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“Is this what you wanted?”
They’re standing in a wasteland.
George stares at him helplessly, gestures around to the crumbling buildings and ruined paths, to where the grass is dead and the trees are barren of leaves. It smells of ash and death and decay and Dream can barely remember a time where it didn’t. Not anymore.
There’s a sort of wry amusement to be found in it. Dream smiles bitterly to himself.
Oh, how the times have changed.
“Is this what you wanted?” George repeats again. His voice cracks, and there are tears beading at the corner of his eyes. Instinctively, Dream is moving closer to wipe them away, lifting a dirty hand to reach out towards his cheek. George reels away from his touch like it’s acid.
Dream falters, “George…”
George takes another step back, dead grass crunching under his feet. “Look what you’ve done.” He hisses, throws an arm behind him to motion towards Kinoko. Or, what used to be Kinoko. The buildings are crumbling into nothing and there are vines crawling up the ruins, dull and lifeless as if someone had stolen the color straight from it’s walls. “You did this.”
“You don’t-” Dream takes a breath. He steps forward again, fingers curling into a fist, chest twisting painfully. “You don’t understand, George.”
“No, no, no, you-” George squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head. “You ruined our world, Dream. Everyone’s left, because of what you did. For what? For — for the stupid discs that never even mattered in the first place?”
He swallows, the lump in his throat unmoving, and digs his nails into his palms so hard that he can feel the needle-like pain shooting all the way up his arms. There’s guilt churning in his stomach, cold like ice and thick like tar.
George is right, after all. There’s no one here but them.
It was Alyssa who had left first. She’d sensed the changes long before anything had really happened, before the Egg and before the prison and before most of it. Alyssa had disappeared quietly and dragged Callahan along with her. Dream barely noticed when they left, and even when he did, he’d cared less than he should’ve. He wishes now that he had gotten a chance to say goodbye.
Next it was Ponk, breaking free of the Egg’s control and staring around his home in horror. Ponk talked to Sam and they left with a very short goodbye to another world, this time one of their own. An Elder must’ve taken pity on them and helped them create one.
After Ponk and Sam it was Punz. Punz, the mercenary, the one with an arguably questionable moral compass but a good person in the end. Punz left for the world called Hypixel, Purpled had followed just days later, then Hannah, then Technoblade, then Jack, then eventually Ranboo and Tubbo too. No more flowers scattered along the sides of the wooden paths. No more bunkers or towers or talent show stages. Just an empty mansion and lonely snow dogs and an abandoned colony.
Eventually Puffy had given up on them, too. She’d tagged along with HBomb when he disappeared to another world inhabited by other friends, and Puffy and Niki have always been a package deal so when Puffy left, so had Niki. It was after they left that nature started to wilt.
Phil had left shortly after that, back to his own lands where his wings would heal and the world would bend for his needs.
Fundy packed up and took his redstone contraptions with him, heading towards a world more geared for his tastes.
Foolish disappeared too. Then Eret, silently; the only sign that he had left was the lack of caring messages attached with pink wool stuffed into chests.
And then BadBoyHalo, along with Antfrost and Skeppy. Skeppy had urged him to leave and so, predictably, he’d listened, taken Ant along with him when he had asked. The Egg died along with its supporters.
Karl took Sapnap and Quackity to the world that he called The Other Side. Dream didn’t get to say goodbye to them either.
The last person who had left was Tommy.
Tommy. His enemy. The person who Dream had been fighting against ever since his arrival into the server, the one who sent everything spiraling out of control. Dream still remembers their conversation before he left. It was the middle of night and Tommy was lingering just in front of the portal out with a brown backpack slung over his back and Wilbur’s old coat in his arms. He was oddly calm for the situation, not rambunctious or loud or brash like he had always been before that.
It was one of the few times that they weren’t fighting each other.
Where are you going?
…
Tommy.
I’m tired of fighting.
You were the one who started everything in the first place. You ruined my world.
Yeah? In the end, why did everyone leave? Because of me? Take your head out of your ass for one fucking second, Dream. Look around.
I only did what I did because of you.
Haven’t you learned anything by now? No one is in the fucking right here.
Funny of you to say.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Grow the fuck up, Dream.
Fighting isn’t going to solve all your problems.
Just look at what this shithole has become.
…
You can’t leave, Tommy. We aren’t done here.
No, no. We are.
Goodbye, Dream.
“It was more than just the discs,” Dream whispers.
George’s laugh is harsh, startlingly so. “Yeah?” He asks. “What was it for, then? Power? Control? You’re a god fighting a child, Dream.”
“No,” Dream is shaking now, his breaths becoming heavy, eyes stinging with unshed tears, “no, George. It was for you. You said you wanted everyone to be happy, a big, happy family. And then they — they took you from me, hid you away.” He’s rubbing at his face now, at the tears that have welled up in his eyes and are slipping down his cheeks. He can’t remember the last time he cried. “You left.”
There’s a short moment where George seems to soften, stance relaxing slightly and the look in his eyes becoming gentler. He steps forward and his fingers are warm when they touch Dream’s face, collecting the tears with his thumb and wiping them away.
“Stop crying,” he mutters, quiet, defeated. “You know that I hate it when you cry.”
“I’m sorry.” Dream leans into his touch, meeting George’s unreadable gaze. A cold breeze blows past. “I did it for you.”
George smiles wryly. “Now look at how that turned out." He says. "You’re a god for a world of nothing.”
And just like that the warm, tender touch leaves his cheek, and then George is stepping away yet again, leaving Dream feeling empty and cold and alone.
He doesn’t say anything. George turns, beginning to walk away. He’s heading towards the exit portal, the one that will take him away from Dream’s world — their world, the one he created from his own power and energy and life — to another of his choice. Dream doesn’t move from his spot, only watches helplessly at George’s back as he retreats. He knows not to follow.
“Do you hate me?” Dream asks eventually, the words scraping like sandpaper as they tumble from his lips.
George pauses.
“No,” He says, voice flat. “I pity you.”
And then he’s gone.
Dream stands there for what feels like an eternity.
His legs are burning and hunger is rumbling deep in his stomach. The sun is dropping lower and lower into the sky and yet still he stands, unmoving, staring blankly into the distance where he can see the purple glow of the portal, where George had stepped in and never looked back.
His chest hurts. He wonders if that’s his heart breaking.
It must’ve been hours before he forces himself to move. The grass crunches under his feet when he walks, heading towards the cracked wooden path with weeds growing between the splits and moss crawling up the sides. He follows it aimlessly, digs into the dusty chests at Tommy’s old home and finds himself a few potatoes and some bread. The food is stale and tastes like nothing, but he forces it down, backs out of the house and tours the ruins of what was once his thriving world, his server, his home.
There’s no one left. It’s only him now.
A long while passes before Dream’s legs are tiring and he is seating himself under a leafless tree. The bark is rough and peeling off, nearly black. Dream settles between the roots, leaning his back against the trunk and shutting his eyes to try to imagine a world where the grass is green and the forest is thriving. It works, to an extent.
He dozes, drifts lazily in the space between sleep and consciousness, the world around him quiet.
And then he hears it.
The small footsteps. Almost silent, only audible due to the quiet rustle of grass beneath it. Instantly he’s awake, sitting up and peering around for the source of the sound. He’d thought that almost all of the animals were dead. Gone. Unable to survive in his crumbling world.
He turns towards the right, catching onto white fur and pointed ears. A kitten stares up at him. It’s small, but bold, and there are black splotches of fur amongst the white.
The kitten meows, blinking up at him with wide blue eyes, and tilts it’s head curiously.
“Hey,” Dream breathes, and then smiles, “hey, kitten. I thought everything died around here.”
It steps closer and meows again. He holds out a hand, warmth filling his chest when it sniffs his fingers and then rubs it’s face against his palm. It purrs when he moves to scratch it’s back, and it doesn’t take long for it to move until it is pressing against Dream’s thigh and he’s picking it up carefully, smiling at how small it is compared to his hands, and setting it down in his lap where it kneads at his legs and then settles without much trouble
“You’re lonely, I’m guessing.” Dream scratches just behind it’s ears, listening to it purr. “Me too.”
Talking to something other than himself is nice. He finds himself smiling, and despite all that’s happened, the kitten gives him a sense of peace. The knowledge that he has a companion now is comforting, even as they sit in the remains of what was once a grand, thriving world.
He looks down at the cat. Somehow, it reminds him of George.
“I’ll name you Rue,” he decides. “Your name is Rue.”
It doesn’t argue. Dream smiles.
At least now, his world feels a little less lonely.
A boy and a god stand at the top of a hill. They are overlooking a lake surrounded on two sides by spruce and oak wood forests. It’s warm, the lands brimming with life. A sheep herd can be seen grazing in the far distance, splotches of white against lush green.
The god leans on the boy, arm slung around his shoulders. They watch three others play down by the lakeshore. Their laughs can be heard even from their place on the hill.
“Do you think it was worth it?” The boy asks quietly.
The god blinks and tilts his head. “The world?”
“Yes,” the boy says, “you’re ill. Was making this world worth it?”
The god is silent for a moment. Then, he shrugs, and presses his cheek to the top of the boy’s head, flattening the messy brown strands. The boy smells like flowers and grass.
“They’re having fun, aren’t they?” He answers. “I’ll recover. Making worlds is usually a feat for The Elders, so I’m surprised it even worked in the first place.”
The boy hesitates for a split second. He sounds concerned. “Yeah, I guess.”
The god laughs and pulls back to ruffle the boy’s hair affectionately. He is rewarded with a scowl and a scoff, but is not shoved away.
“Cheer up,” the god grins. “It’s no big deal.”
“You’re too reckless with your powers.”
“Maybe I am. You’ll always take care of me, though.”
The boy rolls his eyes. “I’m going to feed you to the wolves,” the boy says, but there’s no seriousness to his words, and the corner of his lips are twitching as if to withhold a smile. “You’re annoying.”
The god laughs. “Sure I am.” His tone is patronizing and it doesn’t slip by the boy, who huffs, but he continues, softer this time, with fondness and warmth in his voice. “But I made us a home, so you can’t fault me for that.”
“Fair enough.” The boy concedes. He smiles softly, sending flurries of butterflies whirling through the god’s stomach. “Thank you, Dream.”
The god smiles.
“Of course, George.”