Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

As he digs his hook into the wood below him with shaking hands, Dream’s mind races.

Tubbo is missing .

The kid had been doing well on borrowing runs with him, so Dream had recently started letting him go on his own, as long as he checked back in periodically. It had been going smoothly, but he guessed that Tubbo might’ve slipped up a few times because it seemed like the beans were catching on. 

Glue traps were first, relatively harmless and easy to avoid, followed by those cage traps that lock behind you, which were just a case of not walking into them. They must’ve been getting frustrated, though, because soon enough, normal mouse traps were scattered throughout cabinets and pantries, underneath beds and behind bookshelves, and a few were right outside their entrances. The beans had also made sure to lock their food up tight, making it impossible to find any scraps after dark. This forced them to start going out during the day in the hopes that they could find something, any sort of crumb to sustain themselves on.

To make things worse, he’s pretty sure Tubbo got seen a few nights ago. He’d been waiting to go out, watching as the head of the household, Phil, got ready for work. The oldest son, a bean who always wore a beanie, was frantically explaining that he’d seen a tiny person the night before, rummaging around in the kitchen pantry, and Dream’s heart had stopped. Tubbo was the only one out that night, Dream having been on repair duty. Phil, however, had dismissed it as something that Wilbur had made up while sleep deprived, and didn’t take any additional action.

Either way, at least one bean was aware of their existence, and now Tubbo was gone. He’d never checked back in with Dream at their designated time, and Dream had given him an extra hour, too, but he was nowhere to be found. After checking the walls, the kitchen, living room, and Phil’s bedroom, he began going through each of the kid’s rooms.

He’d checked Tommy’s room first, the place was like a maze, and Tubbo might’ve just gotten lost. After rummaging around the areas they normally borrowed from, he still hadn’t seen Tubbo, so he moved on to Techno’s room. Although it was much cleaner, they only ever borrowed from his desk, and Tubbo wasn’t there either. 

That led him to Wilbur’s room, about to climb down the shelf that their entrance led to, which was situated next to Wilbur’s desk.

Wilbur was the biggest threat in the house, in Dream’s opinion. The bean was a biology major, and although Dream didn’t know what a major was, he knew that getting caught by any bean who did science was worse than a death sentence. Puffy had made sure to instill that in his head long before she died. He and Tubbo both knew that, if they got caught by a bean like that, they shouldn’t do anything to potentially reveal that they were intelligent. Don’t struggle, be pliant, and they’ll lose interest—just play dead, and they’ll be safe from whatever the bean would do to them if they knew. Foolish had once told him about this animal he’d seen called a possum, and they did the same thing to avoid predators.

Wilbur sat there, unaware of his presence, and he wanted to keep it that way. His back was to the shelf, and he was muttering about something. On his desk sat a few different books about something called taxonomy, whatever that was, and his old hamster cage, which was suspiciously cleaned out. He turned slightly, and Dream couldn’t breathe.

There, trapped in Wilbur’s fist, was his little brother, trembling in fear.

Dream could only stare in horror, completely frozen.

-----

Wilbur sighed, looking back at the humanoid(?) creature in his hand. 

None of his taxonomy books provided a good classification for the thing, and he didn’t want to hurt or kill it just to find out. He’s trying to be an ethical biologist, for god’s sake. Even though he’s never seen something like this before, he’s still going to do his usual catch-and-release process, it’ll just be a longer procedure since the creature is a species he’s never seen before.

When he’d first found it (not counting that time in the kitchen, which was brushed off as him seeing things), he thought that it was a human, just, you know, smaller. The issue he ran into was that it didn’t act like a human, not even similar to the few reported cases of feral children. It tried to run away and went limp in his grasp once he’d caught it, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d taken some notes in an empty field journal about its basic look, height, estimated weight, and some guesses and predictions. He knows that plenty of animals use mimicry, so this could just be another example, but it looks so human, even if it doesn’t show any sign that it could be sapient.

Huffing in frustration, he decides to just ask Phil in the morning. His dad always knows what to do. He opens the latch of his hamster cage, which he’d sterilized in case the house ever got infested with mice or something so that he could release them into the wild, and now he’s glad he did. He doesn’t know what kinds of illnesses the being in his hand could potentially catch, and he wouldn’t know how to treat it. He’d set the creature down and closed the latch when he heard a small thunk come from his shelf of knickknacks, and his eyes widened in shock at what he saw. 

There’s another one.

Immediately he grabs it, taking advantage of its shock. Holding it in the same way he did the first, arms pinned by its sides, head poking out from the top of his fist in a firm, but not painful, grip. He can’t help but utter out a quiet, amazed, “ Wow, ” as he tilts the being’s face up so that he can get a better look at this one’s features: sandy blond hair, mossy green eyes, and tiny freckles, and half of its face is blocked by what he can only assume is a mask. “ That’s fascinating… ” he breathes out before attempting to check this one’s potential sapience since if they are like tiny humans, the first one might just be mute. There’s already a strike since humans almost always develop some sort of language or way to communicate amongst each other, but neither one of them makes any sort of noise or motion to the other, and if they tend to live inside of places where humans live, they’d likely pick up English the same way most babies do. The mask is a point in favor of it, though, since no other animals do that. 

“Can you speak?” he tries, but it stays completely still and silent, barely reacting at all. “What are you? Do you understand what I’m saying?” He keeps asking questions along the same line for around fifteen minutes but never gets any response, so he sets it in the cage with the first one. Neither one moves closer or further from the other, which makes everything even more confusing. He grabs his phone, plugs it into his laptop, ensures that the camera is set to store everything to it instead of the phone itself, and props it up on a miniature tripod before turning on the camera and starting to record the cage. One last check of the settings reminds him to switch it to record only once something moves.

He leaves the lights on to make sure that the recording is clear enough to understand whatever might happen before slinking over to his bed, collapsing into a heap and almost immediately passing out. 

-----

As soon as he’s sure that the bean is asleep, Dream rushes over to his little brother, pulling the younger to his chest in a crushing embrace. He doesn’t know what the phone is doing, but he can’t bring himself to care. All that matters now is getting Tubbo out of here.

“Tubbo,” he says, “I have a plan, but you’ve gotta listen to me carefully.” Tubbo nods into the crook of his neck, so he continues. “You’re small enough to fit through the bars, buddy. You’ve gotta escape, alright? My hook’s near the edge of the desk, you should be able to make it to the entrance under the kitchen counters. This is the only chance you’ve got.” 

His brother immediately protests, but at the grave look on Dream’s face, he shuts his mouth with a click. He helps Tubbo through the walls of the cage before dropping his bag outside next to him. He looks up at the sound of stifled sobbing, and his heart breaks. “Oh, Tubbo…”

“I don-don’t wanna go, Dream,” he cries out weakly, voice shaking. His hands are wrapped around the bars like he’s trying to get to him. “It’s-It’s not fair! You p-prommised you wouldn’t leave me!” He sniffles before continuing. “What about when the bean wakes up? He’s gonna make you into a pet, o-or a lab rat, an’ he’s gonna cut you open or he’ll turn you into a toy and-and give you to Tommy or he’ll show you to Phil and they’ll take you away a-and give you to someone even worse!”

Dream runs his hand through Tubbo’s hair, handing the boy his mask and hoodie. “I know, Tubbs, but you’ve gotta go. I have to go join Puffy and Foolish, bud. You’re a big man now, it’ll be okay.” He kisses the younger’s forehead, whispering, “I love you, Tubbo.”

Tubbo looks up, eyes watery and resigned. He shrugs on the old green hoodie, places the mask on his head, and slings the bag over his shoulder. “I-I love you, Dream. I’ll find a way to get you out, I pr-promise,” he says, shooting him a fragile, wobbly smile. Dream only smiles sadly, giving the boy one last hug through the bars of the cage, and Tubbo grabs the discarded hook before disappearing over the edge of the desk.

Moving to the corner of the cold, empty cage, Dream curls up into a ball, head buried in his arms as silent sobs shake his shoulders.

Chapter Text

Wilbur wakes with a groan, eyes looking towards the cage before they widen as he shoots up from the bed.

The first one is missing. 

How’d it get out? Why didn’t the other go with it? 

Remembering the recording, he shuts it off before plugging in his headphones and pulling up the file on his laptop. He presses play, glancing at the timestamp in the corner—almost two hours after he’d gone to bed. Looking at their features, he can’t help but think that they might be related—not enough of a gap to be father and son, but enough to be brothers. 

Once it’s clear he’s asleep, the taller one, who he assumes is the older brother, runs over to the shorter, hugging him. Wilbur’s stomach fills with dread as the situation makes itself very, very clear. They’re sapient, he was right with his first guess. They’re just tiny people.

“Tubbo,” it calls the one in its arms, and Wilbur assumes that that’s the first one’s name. “I have a plan, but you’ve gotta listen to me carefully.” 

The first one, Tubbo, nods, and the second one continues. “You’re small enough to fit through the bars, buddy. You’ve gotta escape, alright? My hook’s near the edge of the desk, you should be able to make it to the entrance under the kitchen counters.” Under the counters? That means that they live in the walls, but that can’t possibly be safe or healthy. “This is the only chance you’ve got.” 

Protests immediately rise up but are silenced from a look from the older. The one in green helps the younger one out of the cage, just barely fitting, and drops a small bag that Wilbur assumes is filled with supplies. Quiet sniffles and sobs can be heard, and the older sighs. “Oh, Tubbo…”

“I don-don’t wanna go, Dream,” Dream, he needs to remember that. Tubbo wraps his hands around the bars and cries out, “It’s-It’s not fair! You p-prommised you wouldn’t leave me! What about when the bean wakes up? He’s gonna make you into a pet, o-or a lab rat,” and that accusation Wilbur flinches at, the idea alone making him feel sick. “An’ he’s gonna cut you open or he’ll turn you into a toy and-and give you to Tommy or he’ll show you to Phil and they’ll take you away a-and give you to someone even worse!” the painfully young voice sobs, sounding no older than Tommy. 

That realization, the fact that the younger one is probably Tommy’s age, is what really breaks him. Coupling that with the things that the younger was saying makes their weird behavior click into place for him. No wonder they didn’t move, they probably thought he’d rip them apart on the spot! They were probably terrified of him! 

He turns off the video, not wanting to hear any more of it. He needs to fix this, now. He grabs his phone before calling Phil, walking into the bathroom attached to his room. It rings twice, and before his father has a chance to speak, he quietly blurts out, “I need help.”

“What’s the matter, Wil? Do you need me to come in?”

“No!” he rushes to say before calming down. “No, just-just get Techno and Tommy into the living room and clear off the coffee table, okay?”

“ Wilbur, ” ooh, the full first name. He’s definitely in trouble. “ What is going on? ” Phil asks sternly.

“You need to see it to believe it, dad. Just keep an open mind and don’t-don’t crowd him.”

“ Him!? What do you mean ‘him’!? What is-” He hangs up before his dad can get even more worked up. 

Opening the medicine cabinet, he grabs the jar with cotton balls in it before dumping them out on the counter. He moves back into his room and sits in his desk chair. The tiny person’s— Dream’s , he reminds himself—Dream’s eyes widen at the sight of the jar, and Wilbur feels horrible about what he has to do next. He opens the latch of the cage and reaches in, wincing at how the person immediately scrambles away from him, chest heaving. He gently wraps his fingers around the now-struggling person, apparently deciding to fight back now that Wilbur’s found out that he’s intelligent. He tilts the jar slightly and slides them in, not wanting them to get hurt, and holds the jar in a firm grip even as Dream flinches away from the hand holding the bottom. Wilbur looks down into the jar, the tiny man staring up at him in terror as he hyperventilates. “It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay,” he tries to soothe, but it just seems to freak his passenger out even more.

Wilbur walks out to the living room, careful not to jostle the jar too much, and hides it behind his back as he peeks in. Phil, Techno, and Tommy are sitting around the coffee table, his two brothers sharing the sofa while Phil sits in an armchair, elbows resting on his knees. All three of them whip their heads to him, and Phil speaks up first. “Wil, what’s happening, mate?”

“Okay, uh, last night, I found something I’d never seen before, and while I was studying it, another one showed up. I-they didn’t show any concrete signs that they were intelligent—they didn’t even react to one another being in the same space, and territorialism is such a basic response for most animals that I got kind of worried—and even if they were sapient there was no way that they were healthy, so I was going to ask for a second opinion in the morning. You know how I record the behavior of things when I find them, right?” 

His family nods, Phil and Techno both looking concerned about what he’s implying while Tommy just looks curious. He doesn’t know where to go from there, so he moves towards the coffee table. “It’d be better to just show you.”

He puts the jar down, removing his hands so that they can see inside, and all three of them gasp. 

Dream, who’d originally had his back pressed to one side to get away from his hands, whips around, rapidly palling at the sight of four giants surrounding him, staring at him like a frog cut open on a lab table. He trips backward trying to get away from them, pressing himself against the one side that nobody stood by, and puts his hands up, palms facing out from his chest as he tries to breathe. 

Tommy recovers first, grabbing the jar off the table without any care for the person inside, and brings it up to his face, eyes wide and starry as he watches the little man scramble around frantically until he collapses, curling up in a little ball and burying his hands in his hair, pulling harshly. 

Techno snatches the jar from Tommy before carefully placing it back down on the coffee table, softly tapping out a simple pattern for the man’s panic-clouded brain to latch onto.

When it’s clear that Techno has the situation under control, Phil turns to Wilbur. “You said there were two?” he prompts, and Wilbur, who’d moved a copy of the footage back to his phone, hands him an earbud, which Phil puts in. He takes the phone, and after a few moments, his head snaps back to Wilbur, shocked. 

“This is a right mess, yeah?” Phil nods in agreement.

“We’ve gotta explain this to ‘em, Wil.”

Wilbur nods, sitting down on the floor close to where Techno had set the jar. Dream’s eyes snap to him immediately, terrified. “Uh, hi,” he starts, cringing at how awkward his wording is. “You’re Dream, right?” The tiny man goes white as a sheet, so Wilbur hurries to explain. “You know how my phone was set up last night?” Dream nods slowly. “It was recording video and audio. I know that you can understand me, and that you can speak. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to,” he explains softly. Everyone else in the room had gone completely silent, waiting to see how this plays out. “Are you willing to speak with us?”

Dream shakes his head no, but Wilbur had expected that.

“Okay, that’s fine. Are you willing to answer some questions?” Dream gives him a deadpan stare, likely asking whether or not he has a choice in the matter. “If we ask something you’re uncomfortable with, just mime zipping your lips and we won’t press unless we really need to.” The man nods tersely in acceptance. 

Phil asks the first question, “How old are you, mate?” and the tiny man flashes ten fingers followed by a five and a one. He’s sixteen, the same age as Techno. “Okay, uh, how old is your brother?” Dream glares, but still holds up a ten followed by a two, for twelve.

Wilbur chimes in next. “What were you doing in my room?” Dream grimaces at that before putting his hand at his brow, blocking an imaginary sun from his eyes, turning and gazing around himself like he’s searching for something, even going as far as to bend down slightly, and then gestures at a height just below his shoulder. Techno’s the one to figure that set of gestures out, catching onto the ‘searching high and low’ bit, accidentally appointing himself as Dream’s translator for more difficult concepts. 

“He was looking for his brother.”

Wilbur winces at that. “Why did you guys not say anything? You barely even moved.” Dream tilts his head at that, thinking. He snaps his fingers after a moment before pointing to himself, then at Wilbur and miming being bent over something, resting his head in one hand as he pokes and prods at an invisible version of himself on an imaginary table. He looks back up at Wilbur, tilting his head and giving a thumbs up-thumbs down motion, and after Wilbur nods, he continues. Dream slices his hand across his neck before sagging his shoulders, closing his eyes and lolling his tongue out, then going back to being bent over poking at himself, frowns, prods at his imaginary tiny self a few more times, deepening his expression each time, before rolling his eyes and sighing, trying to look disappointed before miming brushing off the surface. “You...you thought I’d get bored of you?” Dream nods and then pretends to snap his neck, and it clicks. “You were playing dead?” He nods again.

Phil can’t help but interrupt at the idea of that frankly concerning behavior. “Who taught you to do that?” Dream raises his arm before flattening his hand, palm facing the ground, making Wilbur think of those height requirement signs at carnivals. “Someone older than you?” He nods before gesturing for them to continue. “Your...parent?” Phil tries, earning a thumbs up in response. “Where are they, mate?” Dream’s expression grows sad as he just shakes his head in response. “Are they-” Phil starts before being interrupted by the tiny teen nodding his head. “Oh, I-I’m sorry,” which Dream just shrugs at.

Wilbur takes the lull in their conversation as a chance to jump back in. “You mentioned an entrance under the kitchen counters. You live here?” At Dream’s nod, he continues. “Do you live in the walls?” Dream nods again, looking very uncomfortable. “Where’s your house?” Dream zips his lips. He’s not going to answer that.

Techno looks concerned, but curious, and Tommy takes a chance to ask the next question. “What are you?” Dream moves to refuse the question, but they might let him go if he tells them...He pauses before gesturing to himself, mimes taking something, points to his mouth, tugs on his shirt, and then points at Tommy.

Techno hums at that, thinking, before he speaks. “You.. take food and clothing from us?” Dream nods, looking pleased, until Techno speaks again. “So, you’re a thief, then?” The tiny teen shakes his head, looking offended, and Techno snorts. “Well, you’re not borrowing stuff-” but he trails off when he sees Dream nodding rapidly, pointing at him. “You borrow?” He makes a so-so motion with his hand, and then it clicks for Techno. “Oh, you’re called a borrower …”

Looking back down at the miniature person, he notices the tense expression. “Hey,” he says softly, “do you want to be let out of there?” Dream looks up at him before he points to himself and then to the edge of the table. “Are you asking if you can be let go?” Dream nods, and Techno looks up at his family. “Guys?”

Tommy looks displeased at the idea, but Phil and Wilbur nod immediately. “Alright, Phil, could you take him to the kitchen? Wil said that they mentioned an entrance there and you’re the most gentle out of all of us.” Phil smiles softly before grabbing the jar, lifting it up slowly and cradling it in the crook of his elbow.

Once he reaches the kitchen, he lifts the jar up to his face, watching the young teen trapped inside scramble away from him. “Hey, hey,” he coos, “it’s alright. I know that this has probably been terrifying, and I promise that I’m gonna let you go, but I wanted to tell you something.” Dream looks nervous, and the older man can’t blame him. “This must’ve been real scary, yeah?” he asks, and Dream nods hesitantly, still unsure of where this is going. “Yeah, I bet. I know you want to get away from all of us, and you’ll probably be gone by tomorrow, but if you or your brother ever need any help, Techno, Wilbur, and I would be more than happy to assist, whether you need food, warm clothing, or medical help.”

The borrower nods, and Phil crouches down to the ground, slowly tilting the jar so that the kid can walk out. The tiny boy walks towards a mouse hole before turning around, looking him dead in the eye. He whispers a quiet, “Thank you, Mr. Phil,” before he disappears from sight. Phil gets up, smiling warmly at the little hidden entrance, and walks back towards the living room, where he can hear his sons arguing.

Chapter Text

Phil steps into the living room to a very odd scene, probably the weirdest one this month, if he’s honest.

Wilbur, his oldest, at nineteen, has a hand buried in his hair, staring at the coffee table with wide, blank eyes, and looks like his entire worldview just got shattered. Phil supposes that that’s a valid reaction, all things considered. He did find a new species, one that looked like tiny people, put them in a cage like he normally does, wake up to find one missing, realize that he’d basically kidnapped two people, and then had a conversation with, again, an entirely new, sapient species.

Techno, his middle child, at sixteen, and Tommy, his youngest, at twelve and a half, are arguing about, from what Phil can piece together, whether or not they should’ve let the borrower go. Techno is firmly on the side of it being the right decision, while Tommy argues that they didn’t hurt them, so what’s the harm in a couple more questions? Phil knows that Tommy’s real reason is because Dream had mentioned that his younger brother was twelve. Tommy didn’t have many friends his age, he mostly hung out with Wilbur and his friends and some of Techno’s pals, but not many people in his class talked to him, so he probably just wanted to get to know the kid.

After observing them for a few more moments, he clears his throat, holding back a laugh when everyone immediately turns to him. Wilbur’s eyes immediately shoot to the empty jar in his hand before his shoulders collapse and he heaves out a relieved sigh. “So,” Phil starts, “do you have any more context for us, Wil?”

After thinking for a moment, he shakes his head. “Not really, sorry.”

“It’s fine. So, what do we do from here on out?” Phil asks, wanting to hear his sons’ opinions. “Tommy, what do you think?”

Tommy looks shocked at being addressed, but still answers after thinking for a moment. “Well, they’re our age, yeah? They’re on their own, and the one that Wil showed us was really thin and shaky. We’ve gotta find ‘em and help them out, don’t we?”

Techno speaks up at that. “I get what you mean, but put yourself in their shoes.” He pauses for a moment, waiting for it to click with Tommy.

His youngest son shudders, whispering a quiet, “Oh…”

“Yeah. Terrifying, right? I think the best choice here would be to get rid of the mousetraps, since we obviously don’t have mice, and then we pretend that this never happened, and let them approach us if they want to. Give them control over the situation, you know?” Tommy nods, and Wilbur decides to share his two cents as well.

“I-uh I’m curious about them, I’ll admit. I want to know more about them, but I don’t want to scare them. I’m not sure what the best move is. Tommy’s idea might scare them off completely, but Techno’s plan might make it so that we never see them again.”

Phil nods, taking in his sons’ different ideas before he comes up with a solution. “So, how about this: if they come to us or we see them out and about, we can approach them, but we don’t hunt them down or seek them out?”

They all seem to agree, and Phil smiles warmly before he claps his hands together. “Alright! Now that that’s settled, it’s time to get rid of some mouse traps!” Tommy groans at that, no doubt about to burst with complaints over having to do something after such a world-shattering revelation, but he still complies, which makes everyone else snort.

-----

Meanwhile, Dream is booking it, his fabric moccasins slapping against the floor of their tunnel as he races back towards their home.

Part of Dream hopes that his brother did the smart thing and left as soon as he was able to get packed, but he knows that Tubbo stayed. The kid was so dumb in that regard, if he’s honest, but it’s just so quintessentially Tubbo that he can’t help the fondness that wells up in his chest. Dream was as good as dead the second Tubbo left, but then his brother had to go and promise that he’d come back for him. 

He had already accepted his fate by the time that the bean had woken up. Wilbur had whipped his head over to him, eyes widening at the fact that his brother was missing. When he had grabbed the phone, Dream had thought that he was going to die right then and there, but the bean just stared down at the phone and after a few minutes his eyes snapped over to Dream before he raced into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. Dream’s mind had immediately jumped to the worst-case scenarios, and then the bean came back out with a jar.

But they didn’t kill him. They didn’t hurt him, or push him around, or grab him after they put him into the jar. They didn’t even keep him, they just let him go! They were worried for him, not about him. They treated him like a person, for the most part. The older one, Phil, even told him that he could come to them if he or Tubbo ever needed help. Maybe they could stay, it would be nice to have some help. He knows that Tubbo is missing out on a lot of things that he needs as a child, and the beans could help with that. Tubbo could learn so much about the world, more than any other borrower might ever be able to. They could stop living day to day, scrounging around for stale crumbs and waiting for something to go wrong...

Dream shakes his head, trying to dismiss those thoughts. The rules had still been broken, so they had to leave. No ifs, ands, or buts. He will not allow Tubbo to die before him just because Dream misread the situation or believed a lie.

He makes it to their front door and slams it open, calling out for his brother. “Tubbo? Tubbo!” His brother races towards him and he smothers him in a hug, sobbing. “Oh my god, Tubbo. Tubbs, it’s okay, it’s okay, bud. I’m right here,” he soothes, but he’s shaking as well. “Oh, I thought I’d never see you again,” he whispers, and his brother just sobs harder.

As they pull apart, Tubbo breathes out a watery laugh. “I was about to see if Chat could fly into the house and distract them long enough for me to get to you.” That mental image makes Dream chuckle. Chat was a crow that they had befriended around a year ago, and it would have been quite the sight to see them come bursting in. “How-how’d you get out?”

Amongst the creaking floorboards and the occasional groan from the old walls, Dream whispers out, “They let me go.”

Tubbo’s expression turns hopeful. “Does that mean that we can stay? I-I mean, surely if they wanted to do something to us…” he starts, but Dream swiftly cuts him off.

“No, Tubbs. I’m sorry, but we have to leave. We have to, bud, that’s just how it is. They could-could just want me to drag you out as well, so they could get two of us, o-or they could be calling someone to come get us as we speak, bud.” He cups Tubbo’s face in his hands softly, whispering, “I’m sorry, Tubbs, but we can’t stay.”

Tubbo, however, grows upset. “W-well why not!?” he demands, “Why can’t we stay? They let you go!” Dream’s face falls, turning stern.

“Tubbo, we are leaving. End of story.”

“No we aren’t! The last time we moved, you almost died! We’re at least relatively safe here!”

Dream can feel his temper rising, hot and thick and all-encompassing like magma in a volcano that’s about to erupt. “It’s almost winter,” he starts, trying to stay reasonable. “If we choose to stay and the humans suddenly change their minds about us, we’ll either end up frozen to death outside or dead by their hands.” He shudders at the thought, thinking back to the situation he was in not even an hour ago. “The best move if we want to stay alive is to leave as soon as possible.” 

At that, his brother’s eyes harden. “Is it worth it, though?”

“Tubbo, what-?” Dream starts, but gets cut off.

“Is it worth it?” Tubbo repeats, looking him dead in the eyes. “Is it worth the effort of staying alive if we live like this? Does anything we do actually satisfy us? Is anything fulfilling?” Dream is silent, unable to answer, but Tubbo isn’t done. “I don’t think it is, and I don’t want to live like this! We have a chance at something more, Dream, and I’m not just going to let it pass by!”

At that, all of the stress from the last two days, and quite frankly their entire lives, catches up, and Dream snaps. 

“That kind of thinking is what got Puffy killed, Tubbo!” he yells before his eyes widen and he slaps a hand over his mouth.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” he sighs. “I just don’t want to lose you, Tubbo.”

A tense silence settles over the two until Tubbo speaks up again. “I’m going borrowing,” he starts as he slings his bag over his shoulder. “You stay here and make a choice. Just know which side I’m on.” And with that, Tubbo turns around, walks out, and slams the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Tommy’s room was the best, in Tubbo’s opinion.

It was good for borrowing, sure, but that’s not what he means. Just from the entrance on the wall behind the bookshelf wedged in the corner of the room, he could spot dozens of things that he’s always wanted to know about. It was a fair size, but it was so packed with stuff that it felt small and cozy. Fairy lights hung around the room, creating a gorgeous web that they often used as ziplines to get around faster. Toys and games were scattered all over the floor, some still in the middle of a round or set up in a scene. The bookshelf itself was filled with neat trinkets like snow globes and this weird little frame that had five marbles hanging from it that he would always go out of his way to mess with whenever Tommy wasn’t in the room. 

What he was really here for, though, was Tommy himself. 

Tubbo was concerned about him and his brother’s situation. Dream had a point, after all. If they stayed and the humans changed their minds, they were dead, no question. But he just couldn’t get over the potential opportunity that they had. 

The humans seemed nice enough, although they still terrified him, and they likely wouldn’t do anything to them, right? The idea of not having to constantly look over his shoulder, or not letting his dumb, selfless older brother starve himself so that Tubbo could eat, was just so tempting. They both craved social interaction, having been on their own since Foolish died five years ago, and these odd humans could become their friends. Getting to stay would mean no more hypothermia in the winters that dipped just a bit too low, no more rationing out supplies and wearing clothes until they literally fall apart. Staying meant less struggling, less suffering.

But humans were also finicky and unpredictable. They changed opinions at the drop of a hat, and that posed a threat. Sure, they let Dream go, but they could’ve been playing nice to get him to bring him out of the walls so that they could have both of them, or they could be planning on calling an exterminator or something to get rid of them. Once Dream had left, they could’ve laid out a ton of ideas on what to do, and Tubbo could only think of horrible, torturous things.

He needed to know what they were planning on doing with them, and Tommy has very little tact—not that he’s judging, borrowers don’t even consider tact in conversations—so he’d probably just be blunt about it. The humans were aware of them, and they were probably leaving soon anyway, so what’s the harm in asking?

As he treks across the floor, Tubbo steels his nerves. He’s actually going to willingly talk to a human, he’s going to get seen on purpose. He can hear Dream screaming at him inside his head, telling him not to risk it, but this was his only chance and he was going to take it!

He reaches the bottom of one of the sides of the desk, scrutinizing the surface for potential footholds. When he finds a proper path, he takes out two thumbtacks from the holsters on his bag and places them on the floor. Taking off his pack, he grabs his reel of string, securing the borrowings he’d gotten earlier in the trip, being extra careful to make sure that the battery was tied down. He grabs the tacks again before getting out two small rubber bands, wrapping them around the tapered middles to create grips. 

He takes a deep breath and then jumps up, digging the pin into the wood above the first foothold. He pulls himself up, reaching to the area above the second foothold and stabbing the tack into the surface. He habitually glances up to Tommy and sighs in relief when it’s clear that the bean hasn’t noticed him. He continues climbing, grunting occasionally with the effort before he makes it to the edge of the top. Once both of his feet are back on a steady surface, he plops over, panting. How does Dream manage to do this constantly?

After catching his breath, he gets back up, the things in his bag clinking against each other with the jarring movement. Realizing that the clacking of keys had stopped, he looks up to meet bright blue eyes, and his heart stops.

He smiles weakly, trembling at the close proximity between him and Tommy. “Uh, hi.”

-----

Of all the things that Tommy expected to happen after finding out that tiny people existed (no, he hasn’t fully processed that revelation yet, and frankly he doesn’t plan to), the tiny person’s younger brother climbing up the side of his desk was not one of them.

Unfortunately for Tommy, the universe doesn’t care about his expectations.

He’d only noticed them when they collapsed near the edge of his desk, panting. He took off his headphones, letting them rest around his neck instead, and looked them over. Short, choppy brown hair framed their face, and they wore a tiny green sweater and brown pants, a pair of grey moccasins on their feet. They were carrying around a bag that Tommy would’ve thought that only hikers used, and a battery was tied to the bottom. A hook was latched around what looked like a little toolbelt, along with a sharp sewing needle and...a shiv? Two thumbtacks sat by the edge, with tiny rubber bands wrapped around the middle.

Something must’ve let them know that he’d seen them, because they stiffened, head snapping up towards him, blue eyes wide with fear. They smiled shakily at him, quietly whispering out, “Uh, hi.”

Tommy blinks a few times before he hesitantly smiles back. “Hey there, uh…”

Their face turns red as they realize that he didn’t know their name. “Tubbo. My name, that is. It’s...it’s Tubbo, I'm Dream's brother.” He pauses, looking unsure, before he continues. “It’s n-nice to, uh, officially meet you.”

Tommy has no idea what’s happening right now, but Phil always told him that he should be polite to people who are scared or nervous, so that’s what he’s going to do. “Nice to meet you, Tubbo. I’m Tommy, but you probably already know that.” 

Tubbo nods slightly, but stays silent, so Tommy decides to try and keep this conversation going. “Is there something I can help you with?”

The borrower takes a deep breath before they look him in the eyes. “I have questions, and I’m assuming that you do, too.” Tommy hums, agreeing. “So, since we both have questions, I was wondering if you’d be up for a trade? I’ll answer a question for every answer you give me.”

He thinks it over for a moment before nodding. “I’ll go first. Uh...how’d you and your brother get so small? Did you guys like shrink or somethin’?”

Tubbo’s face scrunches up, tilting his head in confusion. “No, no, not at all. We’re born like this. Didn’t my brother explain that?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Well, what did he tell you, then?”

“Is that your question?” The borrower nods, still looking confused. “I mean, he didn’t really tell us anything, not verbally. He mimed stuff.”

Tubbo hums thoughtfully. “Probably didn’t want to break the rules…” he mutters under his breath, not intending for Tommy to hear it. Tommy does hear it, though, and decides to ask about it for his next question. But first, he has to finish answering.

“Uh, he told us your ages, why he was in Wilbur’s room, why neither of you really moved or tried to get away, that you don’t have parents, and that you’re called borrowers. That’s it. What did you mean by rules?”

The borrower’s eyes widen, stuttering out, “W-well...I mean, that’s-” He pauses, pursing his lips, before sighing. “The rules are, well, rules that all borrowers abide by to survive. Don’t take what you don’t need, don’t be seen by or speak to the humans, and if you somehow survive being seen, leave immediately.” Tubbo frowns at the last one, looking upset.

“Are you guys leaving, then?”

The borrower makes a so-so motion. “My brother wants to leave before winter comes, because if you all change your minds, we won’t be able to survive the move, a-and then you’ll be able to do whatever you want to us. I don’t want to go, though. This house is really nice, and you-you don’t seem like bad people. I’m gonna try to change his mind.”

Tommy nods, leaning a little closer to Tubbo, expression earnest. “We aren’t gonna hurt you guys, you know,” he assures, not wanting the borrowers to feel like they had to leave and potentially die.

Tubbo looks unsure, though. “I don’t think you guys will, but not all beans are like you.” He shivers, eyes staring at nothing. “Some of you are really bad, Tommy. I want to stay, I do, but my brother is scared of you. I’m scared of you. It’s not something you did that scares us, it’s just...you’re so big, ” he says, trailing off into a whisper. “You could crush my chest with a single finger, or squeeze me to death in a fist, or drop me and let me splatt on the ground, or-or drown me in a sink, or suffocate me dozens of different ways, and that’s only a few of the ways you could kill me.

“Then there are things worse than just dying. You could keep me as a plaything with no regard for my health, or turn me into a doll, or use me as a stress ball. You could put me in a cage and make me your pet, treat me like an animal. O-or you could trap both of us and then show us off to the world, and our whole species would be found, and-and you could decide that we’re not intelligent and keep us all in captivity, and then we would all just be used for research, or sold as toys for little kids who wouldn’t understand that we’re alive and they could rip us apart or slam us into things and they wouldn’t even care. Someone could decide that we’re domesticated o-or tamable and sell us as pets!”

At this point, Tubbo was hyperventilating as tears streamed down his face, and Tommy didn't know what to do, so he decided to just trust his gut. He carefully cupped his hands behind the sobbing borrower before scooping him up into one hand. The smaller boy whimpers but makes no move to get away, stuck in his own head. Tommy brings his hand up against his chest, rubbing comforting circles into Tubbo’s back while whispering softly, the borrower’s hands clinging to his shirt. “Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s alright, everything’s fine, Tubbo.”

The sobbing dies down to an occasional sniffle, and Tubbo quietly speaks up, voice raw. “Sorry, I’m just…”

“It’s fine,” Tommy interrupts, “I’d be scared, too. Just know that we aren’t going to hurt you guys just because we can, yeah? We aren’t gonna show you to anyone or force you to do something you don’t want. Wilbur had a mini-breakdown just from keeping you two overnight ‘cause it ‘violates his ethical principles' or whatever. He was a mess, honestly, and I think he’s still having a crisis about it.” That gets a watery laugh out of Tubbo.

“Alright, I-I get it. I still get two questions though!” Tommy laughs as he sets the borrower back down.

“Sure, whaddya wanna know?”

Tubbo hums, a smile on his face, and he points over to the monitor on his desk, which still had Minecraft loaded. “What were you doing before I came in?”

He smirks, gesturing for the borrower to move a little bit closer as he unplugs his headphones. “This is going to blow your mind.”

Chapter Text

The door to their house slams, and Dream is alone. Again.

Tubbo is gone. Again.

He nods once to himself, face blank, and moves to try to make some food for when Tubbo gets back. He hopes that his brother will still meet him at their usual spot; he knows that Tubbo’s mad at him, but surely he wouldn’t take any huge risks, right?

He shouldn’t have snapped, he knows that. Tubbo didn’t do anything wrong—not anything to warrant Dream yelling at him, anyway. But the rules exist for a reason, and Dream knows that intimately. 

The first time he’d witnessed how beans react to their kind was the last time he’d seen Puffy alive. It happened only a week after she’d finally deemed him a fully fledged borrower—a competent, well-equipped partner. Puffy had seen that the youngest bean in the house had recently gotten a myriad of dolls and accessories, all very high quality. 

The adventurous woman was tired of her three charges having to survive off of thin, patchworked clothing and having no access to things like proper blankets or furniture and utensils that won’t fall apart with one wrong move, so she had told him that she planned to grab a few things that the young girl wouldn’t notice go missing to bring back for their family. He was to serve as backup only, since she didn’t want him in danger over a risky move, so she left him hidden in their entrance behind a loose flap of wallpaper with the instruction that if anything were to happen to her, he should go and tell Foolish.

His mother had made it across the floor to the dollhouse when they both heard quick, booming footsteps racing towards the room, sending tremors through the ground. Puffy had whipped her head over to their entrance, and put a finger up to her lips before she ran into the dollhouse. Only seconds later, the door slammed open, and the young bean ran inside, shutting it behind her with a loud bang. She giggled, approaching the dollhouse with a gleeful smile on her face, eyes sparkling with a crazed zeal. A loud gasp rang through the air as the little girl unlatched the simple fastener on the side that kept the house together, instantly spotting Puffy, who was standing stock still, petrified, and what played out next still haunts him.

From their hidden entrance in the wall, he had a perfect view of the huge, chubby fingers that carelessly grabbed his mother in a rib-bruising grip. The hand that trapped her, squeezing the air from her lungs, rocketed upwards towards the girl’s face, and Dream could imagine how the hot, rancid breath washed over Puffy’s face as the little girl opened her hand, Puffy falling onto the palm that was eagerly awaiting her. 

“Hi, dolly,” she had cooed, her other hand coming up to poke and prod at the now-prone body of the borrower, the grubby little pointer finger forcing Puffy to look up at the human who held her life in her hands. “Aww, you’re so pretty!”

The bean went back to holding her in a fist, paying no attention to the terrified expression on his mother’s face, and moved to go through the many, many outfits that she had. She picked one out and smiled down at Puffy, sharp and threatening as she giggled dementedly. “We’re going to have so much fun together!”

He couldn’t have forced himself to continue looking, and instead ran to get Foolish, but there was nothing they could do except move away. He was nine.

Foolish got caught two years later. They had just finished settling in, having had to move again, but the beans had already grown suspicious of their presence. During a routine borrowing trip, their light had died halfway through, and they were left in the pitch black of the night. Tubbo had grown ill, only a small cold, so he had stayed home, and Dream was endlessly thankful for that. 

When they realized that the light’s battery was well and truly dead, Foolish decided that he would walk forward first, traveling a couple of inches and then gesturing for Dream to move forward once he had deemed it safe. Things had been going well, and then everything happened at once.

Foolish, unable to see properly, stumbled straight into a snap-trap. The crunch of his leg getting caught in the way was almost drowned out by the agonized scream that was ripped from his throat.The lights in the hallway nearby turned on almost immediately, thunderous footsteps racing down the hall. The kitchen brightened without warning, and when the momentary blindness had cleared, Dream locked eyes with one of the two humans, the one with shaved hair, a look that he could only assume was disgust on their face. They called out for the other one, yelling, ”Charlie!”

At that, his older brother whipped his head over to him, panicked. “Dream! Dream, run! Get Tubbo and leave!” The words had snapped him into focus and he sprinted for the walls, doing his best to ignore the human that began to chase after him, each step from them rattling his bones. He had barely made it into the walls and out of reach when they managed to worm their fingers into the entrance, one grazing his leg before he sliced at them with Puffy’s old glass knife.

So, yeah, Dream is very aware of how dangerous humans are. Since then, he and Tubbo had moved through multiple houses, packing up and leaving the second that it even seems like one of them had been seen. If Tubbo dies because Dream is too stupid to follow such a basic rule, one that had been reinforced multiple times, he didn’t know what he would do. Tubbo is all he has left, all that he cares about, and he’d rather have the younger be safe and hate him—no matter how much that thought made his heart ache—than have him be happy and dead.

Even worse, they got caught. Not seen, caught. Trapped, caged, jarred, how ever you want to put it, nothing will change the fact that the humans saw them, found them, documented their existence. Completely ignoring the pages that Dream had spotted in one of Wilbur’s journal things that had sketches, basic data, and a mountain of hypotheses jotted down, there was also that video. The video where they spoke, letting anyone who saw it know that they were intelligent, was saved onto the bean’s phone, and probably his laptop, if Dream had to guess. They’ll be lucky if the existence of borrowers isn’t making headlines within the week. 

It doesn’t matter that he was let go. It doesn’t matter that Wilbur had seemed genuinely sorry, or that Phil seemed concerned for him and his brother’s well-being. Just because a crumb of food didn’t seem bad doesn’t stop him from puking his guts out later when it turns out to be rotten or poisoned. 

Humans change constantly, so what could he and Tubbo do if they suddenly decided that he and his brother were vermin and tried to poison them, or that they were the next big scientific discovery and took advantage of their trust, caging them while they slept in order to show them off to the world? What if they only treated them nicely to gain their trust, and hoped that they’d unknowingly lure other borrowers into the same fate? They were powerless, they were always powerless against humans, and no amount of kind treatment or soft words could ever make him forget that fact of life.

The tiny hunk of bread he was holding hit his foot, having fallen out of his hands from how badly he was shaking. He picked it back up and blew the dirt and dust off, sighing. A quick glance at the old, battered watch face that served as their clock told him that he’d gotten lost in his head for almost an hour. He’d have to leave now if he wanted to get to their rendezvous point and give Tubbo some food and water.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, grabbing his little led lantern as he went, and shuffled out of the door to their home, silently shutting it behind him. He turns the light on, the previously-broken bulb from a string of Tree Day lights bathing the tunnel in a soft yellow glow, and hooks it onto the side of his bag. Slowly making his way through the tunnels, he can’t help but think of all of the things that could’ve happened to Tubbo in the short while that he’s been out. What if one of the humans found him again? What if they changed their minds? What if they didn’t, and killed him completely on accident, just like the little girl did to Puffy? What if, what, if, what if—

As he made it closer to their rest spot, he could hear labored breathing. There’s only one person it could be, and he starts running. He can make out the shape of his little brother, slumped against the wall, and he rips the light from where it hangs to assess the damage.

The younger borrower’s hair was slicked with sweat, and his brow was creased in agony. Dream carefully cupped one of his cheeks, and the boy whimpered. “Hey, hey, it’s just me, bud. It’s Dream,” he soothed, and two innocent blue eyes fluttered open, glazed over in pain. “There you are,” he sighed, relieved. “Can you show me where you’re hurt, Tubbs?” His brother nodded before slowly shifting, hissing every time he moved one of his arms, before laying his arm in Dream’s lap.

He shifts the light and immediately sees what the problem is: two puncture holes ran deep into his bicep, slowly oozing blood. “Spider bite?” he asks, and receives a nod. “Do you remember anything about how it looked?” Tubbo whines at the question, and Dream rushes to reassure him. “Hey, it’s gone now, you’re safe. I’ve got you, I’m not gonna let anything get to you. Any details that you can remember would be a big help, bud.”

“Uhhh ‘s big,” he starts, slurring his words slightly. “Not like big big, but big, came up to my knees. Prob'ly brown, maybe grey. Uhm, six eyes, weird markings…” The entire time he spoke, Tubbo was panting, out of breath. Dream pressed a hand to his forehead before quickly pulling away with a hiss. His brother was burning up.

He quickly dug through Tubbo’s bag, and luckily found some fabric scraps, just long enough to be used as bandages. The wound was wrapped carefully, apologies ringing out whenever Dream wrapped it too tightly. He shifted his brother’s bag onto his back along with his own, and carefully scooped his brother up so that he was curled into his chest, one of Dream’s arms under his thighs, both arms wrapped around his neck. Tubbo quickly fell asleep, dead to the world, and Dream started the long trek back to their house, already planning what he would need to borrow that night to ensure that his brother would be able to heal properly.

He could worry about himself and them moving out in time later. Tubbo was always his top priority, and nothing would ever change that.

Chapter Text

It’s been a week since Tubbo got bitten, and he hasn’t gotten better.

If anything, Dream would say that his condition has worsened. Every day, he seemed sicker and sicker. Dream’s done his best to keep the wound clean, and it didn't look or smell infected, so he thinks that he’s done that part right. Tubbo’s fever has been getting more severe-feeling, but he complained that he was constantly cold. He had difficulty keeping food down, and with every time he got sick, he’d lose most of the water he’d had as well. Patches of his skin were red and irritated, mainly near the bite, and a few days in, the wound started looking weird. The epicenter of the bite turned a deep purple, and a white ring formed around it, followed by a large red splotch.

He’s been having nightmares, too, calling out for him, Puffy, and Foolish, sobbing hysterically and flailing around. None of the normal ways to soothe him worked, either. When he was like this, he flinched away at the sound of his voice and the hand running through his sweat-soaked hair, mumbled pleas falling out of his mouth.

As for Dream, he’s not doing very well either. He hasn’t eaten in days, having given Tubbo all of the food and being unwilling to go out on a borrowing run to anything other than their water source, which was close by. Sleep evaded him as well, plagued by the fear that Tubbo’s condition would take a steep dive, and he’d wake up to find his little brother dead in their nest.

He wished that Puffy and Foolish were here, they'd know what to do. They were adults, they’d survived long enough to have that kind of knowledge. Dream, however, didn’t. He’s just a kid trying to pretend to be an adult for Tubbo. A kid who’s trying to give his brother the best childhood a borrower could realistically have under their circumstances. He doesn’t know what to do here, he doesn’t have the knowledge or the resources to treat Tubbo properly!

And that’s when a particularly dangerous thought makes itself known, one that’s been slowly festering in the back of his mind ever since Tubbo got bit. The humans would know what to do. He could approach any of them, and they’d get Phil to help. Phil was an adult, just like Puffy and Foolish, surely he’d be able to fix this. 

It’s just such a dangerous idea, though. They could take advantage of Tubbo’s state and hurt him, or hold this as a favor over Dream’s head...unless Dream approaches them with a trade already in mind. But what would the humans want? More photo evidence? Information on borrowers? Them as a whole?

If he’s honest, though, he’d made a decision the second the idea popped into his head. He’d sacrifice anything for Tubbo, everything for Tubbo. He doesn’t care if it costs him his life, as long as Tubbo is okay.

He’d already packed some basic necessities, like their supply of water, some blankets, their tools, and the last little bit of food he’d been saving for Tubbo tonight. He’s memorized the beans’ schedules, and Phil should be back home from wherever he goes each day in a little less than an hour. He walks over to their blanket nest and gently shakes Tubbo awake. “Hey, bud. You’ve gotta get up for a sec, alright? Just long enough to put your shoes on, then you can go back to sleep.”

Glossy blue eyes, clouded with a fever, look at him confused. “Where ‘r we goin’? We aren’t movin’ out yet, ‘r we…?”

“No, no, we aren’t moving out. I need to go get you something, but I need you to come with me. I’ll carry you the whole way, don’t worry.” Tubbo nods and sluggishly puts on his moccasins, needing Dream’s help a few times. Dream grabs both bags and their light before scooping his brother up in a bridal carry. He takes one last glance around their home, knowing that he’ll probably never see it again, before walking out into their winding tunnel system. 

-----

After a long day at work, Phil had finally arrived back home. Without even unlocking the door, he could hear his kids making a ruckus, snorting at Tommy’s muffled, “How dare you?!”

He unlocks the door and walks into the foyer, immediately toeing his shoes off. Without even looking at the absolute disaster that the living room must currently be, he calls out, “Boys, enough!”

“Wilbur started it, he hit me first!” Tommy cries out indignantly, and Phil catches one particular word.

“Hit you?” he asks, finally looking into the living room, and oh my god does he regret ever adopting these absolute gremlins.

They’re arguing over a pillow fight, first of all. It looks like a war zone, ripped pillows littering the floor, stuffing leaking out of them. A lamp and three pictures have been knocked to the ground, though luckily none are broken. Techno is laying on the couch with a pillow over his face like he’s been suffocated, but Phil can see his shoulders shake with muted laughter. Tommy somehow has a bruise on his arm and Wilbur’s glasses are nowhere to be found. 

Secondly, pillow fights have been banned in the household for a few years, ever since they almost knocked over Phil’s grandmother’s urn. Similarly, nerf gun wars, tag, red light green light, duck duck goose, pin the tail on the donkey, and piñatas have also been banned, although he’ll take the blame for the last two. Giving any of his hellions something sharp or giving them a blunt weapon and letting them swing it at something while blindfolded was a horrible idea from the get-go.

Thirdly, they didn’t keep track of time so that they could clean up before he caught them. Phil knows that they still play the banned games whenever he isn’t around, but he lets it slide if they clean up before he can get home, although sometimes he wished he didn’t. Tommy still thinks that he needs glasses because he ignored the fact that one of their vases had been broken and shoddily glued back together after a round of intense roughhousing.

However, Phil’s in a good mood today, so all he does is snort, playfully scolding them. “Tommy, Wilbur! No violating the Geneva Conventions in the house!”

Wilbur turns to him, a fire dancing in his eyes as he smirks. “I don’t see any war crimes, old man.”

Phil scoffs, “Uh, excuse me? Undue, intentional, or excessive harm to uninvolved civilians?” he says, pointing to Techno and himself. “Techno is obviously dead!”

“What about you? I don’t see any harm,” Tommy points out, accidentally sealing his doom.

“Emotional distress! The second you’re both of age, I’ll be suing for all you’ve got!” Phil exclaims, and Techno bursts out laughing, the other three soon following suit.

“Alright, alright, clean this up! I’ve got to make dinner, since none of you can even boil pasta properly.”

He walks into the kitchen, ignoring the shout of, “Pasta should have some crunch to it!” from Tommy and the ensuing argument about how long pasta should be cooked. He shrugs off his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair, and rolls up his sleeves. After quickly washing his hands, he moves to get a pot of water onto the stove and gets the pasta cooking.

The food is about halfway done when he hears it: the soft clink of ceramic tile hitting something. He whips his head around, confused, and is met with a sight that he wasn’t expecting. There, on the counter, was the young borrower they’d found around a week ago, his younger brother cradled in his arms. “Hey mate,” he starts softly, not wanting to scare the kid off. “Is something wrong?”

The tiny teenager nods, so Phil pushes off of the counter and walks across the kitchen to the other side, stopping whenever the kid would back away or flinch. “What can I help you with?”

At this point, Dream is almost up against the wall, instinctually moving as far from him as possible. “I-I’d like to make a deal with you. My-my brother's sick, and nothing I’ve done has helped him. In exchaange for helping him, I-I’ll tell you anything you want to know about us, a-and I’ll stay after he’s better. I won’t fight you on anything, I’ll behave, a-and be obedient, and I'll let you do wh-whatever you want to me, as long as you help him. Deal?”

And fuck, if that isn’t a lot to unpack. 

Phil obviously wants to decline the offer, he doesn’t need anything in return, and definitely isn’t going to force the kid to do anything. But he also recognizes the deal for what it is: Dream doesn’t trust him, but he’s desperate. Making a deal on terms that he’s agreed to, even if he doesn’t actually want to do them, is a safeguard. He has no idea what Phil would ask of him in exchange for helping them, and he’d rather know now than wait for the inevitable. 

And then there’s the fact that the kid will get suspicious if Phil doesn’t use that part of the deal at some point. If he just helps the younger borrower and doesn’t ask for anything he’s ‘owed’, Dream will feel like he’s indebted to him, and will constantly be waiting for Phil to eventually take advantage of the offer. Plus, there are some things he’s been wanting to ask them, and Wilbur would probably have a field day with that kind of opportunity.

So, against his better judgement, Phil nods, extending his pointer finger out for a handshake. Dream sets his brother down and grabs the fingertip with his hand, and Phil can’t help but marvel at how small the kid really is. He can’t focus on that right now, though.

“Deal.”

Chapter Text

Phil sets down a folded-up washcloth on the kitchen counter before poking his head out of the entryway. “Techno, could you go grab me the first aid kit, please? Be quick, but come into the kitchen slowly.” His son looks confused, but does what he requested, shuffling off to the downstairs bathroom where they keep all of their supplies.

He turns back to the two borrowers, grabbing a stool from the breakfast bar to be able to get a closer look at them. “So, he’s Tubbo, right?” Dream nods, tightening his hold on his brother. “Do you know how he got sick? Did anything in particular cause it, or did this start out of the blue?”

Dream hesitates before quietly saying, “A spider got to him, bit him in the arm. I found him collapsed in one of our tunnels. He was still conscious, but the fever had already started.”

Phil nods, mentally storing the whole tunnel thing for later. “Do you know what it looked like?”

“Uh, Tubbs said that it was big, came up to his knee, and probably either brown or grey. He said that it had weird markings on it, and that it only had six eyes.” 

He hums, going through his mental list of common spiders, but can’t think of any that match the description. He gets up, takes the pasta off of the burner, since it’s probably done by now, and puts a lid over it once it’s strained. “Wilbur!” he calls, “look up small brown spiders with six eyes and weird markings, would you?”

Techno walks into the kitchen as he says that, looking at him like he’s grown another head, and Phil just nods to the borrowers on the counter,  ignoring his son’s, “Oh…” He grabs the first aid kit with a quick thanks, and tells Techno to heat up some plain red sauce for the pasta. 

He walks back over to the counter, sitting down on the stool, and slowly reaches his hand out towards them. “Can I see him, please? I need to check his wound.” Dream rapidly shakes his head, his hold on the younger looking painfully tight, and Phil feels so bad for having to force the kid to do this.

“It’ll only be for a little while, Dream,” he tries. “We made a deal, remember?” He hates bringing the deal up, but Dream did say that he wouldn’t fight him on anything, and he really needs to make sure that Tubbo’s bite didn’t get infected. Dream stiffens at the mention of it, but eventually his shoulders sag in defeat as he slowly approaches Phil’s hand. He looks up, and Phil smiles comfortingly at him as he lays the younger borrower in his palm. “Thank you, Dream.”

He looks down, and his worry increases tenfold. The kid looks bad. His face is flushed, and he’s really pale. Every so often, his body is wracked with chills, and he’s breathing rather heavily, like he’s in pain. Tubbo curls up on his side in the fetal position, groaning as another wave of pain crashes over him, and Phil’s heart ached for the two kids. “Symptoms?”, he asks as he turns to look at the other borrower, hoping to get more information, since Dream’s likely been watching over his brother since day one.

“He’s not been eating much,” Dream starts, fidgeting with his hands nervously, probably uncomfortable with the entire situation--Phil knows that he would be if their situations were reversed. “When he does, he almost always throws up afterwards. We...we’ve been low on food for a while, so it’s hard to make sure that he’s eating properly. I’ve been trying to make sure he drinks enough water, though, since our house is close by to a source that's  clean enough. He’s been sleeping a lot, having nightmares that leave him calling out for our mom, our brother, and I and screaming in terror. When he’s awake, he’s really confused. He complains about feeling cold a bunch, but I’ve already given him every blanket we have, and he still kept shivering. His arm’s got a rash on it, too.”

Phil nods, and starts to gently tug the younger borrower’s shirt off, Dream helping him to get the kid’s arms out. He grabs Tubbo’s arm between his thumb and pointer finger, quietly marveling at how he could feel the tiny bones beneath the pads of his fingertips, slowly turning it to look at the bite. It takes up most of his upper arm, and it has a pattern he’s never seen before: the center of the wound is a very dark purple, almost looking black, surrounded by a white ring. 

The rest of the arm is red and irritated, but it doesn’t seem to be weepy, which is good. There’s also no strong smell that seems to be coming from it, which is usually a good sign that it didn’t get infected, although he has no idea how the two managed to keep it clean. When he asks, Dream tells him that they have a container of hand sanitizer in their house, and that he’s been putting it on Tubbo’s wound every day. Phil cringes at the imagined sensation, but he also can’t help but be amazed at the kid’s ingenuity.

Wilbur walks into the kitchen, face buried in his phone as he speaks. “So, the six eyes thing narrows it down to a recluse, spitting, or cellar spider, but the markings thing means it’s probably a brown recluse. Why, did you get bit or something?”

“I didn’t, but we have a guest here who did. Tell me about how their bites work, please,” Phil requests.

“Wait wait wait, guest?” Wilbur asks, finally tearing his gaze from his screen. He makes eye contact with Dream, and then notices Tubbo laying in his father’s hand, the first aid kit next to them. “Oh, uh, right. Okay, so brown recluses are venomous, but it’s not that bad, usually. Not something you’d ever want to get bitten by, but it’s not Black Widow bad, you get me? Uh, it can cause pain, itching, nausea, sweating, chills, a fever, and a rash. Around 12 to 36 hours after being bitten, the bite’ll turn dark, surrounded by a white ring and a large red area.”

“First aid suggestions?”

Wilbur’s face scrunches up as he reads out, “It says to go to the hospital, but that’s not really an option, is it?” 

Phil laughs a bit at that. “No, it’s not. Anything else?”

“Wash the bite with soap and water asap, and then follow through with R.I.C.E., minus the compression, ‘cause an ulcer or a blister might form. I could try calling Niki or Bad? They’d probably know what to do,” he suggests, and that makes Phil pause. 

Niki is one of Wil’s friends, a really sweet girl who’d obviously treat this particular scenario with discretion. Bad’s her father, a pediatrician and general practitioner at the local hospital, and he’s always really gentle with his patients and would probably take a bullet for the Hippocratic Oath. Once, during one of their game nights, he and Wilbur had gotten into an argument over patient confidentiality when someone comes in inflicted with something that isn’t well documented, and it lasted for so long that dinner burned, and they had to order pizza.

Before he can respond, though, Dream blurts out, “No more humans!”, before slapping a hand over his mouth. He starts backing away from them, quietly uttering out, “Sorry, ‘m sorry, I know I’m not allowed to fight you on anything, sorry. I-I won’t do it again, I swear, just...I don’t want more people knowing about us.”

Phil goes to apologize, but gets interrupted once again, this time by his own son. “We could just call one of them, that way they’d have no proof that you actually exist. I ask Niki weird questions all the time, and Bad’s too nice to call me out on something. Does that work?”

Dream considers this for a moment, pacing on the countertop, arms wrapped around himself in a tight hold, and quiet muttering filled the air. He stops, turning to Wilbur. “They won’t be able to prove that we exist?”

Wilbur smiles, answering with, “Nope! They’d have no idea.”

“A-and I won’t have to talk to them at all?”

“Correct.”

The borrower swallows heavily before nodding, “O-okay, you can...you can call them. Could you start doing the first aid? That’s what it was called, right?” 

Phil nods, and warns him about what he’s going to be doing. “I’m going to have to take him over to the sink in order to wash the wound, but then I’ll bring him right back here. Nothing bad will happen to him. I need you to stay here and listen to Wil’s conversation, okay? Can you do that?” 

Dream nods, looking terrified at the idea that his brother will be away from him, completely out of reach, but he probably doesn’t want to argue again. Phil’ll have to address that later, but for now it works in his favor, no matter how bad it makes him feel. 

He walks over to the faucet, careful not to jostle the limp child in his palm, and turns it on. He lays the borrower down on the countertop and wets a paper towel before carefully scrubbing over the wound, the arm pinned in place by one of his fingers. Phil repeats the process with soap before rinsing the tiny arm off, quietly shushing Tubbo when he unconsciously whines in protest, and moving back over to where Dream stands before finally tuning back into the conversation.

“Hey Bad! Sorry to bother you, but I have a quick question!” Wilbur states quickly, voice upbeat and cheerful.

“Oh gods, what happened to Tommy? Why isn’t Phil calling me, Wilbur?” comes the worried voice of their family doctor, and Phil has to hold back a snort at how accustomed he is to this sort of thing.

Wilbur laughs, “No, no, Tommy’s fine! It’s a...hypothetical question.”

Bad hums skeptically, but allows it. “Sure, hit me.”

“Alright, so. Hypothetically speaking, say that there were two kids living in your walls.” Bad immediately begins to protest, but Wilbur pushes onwards. “And, hypothetically speaking, they’re like, less than six inches tall. Keep with me, here. So, the smaller one was hypothetically bitten by a brown recluse like a week ago, and the older one hypothetically came and asked us for help. In this imaginary scenario, what would you advise us to do?”

Bad sputters for a moment before exclaiming, “In this purely fictitious scenario, I’d bring them to your trusted general practitioner, who just so happens to be on the phone at this very moment!”

“In this completely made-up situation, they’d frankly rather die,” Wilbur deadpans.

“Fine, fine! I’m assuming that you’ve already looked up the basic first aid?” Wilbur hums in agreement. “Then just treat the symptoms. There’s no antivenom for brown recluse venom. You’d better keep me updated on this hypothetical scenario, Wilbur, or I’m going to break into your house, so help me god.”

“Yep, uh-huh, thanks for the help, doc! Talk to you later!”

“Wilbur, you-” And then Wilbur hung up.

“Did you catch that, Phil?”

Phil sighs. “You, my lovely son, are about as subtle as a bright red elephant.” He sets Tubbo down on top of the washcloth, and Dream immediately rushes over to him, quickly checking the prone borrower over. “Dream, would you mind helping me out with the next steps?”

The kid’s head whips up, and he stutters out, “Y-yes s-sir.”

Phil sets down a few paper towels next to him, before instructing him to fold one up and prop up his brother’s arm. “You want the wound to be above his heart, okay?” Dream nods, gently shifting Tubbo’s arm around to make sure that it’s right.

He grabs a pad of sterilized gauze next, and cuts it to size as best he can. Taking out the handful of different ointments and creams that they keep in the first aid kit, he scans over their labels until he finds bacitracin and hydrocortisone, throwing the rest back into the kit. He sets them both down in front of Dream, before he remembers that the kid’s hands are probably filthy. “Hey mate, you’re gonna need to wash your hands before we do this part.”

Dream looks up at him, conflicted. Every couple of seconds, the kid glances at Phil’s hands, and it takes a moment for him to realize why. “I’m not going to pick you up if you don’t want me to, Dream. Do you know another way to do this without me taking you over to the sink?”

The borrower nods after a moment, looking hesitant, but he eventually asks, “Do you have any foil? I-I can make cups and buckets out of it, and that could hold the soap and water. O-only if that’s alright, though!”

Phil considers it, and nods in agreement. “Yeah, sure thing,” he says, moving to rifle through the pantry until he pulls out the box that holds the roll of foil. “How much do you need?”

“U-uh, n-not a lot, just w-whatever you’re willing to-to give,” comes Dream’s response.

Phil just shrugs, ripping off a piece that’s around five inches wide before laying the foil in front of the kid. Dream’s eyes go wide, and his jaw drops open just a smidge, and he looks up at Phil, back down to the foil, back up, and back down, until he eventually snaps himself out of the momentary shock and gets to work.

The first container he makes is around the size of a thimble, shaped like a large bowl. Then, he quickly molds another one, a bit smaller and tapering towards the bottom like a cup, and makes a copy of it with more foil. He looks up at Phil, awkwardly asking, “C-could you fill this one,” he points to the large bowl, “and this one,” he points to one of the cups, “with water, a-and the other one with soap, please?”

Phil nods, slowly moving to take the three foil containers, quietly apologizing when Dream scurries away as his hand gets closer. He quickly moves over to the sink, turning the tap on so that it barely drips, and fills up one of the cups and the bowl. He sets those down next to the kid, and fills the last cup up with some hand soap, a drop of the bubbly pink liquid almost enough to overflow the tiny container.

Dream hurries to wash his hands, starting by dipping one into the soap and rinsing it off in the bowl of water and then dipping the other one into the soap, using the cup of water to wash it off. He dries them off on the washcloth that Tubbo lays on, and turns back to Phil, shooting him a thumbs up.

“Alrighty,” Phil starts. “Now that the bite is clean, we need to put these onto it,” he gestures to the two tubes of ointment. "This one, bacitracin, is an antibacterial, which will help make sure that the bite doesn’t get infected, and this one, hydrocortisone, helps to reduce things like redness, swelling, and itching, so that when he wakes up he won’t be as uncomfortable, yeah?” 

Dream looks at them suspiciously, and Phil can’t really blame the kid. Techno must’ve noticed the silence on Dream’s end, though, because Phil hears him stop stirring the pasta sauce. He crosses the kitchen to stand next to Phil, slightly further away from the counter, always making sure to stay in the borrower’s line of sight as he moves. 

He utters a quiet, but not unfriendly, “Hallo,” and Dream waves at him awkwardly. “I-uh, I couldn’t help but notice that you don’t really trust either of those,” he gestures to the two tubes on the counter. “Am I right?”

Dream looks down in shame, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, and nods. “Thought so. I’m not a big fan of medical stuff either, so how about this: I’ll put some of each onto one of my hands, and put it down on the counter so that you can watch what it does. If you deem it safe, you use it to help your brother. If you think it’s still dangerous or a trick or something, we can go through the same process with alternatives until we find one that you’re okay with. Deal?”

Dream looks at Techno in shock, stuttering out, “I-I d-don’t want to-to w-waste it.”

His son just snorts. “It’s fine, there’s tons of it, and you don’t need to use much at all.” Before Dream can protest again, Techno quickly opens both of the tubes up, putting two little splotches of the medication next to each other on his left hand, and gently sets it down about half a foot from where Dream stands. 

The borrower jumps when it comes down on the counter, backing away. “It’s fine, nerd. I’m not gonna move it from here, okay?” Dream nods, slowly approaching the hand resting on the surface, and he crouches down, scrutinizing the area of Techno’s hand, watching for any sort of reaction. 

Five minutes pass, and it seems like Dream is starting to understand that the stuff isn’t dangerous. He looks up at Phil, then to Techno, before quickly poking where the ointments were placed on Techno’s hand. When nothing happens to him, he glances back at the hand with a confused face, and moves over to the open tubes. He dips two of his tiny fingers into the bacitracin first, waiting for a moment just to be sure that they're safe, and walks over to his brother, gently smearing it onto the bite wound. He repeats the process with the hydrocortisone, and looks back up towards them.

Phil thanks Techno for the help, before instructing Dream to place the tiny square of gauze onto the bite. He hands the borrower some strips of bandages, cut down as small as he could manage, and tells Dream to wrap the arm up tightly, but not so tight that Tubbo’s arm or fingers begin to turn a different color. After a moment, Tubbo’s wound is fully dressed and taken care of.

Phil guides Dream through making two cold compresses next, one for the bite and one for Tubbo’s forehead, and the younger borrower sighs in content when Dream puts them on. The borrower then opens up the bag on his back and pulls out a few blankets, no larger than a quilting square each, gently tucking them around his brother until the younger is basically swaddled in a cocoon, only the arm with the bite sticking out.

“Good job, Dream. Thanks for the help, by the way. Now, all that’s left to do is wait and check up on him periodically.” He turns to Wilbur next, asking, “Hey, can you go wake up Tommy for dinner?”

Wilbur does so, and his youngest shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes and yawning loudly. “Phil…” he whines, “Why’d you have to wake me up?”

“Because, Tommy, food’s ready, and no, it’s not crunchy, you heathen.” Tommy pouts, before looking slightly behind Phil, eyes widening at the sight of the two borrowers.

“Is he alright?” he asks, looking at Phil with large, worried eyes.

Phil smiles warmly at him, ruffling his hair. “He’ll be fine, Toms,” he assures, and looks back over to the two kids on the counter.

Dream looks up at him, then back to his brother, and then to his sons, who have all helped themselves to a plate of pasta. “Oh, are you hungry?” The borrower goes to shake his head, probably not wanting to request something and then owe them back later, but his stomach interrupts his blatant lie, growling so loudly that it sounds painful, and he looks down in shame.  “Mate, when was the last time you had something to eat?” 

Dream shrugs. “‘Couple’a days, I think. Lost track, just wanted Tubbo to keep something down.” He looks up towards the humans, who all seem horrified by that revelation. He tilts his head, confused. “What’s wrong?”

Wilbur’s the one to speak up. “You can’t remember when you last ate?”

Dream shakes his head, still rather perplexed. “Uh, no? That’s pretty common for us, really. I always make sure that Tubbo’s fed first, and then I eat what’s left over. It all depends on what we can find.”

Phil’s blood boils, not at the kid himself, but at the situation that they’ve both been living in for so long. He grabs a plate, putting a few noodles and a tiny bit of sauce on it, and sets it down near Dream. “Here you go. If you want more, just let one of us know, yeah?”

Dream looks down at the plate, eyes starry with awe, but then he grimaces, looking over to his younger brother. “W-what about Tubbo?”

Phil sighs, heart aching for the two. “Don’t worry about it, mate. We’ve got plenty of food for when he wakes up, okay. That pasta is for you.” Dream looks at him, skeptical, but eventually gives in, moving to take a bite of the noodle. He must realize how hungry he actually is, because he scarfs down half of one within minutes.

Everyone eats in silence for a few more minutes, until Phil clears his throat. “Dream, I think it’s time that we all sat down and asked you a couple of questions.”

Chapter Text

Dream swallows heavily, dread pooling in his gut.

Phil looks down at him, shooting a warm smile his way, but it only makes the feeling worse. Still, he nods weakly and sits down on the washcloth that Tubbo lays on, swaddled in every blanket that they own. He swings his feet, trying to dispel any nervous energy, and digs his hands into the soft fabric. He takes a deep breath, and stutters out, “Y-yeah, alright, questions. W-what’ve you got?”

Phil hums before his eyes widen. “Almost forgot something, sorry. Since they,” he gestures to his sons, “can also ask questions, I need to lay down some ground rules first.”

He turns to Wilbur first. “Wil, uhh, don’t ask questions you wouldn’t be comfortable answering—no, wait, scratch that. Don’t ask questions you wouldn’t be comfortable giving the answer to if the person asking it was over ten times your size and also studied something that, in your mind, would mean that they’d probably love to rip you apart.” 

Wilbur frowns at him, muttering, “‘M not that bad, Phil!” The oldest bean just shoots Wilbur a pointed look, and he groans. “Fine, maybe I am, but I’m not trying to scare him.” 

Wilbur looks down at him, and Dream can’t help the way he flinches when the human locks eyes with him, pouting childishly. “Can I at least write your answers down?”

He can feel himself paling slightly, but he’s not allowed to argue with the beans on anything unless he’s okay with the deal being broken. Tubbo’s really vulnerable right now, and if the beans stop helping, he might die, and Dream can’t risk that. Phil must notice his hesitance, though, because he quietly says, “You’re allowed to say no, Dream.”

The rational part of him knows that Phil’s being genuine. The less rational part, though? It screams that the bean is trying to trip him up, trying to get him to break the deal so that they can snatch up Tubbo, too. After doing some frankly ridiculous mental acrobatics, he decides that he can’t really say no, but maybe he could at least ask something… “I-if you do, who would you s-show it to?”

Wilbur’s eyes widen slightly in surprise, but he pauses to consider his answer. “I mean, it’d mostly just be for me, since you’ve expressed that you’re… opposed to other people knowing that you, you know, exist and all. I might pose it as a hypothetical scenario for one of my classes’ end-of-quarter projects, so that’d only be me, my teacher, and my classmates at the most, and I wouldn’t leave anything to imply that it was anything more than a thought experiment. Other than that, just me.”

Dream nods, silently mulling over the response. If it’s only Wilbur, then he guesses that that’s fine since the bean would know anyway, but the other people being in the know is not something he’s all that comfortable with. Is he even allowed to say no to that, though?

…Probably not. “Alright, that’d be f-fine.”

Wilbur shoots him a blinding smile before he sprints out of the kitchen with a shout of, “I’ll be right back!”

While Wilbur is off doing something, Phil turns to Tommy. “Toms, if you think it’ll sound bad, don’t ask about it.” Tommy shoots his father a look, but doesn’t protest, so Phil looks over to Techno. “Tech, you’ve probably got more tact than I do, so you’re fine.” The pink-haired bean snorts in response, like he’d expected that.

Wilbur comes back in after a moment of awkward silence that Dream would really like to forget about, holding a thick, leather-bound field journal and a pencil. He looks excited, and god does that make him nervous. Phil must pick up on some of it, at least, because Dream notices that the older man’s eyes keep flicking between them, narrowing slightly, and it seems like he’s watching Wilbur’s movements closer than he was previously. It almost makes Dream feel better about this. 

Almost.

“So...questions?”

Wilbur and Tommy both raise a hand up in the air, and Dream just stares at them for a moment and then glances over to Phil. “W-what’re they doing?”

Phil stares at him, looking just as confused, until the man mutters out, “Oh my god...”, burying his face in his hands. “Boys, he doesn’t know what that means, he doesn’t go to school!” He turns to Dream with an apologetic look, “Sorry, uh, that’s a thing that kids are taught to do when they have a question. Just...just point to one of ‘em, you and I can talk solo later, yeah?”

Dream just nods, silently terrified at the idea of being left alone with the man, and points to Tommy, who has been rocking back and forth on his feet this entire time. The kid takes a breath, points over to Dream’s meagre belongings, and blurts out, “What’s with the mask?”

He blinks once, twice, before saying, “That’s what you want to know about? Seriously?” Tommy just nods at him, actually completely serious. “It’s just something to keep dust and dirt out of my face when I’m going through the tunnels. The opening by the mouth is covered in a thick cloth that I can breathe through, and I used hot glue to cover the eyes so that I can see without getting irritated. Well, I mean, everything looks kind of warped and blurry, but it’s better than risking my eyes. A blind Borrower is a dead Borrower, after all.”

“Follow-up question: what tunnels?”

Dream’s shoulders tense, but he’s already basically outed everything. “Uhh, walls aren’t solid, not fully. There are gaps, and we use them to get around unseen. It’s a safety thing, humans aren’t just going to tear down their walls, and they’re pretty obvious about when they think they have mice, so it’s easy to leave before they call someone about us.”

Wilbur pipes up at that, “So, you don’t consider yourself human? What about human-adjacent?” 

At Dream’s blank look, Techno sighs dramatically. “Wil, he doesn’t even know what it means when you raise your hand, why would he know what adjacent means? You’re supposed to be the smart one, here.” Glancing over at the confused Borrower, he smiles slightly. “‘Adjacent’ usually means ‘next to’. What Wilbur is trying to ask is whether or not you consider yourself to be sort of human, if that makes sense.”

Oh. Looking up at a sheepish Wilbur, Dream starts to panic. What is he trying to imply? Without even realizing it, he stumbles back towards the wall—towards his suffering baby brother, the light of his life—trying to get further away from terrifying, curious brown eyes. “I-I’m not an animal!” he cries without thinking before he realizes what exactly he’d just done.

Unbeknownst to him, Wilbur’s face falls, heartbroken, as he rushes to explain. “Sorry, sorry! It’s alright, that’s not what I’m trying to say, I swear. What I’m trying to ask about is just whether or not there are any big differences between us, you know? You don’t consider yourself quite human, but do you have any specific reasoning? Besides size, obviously.”

Dream pauses to think about that, slowly coming down from his bout of panic. God, he needs to stop jumping to conclusions so quickly. It's getting embarrassing. Eventually, he settles on, “Diet, for one. We scavenge for food, so we really just take what we can get, but you guys have millions of choices at your fingertips.”

Wilbur scribbles his answer down before looking up, and the curiosity shining in his eyes feels like a death sentence. “What about sleep? Do you sleep during the day, or do you sleep at night?”

“It depends, I guess. We used to only go out borrowing at night, because you were all asleep or holed up in your own rooms. That left the kitchen open, so we’d sleep during the day for a few hours. Once you guys started thinking that you had mice, though, we borrowed whenever we could, since you all became more aware of not leaving things open and not making crumbs and letting them sit there.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Dream spots Phil frown at the thought, brow creased in worry, but he really doesn’t want to think about that. Wilbur doesn’t seem to notice, barrelling forward with his questioning. “So, cathemeral? Or crepuscular? Generally, would you say that your active hours are evenly split between day and night, or are you active mostly during dawn and dusk?”

Dream’s face scrunches up in confusion at the first few words, but understanding dawns on him as Wilbur keeps talking. “Well, I guess I’d say the average borrower sort of functions on an opposite version of the bean’s schedule, since you guys are usually up and about during the daytime. We don’t sleep through the entire day or anything, though. It depends on what we need to get done. We craft things during the day because it’s light out, so we don’t have to use up our limited supply of power, and we borrow at night to avoid danger.”

Wilbur makes a noise of understanding, jotting his answer down before looking back at him. He opens his mouth to continue, but Phil slaps a hand over the bean’s entire face. “Okay,” he laughs, “let’s let Techno ask a few things, and then you three need to go to bed.”

Tommy frowns and Wilbur straight-up pouts, but one stern look from Phil has them all accepting it. “Great, glad we all agree. Tech?”

Techno pauses for a moment, sizing Dream up, and the only thing going through the Borrower’s head was to run for his life. Thankfully, the bean must somehow sense his discomfort, because he ends up asking two easy questions, the first of which is simply, “Can you read?”

Dream blinks in confusion. “I-I mean, yeah?”

The second question, in retrospect, should’ve been obvious based off of his first answer, but Techno still wastes it on, “Can you write?”

“I can, but it’s not all that practical.” Dream’s face scrunches up in slight disgust as he remembers having hands covered in a layer of graphite.

Techno nods and turns to Phil as if to say that he’s done, and the eldest bean nods. “Alright, everyone got two-ish questions, now scram, shoo, be gone. Tommy, it's almost ten o'clock, and don't even start with the whole 'but Phil, it's the weekend' because you’re twelve. Go to bed. Wilbur, work on your end-of-quarter stuff, or write down more questions or something if you can't sleep. Techno, just do whatever.” He starts herding the three of them towards the doorway, and as Dream hears their footsteps going to the other side of the house, Phil shouts, “And no eavesdropping! I’m serious!”

After he’s sure that none of his sons have tried to stick around, Phil turns to Dream and sends him an easy smile as he walks over to the dirty pots and rolls up the sleeves of his button-up. “Hope you don’t mind if I clean up a bit while we talk.”

The big pot is still almost half-filled with pasta, surprisingly. Seems like everyone was more focused on Dream and Tubbo. Just thinking about the boys’ conditions makes him grimace. Tubbo is, of course, the more immediate concern--the spider bite and the fever could very well kill the kid without proper treatment. He can’t take him to the hospital, so he’s going to have to ask Bad to come over off-record, even if Dream won’t be happy about it. Speaking of Dream, though…

He takes a quick glance at the borrower as he crosses the kitchen to grab some tupperware, who’s currently leaning over his younger brother, trying to comfort the unconscious boy through an unpleasant dream. Dream is unsettlingly thin--he’d admitted to not having eaten in at least a few days, and acted like it was something that was just normal circumstance. He probably made sure that Tubbo got enough food first, and then ate whatever wouldn’t store well. His clothes are thin-looking, patched up repeatedly until it was more scrap than the original fabric. Nothing that would protect him from the draftiness of the house, or the harsh winters that they tend to have.

Maybe he could get Bad to take a look at Dream, too. He’s obviously malnourished, and his hands are wracked with tremors. Neither of the two borrowers has a reliable source of basic nutrients, but Dream’s been borderline starving himself to keep his brother fed. 

Phil shakes his head, there are more important things to think about right now, like the borderline-terrified teenager and his seriously ill younger brother that are sitting on his counter. One day he’ll sit down and actually process that thought, but for now, it’s not a big deal.

How should he go about this? Definitely no staring at or watching the kid, obviously, but other than that he’ll basically have to wing it. He turns on the tap, filling up the two pots and keeping his back turned to Dream. Pouring in a decent amount of dish soap, he tries to start this ordeal casually. “So, anything you want to know before we get started?” 

"Uh, n-no, sir."

He raises an eyebrow, not that Dream can actually see it, and mutters out, “Well, if you ever want to ask anything, just let me know, yeah? How’re you holding up?”

“‘M fine.” Stilted, short answers. This is going to go nowhere.

Well, there's no point dancing around the actual conversation, he supposes. Phil quickly dries off the two pots before turning to face the kid, careful not to stare directly at him. Here goes nothing. "That's good to hear, though I can imagine that this is pretty stressful, yeah? I just have a couple of questions, and then we can talk about what's going to happen from here on out."

When he doesn't hear any objections, he takes his first step into the minefield that is this conversation. “Okay, first things first, are you alright?” The ensuing silence tells him that the kid is probably confused, so he’s quick to clarify. “Are you hurt? Still hungry? Thirsty? Is there anything I can get you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the tiniest shake of a head. Frankly, he doubts the kid's answer, but there's no point in pushing it right now. Future Phil can worry about it. For the time being, the lack of trust can wait. "Is there anyone else with you two?"

Dream shakes his head again, answering with a quiet, "No, sir. It's just Tubbo and I."

Some of the tension in Phil’s shoulders melts away, thankful that there isn't secretly another starving child that he wasn’t aware of. But it does beg the question…"How long have you two been on your own?"

The boy takes a moment to think before carefully answering, "Five years now. We've lived here for almost a year. Don't worry, it's not unusual for Borrower kids to be…independent."

"That’s not nearly as comforting as you think it is, Dream," Phil mutters, but judging by the way that the kid looks away from him, he wasn't as quiet as he thought he was. "It's fine, it's not like it's your fault. I have to ask, though, have you ever had previous encounters with humans?"

A nod.

"Were they...bad encounters?"

Another nod.

God, this poor kid. The mere idea of being in Dream’s shoes right now is enough to make Phil feel sick. What kinds of things must’ve happened to these two before Phil had met them? "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope you know that we'll respect your boundaries here as long as you say what you are or aren't comfortable with, yeah? The only times we wouldn't would be for your own good—like if you broke your leg and you'd previously established a no touching rule but we really needed to move you somewhere safer. Does that sound alright?"

Dream pauses for a moment before quietly asking, "You mean it?"

Oh God, his old heart can't take this. The question was so feeble, so hesitant, for something so basic. "Of course," he reassures the kid with all of his conviction. "And I know you might not believe it right now, but that's alright. It's not going to change."

"...okay."

Phil smiles. It's a step in the right direction, even if it's a small one. "Awesome, mate. Just one last question. Would you be willing to let one of my good friends take a peek at you and your brother? I know that it sounds scary, but I promise that he would never hurt either of you. He works as a general practitioner and a pediatrician at the hospital nearby, and I think he'd be able to help speed along your brother's recovery."

Dream immediately begins to refuse before pausing. Phil lets the kid think—it’s a tough decision, after all. He trusts Dr. Halo with his life, but Dream doesn’t even know the man. Adding that to the fact that the brothers have apparently had run-ins with less-than-savory individuals before, he can assume that the only reason Dream is considering it at all is because of Tubbo.

After a long moment of contemplation, Dream asks, "You trust this human?"

"With my life, and with the lives of my children," he responds immediately. "I've known him for almost ten years now, and he’s never done wrong by any of us."

Dream nods before voicing a worry that makes Phil think of Techno’s first few months here. "What if you're wrong? What if he doesn't react the way you think he will?"

And it's still the easiest question of his life, all these years later. No matter what kid asks him, no matter how much he knows them, the answer stays the same. "You and your brother take priority. You're children, Dr. Halo is a grown man. He can handle being kicked out. And if you're right, and he does react poorly, then I don't think I'd want him around my family again anyway."

The boy nods. "And he'll be able to help Tubbo?"

Phil hums in agreement. "Even if it's just making sure that we can give him the right amount of medication, or treating other symptoms."

Dream exhales sharply, and some of the tension leaks out of his posture. Not in relief, however—more akin to resignation. "We'll see him."

Phil frowns. "Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel forced, I just want to make sure that you're both healthy."

The kid nods, although it looks like it physically pains him. "My brother's life is in your hands, I can’t afford to refuse something that could help him."

"Alright," he concedes. "I'll be there the entire time, so if you ever get uncomfortable just let me know and I can tell him to stop." Of course, Phil knows damn well that Bad will stop the second that Dream looks even slightly off-put, but he hopes that the extra insurance will put the kid at ease. "Dr. Halo will probably stop by first thing tomorrow morning—knowing him, he'll be up all night looking into things. For now, just try to get some rest, yeah? I'll be in the living room, so if you need me just shout."

Dream sighs shakily before sitting down next to his brother, slowly sinking into the fabric of the washcloths that make up the base of the makeshift bed. The boy makes himself comfortable—well, as comfortable as one can be in such a vulnerable position.

Neither one of them is going to get much rest tonight.

Chapter Text

It's early that next morning when Dream gets awoken by Phil.

The man’s three sons are already up and about, bustling around the kitchen—Techno’s making something in the toaster while Wilbur holds a box of cereal out of Tommy’s reach. Dream blinks blearily at the chaos before refocusing on Phil, who smiles down at him. "Dr. Halo will be here soon, wanted to make sure you had enough time to get your bearings beforehand."

Tommy loses interest in the sugary concoction that Wilbur’s been teasing him with in favor of looking toward his father. "Why's Bad coming over?" With a worried look towards Dream and Tubbo, he tacks on, "Where are they supposed to go?"

Phil glances at Dream, who nods. "They're actually the reason that he’s visiting. Dream here agreed to let Bad take a look at his brother."

"Wait," Dream interrupts. "His name is actually Bad?" At his frankly reasonable question, everyone seems to crack a smile. Wilbur full-on snorts.

It's Wilbur who answers him. "Yeah, it is. Trust me, once you've been around him for a while, the word itself kind of loses meaning. He's probably the nicest guy I've ever met."

Tommy, seeing an opportunity, full-on tackles his brother to the floor. Wilbur falls with barely enough time to keep his head from bouncing off the ceramic tiles and presses the box tightly to his chest as Tommy pounces. From there, it devolves into a weird mix between a cat fight and a game of keep-away. Techno, across the room, slowly munches on a charred toaster waffle while watching with a detached sort of intrigue.

He turns to his father. "Who d'you think is going to win this time?"

Phil, who looks about three seconds away from declaring the entire day a waste and crawling back onto the couch, sighs. "As long as Bad doesn’t end up needing to see another kid, I don't care."

The 16-year-old huffs softly before boldly declaring, "Ten bucks says Wilbur wins," and sticks out a crumb-covered hand to his father, who shakes it firmly.

"Deal."

The three of them watch the two roll around like a particularly violent tumbleweed for a while until Tommy makes a victorious shout. He scrambles off of his oldest brother with a pleased little smirk before sticking his tongue out at the other. Wilbur, for all that he was confident earlier, lays on the cold tile in a heap and groans dejectedly. 

Tommy grabs a bowl from the cupboard and sets about making a delicious bowl of cereal. Before he digs in, he turns to Dream and holds up the box. Now that it's not being fought over like the final scrap of meat between two feral raccoons, he can easily read the name. Caver's Crunch is written out in blocky text, and the picture on the box depicts a person in a mineshaft holding up a bowl of the cereal, which is mainly little squared rings with what he assumes are marshmallows mixed in. The marshmallows all have little designs on them, too—one is a spider, another is a skull. There's also a zombie and two creatures he doesn't recognize, a green thing with a sad face and a black square with purple eyes. "D'you want some? The mob-mallows are really good."

He immediately moves to politely decline, but Tommy puts a handful on the counter before he gets a chance to speak. "If you don’t want any now, you can just save it for later!"

Faced with an unexpected kindness like this, Dream has to pause for a moment to process everything. The pile of cereal, while probably insignificant for a bean, would be enough to feed Tubbo for at least two weeks if he ate two meals' worth every day. And Tommy just…gave it to him. Like it was nothing. Like Dream wouldn't have risked his life for even a portion of what was in front of him. Eventually, he finds his words, and shoots the younger boy a grin. "Thank you, Tommy. That's very generous."

The bean looks at him, confused. "It's just cereal, big man. No big deal."

It is a big deal, but that's an argument for another time. Instead, Dream takes an armful of cereal and shuffles over to his brother’s makeshift bed. He gently shakes Tubbo awake. "Hey, how're you feeling, bud?"

His brother groans. "Bad," he mumbles, "...why's it so bright?"

Shit. How is he going to explain this? Tubbo’s going to lose his mind—Dream had been so against talking to the beans, and now he’s put Tubbo’s life in danger! He was defenseless, and Dream had the gall to take him away from the safety of the walls because he was overwhelmed. That being said, Tubbo was firmly on the side of giving the beans a chance, so maybe he could be honest…"Yeah, we're actually on top of a kitchen counter right now, don't freak out?"

And Tubbo’s eyes snap open. His brother looks around wildly for a moment before Dream crushes him in a hug. "It's alright, we're okay."

"Where’s Pa?" Tubbo sniffles, "I-I want Pa!"

He'd forgotten that his brother was delirious. Even worse, the person that he wanted to see had been dead for six years, and Dream can’t help but feel the same way. He'd kill for Puffy to come back. Just the thought of one of her hugs—where she'd squeeze him close like he was the only thing that mattered, and whisper comforts to him as she ran her fingers through his hair, and wouldn't comment if her shoulder got a little wet—was enough to have him feeling like a little kid again, and it hurt. "Pa's not here, Tubbs, but we're okay. Everything is okay."

His brother exhales shakily. "Promise?"

"I promise. You know Phil and his sons, you saw Tommy just a little while ago." Dream might turn a blind eye to some of the things that his brother gets up to, but he’s not an idiot. There’s only one room that connects to the tunnel that he found Tubbo in, and boy were they going to have one hell of a conversation about that once Tubbo was better. For now, he digs a marshmallow out of the pile of cereal and offers it to the younger. "Hungry? It's—" Before he can finish the sentence, Tubbo snatches the little marshmallow from him and tries to eat a third of it in one bite. He barely chews it before going back for more, and Dream has to grab it back from the poor thing. "Easy now, it’s all for you. We don’t want you to make yourself sick."

Tubbo whimpers, shakily reaching out for the hunk of marshmallow, but Dream gently pushes him back. "Finish what you're eating right now, and then you can have some more." His brother hums before resting his head on Dream’s shoulder. 

The two of them manage to make it through a marshmallow and two pieces of cereal when somebody knocks on the doorway to the kitchen. Phil stands there, and Dream hadn’t even noticed the beans leave the room. "Bad'll be here in a few minutes."

"Who?" Tubbo asks, looking at his older brother.

How to explain this in a way that won't scare him senseless? He can't use any of the words that a normal bean would use to convey the idea, considering that all of those words held very different meanings to them…

Luckily, Phil intervenes before he even has to start. Directing his attention to Tubbo, he asks, "Do you know what a doctor is?"

Tubbo nods sagely. "They're big, mean beans that run tests on people and hurt them."

The older man makes a wounded noise, but only gently corrects the definition. "Some of them might be like that, but that's not what they're for. A doctor is supposed to make sure that people are healthy. You go see a doctor when you're hurt, or sick." At that, Tubbo looks up fearfully before trying to hide behind Dream. "Don’t worry, you aren't going anywhere. A close friend of mine is a doctor, and he agreed to visit this morning to help you. He's a pediatrician, which is a doctor that went to school to work specifically with children."

"But," Tubbo interrupts, "that's for beans, not for us. It doesn't matter how they treat you because we're not like you."

Dream quickly jumps to chastise his younger brother, even if he internally agrees. “Tubbo!”

Phil, however, nods along. “I understand that, I do, but Bad is also my sons’ doctor, and I wouldn’t trust just anyone with their safety, yeah? I’ll be in here the whole time that he’s with you two in case you get uncomfortable, too.”

In the end, it’s a mix between Phil’s earnest expression and Dream’s quiet, “Please?” that ends up changing his mind. 

"Fine," he groans. "I did say we should try to trust them…"

The two chatter away quietly while they wait, with Tubbo going through two more pieces of cereal as Dream catches him up on what he's missed. A sudden knock at the door has both Borrowers silenced in a matter of seconds. Dream steps in front of Tubbo protectively and the pair send Phil a nervous look. "Ready?" The man asks quietly. 

"Ready."

Phil walks out of the kitchen to see Wilbur doing a very obvious attempt at stalling Bad. The doctor is in casual clothing, dark jeans and a red knit sweater. The only thing giving away his profession is the bag slung over one arm filled with equipment.

"--just been so long! How's Nikki holding up? I haven't seen her in ages!"

The doctor laughs dryly. "You saw her two days ago in Chemistry."

"You're right, must’ve slipped my mind! How've you been, Doc? Busy as usual?"

Bad sighs, one hand reaching up to massage his brow. "Wilbur, stop. Phil asked me to be here, there’s nothing to hide."

His eldest son glances over to him, eyes wide and uncertain, and the kid relaxes when Phil nods in agreement. Wilbur moves to the side and allows the two further into the house.

"Sorry about that," Phil starts with a tired smile. "We're all just a bit… protective over our guests. They're pretty jumpy, and I promised Dream, the older one, that if either of them were uncomfortable at any point then I'd kick you out. Tubbo is the younger one, who got bitten by a Brown Recluse."

The doctor laughs good-naturedly. “I would expect nothing less from you. Is there anything important that I should know about before I see them?”

Phil hesitates for a moment before gesturing for Bad to lean in. In a low tone, he confesses, "They're not doing well. I suspect that both are suffering from severe malnourishment, with Dream in particular standing out. He mentioned last night that he couldn’t remember the last time that he’d eaten something. Both of them are," he grimaces, "skittish, for lack of a better word. Some of their reactions concern me, and both have admitted that they've had past experiences with humans."

Bad hums in acknowledgement, mulling over Phil’s words carefully before stepping into the kitchen.

Two young boys sit on the countertop close to the sink, and one of them stands the second that he notices the two adults enter. The other one, situated on a folded washcloth, makes an attempt to stand as well, but gets pushed back down gently. The doctor puts on his most friendly smile, staying right at the doorway. "Hello there!" he calls out softly.

Phil steps forward first, gesturing to Bad as he speaks to the two children, and Bad carefully observes their behavior. The one standing must be Dream, the older of the two. He seems to be in charge of making decisions between the brothers, and although it's hard to see from here, it looks as if he tends to step in front of the younger one whenever possible. That would mean that the one sitting on the washcloth must be the spider bite victim, Tubbo.

Once Phil finishes introducing him to the two, Bad smiles gently before motioning to the interior of the room. "May I come in? I've got a few things that I need to set up." He looks straight at the older one, trying his best to let the kid know that he has the power in this dynamic. Bad won’t move without permission.

After a moment’s hesitation, Dream’s head bobs up and down.

Bad nods in thanks and shuffles over to the counter, staying a little ways away from the two. "Is it alright if I set up here?" Another nod. Bad zips open his bag and pulls out his supplies. First comes a small scale, then a magnifying glass, a few tubes of ointment, fresh bandages, and a bottle of Tylenol to hopefully kill the fever. A small pair of scissors and a pill cutter join the pile, too. 

Dream looks up at him with wide, fearful eyes, and Bad internally winces. The kid probably doesn't understand what any of this has to do with helping his brother. Luckily, Bad’s handled kids like this before, one of whom lives in this very house. He's got some experience working with siblings like these two—one badly wounded and the other fiercely protective. 

"Alright," he starts, sitting on one of the stools in the kitchen to get closer to the boys' level. "Phil hasn't told me much about what's going on, other than that one of you got bit by a Brown Recluse. Is that true?"

Dream’s the one to speak up. "We're pretty sure that it’s that spider, but it could have been something else, sir."

Bad nods gently. "That's alright. Unfortunately, there isn't an antivenom for a Brown Recluse bite, so the best I can manage is something to hopefully numb the pain and kill the fever, and something else to disinfect the wound. Does that sound alright with you two?"

The younger one is the first to agree, which seems to convince his brother to do the same. With a small smile, he gestures to the scale, "Could I have you stand on here for just a moment, Tubbo?"

From there, the checkup goes smoothly. They fall into a quick pattern—Bad will explain the purpose behind a request, Dream will try it out first, and then he’ll allow Tubbo to do whatever Bad needs. The bite on the boy’s arm isn’t great, but it isn’t nearly as bad as it could be. From the research he’s done, these bites will usually heal on their own in a handful of weeks, and the symptoms will disperse on their own. He properly doses out some Motrin for the fever and inflammation, hands Phil a list of instructions, and reaches into his bag to find a lollipop that he quickly realizes is far too big. 

He makes direct eye contact with Phil as he hands each boy a lollipop that’s larger than their head, and the father’s eyes sparkle with mirth. With a sigh, he tells the boys, “Don’t eat that all at once, alright?”

Dream nods seriously as Tubbo tries to bite into the hard candy, and Bad knows that they’ll be fine.

Tommy jumps him on the way out for candy, and he gives the kid three pieces with strict instructions to share with his brothers, knowing full well that Tommy’s going to eat them all immediately.

On his way out, Wilbur smiles at him awkwardly. “Sorry about…you know.”

Bad huffs out a laugh, reaching up to ruffle the kid’s hair. “I expected it, Wil. You never change.”

Hopefully, he won’t have to see the two new boys in the family under such dire circumstances again. Now, to think up a believable lie for Nikki.

Chapter Text

Hey everyone!
Sorry in advance for the false update, but I want to let you know that I am discontinuing all of my DSMP fics. I took the time to really consider whether or not I wanted to do this, but Wilbur is a big part of both of my series and I cannot in good conscience continue to write with him. Unfortunately, simply removing him from the equation isn't something I can do, as his character plays a pivotal part in my DSMP stories.

As a thank you for being here and giving me your support, I'd like to make the Google Docs for each fic (and some extras that were never posted) publicly available.

Reconcilliation
Two Halves (Dream & XD Godling AU)
Childish (Child Dream AU)
What is Going on Inside That Head?
Unfinished Roommates Tubbo Chap
Borrowing Brothers
Borrowing Brothers Abandoned Rewrite

P.s. I made a Tumblr that I am hopefully going to use, so feel free to say hi here!