Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Ayup,” A voice calls. 

Philip blinks. It was either a lifetime or just a moment ago he felt the void pulling at him from all directions. Not even blackness or dark, just a colorless and formless entity set on causing him the most agony possible. 

“Hello?” He asks back. His voice sounds gentler, less raspy and less pained. The constant pain in his back and hips seems to have faded into a quiet hum. 

“Welcome to hell,” the voice says. “I don’t recognize you, are you new to the SMP or something?”

“Pardon?” Philip looks around, there's still nothing, not even color. “I was- where am I?”

“I said Hell,” Philip feels his head spin. Why would he be in Hell? Why is Hell just a void of nothingness? Where’s the devil and souls of the damned? What might he even be punished for? He’d lived a good life, dedicated to helping people. He went to church when he could, he loved as much as the world would allow. 

“Am I dead?” He asks. 

“God you’re slow,” The voice murmurs. “Turn around,”

Despite his better judgment, Philip turns to the voice. It’s a man, wearing a trench coat and sitting on a non-existent ground. He shuffles through a deck of cards with practiced ease and careful fingers. 

“I’m Wilbur,” The man says. “You might have heard of me,”

“I’ve heard of plenty of men named Will,” Philip walks over and sits down, meeting an invisible ground instead of falling. “I have a grandson named William,”

“You’re old,” Wilbur observes. He has long gotten over simple japes by practical children. 

“Ninety something I believe,” Philip nods. “You look rather young,”

“I was twenty-five when I died,” Wilbur recalls. “But I’ve been in here for at least a decade, I’ve lost track,”

“A decade? ” Philip gapes. “When does it end ?” 

Wilbur shugs. “Who knows? At least we’ve got a deck of cards. Do you know how to play solitaire?”

“I- I don’t want to play solitaire, I want to leave this place, go to heaven or back home,” Philip looks around the empty expanse. There’s no telling if he’s in the smallest of boxes or an endless space. 

“I put up with Tommy fucking innit for two months here and somehow that was less painful than this conversation,” Wilbur sighs. “How is he by the way?”

“I don’t know a Tommy,” Philip shakes his head. “Is it just us then?”

“Nope,” Wilbur starts to lay out the cards into seven columns. “Schlatt and Mexcian Dream will show up eventually, they spend a lot of time wandering about as ghosts,”

“I’m sorry could you repeat that?” Philip asks. “I thought you might have said Mexican Dream, my ears are old and-”

“Yep, Mexican Dream,” Wilbur nods. “Good lad, pretty shit at cards though,” 

Philip stares at the man. 

He stares back. 

Philip stares some more. “And you’re sure this is Hell?”

“Oh absolutely,” Wilbur grins. “We’re going to have a grand old time for a long long time,”

“This cannot be real,” Philip decides. A hallucination, a fever dream, some final fantasy his ailing mind has made up on his deathbed. 

“God you’re fucking annoying,” Wilbur shakes his head. “Are you going to play?” He gestures to the cards. 

“I suppose,” Philip sighs. Might as well, he wasn’t going to spend his last moments alone and confused. “I’ve only ever played solitaire on my own,”

“This guy isn’t trying to drag you into another fucking card game is he?” A third voice asks in their colorless void. 

“Schlatt!” Wilbur calls with a smile. “Welcome back, how was the gym?”

“Fucking sucked,” He hears a faint pop and a man comes into view. 

“Oh lord have mercy,” Philip breathes. The man, Schlatt, is wearing horns and is holding a wine bottle. He’s wearing a suit of all things. And the horns, maybe he truly is in Hell. 

“Wilbur, why’d you bring a homeless guy into our void,” The last word echoes through the colorless expanse. “Jesus Christ are you okay? You look like you’re going to fucking die again, and that’s saying something,”

“ I beg your pardon? ” Philip clutches at his chest. “I am Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and husband to-”

“Corpse Husband,” Schlatt says and then cackles, throwing his head back and spilling wine onto the nothingness. 

“Am I missing something?” Philip looks to Wilbur for answers. 

“Don’t mind him,” Wilbur dismisses with a wave. “He’s probably drunk. He usually is,”

“Prince of what ?” Schlatt asks and manages to right himself, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “What the fuck is an Edward-burg? Is that what they’re calling L’Manburg now?”

“It’s been blown up three fucking times Schlatt,” Wilbur rolls his eyes. “I don’t think they rebuilt it again and renamed it again,”

“Who knows?” Schlatt asks and takes a swig of the wine. “Those idiots are crazy,”

“This is the strangest thing I could have ever conjured,” Philip says and shakes his head. He never knew he could be this creative. 

“This is real,” Wilbur assures him. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re gonna be stuck with us for a while,”

“Not me,” Schlatt insists with a grin. “Quackity is bringing me back,”

“ Quackity? ” Both he and Wilbur ask as one. 

“What in god’s name is a Quackity?”

“How’d you convince him to do that?”

“My sugar pumpkin is torturing Dream as we speak,” Schlatt’s face is arrogant and smirking. “He’ll get the book, then he’ll bring me back,”

“Please,” Philip practically begs. “I’m so confused-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Schlatt scods. 

“That is no way to speak to-”

“Yeah yeah, the Dude of Deadmanburg, no one gives a shit,” Schlatt walks over and sits in between him and Wilbur. 

“How’s Tommy doing?” Wilbur asks. 

“No idea, maybe if he visited my gym I’d have an answer for you,” Schlatt shrugs. 

“I don’t think I like it here,” Philip mumbles. 

“No one likes being in Hell,” Wilbur says. 

Schlatt pushes a bottle into his hands. “But everyone likes to drink,”

“You put your mouth on that,” Philip pushes the wine away with a hand. 

“I put my mouth on a dick too and Wilbur still lets me kiss him,”

“This isn’t true, Schlatt’s just lonely,”

“You know what?” Philip sighs. “Maybe this is Hell,”

“Took you long enough,” Schlatt says and takes another swig from the bottle. 

“I really wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up here yet,” Wilbur says and begins playing the solitaire game on his own. “I can usually feel a space growing for them in the afterlife,”

“I feel a space growing for me in between your legs,” Schlatt flirts. 

“I might be ill,” Philip says, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “This is beyond improper and rude,”

“My man,” Schlatt sighs. “Big P, Phill,”

“If we are so familiar as to call each other by our first names, you might call me Philip,” He supplies. 

“Duke of No-One-Gives-A-Shit,” Schlatt burps. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on with you, I never saw you on the SMP, I never heard jack shit about you, and you’re kind of a buzz kill. If you’d so much as seen TommyInnit or Quackity or pretty much anyone on the server you’d think what we do here is tame,”

“Dear me,” Philip clutches at his chest. 

“Aye man,” An unfamiliar voice calls out behind him. “What’s this pasty corpse doing in our barrio?” 

“You call me dead as if it is an insult, but I do believe all of you are dead as well,” Philip says. 

“He’s got you there,” Wilbur admits with a laugh. 

“Besides, I would leave if I could,” Philip admits. “You all seem quite rude to-”

“The Duke of Go-Fuck-Yourself-Vile,” Schlatt says. 

“Are you some sort of demon?” Philip asks. “With your horns and personality, it seems logical,”

“God I wish,” Schlatt laughs. “Do you know what I would do with a pitchfork? I’d finally keep my word on that promise to my ex-girlfriend,” 

Philip blinks. 

“Share the goods man,” The newest voice says. He becomes a form, walking in front of Philip to sit between him and Schlatt. 

“God save me,” Philip curses. The man grabs the bottle of wine and lifts up the colored smile mask that covers his face. He takes a long, quiet sip. “And what is your name again?”

“Mexican Dream,” Wilbur supplies. “I told you that already,”

“God he’s fucking stupid,” Schlatt says and yanks the bottle from the man. 

The dream man looks at Philip, mouth agape. “He just mugged me,”

“I don’t believe that is true,” Philip says, but at this point, what even is true anymore. 

“Who the hell are you again?” The Mexican man asks. 

“Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and husband to her grace, Queen Elizabeth the second,”

“Oh,” Schlatt winces. “You’re into men too though, right?”

“No?” Philip answers it more like a question. What a strange lot he’s imagined. 

Everyone in the circle seems displeased at his words, tugging on their collars, biting their lips or running a hand in their hair. 

“That’s so weird,” Wilbur shakes his head. “Like sure I was with Sally for a while, but I got over that phase pretty quickly,”

“I’ve been happily married for… at least 60 years, probably more,” Philip smiles at the memories that are suddenly recalled in his mind. 

“What the FUCK?!?” The Mexican Dream man stands abruptly. 

“Gross,” Schlatt winces. 

“Why?” Wilbur asks as he rearranges his cards. 

“Well because I love her,” Philip says. 

“And she’s a woman?” Schlatt asks. “And you're a man?”

“What are your pronouns?” Wilbur asks. 

“I- is there something wrong?” Philip frowns. There must have been some very strange drugs at the hospital to make him hallucinate like this. 

“There’s something wrong with you,” Mexican Dream says. 

“Let’s not be rude,” Wilbur says with a frown. “He’s dead, not much he can do about it now,”

“I will not have this,” Schlatt shakes his head. “I’m gonna get Quackity to revive him too just so we can help fix him,”

Philip stands. He’s had enough of this. “I don’t know who you think you are but-” He barely has time to widen his eyes when Wilbur’s fist collides with his face. 

“And you said he’s been married to a woman? For 60 years? ”

“Yeah, crazy bastard,”

“Maybe this will be for the better,”

“I guess,”

“I hope you know what you’re doing Schlatt,”

“I never have any idea what the fuck I’m doing. Anyway, I got to go help my sugar pumpkin go run some stupid casino. He’s lucky he’s got that fat of an ass otherwise he’d be helpless,”

“Good luck with that, I guess,”

“Good luck to you too, you know, finding Dream and all that,”

“He can’t be far,”

“You’d be surprised,”

When Dream wakes up, he has his fingernails back. All of the skin and parts of himself Quackity had ripped off with shears, pliers, swords, axes, anything with a blade, it’s all back. 

When he wakes up, it’s very dark. And very, very cramped. 

“Hello?” He calls. 

“Oh my stars,” A woman’s voice says. A myriad of people gasp and murmur. 

There are people, this is good. He can get lost in the crowd. If he’s got his fingernails and ripped skin back, he might be in better physical condition. He won’t be able to fight, but maybe he can run, find the nearest enderchest or secret base of his-

Light practically slams into his face, the door of blackness opens up. 

“Philip?”

Dream sits up and looks at his body. Same hoodie, same mask, no weapons. He looks around, there’s a surprising number of people here all wearing black-

Is he in a coffin?

Chapter Text

“Ayup,” Dream gives a traditional greeting, waving a shaky hand. It feels like the eyes of the world are on him. Thank god he still has his mask on. Quackity had thrown it into the lava ages ago as part of his torture. 

A crowd of hundreds of people in front of him erupts into screaming. 

“Good heavens,” Someone in his audience says, grasping at her chest. Some old lady is staring wide-eyed at him, too frail to move. A bunch of dudes in robes stand around him, starstruck, confused, and clutching crosses. Machines operated by more people point at him. Too many people, too cramped, too many eyes, and for the first time in a long while, Dream feels like his mask isn’t enough. 

For the weeks or months or years of being tortured in the obsidian box, the prison of his own making, he had to choose, fight or flight. Run or hide. Neither ever worked. But now, he’s free. 

Dream doesn't waste any more time, vaulting himself out of the wooden box that had tried to contain him and making a break for the massive doors in front of him. He pushes past distressed women and grieving men, past people in robes, and doesn’t spare a glance at the flags lining the walls. He can worry about where the hell he is later, right now he needs to run. 

“Sir!” A woman shouts, holding a grey stick in her hand with a strange metal ball on the top. On her flank is a man holding another mysterious machine. She grabs his arm to get his attention. “Where is the prince? What did you do to him? Who are you?”

An axe at his back, cutting at skin, Quackity laughing as he removed Dream’s nails, sticking his head under the lava, screaming, blood, so much blood he could hardly see his skin, Quackity grabbing him, touching his bruises and broken ribs, digging netherite into his skin-

“Who the hell are you?” Dream retorts, pulling back his hand harshly. He needs a weapon, quick. He couldn’t use his mind in the prison, head too foggy with pain to even get him to stand, axe and sword and crossbow nowhere to be seen. Dream won’t make the same mistakes again. One weapon back, three more to go. “Where’s George? Sapnap? Bad? I’ll even take Tommy at this point,”

“Prince George?” The woman asks, tilting her head. Chaos reigns around them, people scattering out of the way and screaming echoing off the massive walls around them. Most people with machines are focused on the old woman who sat right in front of him clutching her chest. 

“I mean he was king for a little bit but he was never a prince,” Dream frowns. 

“And what is your name sir?”

“I-” Dream looks over at the machine pointed in his face. “I’m Dream,” The man holding the metal contraption moves closer, Dream takes a step to the side. Dream kicks the back of the man’s knee and sprints with practiced movement, heading for the door, for freedom. 

He pushes past people rushing by, ignores men in strange uniforms trying to grab at him. Not again, not ever again. No one is going to touch him ever again. 

Dream walks through the crack in the doors, light pierces into his eyes. 

The sky is so much more alive than he remembered. White clouds dust the sky like perfect little imperfections, giving the sky freckles. The clouds are so fucking soft, Dream wonders what it would feel like to touch them, if they would be gently or if he’d fall right through them. The blue is so rich and deep he could swim in it. 

It tastes like glory. 

He nearly cries at the sight. 

“Hey!” Someone shouts. “That man stole the Prince!” Dream doesn’t bother turning to the voice, instead breaking out of his trance to sprint through the streets. It’s just like a manhunt, the game he used to play with George and Sapnap and Bad and Ant before he got thrown in prison. Just like that. He just needs to survive, maybe if he kills the enderdragon he can get to the end cities and try to contact Ranboo or-

He doesn't even have time to finish his thought before something collides with his skull, sending him plunging into darkness.

“I haven’t talked to someone like you in a long, long time,” A voice says. Dream manages to open his eyes, squinting at the light in the room. A thousand questions pop into his mind, all culminating into the horrible phrase:

“Who are fuck?” He slurs. Dream groans at his own words as his vision comes into focus. Some old woman sits in front of him in a velvet chair, legs crossed and hands in her lap. He does a once-over looking for weapons. She’s either clean or is very good at hiding them, which in turn means she’s either the dumbest person alive or very, very dangerous. “Uh-”

“What’s your name?” She asks. 

“Uh,” Dream takes a glance over the room without moving his head. Three windows, an exorbitant amount of decoration, a surprisingly large door, some plants, nothing he can really use. Maybe if he runs he can take a chair, break the window and run, he can parkour out and it’s not like this old lady can run faster than him. 

“Your name son,” The woman urges. “You can’t get home without my help,”

“Home?” Dream looks over to her. “ Home? ”

“What, are you homeless?”

“Something like that,” Dream mutters. “I’m… I’m Dream,”

“My name is Elizabeth,” She offers a hand to him. Dream hesitates for just a moment before taking her wrinkled hand in his gloved one. “You’re not from here are you?”

“What gave you that idea?” Dream asks, pulling his hand away. Touch doesn’t scare him as much as it should. She stares at him for a moment too long and smiles. 

“Would you like some tea?” She offers, gesturing to the coffee table beside her. Dream blinks, he’s fairly certain it wasn’t there a moment ago. 

“Sure,” Dream says. He has no intention of drinking it, but he doesn’t dare refuse. 

“So what brings you here on this dark day?” She picks up a porcelain kettle and pours steaming tea into a cup. 

“What makes this day so dark?” He asks back, dodging the question. 

“It’s my husband's funeral,” She responds, handing him the cup. 

“Wait,” Dream pauses. “Your husband ?”

“Don’t fret,” She assures him. “I like women as well, I’m not a dirty hetero,”

“Good,” Dream mumbles, bringing the tea to his lips and lifting the bottom of his mask with his other hand. The liquid is scalding against his skin, but he doesn’t dare let any slip out of the cup. 

“Do you know a man named Karl Jacobs?” She asks. 

“Maybe,” Dream says nonchalantly, dragging the cup away from his face. 

“He’s a time traveler,” If Dream had actually drunk any tea, he would have spit it out. 

“Karl? You’re kidding,” Dream forces out a half-laugh. 

“He and I met in The Inbetween ages ago,” She recalls as if her words held no weight. “He travels time, I travel dimensions, usually I don’t stay in one place for too long, but,” She pauses for a moment to sigh. “ The Blood God,”

“I-” Dream looks down at the tea in his hands and tries to force the disturbed look off his masked face. Maybe she’s just too old to understand what the fuck she talking about. Maybe Dream is hallucinating and tomorrow he’ll wake up encased in obsidian with Quackity’s blade at his skin. Maybe Quackity drugged his potatoes. Maybe all the tampering he’s done with Ranboo’s mind has finally caught up to him. “The Blood God? Like Techno?”

“Long story,” She waves as if pushing his concerns away. “The actual blood god, my brother, banished me here until I pay my dues,” She leans over to the kettle and pours herself a cup. “There are nearly fifty thousand pubs in the UK,”

“The UK?”

“The United Kingdom, it’s my own SMP,” She explains. 

“What the fuck do you need fifty thousand pubs for?”

“You have not met near enough Englishmen to properly understand,” She says dismissively. “Anyway, I was being a bit too gay for my brother to handle, breaking a few rules so he sent me to this horrid place to ‘live a little',” She scoffs at her echoed words. 

“I am so confused,” Dream sighs and leans back in the chair. 

“I don’t even know why I’m bothering to explain this all to you, I should be trying to bring you home,” She says. “The real question is how on earth should I go about that?”

“I’m dead,” Dream decides. “There is no other logical explanation for this all,”

“You’re definitely not dead, and nothing about this is logical,” Dream might have laughed if he wasn’t so confused. “I suppose I should reintroduce myself,” She says. “I’m Exdee, goddess of passion and light,”

The silence nearly strangles him.

“What?” Dream blinks. 

“What?” She shrugs. 

“I-” Dream shakes his head. “What?”

“I used to live in your world, but I loved a little too hard and was just a little too gay,” She says. “I was banished here, decided I felt more like a woman, hopped around various pubs, killed the Queen of England and took her place, killed some princess or other in a car crash when she got a little too close to the truth-”

“You’re saying more words and making less sense,” Dream cuts her off. At this point, he's half-convinced prison would be preferable. 

“Oh fine,” She sighs. “I would send you back home, but I have to wonder how you got here in the first- ohhh,” She nods at her own thoughts. “It was probably when I tried to revive him,”

“Wait, I have the revive book, not you,” Dream furrows his brow. 

“I’m a god dear, I don't need a book. You have a book?”

“Yeah,” He nods. He should probably keep the information to himself, but this lady is either high off her ass, delusional, or terrifyingly, horrifyingly, right. 

“Have you ever used it?” She asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“I was about to,” Dream admits. Maybe her goal is to confuse him to the point where he just admits everything, but by now, he’s too tired and confused to care. “I uh, killed someone and was about to bring him back, I’d barely even started when I’d ended up here,”

“Ohhh,” She nods as if Dream’s words made everything make sense. “Do you want to know what I think Dream?”

“Not really-”

“I think that I tried to revive Philip at the same time as you tried to revive someone else, and it messed with the timelines,” She leans back in the chair ever further and sets the cup onto the table beside her. “Revival is a tricky business and is very easy to mess up,” She sighs. “No matter, now that we know how you got here, I can send you back and bring home my husband,” Dream watches her pause for a moment, looking for an answer when he suddenly gets a risky idea. 

“No,” He says, plain and simple. 

“No?”

“Nope,” Dream decides, laying his palms open and pulling his hands away from one another. “I don’t think so,”

“I’m a god Dream,” She says. “I don't think you underst-”

“Oh no,” he shakes his head. “I think I understand just fine. You’re stuck here and so am I, my enemies are stuck in my server. Why on earth would I want to go back?” Back to knives and scraping axes and burnt skin and starving.

“Well you can’t stay here,” She says. “I need my husband back, if not him then at the very least his body so my family might have a proper funeral and farewell,” She breaks eye contact for just a moment, glancing off to the side as if to think. “How firm are you in this decision?” Dream smiles under the mask. 

“I am open to negotiations,”

“Well,” Elizabeth (or Exdee or whatever the fuck) thrums her fingers against the armrest of her chair. “You know what they say, people change like the tides in the ocean-”

“At least I think or am I dead wrong,” Dream fills for her. He taps his chest twice and points up at the ceiling. “Pogchamp,” The woman stares at him. 

“You lot have picked up some strange traditions whilst I’ve been gone,” She says with a sigh. “Alright, let’s cut to it, shall we? What do you want Dream?”

“That is a complicated question,” Dream says. “Let’s amuse that any of this makes sense and that you’re actually a Prime God, you can revive people, you’re related to Techno’s Blood God, you’re straight- ”

“Bi,”

“Bi in a straight relationship, you know Karl and you’re… trans I guess,” Dream sighs at his own words. “Let's assume this is real for just a moment,”

“This is real,” She assures him. 

“Stick with me for a moment,” Dream urges, giving a placating gesture with a hand. “If I go back, there are a lot of people that want me dead or worse,” He doesn’t dare elaborate on the ‘worse’ part. “In this situation, you want something from me, yes? I won’t give it to you unless you give something to me -”

“Well you needn’t be so condescending,” She says with a sigh. 

“I want you to make me a god,” Dream says. The woman across from him smiles, so genuine and full of humor he’s half convinced she will start laughing. 

“No,” She shakes her head, the grin still on her face. 

“Well, then I suppose you won’t get your husband back,” Dream shrugs. “I don’t need or want to go back, I can easily stay here and carve out my own empire,”

“Your empire?” She seems almost amused at the notion. “You don’t know how this world works in the slightest,”

“I know how people work,” Dream says. “You might not know a lot about me Mrs. Elizabeth, Exdee, Queen of the UKSMP, whatever you call yourself, but you do not want me as an enemy. Besides, have you considered that maybe your husband is in my SMP? In my place?” He asks, eyebrow raised. “I think that he is, either dead on a cold obsidian floor, or being trapped and tortured in prison,” He says casually, shrugging when her eyes widen. 

“You-”

“Me,” Dream agrees with a grin she can’t see. “Make me a god, and you’ll get your husband back in one piece,” Dream pauses for a moment to let it sink in. “Refuse me again and I’ll make the rest of your immortal life a living hell. Besides, I doubt your brother, The Blood God, would appreciate you meddling in his affairs like this. You’d better fix it quickly,” 

“I don’t think he’d appreciate this either,” 

‘Maybe not, but you’ll have another god on your side to protect you,” Dream says. 

“Well,” She swallows. “You’re bold,”

“I like to think so,” Dream nods. Bold and maybe a few other things.
“I don’t even know if I can do that, but I can certainly try,” Dream smiles. If all else fails, he can find a way to contact Technoblade and call in his favor, maybe The Blade can contact The Blood God. Dream has no idea at all what world of gods and heteros he has just stepped into, but if life in prison and in politics has taught him anything, it’s that you adapt or die. It’s natural selection at its finest, and Dream does not intend to lose his last life just yet. 

“Do we have a deal?” Dream asks. “I go back and you make me God?”

“ A god,” She corrects, holding out a hand. Dream takes her hand for the second time that day. Maybe if everything works out, they can both be reunited with the people they love. 

Clay is in the middle of eating a steak dinner with Sapnap when he looks up from his plate and sees two people he’d never thought he’d see in real life. 

“Uh,” Clay looks between the two people in front of him, a masked man in a green hoodie, looking far too similar to his Twitter profile picture, and… the literal Queen of England. “What the fuck,”

“ This is him?” The masked man asks. Dream does a double-take at the voice, sounding just like his but not scraping against his ears like it normally does when hearing himself. “Why’s he so… scrawny?” Clay looks down briefly. Where the fuck did his food go? When did he get on the floor?

“Where the fuck am I?” He asks, voice firm but utterly confused. 

“London, dear,” The fucking Queen of England says. What the hell does he even say? Is he supposed to kneel or something? Where the fuck is Sapnap? He’s definitely hallucinating, this is exactly why he doesn’t let Nick cook. 

“Yeah this is going to be rather odd for you,” the masked man says. “I need you to stab me so I can go home while the hetero kills her husband from your SMP,”

“What the fuck,” Clay says again. 

“I’m Dream,” The masked man offers a hand to help him up. 

“No,” Clay almost laughs. He’s dreaming, a hundred percent. Might as well play along, then maybe he can wake up with a minimal stomach ache from Sapnap’s cooking. “ I’m Dream,”

“Sure,” ‘Dream’ says. “Your SMP fucking sucks by the way,”

“You mean the DreamSMP?” Clay asks. “What does that-”

“No, the UKSMP, you have far too many pubs,” 

Clay doesn’t know what to say to that. 

“Am I high?” Clay questions after a moment of pause. 

“How did you find this guy?” ‘Dream’ asks the literal queen. 

“I only looked him up on the internet and it was easy from there. You’ll be happy to know he’s gay,” The actual queen holy fuck rolls her eyes. “Dating some George person-”

“We are not -”

“Oh thank god,” ‘Dream’ says with a laugh. “At least someone on this server has some sense. I suppose you’re dating this universe’s version of George? Dark hair, allergic to colors-”

“I’m not dating George,” 

“Hm,” ‘Dream’ hums. “Maybe not yet, but I can see where the attraction comes from. If I wasn’t ace maybe I’d be into my George as well, but-”

“I’m not into George,” Clay promises. 

“The first stage of grief is denial,” ‘Dream’ says and Clay can hear his smile. 

“Is this a dream or a prank?” Clay asks. The fucking queen of England what the fuck pulls her hands apart and Clay thinks he can see the universe braided between her fingers. He hardly has time to blink before there’s a dark sword in her hands. 

Definitely a hallucination. 

“I would definitely kill Dream myself,” The Queen of England Tommy would be so jealous oh my god says. “However for this to work it has to be you, his alternate universe counterpart,”

“You… want me to stab him?” Clay asks, narrowing his eyebrows and inclining his head. 

“Just kill me,” ‘Dream’ says far too casually. “Make it quick, I’ve got a server to reclaim,” 

Clay looks at the queen, then back at Dream, then back at the queen, then down to the sword. 

“What the fuck,” he says for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Dear, please,” The queen sighs. “If you do it I’ll get you a travel pass, you can come to England and bypass the travel restrictions,”

“Okay,” Clay says without hesitation. This isn’t real, definitely not real, but… “Yeah sure,”

“His body will go back with him, you don't need to worry about getting caught-”

“Yeah I’m down, gimme the sword,” Clay says. 

“You’re down bad,” ‘Dream’ smiles, the living embodiment of a stan from Twitter. 

“And you’re dead,” Clay responds playfully, taking the sword. It’s heavier than he’d imagined but surprisingly lightweight for a metal sword. It goes through Dream’s stomach in one quick swipe. The masked mask moves to clutch at the wound but turns to dust before he can even cry out. 

“Thank you, dear,” The Queen says with a smile. “You can go back to dinner now,”

“I am still so conf-”

When Clay dares to open his eyes, he’s back at the familiar oak table he had just been eating at. However, Sapnap no longer sits across from him, instead pacing around the living room with his phone to his ear. When Nick makes eye contact, his jaw drops open. Clay shakes his head and stands to clear his plate. 

“What-”

“Don’t even ask,” Clay looks down at his hands, a stack of papers and cards sitting in his lap. 

Maybe he is down bad. 

“Jacobs,”

“Exdee,”

“I go by Elizabeth now,”

“Oh okay,” There is a beat of silence between the two. 

“It’s been quite some time,”

“Months,”

“Months for you, years for me, time is different here,”

“Right, of course,” A pause. “You’ve made quite a mess huh?”

“I only wanted to love, just for a little while longer. Is that such a crime?”

“Love is what got you exiled in the first place,”

“Love is the only thing that makes someone real, without it we are all just empty vessels, floating in the Inbetween like all of those clone fellows down there,”

“The ones who forgot?”

“What do you think they forgot, Jacobs? It’s love, that’s why they keep running around in that cursed castle,”

“It cost you your home,”

“I am at home when I’m with the people I love. Not that you’d know anything about that. How’s Quackity by the way?”

“Low blow Lizzie,”

“Sorry, that was… unfair of me…”

“So you’re a woman now?”

“Yes, I just, didn’t feel like a man anymore I suppose,”

“Pronouns?”

“She and her are fine dear,”

“Well good for you,”

“Hell yes good for me, I’m a god, I can make gender my bitch,” Laughter ensues from them both. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re happy…”

“But?”
“Was it worth it? Giving up everything? Your old life?”

“This is my life, Jacobs,”

“It’s a lie, Philip doesn’t know-”

“It is a lie, it’s my lie, and it tastes sweeter than any truth,”

“...”

“We’re going to have to stop talking soon, lest my brother catches on,”

“Right,”

“Before I go, I would like to say something,”

“Go on,”

“I know things are… hard with you and your fiancés. You’re young, Jacobs. You have so much love left to give. Stop living in the past and the future, start living now ,”

“I… I can’t keep lying to them, all of these time hops are taking their toll-”

“You’re missing out on your life, who cares if it’s a lie?”

“I can’t lie,”

“Then don’t, but you can’t keep avoiding them,”

“I hardly remember them, their hobbies, their personalities-”

“What do you remember,”

“...I remember their smiles, and I remember that I love them,”

“Time can never take love away from you Jacobs, not unless you let it,”

“Thanks, Lizzie, I think I needed that,”

“Love who you love and be happy, oh and one last thing,”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry about Dream,”

“Sorry about-” He fades back into his own word without finishing his question. 

"Sorry Jacobs, truly," Oh the things we do for those we love the most. 

When Dream wakes up, he’s back inside the prison cell. The first thing he does is check his nails. Black and bruised and raw, gaping holes where his nails used to be. With a simple thought, they are back on his hands. Dream flexes his gloved hand and smiles. 

The DreamSMP is about to live up to its name, and nobody is going to be ready. 

Good. 

Chapter Text

“Ayup,” A voice that had always been so familiar and comforting (until it wasn’t) says. 

It’s the last thing Tommy hears before he’s knocked out. When he reopens his eyes, he expects to be dead or worse. Instead, he’s alone. Never a good sign. 

“Hello?” Tommy calls as he sits up. His back hurts. Shit. The floor is hard as hell. His ass hurts. “Wilbur?” He says cautiously. Tommy blinks. Why the fuck did he call for Wilbur? The man has been dead for ages. Tommy has been dead for- oh fuck. 

“Oh fuck,” He says aloud. Tommy swallows and glances around. Is this hell? No, his hell would be cooler than this. There would be fire and shit, and that guy who has to roll a stone up a hill and that guy who stole fire and has to get his liver eaten by a bird. Hell shouldn’t be some pretty building made of marble. Gods his ass hurts-

There’s a gasp from behind him, and Tommy spins his head around to see some old guy in a robe. What the shit. 

“What the shit.” Tommy says. The old ass bitch man says some words he can’t understand in a language he’s never heard of. “Hello? Is this Hell? Do you speak English?”

“English?” The man asks, accent thick as honey and softer than he thought it was when paired with the harsh language. “Yes, I speak English, not much good, but yes,”

“Do you know where Wilbur is?” Tommy asks. He pauses. Why the fuck does he keep asking for- oh. The prison. Dream. Sam. Dream. Obsidian. Dream . 

“ You keep whining like an ungrateful little bitch,” Dream says, tongue ever sharp as he spits on the obsidian below them. “You-”

“Stop fuckin’ meh meh meh meh-”

“Shut the fuck up-”

“No you shut the fuck up, your book isn’t real, why the hell would Schlatt even have- the only reason I haven’t killed you right now is because I know you’re fucking stuck in here and I’m not. I’m going to get out and you’re going to stay in here and keep giving yourself those cuts on your-” Dream cuts him off, roughly grabbing his shirt and pressing him against the wall with all the strength he has left. It takes all of Tommy’s strength not to cry out as his skull hits the purple rock. 

“Do you see this?” Dream asks, holding up his free hand to Tommy’s face. His palms are scarred and blistered and bruised, all his nails gone and skin torn every which way like some sick art project with human flesh. “Quackity comes here every single day and takes another fucking piece of me, bit by bit until I fucking die or I give him what he wants. I don’t let myself get tortured just for the fucking fun of it-”

“Maybe you don’t have the book in the first place,” Tommy says. “So you’ve got nothing to give-”

“Stop fucking talking!” Dream shouts, taking his free hand and grabbing Tommy’s hair, shoving his head back into the wall. He cries out, his shouts mixing with the ringing in his ears and purple pain sending waves of shock down his skin. “You don’t know, I’m a fucking god with this book-”

“What god lets himself get put in here and fucking tortured huh? You-” Dream grips Tommy’s hair tighter, but Tommy’s never been one to listen to threats. “Schlatt didn’t give you shit, I’ve seen his corpse he’s dead-”

“Why don’t you go see him then,” Dream whispers, and his voice is quiet, almost offering it as a suggestion. Before Tommy can shout ‘what the fuck are you talking about’, Dream brings Tommy’s skull forward, and slams it back with enough force to turn his vision black . 

“Fuck,” Tommy whispers and his hand reaches to the back of his head, almost expecting his skull to fall apart into fragments at the touch. When it doesn’t, he lets himself breathe, even if he hadn’t been holding his breath on purpose. 

“Can I help?” The man in the robes asks. “Are you England?”

“Am I who?” Tommy asks. “I’m Tommy,”

“Are you living in England?” The man asks. “Are your parents gone? Are you missing?”

“No I’m Tommy ,” Tommy clarifies. “Tommy Danger Kraken Innit of DreamSMP. Are you Satan?”

“Satan?” The man’s face scrunches up.

“Is this hell?” Tommy asks again. “Where's the fire and shit, why does Satan look so fucking lame? Do you have a pitchfork?”

“What?” The man tilts his head and reaches at the funky necklace he’s wearing. 

“DO YOU HAVE A PITCHFORK?!?” Tommy shouts, maybe a bit louder than necessary and his voice echoes off the high walls. “Like a trident but fire, a fire trident, it’s probably red or something, I don’t really know I’ve never met Satan-”

“Are you from-” The man pauses and fiddles at his necklace. “Hell?”

“I’m from your mother’s-” 

“Hey, Boo?” Tubbo asks one morning at the breakfast table. Ranboo looks away from the small fork in his hand, helping Micheal eat a slice of watermelon. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen Tommy,” Tubbo says with a sigh. “Do you-”

“He’s probably fine,” Ranboo says, trying to wave away Tubbo’s concerns with his free hand. “You know Tommy, sometimes he just goes missing and then a week later he comes back just fine talking about women and-”

“Of course he’s fine,” Tubbo says and rolls his eyes with more fondness than he should. Micheal picks the watermelon off of Ranboo’s fork with his chubby pink hand and shoves the fruit into his mouth. “I just, you don’t think he’s like, straight -”

“No,” Ranboo shakes his head and looks back to their son. “It’s just a phase,” Tubbo nods and goes back to his eggs, chopping them up with his fork. 

“As long as he’s not a capitalist, he’ll be fine.”

“ Where the fuck are my wives ?!?” Tommy shouts at the old man, a stick in each hand and pointing at the poor guy with fury. Where did he get the sticks you ask? Don’t ask questions. That's how people disappear. 

The man screams something in what he explained is Italian , some made-up language for some made-up people. Italian. Psh. Okay sure . He’ll let the man have his delusions. 

“I’ll handle this one Francis,” A voice says behind Tommy. 

“What the fuck is a Francis?” Tommy asks, turning around to see some random ass old lady. 

“That’s a Francis,” She says, pointing to the old guy that sobs in Italian. 

“Ew,” Tommy says, distasteful in his tone. “Why?”

“Eh, dunno,” The old lady shrugs. “I’m Elizabeth,” She introduces, holding out her hand. 

“What do you want me to do about it?” Tommy asks, glazing at the hand then back up at her. He should probably be confused as hell, but Mexican Dream and Ninja Fortnight and Lil Nas X kind of set the bar just a bit too high for anything new to surprise him. 

“Uh,” She lets her hand drop to her side. “Nevermind, I’m going to need you to come with me. One of my associates called me and they need you safe and back home.”

“Associate has the word ass in it, ass has three letters, you know what else has three letters?” Tommy asks, and when she fails to answer (she just stares in confusion really), he does it for her. “GeorgeNotFound, GNF. Gogy wants me dead-”

“I’m here to save you-”

“George wants me dead,” Tommy sighs, disappointed and quite tired from dying and shit. “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. It’s fine, just show him a color wheel and he’ll pass right the fuck out-”

“It’s way too early in the morning for this shit,” Elizabeth sighs. Tommy frowns but doesn’t get the chance to spit out another quip or oneliner that makes no fucking sense before darkness invades his vision and his mind goes blank. For once. 

“Fuck?” Tommy says the first thing when he wakes up. Not even conscious for thirty seconds and he’s already swearing. Mother would be proud. Or not. Doesn’t matter, he’s proud of himself. Self-love and shit. Wait what the fuck is he doing?

“Hey kid,” The Elizabeth lady says to him with a smile, sitting next to the bed he lays in. Looking around, he sees he’s in a bedroom, which is weird cause he doesn't even have a house. “You’re Tommy, right?”

“No,” Tommy says because he’s going to out mind game this lady. She blinks. 

“Uh, yes you are,”

“Then why did you ask?” Tommy asks right back. “Are you gaslighting me?”

“I’m not-”

“That’s exactly what a gaslighter would say,” Tommy decides. “Now give me your crown,” He says, pointing to the gold thing on her head. Maybe he’ll give it to Ranboo as a gift. Probably not though.

“What?” She shakes her head. “That’s not how this works-”

“More gaslighting,” Tommy says with a sigh. “I’m a minor, you know. That’s illegal. Do you even have a license for this?”

“A license for what ?” She gives him a look of utmost confusion. Perfect. 

“I’m the one asking questions here pal,” Tommy says even though she is, in fact, not his pal. 

“What the hell is going on-”

“So this is hell!”

“Oh my gods do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“What are you a cop?”

“You know,” Tubbo says, looking over the gigantic hole that used to be Snowchester. “I would have thought that the end of the world would have been more… climatic? Not right after breakfast, and definitely not in the middle of the fucking snow,” Ranboo shivers behind him and the umbrella he’s holding to keep the ice off his skin trembles. Michael clings to Tubbo’s neck, face in his chest as Dream stands- well floats over the remnants of their home. 

“Dream!” Ranboo shouts because he must have a death wish. The man in the mask looks at his husband and away from his handiwork, and even if his face can’t change, it bears a darker tone. 

“Ranboo,” Dream greets, floating over towards them. 

“You’re a fucking dumbass,” Tubbo decides. Now they’re going to die because Ranboo wanted to yell at Dream over sides and morality and whatever. Oh well. Hopefully Hell is kind to those who make nuclear weapons. You’d think the land of the dead would appreciate someone who creates tools for mass destruction. 

“I can’t believe you!” Ranboo shouts. “Do you see what you’ve done? To this server? To my home ?”

“ Your home?” Dream asks, his voice dropping low and quiet as if he is silently contemplating what to do with someone who offends him so. “I don’t think you understand, this is all mine . This crater is mine, this forest is mine, this server  is mine. You , are mine,” Dream pauses for a second, and Tubbo can feel Dream’s eyes on them. “Give me your sword,”

“What?” Ranboo asks. 

“And your axe,” Dream orders. “On the ground, now.”

“Fuck you,” Tubbo spits. “I still have nukes-”

“Not anymore,” Dream says, and with the words, the deed is supposedly done. “I’m not going to repeat myself. Listen. Your weapons, give them to me or I’ll throw your fucking kid into the freezing ocean, then I’ll throw you into the water and Tubbo can watch your skin melt off your body. How does that sound?” Dream asks, his voice carrying a condescending tone, as if he was talking to a child and not a man, like a mortal to a god. 

“I-” Ranboo looks to Micheal who sucks on his thumb cluelessly, then to Tubbo who clenches his teeth. Checkmate appears to come in the form of unchallenged young immortality and threats with the power to back them up. 

Well. At least he’s not white. Wait-

“Fine,” Ranboo grumbles and pulls out scores of weapons from his inventory, both swords, his axe, trident, and bow, all thrown into a neat pile on the ground in front of them. It looks kinda funny since he’s holding a pink umbrella with the other hand. “Happy?”

“More like-” Dream cuts himself off, summoning TNT from seemingly nowhere and throwing it onto the pile. Seemingly without prompting, the TNT lights itself, exploding and sending snow and gunpowder into the air. The debris falls down like ashes back to the white floor, and all of Ranboo’s weapons disappear along with the dust. “Satisfied.”

“Do you want to know what I think Dream?” Tubbo asks, not looking up from the ground. 

“Not particularly-”

“Oh my god!” Tubbo shouts, pointing behind Dream. “Who the fuck is that!” The second Dream turns his head, Tubbo grabs Ranboo’s wrist and makes a run for the forest. It’s not long before he hears Dream’s manic cackling behind them, his calls of how they can’t hide, how he sees and knows all, and as Tubbo takes a quick glance over his shoulder, all while kicking up snow into the air and holding his family close, he runs face-first into something- or rather someone. 

“What the shit!” Tubbo complains as his ass hits the freezing ground. He scurries to his feet and picks Micheal off the ground, not bothering to get the snow off their faces. “Ranboo we have to- okay now what the fuck,” 

Ranboo doesn’t move, instead, he just stares at the man in their path. And he’s fucking bald. Of course. 

The man warbles out some words Tubbo doesn’t understand, some complicated and angry language falling from his lips. Ranboo pauses and speaks back in the same harsh dialect. 

“Tubbo,” Ranboo says, slowly and turning with the same caution speed. “This is Vladamir Putin and- and I don’t think he’s from here.”

Tommy glances up from his bowl of Fruit Loops. The Fancy Lady of no-one-gives-a-shit keeps eating her fine meal of steak and cooked vegetables. He had been offered the same meal as her, but that’s a common manipulation tactic you see. Offer your captive food and they’ll love you or something. Plus it could be poisoned. He looks at the toucan on the cereal box, asking the silent question, you wouldn’t poison me would you Mr. Toucan? 

“Tommy,” Elizabeth says, putting down her fork with a quiet clank . 

“Bitch,” He greets in turn. 

“One of my associates-”

“Ass,” Tommy says with a nod. The lady blinks. “Associate has the word ass in it.” He clarifies. 

“I-” She shakes her head and sighs. “Whatever. My brother is going to be here shortly, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”

“You’re not my mother,” Tommy says, wrinkling his nose. “But you can go fuck yourself,” He holds up the golden spoon that rests in his bowl. “Can I keep this? You know, like as a souvenir-”

“Oh my god,” She groans and pinches the bridge of her nose. 

“Where the fuck even are we?” Tommy asks, sticking his hand in the bowl and shoving sugary bliss into his mouth. He nods in approval as he eats. Fruit Loops. Pog. 

“My castle,” She says, gesturing at the big ass hall they sit in. Tommy glances up and a blue fruit loop falls into his lap. He eats it anyway. “I am a queen after all,” Tommy can’t stop his eyes from widening. 

“No f’kin’ sh’t balls,” He gapes through a mouthful of cereal. “you’re a q’een? ‘hat’s pog ‘s ‘ell,” 

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” Tommy swallows and wipes his face with the red velvet tablecloth. 

“You’re a queen?” He asks again. “Well in that case, Elizabeth, can I call you Lizzie?”

“Absolutely not,”

“Lizzie, Big L, Elizabeth, Big E, Queen lady, Big Q- wait no you can’t have that one-” The great doors of the dining hall fly open, and a man in a tan suit stands in the doorway. 

“Brother?” The queen questions. “Why did you choose Obama’s body?”
“Obama? Who’s that?” Tommy asks. 

“Yo,” The man says with a nod in his direction. 

But before Tommy can ask any more questions, the scene suddenly cuts off to show a random desert in Texas. 

Ted Cruz stares at his phone, thousands of thousands of teenagers screaming at him on Twitter. He blinks, he hasn’t gotten this much attention since he left his state to freeze to death to hide out in Cancun! It's great really, any publicity is good publicity. 

He’s so focused on his phone he hardly notices the man that appears next to him, and doesn’t even have time to scream before an axe imbeds itself in his chest. 

Dream looks at the dead man in a suit on the floor, and the slowly growing pool of blood. 

“Shit,” He hisses, looking around for an escape. Less than ten seconds ago he was chasing after George, trying to end the manhunt before it even got started. One axe swing should have ended it, but now he’s standing in some fancy office with a dead man below him. He doesn’t have time to think about who he just killed. 

Dream is best at running, and that's exactly what he intends to do next. 

“Wait wait wait,” Tommy says, waving his hands around. “I have several questions. One, why do you two take the bodies of famous people?”

“Well it's better for travel and safety,” The queen explains. “They have lots of money and protection if we need it. Also, it’s funnier for the fic.” Tommy blinks.

“For the what-”

“Don’t ask,” The Obama man says with a dismissive wave. 

“Whatever,” Tommy huffs. “Okay, so Obama is the blood god, right?”

“Yep,” The president nods. 

“So when Techno shouts ‘blood for the blood god’, he's shouting that for you right?”

“Mhm,” Obama nods. 

“Why do you want blood?” Tommy asks, leaning forwards a bit for intimidation™. “I mean, you’re the blood god, don’t you already have blood? Are you like the tooth fairy but for blood instead of bones?”

“One does not become the blood god without a great supply of followers and blood,” Obama explains, eyes giving a dangerous glint. 

“Poggers,” Tommy says with an approving nod. 

“Where did you find this kid?” Obama asks. 

“Where’d you find yourself?” Tommy asks back, raising his eyebrows rather aggressively to increase his intimidation factor. 

“I was born in Hawaii,” Obama explains, squinting ever so slightly. 

“As far as I know at least,” Tommy says, ever skeptical. “Lizzie-”

“Do not call me that-”

“Lizzie,” Tommy continues, undeterred. “I think you should tell Obama what you think about him. You both seem like you need extreme therapy for all those ‘bruh moments’ and ‘massive Ls’ you seem to be taking-”

“What the fuck is he talking about?” Obama cusses, gesturing at Tommy with the utmost confusion. Tommy nods to himself. ‘Keep your enemies confused as fuck and gaslight them to hell’ said Sun Kazoo in the Art of War. Or something like that. 

“Or was I even talking at all?” Tommy presses. “Maybe this is all an ‘alucination, have you been eating strange mushrooms again?”

“I-” The man sighs and puts his face in his hands, shattered by the absolutely devastating blow. 

“Tommy,” The queen says, placing a gentle hand on his. “Have you-”

“I’m hungry.” He announces. 

“We just ate ten minutes ago.”

“ And? ” Tommy squints. Sus. Like amogus. 

“Does he ever stop talking?” Obama asks, looking up from his palms. 

“Obama, you’re awake,” Tommy says, voice dripping with false awe. “It’s been twenty years, we thought you were dead-”

“I think I’m actually going to murder him.” Obama says. 

“You can’t murder me, I’m un-murderable.” Tommy decides with equal certainty. 

“Holy shit stop talking,” The queen hisses. “I’m, trying to explain the plot here-”

“Do you know GeorgeNotFound?” Tommy asks, unprompted. 

“That’s a great question isn’t it Lizzie ,” Obama says with more than a little sarcasm. Yeesh. 

“It’s not my fault!” She shouts. “Have you seen his hair?”

“You’re a god, you’re not supposed to drool over mortals-”

“Oh like you and Michelle don’t-”

“At least she’s a woman -”

“Ladies,” Tommy cuts. “Ladies, ladies, let’s be gentlemen here-”

“I am going to pull out your intestines from your mouth and hang them from the rafters,” Obama threatens. 

“What intestines?” Tommy gaslights. 

“Tommy!” The queen shouts. “I need you to listen to me for just five minutes, can you handle that without saying something clever?”

“Well I wouldn’t call my lines clever,” Tommy jokes. 

“Please,” She pleads. 

“Anything for you Lizzie. You’re single now, right?” He asks. 

“Have you heard of the multiverse?” She asks, completely and utterly ignoring his extremely important question. 

“No,” He answers, letting the slight slide. 

“Well, the concept is that there’s an infinite amount of universes. Together, these universes comprise everything that exists: the entirety of space, time, matter, energy, information, and the physical laws and constants that describe them,”

“That sounds like you just copied and pasted it off Wikipedia,” Tommy says. She blinks.
“How could I copy and paste something in real life?” She asks. 

“Maybe this is all a shitty fanfiction that combined a bunch of universes with no rhyme or reason and the author is scrambling to find some lore to make shit make sense,” Tommy suggests. “But probably not. Maybe you’re hacking.”

“ Hacking in real life? ” She squints and he can feel her headache. 

“Magic, sorcery, drugs, Twitter, I don’t know what suspicious devices you’ve got your wrinkly little hands on-”

“Anyway!” She brushes past his words easily. Rude. Dickhead. Dickshit. Dickbitch. Dick- “Your friend Dream brought you back to life at the same time I was trying to bring my husband back to life. It’s a very tricky business to meddle with life as we know it, so now the bridges between our worlds are opening up the gates.”

“That’s incredibly interesting,” Tommy says, uninterested. “Can I have another box of Fruit Loops?”

“If it keeps you quiet.” Obama mumbles, and with the snap of his fingers a fresh new box of sugary heaven appears in front of him. 

“Pog.” Tommy says before ripping the top open. 

“Imagine you’ve got a bottle of Coke and a bottle of Sprite,” She says. “They’re separated by a sheet of paper, enough to keep them separate but not enough to keep the world entirely apart. Then, imagine someone kicks the bottles over, pours gasoline on them and lights them on fire.” She sighs and thrums her fingers against the table. “Dream and I have fucked everyone over, and there’s not a whole lot we can do to stop the flow.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Obama adds. “You two opened the gateways between worlds by trying to revive Tommy and Philip. So we have two options. Either Philip has to die, go to our afterlife and stay there, or,” Obama pauses, looking over to Tommy. “Tommy is going to have to stay in his afterlife.”

“No,” Tommy shakes his head, dropping the fistful of cereal. “No no no, you can’t send me back there, I can’t , I have trauma, so many ‘oof lmao’s and ‘bruh moment’s and ‘massive L’s’,” He explains in a language neither Lizze or Big O understands. “Your husband already got like, what, two hundred years?”

“Ninety nine,” The queen says curtly. 

“Jesus fuck,” Tommy says with a whistle. “And he looked like that ? Here I was thinking Philza looks old.”

“Who’s Philza?” Obama asks. 

“He’s my hero and is dying in two hours.” Tommy explains. “He’s just like that. I can see his life clock above his head and he doesn’t have a lot of time. He’s the bravest man ever. Ever. Even braver than you Obama. He has a wife you know, well, for now he has a wife-”

“I’m going to have a stroke.” The queen says. 

“Pop off king- er- queen.” Tommy nods to himself. A brilliant save. 

“We’re not killing Tommy,” Obama decides. “Tommy was killed at 16 by a potato, Philip lived a long and happy life and died of old age. It’s only fair-”

“No,” The queen interrupts, shaking her head. “No no, you can’t do this to me, you can’t ,” She takes a few steps back from the table, hands shaking. “I need him, I love him, who does Tommy have anyway?”

“More people than you, bitch,” Tommy cusses. “My many wives, Philza Minecraft, Tubbzo, Ranboob, my other wives-”

“I don’t care, I don’t give a shit , I have done too much, sacrificed so much ,” She shakes her head. “I can’t lose him again, I can’t live without him.” Big E narrows her eyes, some newfound determination, and residue of love drawing streaks of fire in the air. 

“Be very careful what you do next Elizabeth,” Obama warns. “I know for a fact you don’t want to fight me again.”

“Oh I don’t,” She assures. “But make no mistake, I will do whatever it takes for my husband and I to be reunited. I don’t care about your threats, I care not for what you do to me, because-”

“Lizzie’s gonna use the power of love to defeat the Blood God,” Tommy fills. “Poggers.”

“Fuck you,” She spits, letting the words drip out from he mouth like venom. Elizabeth glares at Obama for just a moment, before her form is gone in the blink of an eye. 

“She's invisible!” Tommy shouts. 

“She’s not invisible,” Obama sighs, clearly exasperated with the queen’s antics and definitely not Tommy. 

“Then where the fuck is she?”

“Getting back up.”

Tommy pauses. “Is she a milf?”

This is definitely not good. Dream is absolutely and totally fucked. 

He’d gotten pretty lucky so far, not even ten minutes after he’d arrived in this new world he’d been teleported to a different location, a lady introducing herself as Elizabeth and requiring his skills. In return, she’d send him back home with some supplies, including but not limited to: shulker boxes, an elytra, a stack of golden apples, two god apples, three potions of strength two, 16 eyes of ender, and the greatest blessing, a compass that tracked the nearest hunter. It would be trivially easy to make it to the End and hop servers before his past mistakes and beloathed hunters came after him. 

He did not, however, expect this, uh, cast of characters Elizabeth had summoned from ‘all over the multiverse’. 

She had introduced them as the strongest warriors she could find (that were weak enough to be pulled out of their universes). 

Lego Batman, Hank from Breaking Bad, Kanye West, Martha Stewart, Danny Devito, and so many more names he couldn’t remember. 

All these people sound like they were suggested to be in here by some random people on a stan twitter account to be in their shitpost of a fanfiction and specifically at @abirdwo on twitter.com I repeat that’s @abirdwo on Twitter. 

And Dream just got here. 

But hey, anything to avoid taxes. 

“Italy isn’t real,” Tommy says to the man. “You’re just 'allucinating.”

“Tommy, stop gaslighting the pope,” Obama scolds. 

“Gaslighting? That doesn’t sound like something I would do,” Tommy gaslights. “Are you sure you didn’t imagine that?”

The pope babbles something in his made-up language. 

“Pop off I guess,” Tommy shrugs. “You know I’m like a pope myself, except I have massive arms and lots of height and I can rip a door right off the hinges-”

“Tommy I’m trying to focus,” Obama scolds. “We need to summon enough people to properly fight Lizzie-”

“It’ll be fine,” Tommy assures. “I’m the main character.”

The pope says some more shit in Italian. 

“Do you ever shut the fuck up?” Tommy asks the Italian ‘person’. The man sobs. 

“Be nice to Francis,” Obama says with a sigh. “He’s older than your Philza,”

“No fucking way,” Tommy looks at the man with newfound awe. “Are you going to die? That would be so fucking funny.”

“It absolutely would not.”

“Yes it would.”

“No-”

“Yes-”

“No-”

“Yes-”

“Oh my fucking god fine! ” Obama shouts. 

“Poggers.”

It takes some time, but they have a pretty decent army once Obama is done. Unfortunately, Tommy can’t recognize a single face. 

“Tommy,” Obama says. “I’d like to formally introduce you to the first continental congress of the United States of America.” Obama seems almost proud as he presents. Just. A fuck ton of losers. 

“This is the army?” Tommy asks skeptically. “They’re so…”

“They might not look like much,” Obama grins. “But once we put weapons in their hands-”

“Old,” Tommy finishes. “And Americans. And ugly. They all smell like horseshit-”

“They also speak English as well,” One of the old fuckers says. 

“Obama, listen pal,” Tommy says, trying to break the news gently. “I’m gonna be real with you here, I’d rather die than fight next to these guys.”

“Who said we wanted to fight either?” Some ugly loser with a shit ponytail says. “Where are we? My army-”

“Don’t ask questions,” Obama interrupts. “I’ll give your men enough food to last the rest of the war if you fight for us today.”

“Sounds like a scam,” Tommy says. “I’m in.”

“Ranboo, ask him where he thinks he is,” Tubbo says, slowly glancing at Dream from across the campfire. Micheal snores quietly in Tubbo’s lap, seemingly unbothered by the tension. The self-proclaimed god sticks his tongue out at him. Tubbo returns the gesture. 

Ranboo warbles some words in Ender to the man (who calls himself Vladamir), and the bald fucker babbles some more nonsense back. 

“Serbia,” Ranboo says. “I think that’s the English word-”

“Ask him if he knows Elizabeth of the UKSMP.” Dream interrupts, his voice cutting and sudden. 

“Why are you even here dickhead?” Tubbo asks, petting down Micheal’s pink hair. “Go blow up someone else’s house-”

“ My house,” Dream corrects with more than a little acerbity. “This is the Dream SMP after all-”

“Literally no one asked-”

“Sorry, let me just let this server and the whole fucking universe fall into pieces, wouldn’t want to offend you-”

“Guys please,” Ranboo sighs. He turns back to the bald fucker who seems equally as confused as everyone else and relays Dream’s question in their shared language. Bald guy considers the words for a moment, a quiet silence permeating in the cold evening air. He answers with a few gentle words and Ranboo nods in affirmation. “The queen?”

“Yep,” Dream nods. 

“He knows her, very famous, what did you call her?” Ranboo asks. The mystery man doesn’t even speak English, so they just watch as Ranboo babbles to himself. “Something about a constitutional monarchy, wait no, that wasn’t it-”

“Your memory is so fucking shit.” Dream says with a sigh. 

“No thanks to you,” Tubbo cuts. “Dickhead.”

“I didn’t take his memories! And it’s not my fault that your husband has the same backbone as a jellyfish.” Dream huffs. 

“Okay well that’s just rude.” Ranboo bristles. 

“Go find another group of children to traumatize,” Tubbo seethes. 

“You don’t even know what I did to Tommy.” Dream says, and Tubbo can hear the smile from under the mask. 

“Wait- what the fuck did you do?” Tubbo stands, fists clenched at his sides. “I swear to god if you hurt him-” The bald man babbles some more nonsense. “Shut the fuck up,” Tubbo hisses at the stranger. 

“I need a nap,” Ranboo sighs. 

“Why does my life feel like a shitpost?” Tubbo asks no one but the gods. The only response the sky gives is a few more snowflakes in his dark hair. 

“That makes two of us.” Dream says with a sigh. “Listen, I know we might hate each other, but I think I know what’s going wrong here.”

“I bet you’re ugly under there,” Tubbo says, glaring at the dickhead. 

“I- Tubbo please,” Dream laments. “There’s a reason why I can suddenly nuke an entire country-”

“No shit,” Tubb snorts. “I thought you were just born like this.”

“He’s not like the other girls™.” Ranboo says with a laugh. 

“How the fuck did you just say that out loud?” Dream asks, mildly horrified. 

“So did you make a deal with a witch or something?” Tubbo asks. 

“Or something,” Dream confirms. “I woke up in another SMP, and its leader said that us trying to revive people at the same time fucked up the timelines. I let her send me back, and in return, she made me a god-”

“A witch!” Tubbo shouts, pointing with an accusatory finger. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Dream sighs. “I can try to send this guy back home, but I don’t know if it’ll even work.”

“Well we can’t keep a bald guy here,” Tubbo says. “He’ll cause problems. Blindness, fatigue, hallucinations-”

“What?” Ranboo asks, rather bewildered. 

“Okay just- shut up and let me try and fix this,” Dream says, waving his hands placatingly. Tubbo bites his lip and watches Dream sit, unmoving and hardly breathing, his chest frozen in place and air around him still. He glances at Ranboo who just shrugs. Once they get this Putin guy out of here they can go back to their wars. Maybe they can take refuge with the Syndicate Ranboo was talking about- no, that’ll never work, but there's really nowhere they can go. Maybe he can recover their nukes? 

Dream’s head suddenly jolts up from its slouch, looking over at the bald guy and scrambling towards the other side of the log. 

“What- what the fuck are you?” Dream asks, pulling the axe from his hilt. Tubbo narrows his eyes and places a hand on Micheal’s head, a mostly pointless shield against the unknown. 

“He’s…” Ranboo glances at the weird guy, his face as unreadable as Dream’s mask. “He’s bald?”

“No no,” Dream shakes his head, gripping the axe with both hands. “He’s something much worse.”

“Uh,” Tubbo scoops up Micheal and takes a few steps from the fire, snow crunching underneath him. “Dream what are you talking about?”

“That- that thing -” Dream says, voice cracking. Tubbo slowly turns his gaze to the stranger, putting a hand behind Micheal’s head and holding him close to his chest. The man sighs, stands, and dusts white snow off his dark suit, any semblance of innocence falling to the ground along with it. 

“I suppose I should introduce myself,” The stranger says, perfect English falling from his lips like a siren’s deep song. “I go by many names, but you all probably know me as the Angel of Death, god of memory, of life and afterlife, god of gods, president of Russia.” He tightens his tie and snaps his fingers, Dream disappearing without so much as a word. Ranboo meets Tubbo’s gaze with wide eyes, and the only thing he has time to think before he too disappears is,

What the fuck is Russia ?

Tommy raises his chin and takes a few quick steps towards the god who plans to fight for his life. 

Fuck this shit. 

“Obama,” Tommy says. “Big O, massive O if you will,”

“What the fuck do you want?” The man asks with a sigh, not looking up from the sword he sharpens. 

“I don’t think I want to fight Lizzie and her hoard of memes,” Tommy decides. “I would probably die.”

“You’re going to die if we don’t,” Obama mutters. 

“Then why don’t you fight while I go back home,” Tommy suggests. “And you also send me back with some more fruit loops, and maybe a weapon, and probably outside of the prison.”

“I can’t protect you if you’re in another universe,” Obama reasons, gliding some funky stone across the edge of his sword. “If you’re here, at least I can control who gets near you.”

“That sounds fuckin’ lame.” Tommy huffs. “Let me go back, it’ll be fine. You fight the losers here, I’ll fight the losers back home. I don’t know what the fuck Dream’s been up too, Ranboo and Tubs might need my help.”

“No,” Obama says, as if that makes the idea final. Tommy frowns. He wasn’t even all that committed to the idea, but now he’s got to do it out of spite. 

“Your wife is ugly,” He decides. “I hate you, America sucks, you're old and ugly-”

“Please just shut up,” Obama mumbles. Tommy narrows his eyes, sudden determination and pure spite running through his bloodstream like adrenaline. 

“I will sing the Bruno Mars song That’s What I Like by Bruno Mars,” He threatens. 

“Please don’t-”

“ Jump !” Tommy shouts. “ In the Cadillac! ”

“I’m going to kill you-”

“I’ll read the Twitch Terms of Service-”

“Tommy-”

“Introduction; Your Agreement to these Terms of Service-”

“ Fucking fine !” He shouts, and with a wave of his hand, Tommy watches his vision fade to black. 

Dream watches as some guy in a white robe with a cross on his chest launches another cannonball at Elizabeth’s forces, sending yet another celebrity from this universe into the air. 

“You made a good call,” Obama says with a nod. 

“Yep,” Dream pops the P. Some man shouts Kanye West before another cannonball explodes on the ground, dirt and grass flying up into the air in chunks. 

“I believe this is yours now,” Obama says, and Dream turns to see a purple shulker box in the man’s hands. 

“I believe it is,” Dream says, snatching it before the president has time to change his mind. 

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Obama nods. 

“You as well,” Dream says with a grin. Sure he had to sell out a bunch of people he’s never met, but his motto has always been: anything to avoid taxes. Not that he’d tell Obama that. 

“Enjoy your manhunt.”

“Oh I most certainly will.”

“I’m so fucking done with this gay earth!” Tommy shouts, grabbing a potato and hurling it into the lava. It disintegrates into the magma with a sharp hiss and suddenly the obsidian box smells a lot more like hash browns. 

“This is all your fault!” Dream screams at Tubbo. 

“ Me? What the fuck did I do!”

“We should have killed the bald guy when we had the chance.”

“Guys-”

“ Shut the fuck up Ranboo! ” All three of them shout. 

“Okay sorry,” He says, shrinking further into his corner of the prison cell. 

“Since when the fuck do you speak Russian anyway?” Dream asks the enderman. 

“Russia isn’t even real ,” Tommy says, an expert gaslighter. “You’re just a dumbass.”

“I’m going to make you rue the day your mother brought you into this world.”

“I don’t have a mother dipshit, I was simply summoned.” Tommy decides. “I’m like a mother myself you know, except I love girls, not that mothers can’t love girls, they most certainly can but I’m not like the other girls, because I’m a boy and I’m not a mother I just like women.”

“We should have let Dream kill us in that ugly hall of attachments.” Tubbo grieves. 

“I should have let you guys kill me, ” Dream says dryly. “At least I wouldn’t have to listen to Tommy talk for another second.”

“Eat shit and die.” Tommy suggests, very helpful as always. 

“ Can Quackity come back and torture me! ” Dream screams at the lava, so impossibly intimidated by Tommy’s chad energy that his voice pierces their ears. “ Fucking anything is better than this !”

“Nothing is better than me.” Tommy says. “Do you think my wives miss me-”

“I fucking hate it when straights make being hetero their entire personality.” Tubbo grumbles. “Like, we get it, you’re into girls.”

“Women are poggers-”

“Shush,” Dream says, voice suddenly low. 

“What?” Tommy says rather loudly and tilts his head. “I don’t-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dream whispers, pointing to the lava. 

Tommy turns to the lava wall, ignoring Ranboo’s quiet cowering in the corner, Micheal chewing on a potato on top of the crafting table, Tubbo’s constant glare and Dream’s stupid fucking mask. 

“Oh my fucking god,” Tubbo says in a breath. 

The lava lowers, some bald fucker’s body laying discarded on the ground. Standing above him is a creature Tommy never thought he’d see again. 

“Steve?” He and Ranboo speak as one. The polar bear says nothing, but the platform moves towards their cell regardless. Tommy is the first one on, all five of the inmates silently scrambling onto it at once. 

“Hey guys,” A familiar voice says, pulling a lever and letting the lava start to slowly fall back down. The five of them just stare as they get off the platform. “Miss me?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Dream asks. The pink-haired man grins and gives the polar bear a good scratch on the head. 

“My god called upon me to save you guys,” Technoblade explains with a grin. “So here I am. Plus, you guys are pretty cool anyway.”

“How did the polar bear get in?” Tubbo asks.

“Silence government,” Technoblade shushes, and there are no further complaints. Ranboo shrugs and picks Micheal up off the floor, clutching the toddler to his chest and walking towards the exit. 

“I need a nap,” Dream mumbles. 

“I need to have a good stroke,” Tubbo decides. “Gotta get all the bullshit out of my system.”

“I need to stop taking hallucinatory drugs before bed,” Tommy says, walking past Technoblade and his big ass bear. 

“I am so confused-” Ranboo cuts himself off with a sigh. No one will be getting answers tonight, and at this point, Tommy can’t bring himself to give a shit anyway.