Work Text:
Living in the Arctic tundra was vastly different than living in the Nether, in more ways than the obvious. For instance, most beings from the Nether either speak in different variations of the First One’s language; series’ of noises and clicks creating meaning instead of whatever Overworlder’s do, or they just don’t speak at all. Nobody bothers anybody either, even though skeletons tend to pick on people. The heat is an obvious difference, he thinks, seeing as lava falls from the sky to create vast pools around the entire plain. Most people traveling through the Nether grow intimidated quickly; picking fights with ghasts for their burps, or cutting enderman down like trees when they get mad at their staring. Pigmen are glad to be left alone.
Michael doesn’t know if he’d rather have been left in his original home.
Don’t misunderstand, he loves his new dads, beyond happy they took him in after his own family disappeared while he was playing. He likes his new house and his room. He loves when his grandad visits, and the snow is so nice to play with and touch. The only complaint he has would be the lack of Pigmen the people around him speak, and how he can’t speak their language like they can.
He wishes they’d try to learn Pigmen instead or at least teach him more of theirs. He also wishes they’d stop arguing long enough to notice him right now.
His dads have been at it for a while now, just arguing over uncle Tommy, or grandad or someone named Technoblade that his father is friends with. It had escalated from there. Michael had only walked in to ask if someone could sew up Mr. Chicken’s wing, but had frozen in the doorway when he heard the yelling start.
He’s gotten better at understanding overworld English, but when dad shouts at father for playing with “Techno” again, Michael wishes he couldn’t understand at all. Michael feels his eyes sting as father steps closer to tower over dad, and sniffles quietly when dad simply jabs a finger into father’s stomach. He hears the wind whip outside and decides he’d rather play outside than listen to his parents fight for another second.
He finds the door unlocked and bolts out into the snow with Mr. Chicken tucked under his arm. The wind nips at his ears and he feels the snow crunch under his feet as he runs, tears blurring his vision with a mix of the wind and his distress. Michael isn’t sure how long he runs for, or how far from home he travels, and he can’t find the mind to care. He collapses under a dark oak tree, the branches covered in a layer of white already as the cold curls around his small body. He stays that way for what feels like hours, sobbing and shivering as the night creeps closer.
The sound of crunching snow startles him, and Michael fears some dangerous monster, like his dads talked about, is coming to hurt him. As the sound grows closer, Michael cowers into his arms, whimpering for his dads as the sound stops in front of him. He curls in tighter around Mr. Chicken, willing whatever has walked up to go away.
He doesn’t expect the small, worried squeaks that remind him of his first home.
Michael finds himself peaking out between his fingers, and gasps quietly at the ten-or-so tiny white blobs that squeak at him from across the ground. His gaze travels higher, and his eyes widen at the masked figure crouched in front of him. He stares silently as the blobs chirp around the green-cloaked figure, hopping and floating around them without fear. It lessens Michael’s fear of this person considerably, especially since he knows strangers aren’t always nice people.
The figure squats with their hands on their knees, a white mask with a black smile covering their face as they stare back at Michael silently. The blobs chirp and squeak excitedly, fliting from the figure to Michael quickly, and Michael realizes that they’re trying to talk to him.
The figure tilts their head at the Piglin, seemingly deciding what to say, before they surprise Michael by speaking in a language he actually understands.
“Are you okay? Why are you crying?”
Michael can only stare back in shock before a shiver wrecks his entire body. One of the white blobs hops onto his shoulder, snuggling into his neck before chirping quickly at the still crouched stranger.
The masked man nods before holding out his hand carefully. “You can come with me if you like? We’ll get you all warmed up.” He tilts his head to the side at the Piglin’s hesitation, “It’ll be okay. No need to cry now.” He soothes.
It’s then that Michael realizes he’s still crying, though his sobs have lessened considerably. He sniffles, taking the offered hand as the blobs around them squeak and chirp with newfound excitement. The man nods encouragingly, before standing to lead the way as he tells the Piglin, “My name’s Dream, by the way. My home isn’t too far from here. We’ll get you all warmed up in no time.”
*******
Silence fills the room as the two stew in their anger. Tubbo sits with his arms crossed, furious eyes hidden behind his dark curls and scowl present as he stares out the big window. Ranboo sits in his armchair, legs crossed casually with a book in hand as he flips through it with little regard for the pages themselves. His white-knuckled grip on the leather binding was the only giveaway to his false serenity. Neither has spoken a word in the last thirty minutes, and neither seems willing to break just yet.
However, as Ranboo chances a glance away from his book, he spots their son’s open bedroom door without a single sound coming from within. He hisses under his breath, closing his book with a snap and rising to his feet. “Did you tuck him in without me?” He growls defensively.
Tubbo rolls his eyes and scoffs dismissively, before shooting out of his seat in realization. “Oh crap! He might’ve heard us.”
The two stumble to their son’s room, apologies on the tips of their tongues, when the empty silence of the room cuts off any possible thoughts either may have had.
The two lock eyes in confusion before overwhelming panic sets in. They begin tearing the house apart, calling out frantically to the missing Piglin the longer their calls go unanswered. Ranboo, in his panicked state, begins calling for their son in a mix of Piglin and Ender, before Tubbo points to the unlocked door out front. The color drains from both their faces as the blizzard rolling outside rushes through the door, the heavy snowfall making it impossible for the two to even attempt a search.
In perfect unison for the first time that night, the platonic husbands collapse into each other’s arms, tears streaming and anguished cries ripping through the cold night air.
*******
It took lots of coaxing, and more patience than Dream thought he was capable of, but he finally managed to get the little Piglin to sleep on the couch. He would’ve preferred the kid sleep in the bed, but he’d freaked out at the idea of being left alone, so Dream wrapped him up in his fluffiest blanket, piled on his little blobies, and sent the kid to sleep.
He scoffs quietly, shaking his head at his own actions. What are the odds he takes a walk through the snow to avoid running into anyone and finds a literal child fighting for warmth? He unclips his mask, sliding it off before running his hand down his face, laying the mask on the coffee table in front of him. He leans back in the chair with a sigh, closing his eyes briefly as his blobs hop around and chirp quietly, so as not to wake the sleeping child.
He frowns as one pulls on his shirt to get his attention. He tilts his head to the side and blinks as three of the blobs attempt to pick up the small stuffed chicken the little Piglin had been carrying. Upon closer inspection, Dream realizes the toy’s wing has been torn nearly completely in two. He frowns, trying to remember whether the toy had been broken when he’d found him, or if it had gotten worse since. When nothing comes to mind, he sighs again, standing and crossing the short distance between them to scoop up the little chicken and bring it back to his chair. Dream lays it next to his mask as he goes to collect some cotton and a needle to sew it up.
Grabbing a mug of hot water to sip away the night’s chill, Dream sits himself down and gets to work on the stuffed toy. He finds comfort in the repetitive motions, not having found the need to just sew in a while. The last time, he thinks, was when one of his friends’ favorite jacket had gotten torn in a fight, and he’d practically begged Dream to fix it for him, claiming Dream was the best sewer out of the three of them and the only one who could do it perfectly.
He wonders briefly if George is warm enough on his own tonight.
He shakes the thought away quickly, knowing that train of thought would only lead to unnecessary distress. When he finishes the final stitch, Dream bites the cotton off the end, nodding in approval at his handy work. He takes his warm mug in hand and hums contently as the warm liquid travels over his tongue and down his throat, warming his belly pleasantly. He watches the fire dance in the hearth for several more minutes, listening as the wind whips and howls outside, before placing his mug back on the table and laying on his side as the events of the day finally caught up with him, his eyelids slipping close from the weight of his drowsiness.
*******
Michael wakes the next morning to the smell of fresh bread and the sound of light humming coming from the next room over. He yawns quietly, spotting Mr. Chicken out of the corner of his eye. He beams in delight at his fixed-wing, immediately cuddly his favorite toy as close as physically possible.
“Good morning. Did you sleep okay?”
Michael looks up at the voice, spotting the masked man in his kitchen with his back facing the Piglin while he worked. Michael grins as the little white blobs flit around the man, happy chirps emitting from them as they race to greet Michael good morning as well. The Piglin giggles at the sounds, stretching big and yawning before hopping off the couch and creeping towards the masked man. He takes a seat at the smallish dinner table as the man speaks again. “I’m not sure if you understand what I’m saying, considering my Piglin is a little rusty, but I just want you to know you’re safe here. When the storm calms down, I can take you back to your parent’s house, if you like? I’m sure they must be worried sick.”
Michael nods as a plate of fresh bread with jam is placed in front of him, the masked man sitting across from him with a plate of his own.
The man chuckles quietly as Michael tucks into his breakfast, taking a sip from his steaming mug before speaking yet again. “You know, my little friends here tell me I never asked for your name, and seeing as the snow is gonna keep us in here for a bit, I’d personally like to know the name of my newest house guest.”
Michael hesitates before the encouraging chirps of the little blobs make him smile, deciding that sharing his name would only be polite. He pauses as he swallows his mouthful of bread, focusing on the pronunciations his parents taught him in their language, hoping the masked man would understand. “M-Michael.” He manages to stutter quietly.
The masked man sits up straighter, clearly surprised at the Piglin’s use of Overworlden. The man begins speaking quickly with a grin in Overworlden at the revelation, and Michael feels himself shrink away at his lack of understanding, the man using more words and saying things faster than the Piglin was used to hearing.
Pausing at the lack of response, the masked man nods apologetically, before speaking in Piglin once more. “I’m sorry. Guess you don’t speak much English, huh?”
Michael feels himself shrink away, but the masked man shakes his head. “Hey, come on now,” he muses, “no need for that. So you don’t speak English, so what? It’s not like we can’t already communicate, right? Besides, you can always learn if you really wanted to. It’s nothing to worry about, really.” Michael frowns into his breakfast, and he sees the man tilt his head out of the corner of his eye. “You… can talk, right? It’s fine if you can’t, I just wanna know so I can apologize for being a dick about getting you to talk so much.”
Michael giggles, before shaking his head and locking eyes with the holes of the white mask. “I can talk. I’ve just never really had someone to talk to before.”
He can hear the frown in the man’s voice when he speaks. “Do your parents not speak any Netherine?”
He shakes his head. “One of them speak Ender, but that’s not the same.”
The man nods like he understands. “Well, I like talking, if you don’t mind the noise. I’d appreciate hearing someone else’s voice besides my own for a change.” He turns to the blobs as they start squawking, and he wheezes so hard he doubles over from the force of it. Michael wonders with wide eyes if it hurts. “Not that I don’t love these little guys.” He explains, patting the nearest one on the head with a chuckle. “I’d just like to hold a conversation for longer than a couple of minutes.”
Michael grins back, floored by the chance of finally getting to talk to someone who can actually understand him. “I know lots of stories! My father reads them all the time!”
The man nods again, and Michael wonders if the man’s smiling like he is under his mask. “That’s great, Michael! I’ve got a few of my own if you wanna swap ‘em sometime.”
Michael claps giddily, before realizing he never actually asked his new friend’s name. So, he does just that.
The man is surprised apparently, and Michael feels embarrassment crawl up his neck as he states, “I already told you my name?”
Michael feels his shoulders rise to his ears, “Sorry.” He mumbles quietly, “I don’t remember.”
The man pauses for a beat, before chuckling fondly at the Piglin. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Honestly, with everything that happened to you yesterday, I’m not all that surprised you blocked out some stuff.” He lifts his mask enough to show off a large, kind smile on his face, before sticking out his hand in greeting. “My name’s DreamWasTaken, but my friends call me Dream.”
Michael smiles back, cheeks warm with embarrassment, before sticking his own hand out to shake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Dream.”
The man, Dream, barks out a long wheeze, sticking a hand under his mask to wipe at his eyes. “Oh, no fucking way are you calling me that. Just Dream, please. God, do I feel old now.”
Michael smiles apologetically before Dream waves him off, standing and placing their dishes in the sink to be washed. The two make their way into the sitting room, where Dream takes a seat in his armchair, and Michael resumes his position on the couch, the blobs splitting between the two as Michael dives into a story of how he and his uncle built giant forts in the snow.
Michael finds he likes sharing stories, and from the way Dream nods along and laughs when he finds something funny, the Piglin thinks that, maybe, he has a knack for it. He grins even wider as he gets the masked man wheezing over how he once tricked his parents into thinking his uncle stole their cookies when he had them hidden under his bed. He’s happy to finally have someone to share his favorite stories with, about defeating dragons and unbreakable bonds with friends.
After his nth story, Michael listens with rapt attention as Dream tells him a story of his own; about two brothers taking on the whole world alone, before meeting a new friend with a passion for archery. He goes on about how the three boys grew together, learning from each other and learning as close to everything about each other as they could. Michael claps when the boys win battles against monsters, and gasps when Dream tells him about how one of them ended up getting hurt to the point the brothers weren’t sure if he’d make it through the night.
“He’s a fighter though, no matter what anyone else thinks. He doesn’t look like it, or even act like it sometimes, but he’s incredible. They were so scared for their friend, but the archer just laughed and said there was nothing to worry about. He’s always been like that; making everyone else feel better no matter how much he hurts inside.”
Michael nods along, grateful to know the boy ended up being okay after a couple of days of sleep and laughs when Dream tells him the boy made fun of the brothers for getting so worried.
It goes like that well into the evening, Dream listening attentively as he cooks them dinner while Michael talks about how he wants to learn how to fight and explore like his grandad and Dream. “I wanna have adventures and collect more stories to share with you!” He exclaims excitedly.
Dream hums, going quiet as he considers the Piglin sitting at his dinner table. Before turning back to the stovetop and replying, “Never hurts to learn how to take care of yourself. I suppose I can ask your parents if it’s okay to show you the basics when I take you home later.”
Michael’s smile falls, his shoulders rising as he picks at the tablecloth. Dream turns to look at him at that reaction, and Michael explains before he can ask, “my parents were fighting; that’s why I ran off. I don’t want to go back yet if they’re just gonna keep yelling anyway.”
Dream stares silently at the Piglin, watching as he picks at his chicken’s fur nervously. He bites the inside of his cheek as he debates on what to do.
What do I know about kids? He thinks. Puffy said I was quiet when she found me. I was scared she was gonna throw me out all the time. He turns back to the stove as his own shitty past rushes back before his eyes, and he shakes his head to clear the thoughts away. Fuck. What parent loses their kid in a blizzard like that? He’s scared of something that happened. Fuck. What do I do?
He sighs to himself, hearing the telltale sounds of his blobs fliting and chirping at the Piglin sat at the table. He stares into the stew as it bubbles, his mind taking him back to when he and Sapnap first met George.
“Who the fuck let their kids run off to kill a dragon?” Geroge had scoffed in disbelief.
Dream had scowled at him in anger at the belittlement. “We can take care of ourselves just fine, thank you very much!” He’d snapped back.
George had taken one look at the frightened teenagers, one bleeding and the other trying to bluff him, and sighed in resignation as he pulled out his first aid kit. “Whatever, Hector.” He’d mocked before shrugging past him to crouch next to Sapnap. “I’m not gonna let a couple of kids bleed to death. Fuck whoever sent you out here, I don’t care.”
And that had been it. George was a part of their group, and neither Dream nor Sapnap had been able to get him to leave, and after about a week of his presence, they didn’t want him to. Sapnap hung off of his shoulders any time he wanted to talk to the boy and Dream found himself wheezing the hardest at his out-of-pocket humor.
He knows what George would say if he were here now, so he does it himself.
“Do you want to stay here for now? Until you feel ready to go back?”
The light in the Piglin’s eyes and the tentative smile on his face tells Dream all he needs to know about his decision. “Is that okay?”
Dream nods decisively. “You can stay as long as you like.” He smiles at the giddiness in the boy’s demeanor. “Besides, this place has been quiet for a while, and I’m not great with silence. It’ll be nice to have you here.”
Michael grins thankfully, and Dream nods before standing from his chair and stretching, his joints popping as he lets out little groans. “Alright,” he states as he straightens. “If you wanna learn how to take care of yourself, I can teach you a game me and my friends made up when we were kids.” He grins fondly at the memory, heading towards the front door. “We don’t do it as often anymore. It’s more just training for us now, but it’s still a great way to get some exercise.” He turns as he draws a small, dark-colored fluffy hooded sweater from a closet, presenting it to the Piglin with a flourish. “You can wear this. It should do for now until I can find something else that’ll fit you better.”
Michael grins, laying Mr. Chicken on the coffee table and leaping off the couch to meet his friend by the door, the little blobs chirping and squeaking excitedly in anticipation as he slips the jacket on before following his companion out into the snow.
*******
The Piglin crouches as low to the snow-covered ground as he can get without falling off his feet. He peaks out from his hiding spot amongst the trees in search of a speck of green in the white tundra, the blizzard having slowed to a simple thick snowfall. He had been worried about the game at first, afraid he’d get lost again and unable to find his way back to Dream, but the masked man had patted him on the shoulder and promised he’d find him, no matter how far away the Piglin managed to travel.
“If you don’t want to play right now, we can always wait until the snow clears completely. I’ll take you somewhere with less snow if you want?” He’d asked comfortingly with a gentle pat to his head.
Michael had shaken his head quickly. “I wanna play in the snow. I won’t let you find me too fast though!”
Dream had laughed, patting him on the head again, before giving him a headstart into the snow.
Michael scans the area in front of him, shifting on his feet and crunching the snow as he rises to dart out into the clearing to collect some more wood to make an ax like Dream had shown him earlier. He realizes his mistake too late as a flash of bright green catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, and before he can blink, the masked man is looming over him with his ax brandished right in front of his eyes.
Michael stares silently in shock, before being knocked gently to the ground with a tab to his head from the butt of Dream’s ax. The Piglin lands in the snow with a huff, crossing his arms defensively as the Masked man chuckles at his pout. “Hey, don’t make that face.” Dream consoles carefully, crouching to the younger’s level as he speaks matter-of-factly. “Now, tell me where you went wrong.”
Michael sighs as he looks away embarrassedly. “I got bored just waiting in the snow. I was cold, so I thought if I just moved fast enough you wouldn’t notice until I already crossed into the treeline.” He glances at his hands as he fusses with the snow. “I should’ve waited for you to pass by, or went the other way when I knew you were close by.”
Dream nods and holds out his hand to hoist the child to his feet. “Exactly. Next time, don’t let anything influence your common sense. A gut feeling will most likely save your life one day.” He lifts his mask enough to show his mouth, his lips splitting into a wide grin. “You did well for your first try. I can tell you paid attention when I told you what to look for. I bet pretty soon you’ll be able to keep up with me!”
Michael smiles bashfully under the praise, sniffing from the cold when he whispers, “what was it like when you and your friends used to play?”
Dream pauses just a step to collect his thoughts, continuing on the trail home as he explains, “well, when we were kids, we didn’t have any adults around to tell us how dumb an idea it was. Except for George, but he’s a worrywart anyway.” He smiles at the little giggle he receives, “anyway, my brother Sap and I thought it would be more fun than regular sparring practice, and that George could just referee if he was too scared to join. Needless to say, we weren’t very good at first. George sniffed us out pretty quick, and it took a while for me and Sap to quiet down long enough to actually look for him, but we just kept at it and eventually, I could take both of them on no problem, and we haven’t lost a single fight when we work together.”He grins fondly at the memories but feels a sense of melancholy fall on his shoulders at the knowledge that he hasn’t had time to visit either in a while.
Michael seems to notice the change in demeanor because he pulls on his sleeve and asks, “where are they now?”
Dream pauses, his boots buried in the snow as more slowly piles onto his shoulders. He considers the question carefully, not wanting the child to worry about things well outside of his control. He sighs, patting the Piglin on the shoulder to get him moving again. He answers honestly, “I’m not entirely sure. I know Sap is busy with his partners, and George,” he stares at the snow falling gently through the thick tree branches in thought. After a beat, he sighs again, “I haven’t seen much of George recently. I think he’s sick, but he won’t tell me anything. He’s stubborn like that. Always worried about making his friends feel better, but won’t ask for help when it matters. He said he was feeling run down and wanted to be left alone for a couple of days to sleep it off, but… Well…” He trails off, frowning into the snow as his blobs rush to his shoulders to chirps sympathies at him.
They walk in silence for several minutes, Dream with his head clouded with memories and worries for his friend, and Michael with worry for the masked man’s feelings. He knows what it’s like to worry about people you love, and knows his father would say he should either talk about it or find a way to distract himself until he feels ready to talk.
One look at the tall man beside him tells Michael which option he should try for now, and so he tugs on Dream’s sleeve to gain his attention again, and waits until the dark eyes in the mask look down before he asks quietly, “Can we go back and have hot chocolate, please?”
Dream tilts his head, before grinning mischievously at the Piglin. “Well, I don’t know about hot chocolate, but I do have a stash of tea I keep for special occasions.” He pats the piglin on the head affectionately. “We can go get cocoa another day if you like.”
Michael beams excitedly, glad the tension has slowly disappeared. “It’ll be my first adventure!” He exclaims, skipping along after his friend.
Dream wheezes as Michael goes on to tell him about how his dad and he messed up a chocolate recipe so bad, his father had to step in to save them from burning the house down. He watches as the youngster bounces along the path, chattering aimlessly with his blobs as he goes. He feels his mood shift considerably, and the lone blob on his shoulder nuzzles into his neck to console him. They press on towards home, and Dream decides he’ll stock up on cocoa the next time he heads to town as a thank you to the young Piglin.
And, not for the first time, he can’t help but wonder what kind of parent would let such a sweet kid go off on his own in a blizzard in the first place.
*******
The two haven’t known peace since Michael disappeared. They’ve scoured every inch of land around their home. Search every forest they’ve come in contact with, and asked (read; Threatened) every person they’ve come across to tell them the second they see a sign of their missing Piglin son.
“Where the fuck is he?” Tubbo demands for the nth time in the last hour.
Ranboo grips his sword tight enough to break it as he growls, “If I knew, we wouldn’t still be looking in the middle of the desert now, would we Tubbo?”
“Well, excuse me for wanting answers!”
“We literally want the same thing! Stop yelling at me already.”
They entire the DreamSMP and begin their search for Tommy, hoping the blonde may have found Michael and taken him for a walk without telling them. Before they can find him, however, they run into a little shopkeeper that rushes out to greet them.
“Hey! I heard you were the one’s looking for that Piglin boy!” The man wears a blacksmithing uniform, despite both parents knowing damn well, he isn’t the head blacksmith at all.
Tubbo, Ranboo realizes quickly, does not care for that piece of information at all, as he lunges forward and holds the shopkeeper at gunpoint with his crossbow. The man doesn’t even have time to scream before Tubbo is threatening him for the information he allegedly has. “You better tell us whatever the fuck it is you know, or I’ll burn everything to the ground faster than you can say ‘I’m dead’!”
The man cowers back and only cowers further when he glances over the goat-hybrids shoulder and meets the furious gaze of the enderman looming over the two of them. He swallows audibly, and his voice trembles when he speaks. “There’s been sightings of a masked man stealing from our farms in the dead of night. He killed our iron golem and stole from our homes late in the night. People have reported him murdering villagers too. He lives in the arctic forest, that’s all I know I swear!”
Ranboo hisses over Tubbo’s shoulder at the man. “Why would that have anything to do with our son?”
“Because that’s what he does! He’s evil and a murderer! He has your Piglin! He was seen running through the blizzard last night with one! I swear!”
Tubbo grips the man by the throat. “If we find out you lied to us and wasted our time, you and everyone you know will die by our hands.”
The man is shoved back into his shop, and the duo storm through the village, leaving terrified faces in their wake.
“What are we planning to do if he does have Michael?” Ranboo asks as they make it to the start of the nether highway.
Tubbo stares the enderman in the chest as he states with cold apathy, “whatever it fucking takes.”
*******
The next day finds Dream in high spirits for the first time in weeks. He wakes with the sun, as usual, and heads to his little kitchen to through something together for himself and the young Piglin sleeping in the next room. He hums quietly as the water bowls on the stove and he works to cook up some french toast and slice up some fruit.
He smiles fondly to himself, reminiscing on his times spent doing a similar thing for Sapnap and George when they all lived together, traveling through the world on their own and carving out their own place within it. He’s happy to have Michael around, the child reminding him of simpler times he’d spent with his friends without a care in the world for anything but each other.
He turns at the sound of quiet yawning, followed shortly by the pattering of feet moving toward him. He hears his blobs chirping grow louder as they grow closer, following Michael into the kitchen as he takes his usual seat at the table. Dream decides today will be a better day, and he’ll take Michael ice fishing as a little adventure. He asks Michael about the idea when he places their breakfast down, and Michael grins back excitedly.
“I’ve never been fishing before!” He exclaims, “it sounds like fun!”
Dream grins fondly now, watching as the little Piglin struggles to reel in his first catch. He stands to the left of him at the tree line a couple of feet away, his own line plunged into the icy water in front of them. He wheezes a laugh when Michael cheers at his catch; a decent-sized cod that he claims he wants to eat for dinner. Dream is about to congratulate him, when a drowned appears at the lake’s edge, nearly swiping the child into the icy depths.
Dream lunges across the snow-covered Earth quickly, knocking the zombie away and killing it before Michael can yelp in terror. Dream pants away his adrenaline, turning to Michael who tries to apologize quickly for his mistake. “I swear I didn’t see him! I’m sorry, Dream!”
The masked man sighs and crouches to make eye contact with the Piglin. He puts a hand on his shoulder as he explains, “Hey, what matters is you’re okay. Sometimes these things happen and it’s not anyone’s fault.”
Michael’s frown deepens as he stares at the lake. “I can’t do anything. I’m too small to fight.” His eyes sting with unshed tears, and he blinks them away quickly.
Dream feels his eyebrows furrow in concern, his lips pressing into a thin line as he thinks of a response. He pulls on Michael’s shoulder to make him look at him when he explains, "just because someone is bigger than you, doesn't mean they immediately have an advantage. If you're fast and smart enough, you can do anything you want before they can blink. Being small actually gives you the advantage, because they don’t expect you to be able to do much," he points to his mask, “and we learn from mistakes, okay? We take a risk and hope it pays off. If we mess up, we try something else to see what works. I wear this to freak people out because that gives me an edge, and makes them second guess trying to jump me.” He grins smugly.
Michael giggles wetly as he wipes at his eyes. “I don’t think it’s scary.”
Dream squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “Well, that’s because you’ve met me. And I’d never try to scare my friends,” he grins wickedly, “unless they deserve it.”
Michael nods, grinning back at his friend before saluting him. “I promise to do better next time! I’ll practice so much you’ll never have to worry about protecting me again!”
Dream barks a laugh, patting Michael’s shoulder and rising to his feet. “Easier said than done, kid. I still worry about my friends all the time. And they’re all grown up now.” He tilts his head as he watches the Pigman’s determination solidify. He chuckles quietly as he scratches his chin thoughtfully. “You know, George likes showing off his archery whenever he’s feeling down,” he turns back to Michael with a grin, “I should go visit him soon, I think. You could come too if you like. I’m sure George would love to make a new friend.” He reaches out and ruffles the Piglin’s short hair fondly, hoping the offer doesn’t come off as awkward as it sounds to himself.
Michael beams with stars in his eyes at the masked man, his excitement radiating from his pours as he squeaks out, “really? I could meet your friend?”
Dream shrugs nonchalantly, a smile winding onto his face unbidden. “It could be our next adventure. George love’s hot chocolate too, you know.”
Michael opens his mouth the exclaim his excitement when an arrow lodges itself into the tree beside Dream’s head.
Dream jumps back immediately, grabbing Michael by the arm and forcing the Piglin behind him as he whips around to face their attackers with fury and adrenaline pumping through his veins. Two figures emerge from the shadows of the forest, and Dream feels himself stiffen as he recognizes their attackers. “What the fuck are you two doing here?”
Ranboo holds his crossbow higher, aiming for the masked man as Tubbo brandishes his sword, the tip pointed directly at Dream as he barks back, “looking for our son, dickhead! Why the fuck is he hiding behind you?”
Dream feels Michael’s grip on the back of his shirt tighten, and he wonders briefly if he should calm down before this escalates and the kid winds up hurt. He raises his hands placatingly. “Look, I found him a couple of days ago when I was hiking through the snow. He’s been staying with me until he feels ready to go home.” He tries to explain calmly, but can hear the anger in his own voice, and curses his lack of patience as Michael cowers behind him.
Ranboo lowers his weapon slightly in consideration. “Why wouldn’t you just bring him back right away? Or, like, try to figure out where he lives?”
Dream glances over his shoulder quickly, then turns and locks eyes with Tubbo once again. “He didn’t want to go home right away. He was scared.”
“Bullshit!” Tubbo roars and Dream reaches around to hold Michael’s arm as he whimpers into his back. Tubbo steps forward threateningly. “We’re his parents! If you actually gave a shit, you would’ve brought him back as soon as you found him!”
Dream grits his teeth as his hands ball into fist, his fight or flight mode kicking in at the threat of a fight breaking out. “I didn’t even know you had a kid! And even if I did, why would I bring him back when he was terrified and cold and crying? He needed safety, not-”
“Shut up!” Tubbo shouts, starling the enderman next to him into raising the crossbow higher again. He bears his teeth as he shouts at Dream, “you’re lying! We know you’ve been killing the villagers down the mountain! We know you took Michael as a threat to us to leave you alone!”
Dream growls in frustration before shouting back, “I didn’t even know he was yours until right now! How would I have done that if I didn’t know-”
“SHUT UP!”
An arrow is fired, and Dream has enough time to raise his shield and shove Michael away before Tubbo is rushing forward to attack. He manages to knock him back and get his sword out before another arrow pierces his shield. He whips his head around to spot Michael standing a couple of feet away. He knows he has no time to get to him, so he shouts at him to hide just as Tubbo crashes into him again.
Michael scrambles to hide behind a tree, watching helplessly as his parents attack his friend with a fury Michael has never seen in them before, and it scares him. The three are shouting at each other in Overworldin, and Michael feels frustrated tears well up as he is, once again, unable to understand what everyone is saying. Dream keeps checking on him, he knows, and Michael keeps trying to figure out what he can do as his dad barrels into his friend again and again.
Ranboo keeps his eyes trained on Dream as Tubbo attacks, looking for any chance he has at taking a shot to knock him down long enough to grab Michael and run away. He doesn’t want to fight Dream, and he can tell all the fighting is upsetting Michael, but Tubbo won’t stop, and he knows the only way to get their son is to clear the threat out of the way. He fires another arrow, but his miss this time causes Tubbo to turn, and Dream knocks him over and into the icy lake beside them. He rolls to his feet, fire blazing in the eyes of his mask as he rushes Ranboo faster than he can process.
Dream forces the enderman back, knocking his crossbow away and preceding to attack with his ax as Ranboo stumbles away from him in surprise. With a sweep of his leg, he knocks the taller man to the ground and uses his legs to pin him beneath him. In his furious haze, the only thing on his mind is how desperately he had wanted someone to fight for him when he was being hurt and all alone as a child. He knows fear when he sees it, and a child’s first reaction at the sight of their parent after days of not seeing them should never be fear. He doesn’t know what happened to cause that fear, but he’ll be damned if he allows them to take the kid back without figuring it out. In his rage, he raises his ax above his head, a furious roar ripping from his lungs as he aims for Ranboo’s skull.
Michael watches with daunting horror as his friend raises his ax to his father’s trapped body, and jumps out of his hiding place before he can think better of it. “Dream! Stop please!” He screams desperately, fat tears streaming down his cheeks as the wind picks up.
The sounds of Michael screaming his name makes Dream pause mid-swing, and that hesitation costs him his edge.
Before he can question the Piglin’s well-being, Tubbo has already slammed into him from behind, his sword ripping through the clothes on his back and drawing a splattering of blood to paint the white snow around them crimson.
He screams in agony, before whipping around with his shield up to block the next blow, but when an arrow pierces his calf and brings him to his knees, Dream can do nothing but watch helplessly as Tubbo jumps on top of him, his sword tearing through the muscle of his right arm and pinning it in place. His shield is ripped from his arm as Tubbo starts wailing on him, fist connecting with his face and chest over and over again, leaving a growing red spot in the snow beneath his prone body.
Michael wails in anguish for his dad to stop, but his father has scooped him into his arms before he can reach him. He begs and pleads for his parents to stop hurting his friend, willing them to understand him, but all he gets in response is his father shushing him gently, and turning him away from the scene. “Dream!” He screams, desperate for a response from the still man, “get up! Please get up!”
Ranboo turns to his platonic husband as his son screams inconsolably in his arms. “Tubbo, come on. We got Michael back, let’s get him home.” He reasons. When Tubbo doesn’t stop his merciless assault on the masked man lying still beneath him, Ranboo puts more force into his voice. “Tubbo!” He hisses, finally gaining his partner’s attention. He gestures to the still screaming Piglin in his arms, squirming to get away from him. He nods to the forest, “let’s go. Michael needs us to take him home. Now.”
Tubbo pants, whipping his bloodied knuckles on the fabric of the masked man’s sweater as he stands, nodding at his husband. “Let get the fuck out of here.” He huffs, storming through the snow in the direction of their home and nation.
Michael squirms desperately, crying for his friend and begging his parents not to leave him behind. “He’s hurt!” He squeals, “Please! He helped me! He’s nice, I promise!”
He watches as Dream’s blobs, who had all hidden in fear as the fight had broken out, slowly emerge and rush towards the bleeding man, the white mask now slowly slipping from his face. Michael claws at his father’s back, reaching out towards his friend and begging the universe to help him when he sees Dream turn his head just enough to face the Piglin, his mask slipping completely from his face and revealing the blood-covered face of his friend, and the old scars that had been hidden from him before. Michael realizes one of the blobs that had hidden in his pocket have slowly climbed to his shoulder, and are rubbing his cheek affectionately to soothe his tears and anguish.
Dream smiles at him as he slowly fades from sight, and whispers quietly to one of his blobs, knowing the message will be relaid to the little Piglin instantly as he vows, “Don’t be afraid, Michael. I’ll find you. I promise.”