”

Dream almost forgot who he was traveling with there for a second, with the comfortable silence and all. Thank you, Tommy Innit, for the lovely reminder.

They come up on the house from behind. It's a tiny little thing, maybe two floors, an attic if he’s generous. It’s built on a solid cobblestone foundation and sports a cute little pen for what Dream assumes is a horse. The pen looks recently cleaned.

There is also a bee farm to its side.

He can’t help but ask. “Are you… sure this is Techno’s house?”

Look, as much as Dream wants to believe Tommy, this is a bit too insane. When you hear the name Technoblade what do you think? Hmm?

Well whatever it is, this probably isn’t it. For example, when Dream thinks of the words Techno and Blade, they’re usually accompanied with words like rival, and warrior, and oh he doesn’t know, fucking Blood God. And those are usually joined by images of gorey battles or colosseums filled with muscle-brained fighters waiting for their chance to brave the beast.

A little cottage with a smoking chimney and well-kept pen for a pet is not what comes to the forefront of his mind.

“Well… no…” Tommy shrugs. He keeps walking towards the house anyway and climbs up the stairs.

..and then in he goes into the mysterious house with unlocked doors in the middle of nowhere. Like he doesn’t value safety or privacy.

Dream, after staring blankly for a minute at the empty porch, darts after him.

He stops just before the door, some form of common decency still ingrained in his brain by EcksDee stopping him barging into a potential stranger’s home unannounced and uninvited.

“Tommy!” He hisses from right outside the doorway, some part of him afraid that someone will hear, “get the hell out of there! We don’t know whose house this is!”

Tommy, already halfway into a chest of miscellaneous valuables, scoffs. “I mean, it’s got to be Techno’s, right? Who else is crazy enough to live all the way out here?”

From outside, Dream groans. “Tommy, that's even worse! He’s going to kill you.” It is worse. If this really is Techno’s house and he finds them breaking into his very cute and cottagecore-vibey house, he will flay Dream alive, he just knows it.

Instead of a snarky response, there is a loud crash from inside. Dream puts his face in his hands and lets out a long, suffering sigh, before stepping through Techno’s doorway to assess the damage and make sure Tommy hasn’t gotten himself killed. This is going to be a very long day.

------

Techno has had a very long day.

First, he had woken up late because all the fucking mobs in his house had kept him up all night.. And, yes, for normal people this wouldn’t be a big deal. Especially not for normal people who are in retirement.

Techno, as he’s sure most people know, is not a normal person.

When normal people sleep in, they get to wake up satisfied and comfortable. When Techno wakes up late, he gets to wake up with a splitting headache and a cacophony of voices screaming “Technolate! Technolate!” in his head.

It is not a pleasant way to wake up, but he digresses.

Next, he’d been fucking kidnapped.

Now see, Techno is a reasonable man. A reasonable man in retirement.

A reasonable man in retirement with an unhealthy attachment to his horse.

So, yes, when he gets the message from Philza that there’s a bunch of wannabe mercenaries coming to bring him to the nation he’d destroyed, he potions up and grabs his weapons.

...and then promptly drops them when the fucker with a beanie and tacky apron splattered with pig blood holds a blade to Carl’s neck.

Look, Techno loves that goddamn horse, ok?

Regardless, his day goes from bad to worse when he and his captors (which include his little brother’s ex-friends and his own nephew but that’s besides the point) reach L’Manberg and he sees Phil, who he was supposed to meet up with today, outside the nation, stuck in the balcony of his house with an ankle monitor.

Then he gets executed.

And he shows the Butcher Army that Technoblade never dies.

He comes out of the ordeal with a bloody scrape on his arm and a little extra trauma, but he gets out safe and it only costs him one totem.

In the chaos of punz attacking, Ghostbur’s clueless persistence, and his own brush with death, he sees Carl, being gently led along and into a cave by the one and only Dream. Yeah, this shit has got to stop.

Please just leave his horse out of this, whichever god dictates his fate.

At the very least, Carl is safe and sound. Dream blocks off the entrance to the cave and turns to him with a whispered, “Head down,” and Techno gets a look at him.

He looks, well, ragged is one way to put it. His hoodie is ruffled and his pants are ripped at the knees, showcasing scuffed up knees. And, of course, the most notable thing, “What the hell happened to your mask?”

There’s a crack spinning up from the bottom of it, crossing the left eye and ending with a small section on his forehead that looks like it’s recently been chipped away. It’s… off putting to see the normally regal and intimidating man Dream has become in these past few months so haggard. “Are you alright?” He asks, just because the silence is a little awkward.

Dream, in his ever so graciousness, doesn’t even deem him worthy of response. Instead, he says, “There’s a chest,” and nods further into the tunnel before turning and sprinting away.

Techno nearly scoffs. Fuck him for trying to be nice, then.

Anyway, there is a chest further back in the tunnel. It’s in a blackstone room with other labelled chests and quite honestly there are bad vibes coming from the place that he doesn’t really want to dissect while shrugging on iron armor and using his foraged pickaxe to hack away a tunnel big enough for Carl.

And then Quackity shows up and Techno finally returns to his true title of Blood God.

Quackity’s tooth looked a little loose, anyway.

So, yeah, he and Carl take a merry little tramp through the sewers and then adventure their way back home with Phil’s compass safely tucked away in his inventory.

And then his doors are wide open when he gets there and a cow has shit on his front steps.

No. Fuck that. Absolutely not. Not today.

Slowly, he gets off Carl’s armored back and safely deposits him back in his pen before gripping his pickaxe tight and preparing for another battle.

Well, at least Chat is finally getting all that blood they’d been calling for during his retirement.

But then he hears a loud, obnoxious laugh from inside and knows that while he isn’t going to fight for his safety, he might have to fight for his mental stability.

Dealing with Tommy is always a treat.

Anyways, he takes in a deep, steadying breath, and prepares himself for the force of nature that is his little brother.

------

Look, Dream is trying his best. He throws himself to the ground to catch a stray vase. He throws his hand in front of Tommy’s eyes when the kid gets a little too close looking right at the enderman sitting in the boat in the middle of the room. He throws a pillow across the room so it lands underneath a framed corner of a Technoblade poster when it gets knocked to the ground.

Still, it seems Dream’s best isn’t enough to stop the carnage of Tommy Innit rifling through someone’s chests and personal belongings like a man on a mission. Already in his hands is a stack of golden apples that Dream has taken away from him at least three times now, and on his head is a turtle shell helmet he’d found stashed away god knows where.

And, listen, Dream has tried telling Tommy not to go through other people’s chests. He has warned Tommy of what could happen when the owner of this house- probably Techno, of all people- comes back. He has tried forcefully sitting Tommy down and explaining to him the merits of not breaking and entering and then robbing their best chance at getting back to L’Manberg, but everything he does just seems to end up in more chaos.

More chaos and more homeless jokes, anyway.

Dream is considering just leaving him here and begging for Techno’s forgiveness on his own.

“I am not homeless, Tommy. We went over this.” He can still defend his honor, though.

Tommy looks him up and down. Slowly. Considering.

“Coulda fooled me.” He sniffs, and takes another bite of a gapple.

Despite Dream’s jacket still sitting snugly on Tommy’s shoulders, the kid seems to hold no respect for his dwindling sanity as he nearly crashes into the enderman again, laughs, and drops his stack of apples.

“Tommy-!” He grits out, and reaches to catch them, lifting them high and away from Tommy’s grubby little hands when he tries to take them back.

“Give them back, dickhead!” Tommy is very nearly climbing him in an attempt to reclaim his stolen goods.

“Fuck off, Tommy! They aren’t yours! You’re going to get us killed!”

It's a battle for dominance quickly stalled by the creaking of the front door. Dream and his destructive assailant turn like deer in a headlight.

Techno, with a tired stare and a bloody pickaxe, sighs.

“Tommy, why is there a homeless man in my house?” Dream groans. Tommy cheers.

------

Ok, so when Techno says he’s surprised, he’s kind of lying.

He isn’t dumb. Far from it. And with the added bonus of a couple million voices in his head, he’s quick to catch on to most things in this server.

Most things including his long time rival’s sudden change in motives and demeanor

At the very least, it wasn’t obvious enough that he picked up on it immediately, but at the same time he was fully dismissing it months later as a product of the hellscape that was politics.

The man in front of him, Dream it seems, is very obviously the same guy he’d met years ago and sworn to best in everything including combat. Minus the mask, of course, which begs the question; who the hell had just saved Techno and his horse from the cold, unforgiving grasp of the government?

When he asks, both Dream and Tommy, sitting on his couch and thoroughly de-gappled, grimace.

Techno is too old to be dealing with a family feud between two gods, he decides later.

It isn’t entirely news to him, Dream’s age and abilities. He’d always known the guy was a bit weird. A little too knowledgeable for his age and a little too skilled for someone completely human. He’d always just deemed it to be Dream’s own business with which he could do as he pleased. Whether that involved Techno or not.

What is news to him is the sibling thing. And the face-stealing thing. He doesn’t really want to know how that works, but also he does because Chat won’t shut the fuck up about it and his headache from this morning is getting worse by the minute.

Dream hums, pensieve at the question. “I mean, we always called it stealing a skin, but really it doesn’t have a proper name or anything.” At Tommy’s shift into a more attentive position with crossed legs and wide eyes, he huffed a laugh and explained further. “It’s kind of like copy and paste, you know? There’s a whole database in the code that keeps track of people and their physical forms so they can reform after a death. If you can get there, you can find almost anybody, and if you have access to code you can pretty much just drag and drop onto your own files.” He looks at his hands for a moment, searching for something that wasn’t there. His eyes looked… sad. “As kids,” he says, “we used to use it to play dress up as kings and knights. I thought we’d never do it again after ‘Dee died.”

...Well isn’t that depressing as hell.

“Technosad! Technosad!” Chat chants in his ear.

...Right, fuck that. With a groan and a cracking spine, Techno painstakingly lifts himself out of his chair and ambles over to his ender chest so he can give Dream some decent shit that’ll do leagues better than the stone knife he can see strapped to his waist.

“Well,” He grumbles, “you got a plan or are we going in blind?”

“You’ll help us?” Tommy asks from his spot on the couch, twisted around excitedly on his knees.

“Help! Help!” Cries Chat. “Rivalstwt thriving rn!”

Techno doesn’t know what the hell that means, but he’s guessing it means something close to ‘help the homeless man and the gremlin child.’

He tosses a few netherite bars in Dream’s general direction, waiting on the thump of them hitting fabric before turning around. “Well, it’s the least I can do for a homeless guy with an evil twin.”

Tommy cheers with his arms thrown in the air. Techno pretends not to notice the soft look it earns from Dream the same way he pretends he doesn’t see the thankful glance Dream throws his way when he herds Tommy outside after he looks directly into Edward’s eyes on accident.

Techno pretends he doesn’t breathe a sigh of relief because the friend he thought he’d lost has returned to him, safe and sound.