Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Don’t tell Quackity,” Dream breathes, quiet and desperate. He trembles in the back of his cell and tries to keep his breathing steady.

Sam crosses his arms and stares down at Dream. “You’re not in any position to be telling me what to do after what you just pulled.”

Dream doesn’t deny it. “He’ll kill me! You’re supposed to be keeping me alive, aren’t you? If he finds out I’m still here, he’ll murder me! You know he will!”

Sam hisses. Half frustration and half gunpowder. At least if Dream’s lucky. “What am I supposed to do with you, then? You know Quackity will get suspicious if I keep coming back here.” 

“Just tell him that you’re still searching the prison. You think I’m still in here somewhere, just not the main cell.” 

Sam laughs and Dreams prays that the spark he sees between Sam’s lips is a trick of the light. “How long do you think that’s gonna last for, huh, Dream? How long can I pretend that I’m still searching for you? The prison’s big, but it’s not that big.” 

Dream looks down and away. Sam’s right. 

“If you want to stop being tortured, all you have to do is give us the book.” 

Dream laughs bitterly and sinks down to sit with his back to the wall. “Aren’t you supposed to be protecting your prisoners?” 

“I can’t protect you from your own stupidity.” 

“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” Dream scoffs. “You sound like, like–” 

“Like you,” Sam finishes. 

Dream doesn’t reply. Just stares past Sam towards the guard room on the other side of the lava moat. It’s so close and yet so far. “What if you build another prison?” he asks after far too long. “You can knock me out to move me. Take whatever security measures you need to. I’ll still be locked up, just somewhere Quackity can’t find me. If he kills me, no one gets the revival book.” 

Sam grits his teeth. “Alright. First off, there’s no way I’m building another prison. But, I might – might – be able to work something else out. If you cooperate. I gotta make some calls. In the meantime, if you so much as put a single crack in one block, I’ll make you beg to have Quackity back.” He leaves without another word. 

Dream is good while he waits. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but he doesn’t try anything. Doesn’t even write in his books. Just sits in the back of the cell and stares at the crying obsidian. Watching the strange particles from the blocks is the closest thing he has to entertainment. The threat from Sam and the hope of something else is enough to keep him in line for now. Between Techno escaping to parts unknown with the prison blueprints and Sam’s… whatever Sam is doing, Dream doesn’t see much need to push his luck. He just has to survive. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes, but he knows he’s fallen asleep frequently enough to lose account of exactly how many times when a message comes through to him.

[Awesamdude whispered to Dream: I have an arrangement figured out. Whitelist Docm77]

Well. That’s something new. Normally, Dream would be reluctant to let a stranger into his server. But he’s been trapped in this hell for long enough. He’ll take any out he can. He pulls up his admin panel cautiously, half expecting the usual alarm bells and dispensers of lava he would usually get for something like that. But, no. It must be temporarily disabled. He punches the name into the whitelist and hits the enter key. 

[You whispered to Awesamdude: done]

[Docm77 joined the game]

Dream is prepared for another long wait, at least long enough for someone to travel to the prison from spawn, but the lava curtain begins to fall after only a couple minutes. For the first time in a very long time, Dream stands up. His joints crack worryingly as he does so and he sways with dizziness. He supports himself with one hand on the wall as he approaches the netherite bars, still making sure to keep a block back from them. 

Across the lava stand not one, but two trident wielding creeper hybrids. The new one is shorter than Sam by a head and has only two legs instead of Sam’s four, but he’s nearly as intimidating. His right arm and the left half of his head are both fearsome looking redstone prosthetics and his broad, tightly curled ram’s horns look like they could do some damage too. Not to mention the trident or the full complement of netherite armor, all glistening with enchantments. 

Sam downs a fire res potion and offers one to the other creeper, who waves it off. As the bridge starts to advance across the lava, the creeper – Docm77, Dream assumes – crouches down to examine the mechanisms behind it, supporting himself with the trident. He doesn’t appear to have any fear of the lava. 

He steps off the bridge a moment before it touches down and strides over to Dream. “This is the one you were telling me about, Sam?” His voice is dark and deep and smooth. 

“Yep,” Sam replies. His own voice is ever so slightly less steady than usual. Dream doubts even he himself would have noticed if not for so long without any stimulation at all making him hypersensitive to every detail. 

Docm77 looks Dream over slowly. “He told me you think you’re a god.” 

“I am a god,” Dream says without thinking. He doesn’t know how much he believes that anymore. Gods aren’t supposed to bleed like he has. 

Docm77 just smiles at him. It’s not a pleasant smile. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t really matter if you are or not.” 

“And why is that?” 

“If you are a god, then you won’t be the first I’ve beaten.” 

It’s not a threat and it’s not a bluff. Just a simple, incontrovertible statement of fact. The player standing in front of Dream has fought gods and won. 

“I’m not planning to fight you,” Dream says, willing his voice to remain steady. 

“Of course not,” Docm77 chuckles. “You need something from me right now. It would be stupid of you to fight me. Now, to business. I’ve already spoken to your warden and my admin–” What the fuck? He isn’t the admin? What the actual fuck? “– so it’s down to you to accept the deal or not. There will not be negotiations. Understood?”

Dream swallows and nods. “Understood.” 

“Alright. The deal is this: You will be moved to the Hermitcraft server and kept in custody there. You will still be considered a prisoner, but you will have far more freedom of movement and access to the sky. You will be expected to work for your keep, though you will have the right to request different work than what you have been given, within reason. In exchange, you will obey whoever is acting as your warden and, if someone dies here and fails to respawn, you will return for long enough to revive them promptly and without question. Let me be clear: we’re called hermits for a reason. We don’t like strangers showing up on our territory without permission. If you prove to be more trouble than you’re worth, you will be returned to this cell. Do we have a deal?” 

“We do.” Dream doesn’t hesitate. It’s better than he expected. He keeps the book and the chance to use it as leverage and he escapes to a whitelisted server where Quackity has no chance of reaching him. This will be simple to twist to his advantage, he’s sure of it. He just has to gain their trust.

Though, from the knowing look on his new warden’s face, he suspects that won’t be easy.

Dream spawns in a large, wooden structure. He shivers. The temperature isn't all that cold, but he's spent months living only a handful of blocks away from lava. He breathes in the cool, fresh air. It doesn't smell like burning anymore. It's sweet with the scent of the glow berries hanging from the ceiling and wooden walls and an absolutely delicious smell coming from a nearby chest. His stomach rumbles, but he doesn't go and investigate. He knows he's on thin ice. He has to toe the line at least until he's recovered. 

“Are you ready to go?” The deep voice of the creeper hybrid startles Dream out of his thoughts and he realizes how long he's been staring off into space. 

He nods. “Yessir.”

“You can call me Doc if you like. Everyone does.”

“Yessir.”

Doc’s eyes flicker up and down Dream’s body and it takes all of Dream’s willpower not to shrink back. Did he fuck up already? Surely being respectful is more important than being like everyone else. Doc’s already made it clear he won't be treated like an equal here, much less given the respect he's due. 

“We’ll go in the Overworld,” Doc decides “I’d rather not have to deal with the Nether.”

“Yessir.” Dream is relieved. He doesn't want to deal with the heat of the Nether so soon.

“Give me your hand.” 

Wordlessly this time, Dream complies. His hands come up together at first until he realizes they aren’t cuffed and he drops his left hand back to his side. He watches as Doc fastens a bracelet around his wrist. It’s unassuming. Steel instead of the netherite cuffs of before. But Dream can feel something settle into his player data. It’s not comfortable. Still, he’d take some mild discomfort over a visit from Quackity any day. 

“This is your tether,” Doc explains. “If it is damaged or if you break the rules, you will be teleported to a holding cell so we can decide what to do with you. Any of your wardens can also send you to the cell at will if you’re causing trouble that the plugin doesn’t account for.” 

That’s… honestly better than Dream expected. He’d expected to be teleported right back to the… to the server he came from. “What are the rules?” he asks softly.

Doc doesn’t answer immediately. “The only one you need to worry about now is proximity. You’re injured and tired and I’d rather not have to repeat them.” He reaches into his inventory and pulls out something white and round, holding it out to Dream. “Put that on.” 

Dream takes it cautiously. It’s another mask. Just like the one he has on now except without the massive cracks across its surface. He turns his back, making sure to keep both hands visible, and swaps the masks. Thankfully, Doc doesn’t comment when Dream tucks the old one back into his inventory. The new mask is comfortable and it comes with an overlay. Faint particles hang in the air a few dozen blocks or so away. Dream wants to ask, but Doc answers before he can decide if it’s worth the risk.

“Those particles show the range of your tether,” Doc explains. “Currently, it’s set to forty blocks. Once we get to the base you’ll be staying at, it’ll be set to the perimeter there. If you leave that area, you will be teleported to the cell. Do you understand?” 

Dream nods. “Yessir. Stay near my warden or in the area I’m tethered to.” He can feel himself start to tremble. This is the longest he’s been on his feet in a while and his wounds ache. He should count himself lucky that Quackity hasn’t cut the tendons in his ankles recently.

“Good.” Doc looks like he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t. Just walks outside. 

Dream drifts along behind. Walking is even harder than just standing still. He wants to look to the sky. He wants to so badly it hurts. He has to follow Doc though. He can’t bear to see the sky just to have it snatched away again. There’s a donkey tethered outside that Doc leads him to. The creeper hybrid even helps him lift himself into the stirrups. 

“I’m taking you to Cleo’s,” Doc explains as he sets off walking, holding the horse’s lead in his left hand. “I haven’t had time to get a proper clinic yet, so I’ll have to use her lab to patch you up.” 

Oh. Dream’s getting patched up. He hadn’t expected that. “Thank you, sir.” 

Doc looks at him like he’s said something strange. “I am a doctor.”

“Yessir.” 

As the donkey plods along, Dream’s need to see the sky finally outweighs his fear. The warmth of the sunlight beckons to him. The sky is clear and blue and vast . Soft clouds drift overhead. He thinks he’s too tired to find shapes in them, but the associations come to his mind unbidden. Creepers. Blades. The craggy peaks and valleys of glowstone that almost look like mountains when you’re so, so desperate to imagine one. Dream can see real mountains now. Huge pillars piercing the sky with water cascading down their sides. 

“That’s Etho and Iskall’s base,” Doc comments. Dream quickly drops his head to the ground, but Doc just keeps talking. “I can take you back here to sign up for the No Wings Club later, if you’d like. Elytra really doesn’t mix well with a prox tether.” 

So they have elytra here then. Makes sense if Hermitcraft is a powerful enough server that they feel confident trying to contain someone like Dream. Not that it takes much to contain Dream right now. Maybe once he’s recovered some. The rocking of the donkey’s gait is not helping any of Dream’s injuries. Still beats walking.

The sun is low in the sky by the time they come to another structure. Or something that's supposed to be a structure, at least. It's a half built mess of sandstone looming unsupported in the sky. In its shadow sits a small cluster of orange roofed buildings and armor stand facsimiles of cod headed children hang from stray beehives.  Doc leads Dream to the larger of the two buildings, ties the donkey to a nearby fence post, and helps Dream dismount. Dream hisses in pain as the movement pulls his injuries. He's eager to get inside before mobs start spawning though. 

Inside is clearly some sort of a tavern. Crimson wood chairs and tables cover the floor, lit by purple candles on the table and lanterns hanging from the roof beams. There’s a stage off to one side and a pleasant smell coming from a room off to the side.  

“Joe?” Doc calls. “You in there?” 

“Howdy, Doc!” a voice replies from inside the room with the pleasant smell. A moment later, a man emerges. He’s dressed simply, the @ sign on his chest the only real sign of personality there, but his hair is long and bright green as are his glasses. He’s drying his hands on a towel. He catches Dream’s eye and smiles. “You must be Dream, then. Joe Hills, here, baking Cleo blood bread as I always do in Nashville, Tennessee! What can I do for y’all?” 

“Cleo said we could use her clinic,” Doc explains before Dream can ask what blood bread or Nashville are. “She also said you had the key. 

“Sure do,” Joe replies easily. “Right this way.” He leads them back outside, where the sun has already risen again. They must have single player sleeping on in the server. They walk over to a stone church building surrounded by a graveyard. Upside down bees fly in and out of the open graves. Inside the church, a three wide staircase leads to a birch door surrounded by white concrete. 

Joe unlocks the door and ushers them inside. There's an exam table against one wall surrounded by standard medical instruments and a curtain that could surround it for privacy. Cabinets and drawers line the walls, all neatly labelled with signs too small to read from a distance. On the far side from the door is a hallway blocked off by obsidian. 

Dream balks when he sees it, but Joe just pats the bed while Doc starts fiddling with the equipment. 

“We ain't gonna hurt you,” Joe promises. “The obsidian is there to protect you.” His voice is far more reassuring than his words are. 

“Joe, why don't you let me handle my patient?” Doc cuts in calmly. 

“Stop by the inn when y’all’re done and I’ll have a warm meal ready for y’all,” Joe offers as he leaves. 

Once he's gone, Dream relaxes just a little bit. 

“Undress as much as you're comfortable with and lay on the bed,” Doc prompts. “You can keep anything you like on, but remember I can't tend any injuries I can't see.”

Dream pulls off his prison jumpsuit without much hesitation, leaving just his boxers and his mask. He knows he looks like a weak, pathetic mess, but there’s no point in being shy about it. His skin is crisscrossed with marks from Quackity’s shears ranging from pale scars to wounds that are still oozing blood. He stares up at the stone brick ceiling lit by shroomlights and grips the bed nervously. 

Doc’s bedside manner turns out to be much better than Dream expected. He may look the part of the mad scientist (and probably is one), but he simply cleans and bandages Dream’s wounds. A couple need stitches and Doc even goes so far as to give Dream a local anaesthetic for those. Dream feels tears welling in his eyes as Doc brusquely asks him about his diet and exercise and the extent of his injuries. Never pushing for anything Dream can’t bear to speak about, but still getting the information he needs. As Doc finishes up and gives Dream a spare set of clothes from Joe, it occurs to Dream that he’s lucky Doc isn’t an interrogator. He’s built up his mental walls against cruelty and left himself vulnerable to something approaching kindness. 

He follows Doc back to the inn where a meal is already spread out on the table. It’s not exactly what Dream was expecting. The steak is normal enough, but the loaves of bread are far darker than he’s used to, though they don’t smell burnt. There’s also sausage. It’s dark too, so dark it almost looks black. Doc looks at it dubiously, but still sits down and starts eating, gesturing for Dream to do the same. 

“Don’t eat too fast,” Doc warns Dream. “This is pretty rich stuff.” 

“Oh shoot, I didn’t think of that,” Joe says. “I can get you some potatoes or something if you’d like.” 

“I’m fine,” Dream grits out, bringing a piece of the sausage to his lips. It does taste good. It also sits heavily in his empty stomach. He paces himself like Doc had advised and manages to keep it down. 

Just as he’s starting to settle in and feel something like calm, the door is flung open with a loud crash. He turns to see a zombie with bright red hair stalk in. The zombie is hunched in on herself, growling with more rage than Dream has ever heard in an undead before. He backs away from the table, reaching for a sword he already knows he doesn’t have. 

“Cleo!” Joe exclaims brightly, holding out a loaf of bread to her. “I made you lunch!” 

The zombie pauses, grabs the loaf of bread, and shoves it in her face. She tears through two more and a few of the sausages before she flops down in a chair next to Doc. 

“Joe. Drink.” Her words are harsh and clipped, but Joe seems entirely unbothered. He takes out a red bottle and passes it to her. She tilts her head back and chugs it. 

“So, how’d your trip go?” Joe lilts, passing Cleo another bottle. “Make any new friends?”

She drinks this one slower. “Oh, yes. The new girl is lovely. We’re gonna kill her husband.”

“That’s fun.” 

 “How’s Ren doing?” Doc asks.

Cleo shrugs. “Talk to him yourself. I didn’t see much of him.” She looks around and finally notices Dream. “Sit down. I’m not gonna bite your head off right now.” 

Dream doesn’t disobey, but he sits on the edge of his seat, still tense. Cleo is unarmored, but he doesn’t know if she has the power to send him back to Pandora’s Vault.  

“So, do you know where you’re staying yet?” Cleo asks. 

“I was thinking of having him stay with me,” Doc cuts in. “I can have him run the tunnel bore while I’m doing other things.”

“The tunnel bore?” Cleo repeats with dull disbelief. “You mean the tunnel bore that digs up dozens of mobs for a guy with no weapons to deal with?” 

“Yes?” 

“The one that constantly digs forward so that you’d have to get X to shift the prox tether around every five minutes?”

“... yes.” 

“The one that’s made up entirely of TNT dupers that you want to leave in the unsupervised hands of a criminal so dangerous that he couldn’t be contained in his own server?”

“He was contained… and you know I just can’t resist a nephew asking me for help…”

Cleo doesn’t say anything, just stares at Doc, who has been wilting more and more this entire time. 

“He won’t run the tunnel bore,” Doc finally concedes. “But we’ll need to figure out somewhere else to keep him in that case because I’m not letting him into the Death Chunk either.” 

Before Dream can panic, Joe speaks up. “He can stay with us. We got a lot of chores around here that need doing and Cleo’s not gonna be around as much for the next little while anyhow.”

“I’m only gonna be gone on weekends,” Cleo argues. 

“Yeah, but I gotta spend those weekends slaughtering enough cattle to make sure you don’t go entirely feral when you get back. That cuts into my work week too, you know.” 

Cleo nods. “Fair enough. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“Of course! Happy to help!” 

All three hermits turn to Dream, who is caught staring at them, lost for what to do. He’s gone from months behind bars with no stimulation at all to… whatever this is and whoever these people are. It’s a lot to try and take in. 

“Well, if you’re gonna take him, then I should get going,” Doc says. “I really should check on Ren.” 

“Boatem too, while you’re at it,” Cleo advises. “They all joined in this time.” 

Doc grimaces. “Will do.” He taps a few buttons on his communicator and the particles centered around him shift, instead forming a perimeter around the building. “You’re registered as warden now, Joe. Thanks for the meal.”

“Anytime.” 

Once Doc has left, Joe turns back to Dream. “You look dead on your feet,” he says. “Take the downstairs bedroom and lay your head down and– and get some rest. I’ll give you the tour once you’ve had a chance to rest up.” 

Dream lays down in the provided bed, but despite his bone deep exhaustion, he can’t fall asleep. For the first time in months, he’s somewhere no one is trying to torture him. But for the first time he can remember, he has no one he can control.

Not yet he promises himself. Not today, not tomorrow. But you’ll get them wrapped around your finger eventually. Take your time. Don’t be stupid. And whatever you do, don’t let them figure you out.

Chapter Text

After another night vanishes in just a moment, Dream gives up on sleeping. He pushes himself out of the bed and takes stock of his situation slowly and methodically. He’s on the ground floor, so no fall damage to worry about if he breaks through the yellow-tinted window and it's large enough for him to get out without a trapdoor. There are no chests in the room for him to root through. He starts to pry up the floorboards just to be sure of it, momentarily stunned when the block breaks in a matter of seconds instead of hours. Then he puts it back where he found it. Destroying his ce– his room probably won't end well for him. 

It is a cell though is the problem. Looks a lot less secure, but Dream knows the trick. Give him enough rope to hang himself from. The prox tether particles hover a few blocks away from the window. He could go outside if he wanted to. Get himself shoved back into a proper cell. Might be easier just to get it over with. There's only so much pain a brain can process and Quackity hit that limit daily. After a point, there was no way left for him to make the torture worse. So making everything better by comparison would be the smart way to try breaking him. Dream doubts Quackity is smart enough to think of that. But Sam very well could be. And it's Sam, the obsessive warden that he is, who agreed to send his only prisoner far out of his own grasp just because… Dream doesn't know what reason Sam would give if he were to ask. Is Quackity really that annoying that Sam would take such a massive risk just to avoid dealing with him?

Probably. Hopefully. 

There’s no use delaying it any longer. Besides, Dream’s new captors are still in the pretending to be nice phase. He opens the door cautiously and pokes his head out. Cleo is sitting at the table, eating more of those blood sausages from before and flipping through an enchanted book. A steaming mug sits next to the sausages. 

She glances over at the sound and gives Dream a nod. “Hungry?”

“Not really,” Dream says. He still feels a bit sick to his stomach from the last meal. He hovers awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to say or do, until Cleo beckons him over to sit across from her.

“Have you ever worked with armor stands before?” she asks. 

Dream shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve put armor on them, but…” 

“You interested in learning?” Cleo asks. “I got a job to do for xB – he’s one of our neighbors to the south – and it’d be a good chance to show someone the tricks of the trade.” 

Dream doesn’t entirely know what her “trade” is supposed to be and he’s absolutely curious, but “Joe’s my warden. I can’t leave the building without his permission.” He holds up his wrist to remind her of the tether. 

“Oh, right. X hasn’t given me warden perms yet. Well, I can’t really delay this job. Or, I can but I don’t want to, so I guess you’ll just be stuck with Joe for today.” She doesn’t appear to have any plans of leaving, so Dream takes the opportunity..

“So, X is the admin then?” he asks. 

“Yeah. Xisuma. He’s the little axolotl man with the really kickable vibes.” 

“The what now?” 

“You know,” Cleo says, miming a kick. “You just see him and you just want to punt him.” 

Torn between outrage at the idea of a server’s god being described as kickable and terror at being faced with the sort of person who could describe an admin as kickable and get away with it, Dream just settles for “I see.” 

Cleo throws her head back and cackles. 

The door outside opens and Joe enters with a trident in one hand and an ender pearl in the other. He's wearing a combination of gold and diamond armor instead of Doc and Cleo’s full netherite. He takes his armor off and starts piling items into a barrel on the back wall. 

“Morning, Cleo, morning, Dream.”

Cleo takes a sip of her drink. “Morning, Joe.”

Dream doesn't reply, but Joe doesn't seem bothered. He's muttering to himself as he digs through the barrels. Dream can't help but feel out of place. He doesn't miss the prison, but Sam had made it very clear where he was supposed to be. In Hell, obviously. He’s glad to be out. But it was a very different kind of discomfort to sitting in the middle of a domestic scene with no idea of where he's supposed to fit in. Especially not when the wrong move could send him right back to that Hell. 

Luckily, Cleo takes pity on him. “Alright, rules. I gotta give you the rules before I head out. Joe?” Joe hands her a book. She opens it and looks up at Dream. “You with me?”

Dream nods. 

“Rule one,” Cleo reads. “No weapons, no tools. You may use a shield and armor without Thorns.” 

Anxiety is already thrumming in Dream’s veins. “What about mobs? Don’t I get anything to defend myself?” 

“Yeah you do. The shield. And the armor. But you’re not getting anything you can turn against players. If you hold a tool in either hand, your tether will activate.” 

So, he could probably get away with grabbing some tools as long as they go straight into his inventory. Good to know. “Got it.” 

“Rule two: You will be allowed to earn diamonds and spend them as you see fit. You are not allowed to make trades in any currency other than diamonds. Doubly so for taking or giving out IOUs. Rule three: If you set up any automatic farms with an output of more than five hundred items an hour, tell X where they are so he can deal with any lag they cause. And then the obvious ones. No killing, stealing, griefing, or lying. Any questions?”

“How many farms do you guys have with that kind of output?” Dream asks weakly. There was a reason he banned massive farms on his own server. Adminning them isn't easy, even for a god. 

“A lot,” Cleo replies. “Me and Joe don't since we're not really redstoners, but quite a few hermits are.”

“Oh, speaking of,” Joe interrupts. “Doc said he might crash the server some time in the near future. I think once he gets the wither farm set up properly.” 

Dream wonders how many withers they would need to justify building a whole farm for the skulls. As long as those withers aren’t pointed at him though, that’s something he can worry about later. 

“If he does it today, I’ll break his legs,” Cleo threatens casually.

“I’ll let him know.” Joe turns to Dream. “You ready for the tour?” 

“Can I have armor first?” Dream asks. 

Joe and Cleo share a look before Joe shrugs. “Sure. Lemme see what I can find.” 

The armor is much better than Dream expected. Diamond with prot three or four on everything and feather falling four on the boots. Even a spare gold helmet for the Nether. His captors are clearly confident that they can deal with him. He doesn’t know if the confidence is warranted. 

Once he’s geared up, Joe expands his prox tether range and leads him out of the inn. The distance has been expanded enough that Dream can’t quite make out the edges of his permitted territory right now. 

The first thing that catches Dream’s eye is the massive half built structure he saw yesterday. He can’t quite tell what it’s supposed to be yet, except that it’s made out of mostly sandstone and it’s floating high in the sky.

“That’s our main project right now,” Joe explains. “Castle Hohenzollern. It’s got a pretty intense resource grind, so most of your chores will be helping us keep our shops stocked so we can focus on that. You’ll get a third of the profits that come in after you start working.” 

“What do you sell?” Dream asks as they start walking to the next building over. 

“Flowers and candles, mostly. Not the most profitable thing in the world, but everyone needs dyes eventually, so it’s a steady income.”

Dream doesn’t speak too much as he’s shown around the area.There’s a smithy (“You won’t be needing to use this too much, but we may ask you to get things from storage downstairs”), an allium farm (“Just sit on the horse and you’ll pick everything up. It’s a great spot if you want some time to think about life.”), the church and graveyard (“This is where Cleo raises her zombees. We don’t keep anything else in here. Promise.”), a gym full of armor stand parodies of life (“Wouldn’t be a Cleo build without someone getting injured.”), a tannery (“We got a lot of leather to process around here.”), a dripstone farm (“Much like a real beaver, this one is filled with rows and rows of internal teeth.”), and Joe and Cleo’s houses (“I stole all the ideas for mine from everyone else. Well, almost everyone.”)

By the end of it, Dream is starting to flag. He hasn’t had this much physical activity in… he’s not actually sure how long. Besides, the walking is pulling on the wounds on his legs. He doesn’t mention it to Joe though. Doesn’t want to draw attention to his own weakness. Can’t afford to. Still, he’s relieved when they return to the inn and he can flop into the closest chair while Joe ducks into the kitchen. 

Cleo’s mug is still on the table. Out of curiosity, Dream glances inside. It’s still got a bit of blood left in it. 

“Yeah, Cleo can get bloodthirsty sometimes,” 

Dream startles as Joe emerges from the kitchen with a couple sandwiches. They aren’t nearly as dark as the food from last night. “Literally,” he mutters. 

“She wouldn’t hurt ya,” Joe insists. “Well, no, she definitely would. But not for any zombie reasons. She’s just kinda like that. What I meant to say is that we got the bloodthirst under control. She’s fully in control of herself.” 

Dream takes a bit of his sandwich to avoid having to reply. It’s good at least. It still sits too heavily in his stomach, but he should probably take in all the nutrients he can while he’s still out of prison. He hasn’t quite processed that, he realizes. The being out of prison. He’s not free, but he’s not locked up in an obsidian hell either. Nothing that’s happened to him recently has felt real at all. 

“Why did Sam let me go?” he demands. 

Joe blinks, almost caught off guard. “Sam?” 

“The warden.” 

“No idea. You’d have to ask Doc.” 

“Can I?” 

Before Joe can answer, there’s a bone shaking clang like the ringing of a massive gong. A wither spawn. Dream shoots to his feet, eyes frantically scanning the horizon. Joe doesn’t move. 

“I think that’s him, so he’s busy at the moment, but maybe after.” 

“He spawned in a wither ? Shouldn’t you be checking on him or something? You aren’t battle ready at all!” 

Joe chuckles. “Because we ain’t battling, Dream. He’s just getting a farm set up. It’d take too long for us to trek out to his industrial district if they do escape, but–” 

“ They ?” Another gong. 

“Double wither farm,” Joe says like it’s an explanation. “Again, it’ll be a pain if it breaks, but there are closer people who can help.” 

Dream sits back down. He’s starting to understand why these people are so confident that they can keep him contained. He goes back to his sandwich. 

When they’re both done, Joe stands and stretches. “I gotta get to work on the castle,” he says and tosses Dream a stack of bone blocks. “Go check on the flower shop stock and refill anything that’s running low. Also, I know Cub needs a lot of orange, so if you find a nice big patch of that, let me know so I can set up a farm.” 

He walks out once Dream has acknowledged him, leaving Dream entirely alone. 

The door is open. Dream can just walk out. Dream is, in fact, expected to just walk out. He stares at the door for a long minute. Turns up his render distance until he can see the particles marking out the border of his territory. Finally, he gathers up his courage and walks out the door. 

Nothing happens. No teleportation to some new torture cell. No one even yelling at him for stepping out of line. He takes a deep breath of fresh air and walks back to the flower stall Joe had showed him before. The Nether portal stands in front of him, a clear temptation. He can see Joe off in the distance. Joe’s back is turned. Dream could flee. But to where? He hasn’t seen enough of this server to know where to go. And it’s not like he’s been asked to do much in the meantime. 

He checks the barrels. Sure enough, the orange tulips are almost sold out. The azure bluets are almost gone and so are the cornflowers. He makes a mental note of what needs to be restocked and heads out to the fields. At first, he’s just focused on finding the right flowers and getting a decent supply of them, but it’s not long until he settles into a rhythm. The exact kind of rhythm that lets his mind wander where it shouldn’t. 

In maybe twenty four hours, he’s gone from imprisonment with no hope of escape to picking flowers in a field. All with the authorization of his warden. Of the man who allowed, even wanted, him to be tortured. This has to be a trick. They’re just trying to get his guard down. Make him trust them so he’ll spill all his secrets. He’d told Quackity time and again that torture just isn’t a very effective method of getting information. Had someone finally listened? And if they do get the revival book? He knows exactly what will happen then. Quackity has a taste for torture now. Dream knows what that’s like. And he doesn’t want to find out what happens when even death isn’t an escape. 

Dream goes to pick another cornflower, but decides to just sit down in the grass instead. The hermits will show their hand soon enough. The torture will hurt more, of course, but the hermits miscalculated. Dream hates people trying to manipulate him. 

“You alright?” Cleo lands next to him, her elytra gracefully folding up beside her and a rocket in her hand. 

“You miscalculated,” Dream sneers. 

Cleo’s eyes turn to the castle overhead. “I did my b– wait, how do you know what it’s supposed to look like?” 

“What what’s supposed to look like?”

“The castle. I did all the calculations for it based on the models Joe and I have.” Oh. She’s playing dumb. 

“You’re laying the nicey nice act on too thick,” Dream corrects.

Cleo raises an eyebrow. “Can’t say anyone’s told me that before.” 

“If you want me to believe you’re not trying to soften me up so you can learn about the revival book, you need to try a little harder than have me skipping around in a field, picking daisies.” 

“No one said you had to skip,” Cleo replies, crossing her arms. She’s listening to him now at least.

“I’m not telling you shit about the revival book,” Dream insists. “You aren’t gonna trick me. Don’t get me wrong, this is definitely better than torture, but don’t get your hopes up. I’m not talking.” 

“I’m not asking you to,” Cleo’s face is blank and her replies measured. She’s being careful now. Like Sam. It’s familiar territory. 

Speaking of Sam… “So is this Sam’s play against me then? Have another server come and take over and just hope that whoever’s in charge gives him what he wants?” He’s ranting now, rambling about Sam’s plans to steal the revival book and use it for leverage. Sam could take the server for himself probably or just let the hermits have it. Whichever would be more useful to him. Destroy everything Dream had worked for just to spite him. 

Cleo takes a step forward and leans down over him. Her hair falls in a curtain around them so that all Dream can see is her bright green eyes and bluish face. 

“You really are quite self centered, aren’t you?” 

“Don’t try to fucking gaslight me,” Dream snaps. 

Cleo fixes him with an unimpressed stare. “I am not gaslighting you. I am simply informing you that the entire world does not revolve around you.” 

“I have the revival book though,” Dream says. Something about the way she speaks makes him feel like a petulant child and he hates it. 

“Dream. Look at me. I’m a zombie. If I wanted to be brought back from the dead, I would have done it already.” 

Dream stares at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. The way her face is held together by neat rows of stitches, the spot on her side that he thought was a striped shirt but now seems to be an open ribcage, the fact that one of her arms is just a bit longer than the other. 

“I like being a zombie,” she continues. “Frankly, I don’t understand why more people aren’t zombies. Even if your revival book was the only way to bring the dead back to life, which it’s not, I still wouldn’t have a use for it.” 

Dream turns away, curls up on himself and hugs his knees. “So why am I here, then?” 

Cleo huffs and sits down across from him. “Because Joe has bigger priorities than keeping his flower shop stocked. It’s the most useful place for you to be right now.” 

“No, I mean, like... “ Dream gestures vaguely at the whole area. 

Cleo grabs the cornflower that had started this whole crisis and starts braiding it into her hair. “Doc keeps tabs on other creeper hybrids because he’s a big softie at heart and he thinks they’re all his family. Your warden got in touch with him for some emotional support and, being Doc, he decided to just fix all his nephew’s problems on his own. So he asked the rest of the server to let you in under his supervision. We agreed because he promised to keep you out of our way and you’re not the only evil little bastard we have running around this season anyway.” 

“‘M not evil,” Dream mumbles. 

“Sure,” Cleo says without the slightest hint of sincerity. “You’re also not the only new blood, if you’d prefer that explanation. Either way, that’s why you’re in the server. You’re in our base because Doc, being Doc, did not fully think things through and didn’t actually have a place to put you. We already had an inn because we were planning to invite hermits along to help us build our castle. But since they’re all busy and you’re here, we took you in instead. And you’re in this field because, as I’ve already said, Joe has bigger priorities than keeping his flower shop stocked.” 

It all follows logically from one point to another. It all tracks. Dream searches her words for any sign of where things don’t add up, any holes in her story. 

Cleo reaches over and flicks his mask. “This is what I mean when I say you’re self centered. Sometimes, things happen for reasons that have nothing to do with you.” 

“That’s not going to make me trust you,” Dream sighs, resigned to at least not arguing with her about this anymore.

“Good. You don’t have to. Now, shall I take your flowers to the stall while you keep sulking?” 

Dream pulls himself to his feet. He’s only allowed to stay as long as he’s useful. He can’t forget that. 

He’s taller than Cleo, but the way she looks at him makes him feel small.

Chapter Text

Cleo doesn’t linger. Once Dream gets back to picking flowers, she flies off. Dream finishes stocking the flower shop without another crisis. He makes a mental note of the coords for a large patch of orange flowers. And then he’s once again alone with his thoughts. Looking back up at the castle, he can see Joe still hard at work on the walls. 

Without anything else to do, Dream heads back to the inn. He helps himself to a couple steaks and goes back to his room. His whole body is aching from the light activity, but it feels good to get his muscles moving again. He’d tried to exercise in prison for a couple days before the constant torture made that… difficult. Speaking of, he pulls off his hoodie and checks his wounds. They’re all still in good shape. Doc’s stitches seem to have held perfectly. 

Okay. Great. Plan of action. Step one: gather information. Step two… 

Step one A: talk to Joe. Learn about Joe. Should be doable. He's the warden, so he’ll have to stick around. 

The idea that Joe had taken the job of warden on a whim is unpleasant. It's disorienting. Doc had been an unknown, sure, but similar enough to the last warden that Dream could somewhat guess how to behave. The only things Dream knows about Joe are that he's chatty and a bit odd. And that he bakes. 

The reminder of food has Dream’s stomach rumbling. He needs to get back in the habit of eating regularly to build up his strength. He leaves his room and glances around the inn for any name tags or invis particles before ducking into the kitchen. And then just stands there, frozen. There's nothing in the kitchen that should make his heart catch in his chest, make his blood run cold, make every limb tremble. And yet here he is. Even here, the twin specters of Sam and Quackity loom over him, reminding him what happens if he takes a single step out of line. Reminding him of what happens even if he doesn't. 

He doesn't have permission to be here. The door to the inn opens and Dream falls to his knees. His hands cross in his lap, wrists together. 

“Dream, where are you?” Joe's voice sounds like it's coming from underwater. 

Dream answers immediately. “I’m in the kitchen, sir.” He knows what the next question will be. Is that where you're supposed to be? The shameful apology is already on his lips. 

“What server are you on, Dream?”

Oh. Right. “Hermitcraft. Sir.” The shame doesn't go away. It simply morphs. Shame at disobedience to shame at his own fear. He damn near had a panic attack from walking into a kitchen. It's pitiful. 

“Come sit at the table,” Joe orders. He's taken off his armor already and he looks tired. It makes sense. He's been working all day too, after all. He sits across from Dream and his hands are empty. He doesn't look like a fighting man. There's no pity in his eyes at least. 

Dream cautiously spreads his own hands apart, almost expecting handcuffs to keep them pinned together. 

Joe is silent for a long moment. Appraising. Dream does his best not to fidget. 

“You’re welcome to move freely within your tether range,” Joe finally says. “You can use whatever you find too. Except tools, that is. Also Cleo don't appreciate having her mob heads messed with, but they're not in the kitchen.”

“Right,” Dream breathes. Terror still clings to him. “I wouldn't want to, uh, overstay my welcome though.”

“As long as you're not trying to cause problems on purpose, you're probably fine. Now, you hungry?”

Dream shrugs. The terror has robbed him of his appetite. “I should eat,” he admits. 

“You can eat whenever you get hungry,” Joe says. “There's no rush.”

Dream slowly starts to relax. “I finished restocking the flower shop,” he offers, half to fill the silence and half to reassure himself he hasn't broken any rules. 

Joe smiles. “Good. Thank you. Once you’re done work for the day, you can come back here to rest or read or whatever you want to do to keep yourself entertained besides evil schemes.”

“I’m not evil,” Dream cuts in immediately. 

“Then it shouldn't be a problem not to make evil schemes.”

Dream bites his lip, hopes the blank smile of his mask portrays something other than his nervousness and insecurity. “Doc told me I’m only allowed to be here as long as I’m not more trouble than I’m worth. I’m… I would appreciate something more concrete than ‘don’t make trouble’.” He can’t meet Joe’s eyes. 

Joe doesn’t respond immediately and this time Dream can’t stop himself from fidgeting. “I see what you’re saying. We won’t send you back without giving you a chance to tell your side of the story unless it’s absolutely necessary to prevent someone from permadying. Which, we have infinite respawns, so that’s fairly unlikely. I’d rather you see yourself as a guest than a prisoner.” 

The cold dread returns to settle in Dream’s gut. “I… don’t know if that’s something I can do.” 

Joe leans back. He drums his fingers on the table for a moment. Dream can imagine the rage that must be boiling inside him. No matter how calm he may outwardly appear. Sam was calm. Quackity was friendly. Until Dream didn’t give them what they wanted. 

“I’ll get you a schedule by tomorrow morning,” Joe finally says. “Tell you where you should be and when. We’ll negotiate it together, actually.” 

Negotiate it? Dream’s heart skips a beat. He’s being handed a chance for more control on a silver platter. Does Joe not know what Dream is capable of? Does he just not care? Even something as simple as a schedule for his chores is a chance he can use to gain more freedom.

You have more freedom already. You’re just too broken to take it.

Dream shoves the thought down before it can even start to sting. He’ll have to work in times when he’s away from Joe so he can explore on his own – you already were – and learn the lay of the land so he can find somewhere he might hide – do you really think you can hide? There’s no need to rush the process. He can take it slow. He’ll have to. 

“Okay,” he says shakily, painfully aware of how long he’s been quiet for. “Tomorrow morning. Sure.” 

Joe breaks into a grin. “Glad to hear it!” His comm buzzes and he glances at it. “How do you feel about meeting some of the neighbors? Hypno and xB are coming by soon for a delivery. You can come with if you want.” 

Dream is emotionally exhausted, but he needs as much information as he can get and he needs it as soon as possible. “Yeah, okay. Where are we going?” 

Joe types out a reply and stands up. “Just up to Hohenzollern. They’re flying in to meet us and Cleo’s doing some work up there already.” 

As they walk, Joe rambles about the project. Mostly about how much it’s been messed up already, how he and Cleo are going to have to move the massive buildings over a few blocks and redo the entire outer wall, how getting the roofs to look right is currently impossible. He still doesn’t sound all that bothered by the inconvenience. “The way Cleo and I build, it’s an iterative process,” he says. “We just keep adding things and tweaking things until it comes out right.” 

Dream doesn’t pretend to understand. But then again, he’s never been much of a builder. He follows Joe to the edge of the wall. His muscles ache as they climb the scaffolding up to the floating build, but Joe didn’t want to give him an ender pearl for fear of it falling outside the tether range by mistake. 

When they reach the top, Cleo is waiting there with two strangers. A bearded man with a black hoodie with cyan trim and a man with a black overcoat and bandana. They look far more… normal than any of the hermits Dream’s seen so far. Certainly more so than a half metal creeper or a zombie. 

“Dream, this is xB and Hypno,” Joe says. “They run Horsehead Farms. It’s the market setup down south of us.” 

The pair greet Dream politely and xB even offers a hand to shake. Dream doesn’t take it. Just nods awkwardly in their direction. 

“So,” xB says, pulling out a small leather book. “I assume we’re doing this all as a group, then?” 

“I don’t see why not,” Cleo replies as Joe roots through a nearby ender chest. “It’s all going on the same project, effectively.” 

“Okay, so hold on, lemme tally Joe’s,” xB mutters. He flips through the book, counting on his fingers. “Eleven diamond blocks.” 

Dream is once again grateful for his mask so the others can’t see how his eyes bug out of his skull at the number. Even more so as Joe just tosses the diamond blocks over and xB doesn’t even bother to pick them up as he opens a shulker box and checks his notes once again. 

“So, who did you get in the end?” Cleo asks Joe.

“I don’t know! That’s what I’m waiting to find out!” 

Cleo shakes her head at him in fond exasperation. “That’s the thing is you’re trusting them to give you the right ones.” 

“Well, the thing is, if an auctioneer is dishonest they can lose their license,” Joe points out. 

After a moment to consider, Cleo turns over to the two farm owners. “Are you guys licensed?” 

“Absolutely, of course we are!” Hypno insists as xB asks “Wait, are we supposed to have a license?” 

xB quickly backtracks, but the damage is done. Dream takes a subtle step back. He’s never bothered with anything like auctioneering licenses, but if eleven diamond blocks have already changed hands and xB has revealed he can’t be trusted… This can’t end well. 

Or maybe it can. Because Cleo and Joe fall for a stupidly obvious lie about them leaving their licenses at home. Dream smiles to himself. Here’s a chance. If his captors are this naive, they should be easy enough to manipulate them. He can turn them against Horsehead Farms and then… then he’ll do something to take advantage of that. He doesn’t have enough information to know what yet. So he just watches as xB hands over some slips of paper. 

“You got Welsknight, Evil Xisuma, Iskall, and Jevin,” xB tells Joe with a touch of smug satisfaction to his tone. 

Dream can’t help but interrupt there. “Xisuma? Isn’t that the admin?” 

“Yeah, Evil Xisuma is his evil clone,” xB explains. “Smart play here, Joe, I gotta say. He’s a handy guy to have an IOU from.” 

“He’s really not,” Cleo interjects. “He’s really just incredibly lazy.” 

“Fair enough,” xB agrees. “So, Ms Cleo…” 

“How many do I owe you?” she asks warily. “I know how many I owe you.” 

“I think fifteen?” Hypno breaks in as xB slowly counts. 

“Yeah, fifteen,” xB confirms. 

At least the massive sums of money make some more sense now if they’re trading something as valuable as an IOU. Dream has guarded his IOU from Technoblade extremely carefully. He didn’t even use it to escape the daily torture. Of course, calling on Technoblade for an impossible task would have been a waste, but still. It’s not something he would write down on a slip of paper to be auctioned off for diamonds. 

“What are the IOUs for?” he asks Joe quietly while xB double checks his sums. He can’t imagine any server racking up that many life debts. 

“Oh, that’s the main currency at the farm,” Joe replies. “They sell iron, moss, bones, glow ink, that sorta stuff. You can still pay with diamonds, of course.”

“But,” Hypno cuts in. “If you’re buying in bulk, an IOU is a lot cheaper. Just think about it. You can pay twenty seven whole diamonds for a single shulker of bone blocks or you can just give us a single slip of paper and take as much as you can carry.” 

“Sorry, Hypno,” Joe says before Dream can reply. “He’s not allowed to deal in IOUs.” 

“Aw, why not?” Hypno pouts. 

Joe shrugs. “Recommendation from his old warden. You’ll have to ask Doc for the details.” 

For once, Dream is grateful for Sam. He doesn’t dare give out something as a debt for something he could farm himself, but that feels far more like a brand new revelation than it should. Like looking into Hypno’s eyes made the idea that much more appealing. He shudders. The enchantments on his old mask were very subtle. He knows they haven’t been replicated here. He has to remember how vulnerable he is. 

“I’ll let Doc know his nephew isn’t any fun,” Hypno grumbles. 

By the time the conversation is over, xB has already handed the rest of the IOU slips to Cleo.

“Oh, who did you win?” Joe asks. 

“Gem, Pearl, and Beef,” Cleo replies smugly. 

“You two really cleaned house,” xB says. 

“Oh, by the way, who got my IOU?” Cleo asks. 

xB and Hypno share a quick look. “How badly do you want to know?” xB shoots back. “Make me an offer.” 

“I’m not that fussed about it,” Cleo retorts. “I just thought I’d offer you a chance to make another deal since I already got free leather and bone meal for life.” 

“Free?” Hypno asks. “For life? xB you didn’t talk to me about this.”

Cleo laughs. “So, want to offer me free anything else for life?” 

“No,” Hypno says as xB says “Actually, I do have an offer for you.” 

With Hypno glaring daggers into his skull, xB continues, “I tell you who got your IOU and you take me off the list for like, a month.” 

“What list?” Dream whispers to Joe. 

“Wait a sec, did Doc not tell you about the list?” Joe asks at a normal volume. Every eye turns to them and Dream cringes internally. 

“He’s exempt from it, so he probably just forgot,” Cleo remarks. Then, she turns back to xB. “And so is Ren. And so is Beef, given his skin condition. And Jevin’s always exempt, and so is TFC, and I’m not sure what’s going on with Cub, so I really can’t take anyone else off the list right now. I might be able to put Beef and Cub back on, but not within a month and I can’t afford to let you pick a month.” 

xB chews on his lip for a moment, the gears clearly turning in his head. It’s clear that whatever the list is, it’s better not to be on it. “How about next time my name comes up, you reroll. I think that’s fair. You get a name and in exchange you ignore a name.”

Cleo nods. “Yeah, that’s fair.” 

“Great. Works for me.” xB flips through the book again. “You were won by… Cubfan.” 

Cleo nods. “Alright, thank you. You’ve got one exemption from the list.”

The group says their goodbyes and xB and Hypno fly off, leaving Dream staring after them in confusion. 

“What's the list?” he asks. Of all the burning questions in his mind, it's the one he feels most prepared to get an answer to. 

“It's the list of who Cleo gets to steal body parts from.” Joe's words rip Dream’s confidence away pretty conclusively. 

“It's stealing with permission,” Cleo clarifies. “But, yes, I rot and it can be very inconvenient to keep trying to find fresh zombie bits to replace myself with. Player bits last a lot longer. So my server mates donate their bits to me.”

“xB didn't sound too happy about it,” Dream points out. 

“It's not a comfortable process,” Joe agrees. “But Cleo’s our friend and she's worth the trouble.”

“Plus, hunting them down is half the fun.”

Night is starting to fall so they head back to the little town area. Cleo has her elytra, but she and Joe walk and talk, trading jabs and insults in the way that only the very best of friends really can. Dream doesn't talk. He's trapped in his own head and his own anxieties. 

Once, Cleo peels off to head for her own starter base and it's just him and Joe, Dream finally works up the courage to ask the most important question. 

“Am I on the list?”

Joe's hand pauses on the doorknob. 

“Not while you're still recovering.”

“And after that?”

Joe pushes the door open and ushers Dream inside. “Sleep well.”

Chapter Text

Dream sleeps. Not well, but he sleeps. Exhaustion weighs on him too deeply for the terror to reach. When he wakes up, he feels better than usual. Sure, his whole body is aching, but at least he doesn't have to deal with a cascade of lava on top of that. At least not immediately. He checks his wounds once again, finds them in decent condition, and gets dressed. After last night, he wonders if he should still be hoping for a quick recovery. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open. 

Joe is waiting for him in the main room with an empty notebook in hand and food on the table.

“Morning, Dream.”

“Morning, Joe.” Dream takes his plate of entirely blood based foods and picks at it slowly. His new mask is hinged at the jaw so he can eat without lifting it or exposing much of his face. It's yet another strange kindness from people who have no reason to give him any. 

The silence that stretches between them is awkward, almost painful. Thankfully, Joe is the first to break it. “Tell me about your prison,” he requests. “I need some idea of what we’re working with.” 

Dream considers lying. Pretending Sam treated him more humanely than he actually did might get him better treatment. But he’s here for better treatment, apparently. He’s the one who can’t accept it. Assuming this isn’t all a trick, of course. Which he is not assuming. Besides, they can always just verify whatever he says with Sam.

“There’s… not much to say about it. The cell was obsidian. I had a sink, books to write in, and raw potatoes to eat. Chest for the books too. One block of glowstone. I had a clock at first, but I kept throwing it in lava and the warden stopped replacing it. There was a courtyard, but I wasn’t allowed into there. It was a security risk. Not many visitors. Quackity came by the most often. T-tortured me every day for a while. I’m not sure how long. Didn’t have the clock anymore by then.” 

“And the warden was aware of the torture?” Joe asks. His words are tight and cool in a way they never have been before. He’s angry. Dream can’t be sure why. He hopes Joe is angry on his behalf, but it’s more likely that he’s angry that Dream needed to be tortured. 

“Yessir. He gave Quackity the weapons to do it with.” 

“Why?” 

“They wanted information. They would have killed me if they’d got it.” 

“Is this about that necromancy thing Cleo told me about?” 

“Yessir.” Dream keeps his head down, eyes on the table. Makes himself as small of a target as he can. 

“I see. We won’t be needing that information, then. We don’t do permadeath around here.” 

“Yessir.” Dream forces himself to relax. To at least look like he’s accepting the information. Even if a server allows respawns, there are always glitches or deliberate attacks that can permakill. It’s harder to do in some places than others, sure, but never impossible. Dream himself has gotten very good at it, in fact. 

Still, it’s better to let Joe be naive about the true dangers of the universe than risk being sent back to Quackity. 

It takes them the better part of the morning to negotiate Dream’s schedule. Dream is too sca– too cautious to push back against what Joe wants directly, but Joe wants to do as little supervision as possible and seems to have no qualms about giving Dream lots of the exact same unstructured rest time that had panicked Dream yesterday. 

They get it worked out eventually though. Dream will tend the beehives and wheat fields in the mornings, and the flower shop in the evenings once people have had time to do some shopping. He’ll use the wheat to breed the cows throughout the day and let Joe know if he needs to come down and harvest the dripstone farm. And the rest of the time will be up for Dream to decide what to do with and hope he doesn’t cross some invisible line that gets him sent back. 

Joe copies the book with the schedule, signs it, and gives it to Dream. “Be mindful not to overwork yourself. If any of your wounds start bleeding or you have pain that makes it harder for you to work, stop and rest. Doc won’t be pleased with either of us if you get hurt pushing yourself.” 

Over the next few days, Dream settles into a routine that’s almost comfortable. His appetite increases and he eats a bit more every day. He works enough to clear away the fog of restlessness and boredom that had settled into his bones from the months in prison. His injuries force him to rest far more often than he would like, but at least he can move more than a dozen blocks. Really, it’s such a massive improvement and relief that he’s having trouble processing it. It feels like a dream he’ll wake up from at any moment. He can’t stop himself from falling into mental spirals of fear and paranoia. 

He’s not used to being treated like just anyone else, he realizes. He’s not the admin here. He hasn’t even met the admin yet. He isn’t respected here. Isn’t feared. Isn’t hated for what he’s done. That protects him, but it grates on his nerves. Anything less than Pandora’s Vault shouldn’t be able to contain him. And yet here he is. Contained. He obeys the commands he’s given. Hasn’t even dared go to the edge of his tether. He tells himself that he needs to recover, gather his strength before he can strike back. But he doesn’t even know where he would strike. 

In the early evening on his fifth day, something finally changes. He goes down to the flower stall at his usual time, but as he’s collecting the diamonds, the Nether portal stirs to life. 

Dream shoves the diamonds back in the barrel and stands up straight. His heart pounds. 

The portal resolves into a clear figure, a hermit he hasn’t met before. The hermit is stocky and bearded with a bright green cybernetic over their left eye. 

“Hallo!” they greet cheerfully. 

Dream can’t respond for a moment. “Hi,” he whispers. 

The hermit steps closer and Dream fights to keep from stepping back. The hermit is unarmed and Dream has the barrels of the stall between him and them. Also, there is absolutely no reason for him to be afraid of this person. 

“You must be Dream, right? I’m Iskall.” 

Or maybe there is. 

Dream recognizes the name. Xe had been invited onto the server briefly to help Fundy build a door and the two of them had stayed in touch. At the time, Dream hadn’t been worried about it. He’d had complete control of the server, after all, and no reason to think that would change. Now, he has to quash down the animal instinct to flee as fast as he can. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” he grits out as cold sweat drips down his spine. Iskall has an elytra on and rockets in xir off hand. He won’t be able to get away even if he does flee. 

Iskall grins and steps around the stall, throwing xir arm over Dream’s shoulder. “Good to finally meet you too, dude. I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“All good things, I hope,” Dream replies, trying to shift away a little bit to no avail. He can tell from the grip on his arm that Iskall is a lot stronger than him.

Iskall laughs. It’s a strong, full bellied laugh like Dream just told a really good joke. “Nope! Not in the slightest.” 

Dream feels something sharp and cold against his neck. He doesn’t have to look over to see the sword that’s manifested in Iskall’s hand. 

“The admin – Xisuma – he brought me here so I wouldn’t be tortured anymore,” Dream whispers. “You wouldn’t wanna defy him, would you?” 

“Who said I was gonna torture you, dude?” Iskall asks. Xe pulls Dream down so they’re both sitting on the bench, looking towards Joe’s house. “You see, I actually believe that it’s wrong to torture people. Which is why I won’t do it.” 

Dream tangles his hands in the fabric of his pants. Terror and anger and utter helplessness war within him. He’s tired of playing nice. “Then there’s no reason for you to have a knife to my neck,” he grits out. “I’m not a threat to you.” 

“You’re a manipulative piece of shit,” Iskall replies. There’s still the barest hint of a smile in xir voice that never seems to go away. “As long as you have the ability to communicate with anyone, you’re a threat.” Xir sword edges in just the slightest bit closer, pressing a divot into Dream’s neck without quite parting the skin, not while Dream holds his breath. “If I find out that you tried to talk to anyone on your old server without explicit permission from one of your wardens, I will cut out your vocal cords. If you do it again, I will cut off your hands. I will do anything necessary to make sure you can’t hurt them ever again. Do I make myself clear?” 

Dream is completely frozen. His fingers feel tingly and he knows he’s on the verge of a panic attack. Only fear of making his punishment worse keeps him from checking out entirely. When Iskall moves xir sword away, he nods immediately, as hard as he can. He can’t speak, can hardly breathe. 

Then Iskall moves up and away and Dream shoves the panic down as hard as he can. He has a lot of practice compartmentalizing fear and pain to deal with once he’s out of danger. 

“Do you know where Joe is?” Iskall asks. 

Dream nods. To his shame, the first sound out of his mouth is a quiet whimper. 

“Take your time, dude.” 

After a couple minutes of just trying to catch his breath while Iskall awkwardly peruses the flower stands without buying anything, Dream finally finds himself able to speak again. 

“Joe should be working on the castle windows,” he says. “If he’s not in the castle itself, he should be down in the spider farm.” 

“Why does he need a spider farm for windows?” Iskall laughs. All traces of xir earlier threats are entirely gone and xe just comes across as friendly and good natured. 

“Geode nearby,” Dream explains, his heart still pounding far too fast for comfort. “Tinted glass.” 

“Professional,” Iskall comments approvingly. “Why don’t you come with me and then if he’s not in the castle, you can show me to the spider farm.” 

Dream doesn’t dare outright refuse, but he’d rather spend as little time around xir as possible. “I– I have chores I need to get done,” he offers. 

“I can wait.” 

“You really don’t have to.”  

Iskall chuckles to xirself. “Look, I’m already about three weeks late. A little longer won’t hurt.” 

So this is happening then. Dream’s protested as much as he dares. So instead of digging himself into a deeper hole, he empties the diamonds out of the barrels and grabs some bone blocks to gather more flowers. The whole time, he can feel Iskall’s eyes boring into him. Though by the time he’s grabbing the cactus and cocoa beans, the terror has largely settled into more manageable anxiety and fury at being threatened. 

He puts the cocoa beans in their barrel and straightens up. “Let’s check the castle first,” he says. 

As they walk, Dream watches Iskall out of the corner of his eye, sizing xir up as a potential threat. The rest of the hermits he’s met so far have been far softer than Dream expected. Rich, sure, but they don’t carry themselves like fighters. Even Doc, easily the most intimidating of the bunch, had been more concerned with patching up Dream’s wounds than making sure he couldn’t inflict any more. 

Iskall moves like a PVPer though. Xir steps are sure and confident and xe keeps xirself alert, ready to fight at a moment’s notice. It’s not hard to imagine xir as the muscle behind an admin or powerful faction leader. But even xe isn’t bothering to carry a weapon right now. 

Dream silently prays that the hermits are fearless to the point of foolishness. 

Thankfully for him, Joe is up at the castle. He’s balanced on a precarious ledge high above them, filling in the deepslate roof on one of the larger buildings. A few slabs and stairs litter the ground from where they’d been misplaced and broken. Dream dutifully picks them up.

“Hallo!” Iskall calls. 

“Howdy, Iskall!” Joe yells back down. He drops an ender pearl off the ledge and appears in front of them a moment later.

Iskall grabs Joe and pulls him into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground. “Good to see you, dude!” 

Joe lets out a strangled noise. “That’s–that’s my ribcage.” 

Iskall laughs and sets him back down on his feet. “Sorry, bro.” 

Joe pats xir on the shoulder. “I’m alright. I’ll live.” 

Iskall smirks like that’s some kind of old inside joke between them, though Dream can’t imagine what it would be. “Anyway, dude, I’m so sorry this is late, but I finally got your omega medal of doom.” Xe pulls a shiny, iridescent medal from xir inventory and tosses it over.

“Oh, fantastic!” Joe holds the medal up to watch it gleam in the light. “But that reminds me. Dream, did you want to join the No Wings Club?”

“What’s that?” 

“It’s the club I made for people who don’t want to use elytra!” Iskall says. “It just gets boring flying around everywhere and there are so many more interesting ways to get around and appreciate the sights of the server. Especially with Bdubs’s horse paths. You earn medals based on how many days you go without using an elytra. The omega medal of doom is for one thousand days. You can come by my base and sign up if you’d like.” 

Dream vaguely remembers passing by a base that Doc had referred to as belonging to Iskall and someone else on the way in. He remembers far more clearly that it was in the middle of a shattered savanna. He considers for a moment the idea of making his way to a very high point without any weapons or elytra with someone who very clearly hates him. 

“No, thank you.” 

Iskall says xir goodbyes to both of them and climbs down the scaffolding. As soon as xe’s out of sight, Dream collapses to the stone brick floor.

“You two getting along alright?” Joe asks. 

“Xe threatened to cut out my vocal cords,” Dream says before he can decide if it’s a good idea or not. 

Joe nods. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. Xe really wasn’t too keen on letting you join.”

“Isn’t that the admin’s decision?” 

“Letting new people in, especially when they’re potentially dangerous, is too big a decision to leave to just the admin. These days, we put it to a vote and we don’t let anyone in unless everyone agrees to it. Iskall really wasn’t happy about it. The only reason xe eventually agreed is because keeping you around wasn’t doing anything good for the Warden’s mental health.” 

Dream shudders. “Not because xe cared about what happened to me, of course.” 

“It’s a philosophical difference between xir and myself,” Joe comments. “Xe believes very strongly in making sure that people who harm innocents are unable to do so–” 

“I’ve never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it,” Dream snaps.

Joe shrugs. “I don’t know what you’ve done, if I’m being honest. And I don’t really care either. It doesn’t affect me either way.” 

“You’re not even a little curious?” 

Joe raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen how mad Iskall gets about you and Iskall ain’t the type of person to get mad easily. I got a castle to build. I don’t have the time to deal with that kind of anger right now.” 

“Right.” 

Dream wonders what sort of person Joe is when he gets angry. He doesn’t ask though. One hermit’s anger is more than enough for him today.

Chapter Text

Dream wakes up one morning to a low hum of voices. Not just Joe and Cleo, but at least a dozen overlapping and chatting. He scrambles upright and gets dressed quickly. He wishes he had some sort of a weapon on him. Just as he’s pulling on his hoodie, there’s a knock at the door.

“Dream? You awake?” Joe asks. 

“Yessir,” Dream replies immediately. 

“We’re having the weekly meeting here in about half an hour,” Joe explains. “Sorry I forgot to warn you, but we’re pushing it earlier than usual so I wasn’t expecting it today myself. You can sit in if you want.” 

Dream doesn’t particularly want to. His skin is already crawling from so many overlapping noises and he’s not eager to run into Iskall again. But the chance to learn more about the server, especially to see the server members interact with each other, is too good to pass up. 

When he opens the door, he sees a group of hermits sitting at the tables in the middle of the room. They’re eating and chatting casually. Dream recognizes xB, Hypno, and Iskall at one table. Next to Iskall is a man with a mask covering his face and a scarred, red eye. He’s talking to a blonde man in a lab coat and goggles. At another table over sit five more hermits. Cleo is the only one Dream knows. There are three more women – one blonde, one brunette, one redhead – and a slime in a vaguely human shape and white hoodie. Dream can’t immediately work out any sort of factions that might form. A lot of the hermits aren’t wearing armor, but enough of them are that there probably isn’t an enforced rule against it. Iskall and the masked man both have tridents out and the blonde woman has a netherite sword at her hip, but no one else is armed. There are no glares being sent across the room or signs of people carefully avoiding each other. Maybe this is all one larger faction or alliance? 

xB catches Dream’s eye and waves with two fingers before beckoning him over. “Pull up a chair and join us,” he says. Hypno moves over to make room. Dream sits awkwardly at the edge of his chair between the two auctioneers. xB is armored while Hypno isn’t. Iskall nods at Dream from around a mouthful of food like nothing is amiss. The other two don’t even look up.

“Don’t mind the redstoners,” Iskall laughs. “They’re talking shop.” 

The two have a notebook between them and are sketching incomprehensible designs. 

“Xe says that like xe's not a redstoner too,” Hypno stage whispers to Dream. 

Great. The PVPer who hates Dream’s guts is also a redstoner. Fantastic. Perfect. Splendid. 

The conversation stays casual through breakfast. Dream catches a few names that sound like factions. Boatem, the Big Eye Crew, the Swamp Ladies. He doesn’t manage to pick up how those groups interact with each other. The masked redstoner, Etho, has a few patches on his sleeve but apparently none of those correspond to anything on this server. Most of the discussions that seem to have any weight to them are about trades and shops. If there are any threats, they’re buried too deeply for Dream to understand them. 

“So, what is this meeting about?” Dream finally works up the courage to ask. xB has been nothing but kind and accommodating while Iskall seems to have contented xirself with xir earlier threats.

“Mostly it’s just a chance to get together with everyone,” xB says. “Lot of us can get really caught up in the grind so we need someone to drag us out to socialize. But we also cover normal server maintenance stuff.”  

“Right. I see.” As far as Dream is aware, server maintenance is the job of the admin and the admin alone. He’s not sure why anyone else needs to get involved. 

Not long after that, Dream finally catches his first glimpse of the admin. He’s tall, broad shouldered, clad in fearsome looking power armor. Which is pink and the helmet is painted so he looks like an axolotl. He does, in fact, look kind of kickable. He’s accompanied by a man with an almost identical build but a much more imposing red and black color scheme. 

Xisuma heads straight for Dream. He’s almost unreadable behind the helmet. The blank axolotl stare is a lot more unnatural than Dream’s own smile. At least he can read into a smile.

“Hello there,” the admin greets, holding out a hand to shake. “You must be Dream.” 

Dream shakes it. The admin’s grip is firm, but not too hard. Dream tries to respond in kind. “I am. And I take it you’re Xisuma?” 

“Yep, that’s me,” Xisuma says. He sounds… almost shy. “Are you settling in alright?” 

“Yes. Thank you.” Even with full gear, it’s usually a bad idea to defy an admin on their own territory. Not that it stopped Dream’s own people from trying.

“Glad to hear it. Let me know if you need help with anything.” 

And just like that, the conversation is over. Xisuma walks off to go to the kitchen window. Joe and an alien looking creature with green skin and a butcher’s apron are in the kitchen, handing out food. Xisuma grabs two plates and gestures to the man in red armor, then both of them head upstairs. 

“They don’t take their helmets off around other people,” xB comments, clearly noticing how Dream’s been staring. 

“Why not?” 

xB shrugs. “I’ve never asked. It’s not really our business.” 

“I have,” Etho pipes up. “He didn’t answer.”

By the time Xisuma and Evil Xisuma come back downstairs, Dream is on the verge of running back to his room and hiding in there. The inn keeps getting more and more crowded as more hermits show up, chattering loudly. It’s overwhelming. Dream feels like his skin is being flayed open as he curls his fists in his pants and tries to slow his breathing. Right before it’s officially too much for him to take anymore, Xisuma gets up onto the stage at the front of the room. 

The noise doesn’t stop immediately, but it dies down to a manageable level. Xisuma isn’t in any hurry to get things started. He just stands there, pointing at people and muttering to himself like he’s counting. He keeps counting and recounting until someone speaks. 

“Keralis can’t make it today,” a flame haired man with red sunglasses says. “He had something come up.” 

“Alright.” Xisuma accepts that without complaint. Dream is starting to get the impression that Xisuma is a bit of a pushover. It’s strange how he manages to keep the peace on a server with such commanding personalities as Cleo and Doc. 

“First order of business, since just about everyone managed to make it today, does anyone have any problems with making Friday the new official meeting day?” 

“Probably best to wait and see until after the session before we make it official,” Joe says. “I don’t see it posing a problem, but you never know.” 

Xisuma nods. “Makes sense. We’ll try for next Friday then, unless someone has an objection to it during the week. Now, anyone have any reports about server function?”

Doc raises a hand. “The wither cage is stable for now and not too hard on the server, but if I get kicked while afk, that could destabilize it.”

The woman with red hair and antlers speaks up. Her voice sounds sweet and gentle. “Just so we're all clear, that would mean two withers loose on the server again, right?”

“I’ll teach people how to shut down the farm safely without having to wake me up,” Doc promises. 

“But it would still mean two withers loose on the server again,” the woman surmises. 

“… yes,” Doc admits. “I shouldn't need to run it very often unless there's a huge demand for obsidian though.”

“Speaking of huge demands for obsidian, we’re gonna be working on the Nether Hub again next HHH,” Joe says, as though the risk of a pair of withers running rampant is something that can be glossed over. No one else seems worried about it though. 

“Right,” Xisuma says. “We may have to adjust some portal locations on the Nether side, so let us know in advance if you absolutely cannot have it interrupted.”

The meeting continues like that. Xisuma is doing little more than keeping the conversation on track as hermits tell each other about new shops or minigames they're making. The closest thing to conflict is the redstoners sorting out a farming schedule so they don't lag out the server. Dream can't even imagine having farms so powerful that three of them running simultaneously could lag the server. It's becoming obvious that in a war that came down to pure resources, he doesn't stand a chance. 

He forces himself away from that line of thinking. Inter server war just straight up doesn't happen. It too heavily favors the defenders to ever be practical. Since the attackers don’t spawn in with any gear, they’re defeated before they even begin. 

As the conversation turns to the introduction of something called Zombie Bumper Boats, it’s interrupted by a ring from Doc’s comm. 

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says and steps outside. Not long after, he returns to the door and beckons Dream over. “You’re needed back on your server.” 

Dream’s blood runs cold. Slowly, mechanically, he rises from his seat and walks to Doc’s side. He stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. He didn’t disobey. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t do anything wrong. But it doesn’t matter. The Warden can still summon him back at any time. No matter how nice things seem here, Dream is still entirely at the mercy of people who have no reason to show him any. 

Doc exchanges a few words with the dog hybrid who had come in with him. Something about shops and the thing that’s going on over the weekend. Then he’s taking Dream by the elbow and leading him away. 

There’s a familiar donkey waiting outside. Dream climbs into the saddle. Every muscle in his body is tense and he can barely get enough air into his lungs to stay conscious. He tries to ask what’s going on, but all that comes out is a small whimper. 

“Someone on your server has died and failed to respawn.” Doc speaks with the same calm professionalism as ever. There isn’t a hint of pity or malice. Dream would be grateful if he wasn’t even more terrified to learn how little he can sway Doc’s moods. “I will return you to your server, you will revive them, and then we will return here.” 

Oh. Right. This was always part of the deal. Dream takes a shaky breath. The blackness recedes from the corners of his vision. “C-can’t I just log in normally?” 

“No,” is all Doc says. 

So logging in normally would provide an opportunity to escape then, most likely. To escape and be hunted down and, if he’s lucky, killed on the spot. More likely sent back to prison for more long months of torture. It’s an idea that can go on the backburner. 

“Do you need anything to carry out the revival?” Doc’s comm is still active. He’s probably got the Warden on the line. 

“A book and quill, the body of the person to be revived, and a fire,” Dream reports. It occurs to him that it’s the most he’s told anyone about the book before. But he showed Technoblade the whole process. It’s information he can spare. “Who died?” 

“Sam didn’t say. You’ll find out soon enough.” 

So it’s probably someone that Dream would prefer to have stay dead then. They want to give him as little time as possible to figure out a way to worm out of his deal. He isn’t all that inclined to try, if he’s being honest with himself. He’ll resurrect whatever problem child they want him to and then return to picking flowers and bottling honey in peace. 

You wanted that same peace for your friends, once. 

And they’d all thrown it away. It’s not his fault if they choose to ruin their own lives, he tells himself, and he shoves down the memories of a small white tent by the sea and the deafening screams of a dozen withers and duped TNT. 

This time, they go past the egg shaped building that Dream had spawned in, travelling up the coast until they reach an RV with wings. Doc leads Dream inside and down a hidden tunnel to the sewer system. 

At the end of the wall is the strangest portal Dream has ever seen. There’s no obsidian in sight. Instead, diamond blocks surround the one block wide portal. It shouldn’t work. But the purple veil swirls between the diamonds just the way that they should. There’s none of the unnatural heat that signals the presence of the Nether on the other side of it either. Not only should it not go anywhere, it also seems to go nowhere. 

“What is that?” Dream demands. “H-how does it exist ?” 

“This is my infinity portal.” Doc puts a double chest down a couple blocks away from it and changes from his elytra to his netherite chestplate. “Put your items in there.” 

Dream has managed to accumulate a surprising amount of junk. His armor and shield go into the chest first, but he also has an assortment of food, flowers, seeds, and half filled notebooks that won’t do for the ritual. As he checks through his inventory one last time to make sure he got everything, it occurs to him what it means that Doc is having him give up his items now. 

When he’d first seen Doc, the man had been carrying a trident. As far as he knows, Sam doesn’t have an extra one. Not one that he’d lend to someone else for a brief conversation. Doc hadn’t given it back before logging out either. Which means that Doc knows how to carry items between servers. 

Doc must read something in Dream’s expression because he just chuckles. “Items only go one way.” 

Dream doesn’t bother hiding the way he deflates. “So, I bet you’re pretty smart if you can make one of these,” he tries.

Doc laughs louder. “Extremely. And if you mess it up even a little bit, it will crash the server and ruin all your hard work. Too many crashes in too short a time can do permanent damage.” He runs a hand over the portal and his redstone eye lights up as he checks it all over for any flaws that might cause one of those crashes. 

Dream has his suspicions that Doc isn’t being entirely honest about the danger that the portal poses. After all, why would the admin allow something so dangerous to be built? Then again, he struggles to imagine Xisuma disallowing anything, let alone trying to stop someone. Not a bad choice for an admin if someone else wants power without the responsibility of admin duties. 

Doc finishes his inspection and checks his comm. “Alright, before we go through, Iskall told me xe threatened to harm you if you communicate with your servermates.” 

“Threatened to cut my vocal cords out, yeah,” Dream confirms sullenly. 

Doc nods. “That won’t be practical to enforce entirely, but you will be expected to communicate as little as possible. You may answer questions directed at you, volunteer information necessary for the resurrection to be correctly performed, or inform anyone that you’re not allowed to communicate any further. This will be enforced at my discretion.” 

Once again, the deals Dream is given are better than he expected. “I understand. Sir.” 

“Good.” Doc raises his comm and hisses. Dream flinches. If he hadn’t been looking directly at Doc, he probably would have jumped out of his skin. The return hiss from the comm at least sounds staticky enough not to be mistaken for an angry creeper right next to him. 

Doc doesn’t seem offended by Dream’s reaction, but there’s an unmistakable tone of smugness in his next words. “Sam is ready for you. When you get through the portal, he wants you to take two steps forward and then turn around. I’ll follow behind.” 

Fear curdles in Dream’s gut as he steps into the portal. The pull of it feels familiar, but alien at the same time. Wrong in a way that he can’t put words to. Like he’s sliding under the skin of reality itself, perhaps. Then it’s over and he can taste the stale prison air on his tongue. Even before his eyes fully adjust to the new environment, he can see the familiar bulk of the Warden. 

As ordered, he takes two steps forward and turns around. He follows the rest of the Warden’s orders too. Kneels, places his hands on his head, stays still as they’re cuffed together and the chain is linked to the wall. He’s not entirely sure where in the prison he is, but the fact that the walls are blackstone means he’s at least not in the main cell. Not that it’ll help him much as the familiar ache of mining fatigue settles into his bones. 

He hears Doc step through the portal, hears the portal break, and then someone speaks. 

“Can we get started already? It’s been over an hour now!” Quackity exclaims. 

Quackity . Quackity’s here .

Pure panic rips through Dream’s entire body. He freezes completely still, not even daring to breathe, like staying still will somehow spare him even though it never has before. 

“Turn around,” the Warden orders.

Dream obeys and, impossibly, his heart sinks even further. Cradled tenderly in Quackity’s arms is the corpse of the man who had once been one of the oldest and dearest of Dream’s friends. The only man who would have Quackity desperate enough to go to Dream for help and yet still have any expectation of getting it. 

The name falls from Dream’s lips as though that alone will be enough to call him back.

“ Sapnap. ”

Chapter Text

Doc taps the blunt end of his trident between Dream’s shoulders. “Do not speak.” 

Dream bites his tongue, but dozens of questions swirl in his mind. How did this happen? Was it an accident? A deliberate attack? Is Sapnap stuck in limbo like Tommy had described? Are he and Quackity still together? Is Quackity going to punish Dream for leaving? Instead of asking any of them, he mimes writing instead. 

Sam gives him an empty notebook and quill. “How long will this take?” 

Dream looks to Doc first, who gives him a sharp nod. “Just a couple minutes.” 

It’s harder than he expected to write though. Sam gives him a block to sit on and a lectern, but he has to keep his left hand crossed over his right wrist, meaning he can’t properly hold the book in place. It doesn’t help that Quackity’s good eye is boring into him like–

No, he can’t afford to think about Quackity right now. His hands are already shaking and he doesn’t know how legible the book needs to be. He writes the incantation as neatly and carefully as he can. He wants to get this right the first time. His jailors talk quietly amongst themselves as Dream forces himself to focus only on his work. 

He pauses when a gunmetal gray hand waves in front of his face. Doc’s face is unreadable, but at least not angry.

“Dream.” 

“Yessir?” 

“Will the revival heal his injuries?” 

Dream puts down the pen as he thinks back to the last time he’d done a revival. To what had led up to it. The feeling of Tommy’s skull shattering under his hand as he bashed it into the obsidian wall over and over again. How jumpy and nervous Tommy was when he came back, how out of it he’d seemed. Not that Tommy was all that stable on the best of days. There hadn’t been any bruising that Dream could see on Tommy’s face or head, but he also knew that Quackity left plenty of bruises on his own flesh that he couldn’t properly see in the dim light of the cell.

“I’m not sure,” he admits. “It’ll definitely heal the wound that killed him. I don’t know about the rest.” 

Doc nods. “How much do you have left to write?” 

“Two more lines, sir.” 

Dream finishes them as fast as he can. Tommy had talked about how long death felt like. How only two real days felt like months. It’s a good thing Dream had tested the book first so he knows he needs to get Sapnap back as soon as possible. 

When he’s done, he looks up at Doc. Very carefully doesn’t look at anyone else. “I need to touch Sapnap now. And I need a fire.” 

Of course, it’s Quackity who brings Sapnap over. Quackity hasn’t let go of Sapnap this whole time. Why would he? They’re fiances, after all. Dream’s best friend is in love with the man who tortured Dream. Bile rises in the back of Dream’s throat. This isn’t the time to convince himself that he has any control over what happens next. 

He takes Sapnap’s hand. It’s slack, but at least it’s not cold. The lava in the walls makes sure of that. And then there’s the click of flint and steel as Sam lights a fire next to them. Dream watches the pages of the book curl up and shrivel into ash. The ash coats every part of his soul and the soot clings to the corners of his mind. The ink on the pages burns as coal and the coal burns down to embers and the smoke pulls in air to stoke the embers back up. Back to life. 

Sapnap gasps. His eyes shoot open and he looks around in a panic, clutching at his chest. “W–what happened? How am I here ?” 

Quackity holds him closer and answers with a gentleness that Dream would have thought impossible from him. “You’re safe,” he promises. “You were… you were d-dead, but we brought you back. You’re alive. You’re okay.” His voice breaks on the last word. 

Sapnap still seems confused, but he’s catching on a lot quicker than Tommy did at least. Maybe it’s because he wasn’t d– out for nearly as long. Maybe it’s the lack of head trauma. He gets to his feet, looking around curiously. (Dream notes with no small amount of smugness how Quackity shakes his arms out. Bastard doesn’t even have the strength to carry his fiance.) 

Once Sapnap is somewhat oriented, Doc approaches him. He introduces himself as a doctor and runs Sapnap through a quick, basic check-up. He gives Sapnap a clean bill of health, though notes that he’s likely to be overstimulated for a while and to talk things over with a therapist if he can find one. Then, he starts packing up his instruments.

“Is there anything else you need before we leave?” he asks. 

“Can I talk to Dream for a moment?” Sapnap asks. 

Doc and Sam share a look and briefly hiss at each other.

“He isn’t allowed to reply to anything you say,” Sam says. “That includes yes or no questions. As long as you’re alright with that, go ahead.” 

“Can we have some privacy?” 

Sam doesn’t answer for a long moment. Finally, he says “Quackity and I can wait on the other side of the water stream.” He brandishes his trident and Dream follows the wordless commands to back into a corner where he can be contained by blackstone blocks. He has just enough play in his chains to manage it, though his hands are held up a few inches away from his body. Doc politely turns his back to them. 

When Sapnap finally approaches, Dream can’t help but shrink back. He knows Sapnap promised to kill him if he left the prison. He also knows that Sapnap being unarmed doesn’t mean much. He was unarmed when he killed Tommy and Sapnap is a lot stronger than Dream was then.

Sapnap shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs, clearly searching for words. “I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask you,” he admits. “I do understand why they don’t want you talking though.” He makes a small huff almost like a laugh. “Last time I saw you, Sam was hoping I would get you talking. Kinda funny how we got the exact opposite now, you know.” 

Dream had known he was lonely. Months of almost complete solitary confinement will do that to a person. But he hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed having Sapnap close. He focuses his attention on holding his body completely still and not on the hollow feeling in his chest. He’s not still attached to Sapnap. He can’t afford to be. 

“Listen,” Sapnap says and Dream does. “We can’t get what we had before back. I know that. But I love you, man. I don’t know if they’re trying to do some reforming you thing or whatever, but.... I’m still not letting you outside of this prison if you’re a threat to the server. I’m not gonna be able to trust you for a long, long time, if I ever do again. But if there’s a chance for you to be released, I want you to take it. I want to be able to be friends with you again. I miss you, Dream.” 

I miss you too. Dream can at least admit that to himself. There’s something comforting in knowing he’s not allowed to say it.

With a wry attempt at a smile, Sapnap steps back. “I’ll… see you later, Dream. I hope.” 

Doc turns back around and messages Sam on his comm. “We’ll be on our way, then. Dream, just log in to Hermitcraft normally.” 

When Dream does so, Doc is already standing at his side. The handcuffs are off, but the ache in Dream’s chest is more paralyzing than any prison. He turns away from Doc and pulls up his mask to wipe away his tears. 

Doc clears his throat gruffly. “I’ve seen relationships come back from worse,” he offers.

Dream scoffs. “I don’t want to fix it,” he lies. 

When Dream logs into Hermitcraft, Doc is already waiting for him next to the now-unlit diamond portal. He’s scrolling through the comm logs. 

“Are you planning to give me access to the comms?” Dream asks, more to take his mind off what came before than because he has anyone on Hermitcraft he’s particularly eager to text.

“No. You should always have someone close enough to access comms for you if you need.” 

It’s not an unexpected answer, but it’s definitely unpleasant. It’s not like Dream has any allies here he could text to get into trouble. 

“We’re going to stop by Boatem,” Doc says. “Joe and I both have business up there, so it will be the easiest spot to hand you off.” 

Dream nods. He’s always been an adventurer at heart, so he’s eager for a change of scenery. And something to get him out of his own head. He’d rather think about Hermitcraft than anything back on the old server. Rather than the donkey, they take a boat up the coast. Dream offers to help row, but Doc waves him off. Claims the exercise is relaxing. Dream could use some relaxation himself. He settles for staring at the horizon over Doc’s shoulder. 

The first build that comes into view takes Dream’s breath away. It's a massive beast of deepslate and copper with giant legs that seem to hold it up. It looks like it could house an army for months. The sheer amount of resources it must have taken to build the thing is staggering. 

“What's that?”

Doc glances over his shoulder and chuckles smugly. “That's the Octagon . It's me and Ren’s shop.”

Two pieces of entirely unbelievable information collide in Dream’s head. “… shop?” is the first word that manages to fight its way free of the wreckage. 

“Oh yes.” The pride is clear in Doc’s voice. “The Octagon is going to be the greatest shop this server has ever seen.”

Okay. So this isn't a normal build at least. This isn't the Hermits’ idea of a friendly local market stall. That’s… well it’s not comforting but at least it’s not as bad as it could be.

“How many people did it take to build it?”

Doc blinks. “Me and Ren.” After a moment, she seems to realize the absurdity of the statement. “Yes, it's a major grind, but we’ve been working on it for months. We automate as much of the resource gathering as we can too. It's just a matter of putting blocks down in the right spots.”

Just . Dream has no idea how the Octagon is supposed to be just anything.

A few minutes later, he gets his answer. They land at the shore next to a gigantic, towering factory. It’s empty and missing any of the back walls, but it’s still the biggest building he’s seen so far. And then he looks inland. The largest mountains he’s ever seen, larger than he’s ever imagined, pierce the sky in sharp, jagged peaks of pure stone, unmarred by veins of diorite or granite. They’re absolutely nothing like natural generation. They almost manage to tear Dream’s eyes away from the builds on either side. To the left, an haphazard collection of boulders stretching to the sky in a shape reminiscent of a giant armchair with a waterfall cascading down the middle. To the right, a lush mountain, resplendent with green and brown tones. It has a castle on its peak that’s so massive that it almost makes the mountain itself look small. It glows orange, as though lit from behind. 

“What the fuck ?” Dream breathes. 

Doc just laughs. “Welcome to Boatem.” 

“Are you gonna tell me that just two people built all this too?” Dream asks incredulously.

“Nope. There’s five people in Boatem, I believe. Plus you can kind of see Cubfan’s lava river behind Pearl’s mountain.” Doc gestures at the one with the castle on it.

“Five… Right. So, what are we doing here?” 

“Well, I have to pick up some blackstone from Impulse’s shop. See if I can talk him into selling gravel too if he hasn’t left yet.” 

“Left?” 

“For Last Life,” Doc explains. “It’s a death game that a bunch of the hermits play, although Ren tells me that they don’t expect any permadeaths for a while. Server permadeaths, that is.” 

Dream’s familiar with death games. It’s not true death that participants experience. Just being kicked out of whatever server they’re playing on. It can be a true death if the player doesn’t have a home server to return to and they spend too long in the void between servers. But for the adrenaline junkies, the psychopaths, and the masochists, flirting with Lady Death has its appeal. All the terror and agony of the end of days with none of the commitment. He’s not a fan, personally. 

“Doesn’t seem worth the trouble to me,” he comments. 

“Well, you don’t need to go through the trouble of making a separate server if you already have a way to slake your bloodlust on your regular one,” Doc responds mildly. 

“....Point taken.” 

They walk in silence after that. Dream goggles at the Boatem builds while Doc steers him towards the center of town. It’s made up of a tower of boats, beds, and other random blocks stacked on top of a crafting table and surrounded by a pit. Dream wonders how far down it goes. 

Joe is sitting at the far edge of the pit with a book in hand and a barrel next to him. He smiles when he catches sight of them and waves them over. 

“Watch your step,” he warns Dream. “This place is kinda dangerous.” 

Sitting on a bench a few feet away and back from the pit is a young man with dark hair and a black robe with gold trim. It looks exactly like the kind that evokers wear. He has a vex-faced mask tied to the side of his head and an easy, placid smile on his face. 

“I didn’t know you were involved in the ritual,” Doc greets the stranger. 

“I’m not,” he says. “I’m just here to shut it down when it inevitably goes horribly wrong.” He doesn’t sound very bothered by the prospect. 

“I’ll be on my way,” Doc says. He adjusts the tether so it’s centered on Joe again before flying off. “You crazy kids have fun.” 

“We will!” Joe promises. The book isn’t actually in his hand, Dream realizes. Rather, it’s floating a fraction of an inch above Joe’s palm. That sort of thing takes some pretty powerful magic. 

The man in the evoker robes pats the open seat of the bench in clear invitation. Lacking anything else to do, Dream goes to sit next to him. The man offers Dream a firm handshake. 

“Cubfan135,” he introduces himself. “But you can call me Cub.”

“Dream.” 

“Welcome to Hermitcraft.” It’s definitely the warmest greeting Dream’s received so far. 

Dream sits down next to him, lost for conversation. “Thanks.” 

“No problem.” 

Before Dream has to figure out how to socialize like a human being, a voice comes up through the pit, echoing strangely in the still air. “Alright, Joe. We’re all here. You can get started whenever you like.” 

Joe stands up and rolls his shoulders. “Five minute warning,” he says. He opens a spigot in the barrel and blood pours out. It hovers around the pit instead of falling in, languidly twisting into strange, arcane symbols as Joe reads off some text from the page. Dream is desperately curious, but some deep seated instinct tells him that he doesn’t want to see any more of what’s going on. He turns away and refuses to remember any of the words he hears. 

Instead, he turns to Cub, who is watching Joe perform some sort of ungodly ritual with the bland, polite interest that one might give their coworkers at an office. 

“What the fuck is going on?” he demands. 

“Oh, Joe’s summoning demons,” Cub explains. “The Last Life folks wanted to spice things up a bit, so they decided to have a secret killer in the ranks. Whoever gets possessed by Joe’s demon gets to be the boogeyman for the session.” 

“... couldn’t they just, do, like, literally anything else ?” 

Cub shrugs. “Joe had the book handy.” 

“You people are insane.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

The chanting changes in cadence. Dream doesn’t look. He stares at the builds around him and he’s very grateful for how detailed and intricate they are because that gives him a whole lot of things to look at that aren’t whatever Joe is doing. And yes, Dream is a necromancer now, but he wouldn’t summon a demon just to spice up a game with his friends!

Okay, he totally would.

But there’s something about the book that Joe’s using that sets Dream’s teeth on edge. So he has to find something to distract himself. But just staring at pretty builds can’t do that indefinitely. Or even for the promised five minutes. 

“So what did you do to end up in prison anyhow?” Cub asks before Dream can give into the mounting terror and just flee. 

“Griefed a building,” Dream says. Blowing up the community house is the only thing he ever confessed to, after all. 

“Kinda crazy to put a guy in prison just for that,” Cub replies. “Did people over there just really not like you or something?” 

“Something like that.” Dream can still hear Sapnap saying he loves him. That he misses him. “They thought I was too big a threat to be allowed to go free.” 

“How come?” 

“Because I was.” It should be a statement of dominance, an assertion of the power Dream had once wielded. That he still deserves to wield. Instead, it just feels hollow.

Chapter Text

The ritual ends with surprisingly little fanfare. Two small glowing lights burst forth from the center of the blood circle and plunge downwards. Moments later, the blood itself loses form and falls. Joe closes the book and steps closer to peer over the edge of the hole. 

“Two this time?” Cub comments. “I thought we were gonna just have one at a time.”

Joe doesn’t look up. He puts the summoning book away and starts talking notes in a much less ominous book. “That’s what I suggested, but Grian said if there was just one, people would start getting complacent.” 

Cub shrugs. “Fair enough. How many can we have?” 

“If there’s more than seventeen, we’ll start running into problems. Or however greens and yellows there are.” 

Cub had explained enough of the basic mechanics of the death game for Dream to follow along. He still doesn’t understand why they feel like it’s necessary to play at all, but who is he to argue about less people around to supervise him on his prison server? 

“So do we just wait here for them to get back or...?” he asks. 

“We’re heading back,” Joe says. “I don’t like staying in Boatem too long. I swear this place is cursed.” 

Might be the unholy rituals you’re doing around here. “Okay. I don’t think I can walk that far though.” 

“You guys can take the Nether,” Cub points out.

Joe shakes his head. “No, we would need someone with warden perms on either side to get Dream through safely.” 

“What, do you not trust me to be alone with him?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

Cub chuckles and shakes his head. “Dang. You know me too well. Dream, let me know if you need any help wreaking havoc.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and saunters back towards his base. 

Turns out, Joe had brought his horse, Diamond Hooves. Dream tries to walk as far as he can and his stamina has definitely improved since he arrived, but he has to ask Joe to stop so he can mount up as they ride by the foot of what Joe explains is yet another man-made mountain. 

“So is this just what you guys do?” Dream asks as Diamond Hooves plods along with his reins in Joe’s hands. “Make crazy massive builds?” 

“More or less,” Joe confirms. “At least, that’s what the builders do. The redstoners make crazy massive redstone farms, of course.” 

“What if someone griefs your build?” 

“That would take some doing,” Joe says mildly. He gestures to the massive mountain. “It would take a lot of effort to destroy something like that.” 

“You guys do seem to put a lot of effort into most things though,” Dream points out. 

Joe shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so. But usually we’d rather create our own things than destroy someone else’s. Every so often, some pranking escalates, but it’s not a big deal. We play nice.” 

Dream nods. They’ve probably had a prank war or two then, but nothing on the scale of destruction of the wars of the DSMP. If there had been, the scars on the land would be obvious and he hasn’t seen any. The DSMP had been relatively peaceful too, once. Before Tommy had fucked everything up for everyone. Dream had a lot of time in prison to ponder how everything had gotten so bad. It was a shame that even at the height of his power, his people still preferred to fight each other than the most direct threat. 

“Are there any special plans for the weekend?” he asks to distract himself. 

Joe’s mouth twists into a wry smile. It looks almost out of place on his usually kind face. “We’ll need wheat. A lot of it.” 

Cleo’s farmhouse reeks of death. This is new, which is a tiny bit surprising when Dream ponders that thought a little closer. It’s a much better thought to ponder than whatever’s going on now. He throws armfuls of hay down the open trapdoor to the basement and rushes back out before the shrieks of the cattle reach him. Dream’s never been squeamish about mob farms before, but there’s something about the slowly growing pile of barrels filled with cow’s blood that makes him want to stay as far away from it as possible. 

Might have something to do with the demon summoning rituals, he speculates as he returns to the relative safety of the fields with bone meal in hand. 

That weekend is the longest he’s worked since before imprisonment. Joe insists on Dream resting after eight hours per day, but Dream still collapses into bed with his limbs shaking and sore. Joe doesn’t leave the farmhouse at all, except while Dream is resting. Even then, it’s only to gather more wheat. 

On Sunday morning, Dream wakes up in pain. His shoulders and back especially are stiff and his bones creak as he stretches. He forces himself to stumble through getting dressed and staggers into the main room of the inn to find Joe there, sipping on a cup of coffee. 

“You look like shit,” Dream comments. 

Joe has dark bags under his eyes and blood still stained under his fingernails. “I’ve been better. How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve been better,” Dream replies pointedly. 

“Do I gotta send you to Doc?” 

Dream freezes. “I… I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” 

Joe looks him over, clearly not believing him. “Well, take the rest of the day off. We got enough blood for this week.” 

When Dream had left the farmhouse last night, the barrels were stacked three high in places. “Why– how–?” Words fail him. 

“Why do we need so much?” Joe smiles grimly. “Hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. Anything beyond that ain’t my business to share. Folk should be getting back in a few hours. You’re probably better off waiting in my starter house until I have her contained. Get some rest until then though. You need it.” 

A couple hours later, Joe knocks on Dream’s door and leads him to the starter house. It’s a pretty decently sized base by Dream’s standards, but it does look small in comparison to the castle. Joe brings him up through the stables to the storage room and then blocks up the floor with obsidian and leads him up to the bedroom. 

“I’m not sure where Cleo will respawn, but it shouldn’t be in here. Don’t open the door for her unless I’m with her and I say it’s okay. Ninety nine percent chance everything is gonna be fine and we’re overpreparing, but if she does spawn in here, grab any tool from the chests. It’ll teleport you to the holding cell and that won’t be too pleasant for you, but it’s a much better option than staying here.” 

Dream remembers the sheer rage and fury that had been dripping from Cleo when they first met. Fury that had only been calmed with blood. It’s an unnerving idea, but, “If it’s anything like it was last time, I’ll be fine.” 

“It most likely will be,” Joe says. “But it might not. Better safe than sorry.” He puts an item frame on the wall next to Dream and sticks a wooden sword in it. “I’ll come pick you up once she’s had a chance to calm down.” 

Once he’s left alone, Dream returns to the storage room. He’s had enough of the crushing weight of waiting for the inevitable. He immediately sets to work distracting himself by rummaging through Joe’s chests and seeing what he can find. The chests with items Joe doesn’t use that much are fairly organized, but nothing else is. Dream makes a mental note of the locations of all the weapons. If he’s going to have to fight, he’d rather have a decent sword. A bow would be better, though. 

Dream looks through every single one of Joe’s chests and barrels and finds a grand total of three arrows and no bow. Yet another of Joe’s oddities, he supposes. Just like the lime stained glass panes that Joe keeps half a stack of in his valuables chest or the fact that all the armor that’s seen any use has fire prot on it or the entire barrel full of ender pearls that Joe just has lying around in area he barely uses . There’s a few notebooks to leaf through too. A mix of building blueprints and scraps of poetry. Dream doesn’t have the patience for any of the longer poems, but the short ones he skims through are surprisingly engaging. 

He’d tried his hand at writing poetry in prison. It gave him something to think about other than… a lot of things. He has no idea if it was any good or not. He’s heard people say stuff about how suffering makes art more beautiful. He would have preferred to skip the suffering, but creating something beautiful would have been a welcome change.

He puts the books back where he found them. 

Dream returns to the bedroom as fast as he can without admitting to himself that he’s fleeing. He just doesn’t love the idea of being around an obsidian floor right now. He sits on the bed and goes over his options. Prepares for the worst, as Joe had said. But the worst for him isn’t a zombie. It’s going back to the prison or something like it. There aren’t that many ways to keep someone locked up for more than a couple hours. Dream is intimately familiar with most of them. He would prefer not to be again. 

On the other hand, he has a feeling that he will end up in the holding cell at some point or another. Joe’s been very careful about making sure he’s tethered properly, but given how often Joe forgets other things and falls off buildings, Dream can’t bank on Joe being careful forever. If he can get into the cell now without breaking any rules and when he has some warning… 

Beats the alternatives, at least. 

Cleo spawns in front of him. He startles to his feet before he’s quite processed what’s happening. She’s facing away from him, but she turns to look over her shoulder. 

“You doin’ alright?” she asks. There’s a tight edge to her voice that sends chills down Dream’s spine.

He takes a step back, towards the sword. “I’m fine. Yourself?” 

She rolls her shoulders and turns around entirely to face him. “Didn’t get to kill anyone. Pretty disappointing, if I’m honest.” She takes a step forward, eyeing his armor. She’s in full netherite with a diamond sword. Her cheeks are sunken and gaunt. “I was looking forward to some carnage.” 

Dream grabs the wooden sword. 

And a moment later, he falls. 

He hits the ground hard and stumbles to his feet to get a good look at his surroundings. Or, he tries to. The smooth stone floor is shifting back and forth under him, making it almost impossible to get up. He braces a hand on the end brick wall, only for that to slide away from him too. He’s at the bottom of a six block deep hole on a moving floor surrounded by moving walls. Above him is a one block hole with a tripwire running across it. 

When he finally manages to struggle to his feet, he tries to break a block of the wall with his fists. It doesn’t work. Of course it doesn’t work. The blocks are constantly moving. Why did he think that would work? He’s such a fucking idiot. There’s nothing he can do to get out of this room. He’s going to starve to death in here and respawn and fall right back in and–

No, his spawn is set at Joe’s. Or he’ll get sent to world spawn. This is just the holding cell. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

It’s a lot harder to convince himself that he’s fine when he keeps stumbling back and forth. The noise of the pistons digs into his ears and hammers away at his brain. It’s worse by far than the bubbling of lava or the occasional hum of an elder guardian.

He can’t be here much longer. He can’t stand it. He can barely stand at all. He checks his inventory for anything he might use to escape.  If he manages to get a block under him, he might be able to try and pillar up. 

Bone blocks. Thank fuck he still has some bone blocks on him. 

He tries to jump and pillar up, but the shifting floor makes it almost impossible for him to time the block placing. He manages it on the third attempt, shifting to keep from falling off. The constant back and forth is making him dizzy. The second block comes a little quicker than the first at least. And then he slips. 

“Oh, come on!” he yells from the floor. Maybe if he can get another block down, he could staircase up instead? He doesn’t have enough blocks for it though. And that’s assuming he even can place blocks properly consistently enough to get up there. Which isn’t a guarantee. 

He starts breaking down the pillar. The plan clearly isn’t going to work and leaving behind evidence of a failed escape attempt is probably a bad idea. He flips off the tripwire hook and tries to find a decent rhythm to pace. He very pointedly ignores how his hunger is slowly starting to tick down with the constant movement. 

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” The voice comes from above, distorted by an audio filter and laden with a nearly comical amount of menace. Then a familiar face leans over the gap. “Looks like someone’s got himself into a little bit of trouble.”

“Evil Xisuma,” Dream greets coolly. 

He can hear the smile in Evil Xisuma’s voice. “Dream. What a pleasant surprise. Why don’t you and I have a little chat?” 

Chapter Text

“What is there to chat about?” Dream asks. He tries to keep himself looking as dignified as he can, under the current circumstances.

“Why, your place in my machinations, of course,” Evil Xisuma replies. “You didn’t think you would get to avoid being part of them, did you?” He pauses. His body language softens for a second, like he’s trying to remember what he’s supposed to be doing. “It’s nice to have another villain around to hang out with, you know?”

“I’m not–” No, Dream can’t say that. He very much is playing the villain. He’s just not a bad person. He made hard decisions for the greater good. Maybe some mistakes too, he’ll concede in the privacy of his own mind. But that doesn’t mean that a guy who literally has the word ‘evil’ in his name can waltz in here and just get Dream on his side. “I’m not gonna be allowed to hang out with you, I don’t think,” he says instead. 

Evil Xisuma laughs and waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I can have a talk with that foolish axolotl. He’s far too trusting for his own good. Even if I do have to help him along the way a little bit.”

Ah. Dream sees what he’s dealing with now: an amateur. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” he offers, then stumbles as the blocks underneath him glitch slightly. Not enough to let him escape, of course, but enough to throw off his rhythm. “I don’t suppose you could turn off the redstone while we talk?” 

“I could,” Evil Xisuma insists, almost snaps, really. “I just don’t want to.” 

Dream is now certain that he doesn't know how to. “What place are you seeing for me in your plans?” he asks. Evil Xisuma hesitates again, so Dream decides that he can afford to push a little. “And what’s in it for me?” 

“Freedom,” Evil Xisuma promises and Dream mouths the word along with him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

It is. It absolutely is. “Sure, but that doesn’t mean I can get it from you .”

“Xisuma listens to me. He’ll let you go if I ask him to.” 

Oh, Evil Xisuma is really bad at this, isn’t he? Trying to bargain by ceding his position of strength. Dream is tempted to believe it’s a double bluff, but he’d mostly just really like to get out of this cell for now and worry about everything else later. 

He almost doesn’t hear the heavy booted footfalls drawing near over the whirring and crashing of the redstone, but soon the admin appears at his evil clone’s shoulder. 

“Oh hullo, Dream. Uh, Evil Xisuma, could you please restock the Evil Emporium for me?” 

“But that sounds like work ,” Evil Xisuma moans. “That’s your job.” 

“I need to grind for building materials and we’ll lose profits if our customers don’t have anything to buy,” Xisuma explains like he’s talking to a child. 

Evil Xisuma groans dramatically, but wanders off, muttering under his breath the whole time. 

Once he’s gone, Xisuma flicks a lever and the redstone stops. Dream stumbles into the wall at first, then sinks down to sit with his back against it. His legs burn. 

“If you try to break any blocks, I’ll just turn that back on,” Xisuma warns.

A flicker of instinctive panic seizes Dream. He raises his hands to show that they’re empty and then drops them to his lap. He just tries to get his breath back. Today’s been a whirlwind, but he doesn’t know how he feels about things slowing down enough for him to process them. Xisuma doesn’t have any of the cool menace of the Warden though. 

“So, what triggered the holding cell?” Xisuma asks. 

“Cleo spawned in next to me,” Dream explains between slow breaths. “Joe’d told me to grab a sword if she did so I could get out of there. Just in case, he said. So, uh, I did.” 

Xisuma nods. “Yeah, alright then. Do you still have the sword on you?” 

Dream checks his inventory. “Yeah.” 

The floor shifts again, but this time it’s only two blocks and in the same direction. The last row has a hopper in one corner. “Toss it in there,” Xisuma instructs. 

Once Dream has been disarmed, Xisuma tosses down an ender pearl. “Well, let’s get going then. Evil Xisuma gets cranky if he has to do any building and I’d rather avoid that.” 

Dream is starting to get tired of being shuffled around between various captors, but Joe is apparently busy with Cleo and Xisuma doesn’t want to keep him around either. The newest set is the trio of women he’d seen at the hermit meeting. The tallest is the blonde with the sword. She gives him a firm handshake as Xisuma transfers control over to her and flies off.

“I’m False. This is Stress and Gem.” 

Stress–the brunette–is the shortest and she has a sweet face. She looks soft, but not delicate. There’s a confidence in her posture that’s not unlike False and Iskall. Gem looks a lot more unsure of herself than the other two, hanging back just a bit, though her towering antlers could probably do some damage. 

“So, what are we planning on doing?” Stress asks with fake brightness. At least Dream isn't the only one uncomfortable in this situation. 

“I dunno,” False says. “I’d planned on doing some mining today, but we should probably stick together until someone comes to pick Dream up.” 

“Seems like a good idea,” Stress agrees, but she doesn’t offer anything to do either. 

“I have my parkour course,” Gem offers. 

Dream lights up. His whole body floods with excitement and he’s already bouncing on his toes, warming up his limbs. “Parkour?” he asks, trying to sound collected and failing miserably.

“You do parkour?” False asks. 

Dream nods. “Yeah, it was a really big hobby of mine.” He’s not sure when the parkour hobby became a was. When he stopped having time for hobbies. He’s pretty sure it was before he stopped having time for friends. “I’m pretty good at it too.”

Gem rubs the back of her head and smiles sheepishly. “Well, it’s the first parkour course I’ve ever made so it might not be very good, but you’re welcome to try it! And there’s a walkway above it so you can stay tethered to False! Come on, I’ll show you!”

She leads them excitedly through her cottagecore base and Dream can’t help but stare at yet another example of the astonishing skill of the hermits. The custom trees in particular are like nothing he’s ever seen before, but the whole place has a soft and peaceful air to it that puts even him slightly more at ease. Stress and False follow behind him. It doesn’t escape his attention that False is on his left so she can draw her sword and slash into him with the same motion if need be. He makes a point not to stick his hands in his pockets. 

The parkour course is underground in a beautifully lush ravine. The walkway isn’t too far above it either so the tether won’t interfere. Dream’s nerves are on fire with excitement already as he makes the first jump with ease. On the second jump, he realizes that some of that is with pain. And exhaustion. But he’s done much more impressive feats of athleticism in much worse condition before. 

The problem is that he hasn’t done them recently.

That problem makes itself extremely apparent when he messes up the single neo on the course. One foot lands on the edge of the block and the other doesn’t. The water saves him from fall damage, but his ankle is wrenched to the side. Out of instinct, he goes quiet and still. Quackity never liked when Dream made things harder for him. The pain isn’t bad enough to throw him into a full on flashback, at least. Small mercies.

Gem and Stress rush to his side while False hangs back a little ways. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Gem cries, pulling on her braids and twisting from side to side in distress. 

Dream tries to stand, but his ankle buckles the moment he puts weight on it. “Yeah, maybe don’t keep your parkour in a fucking swamp so people don’t slip off the blocks,” he grits out. 

False pulls her gloves off and hangs off the log Dream slipped from. “No, it’s got fine grip,” she announces. “You just messed up the jump. No need to take it out on Gem.” 

As False ruins Dream’s attempt to save face, Stress crouches down next to him and starts poking and prodding at his ankle. “I don't think you're gonna be able to walk on that, luv,” she says like Dream hadn't already figured that out on his own. “False? Do you mind?”

False pulls her gloves back on and scoops an arm under Dream's knees. He falls back against her other arm with a yelp. She just rolls her eyes and adjusts his position a bit. 

“We taking him to Doc?” she asks. Dream goes rigid in her arms. 

“No, the geezer’s got enough on his plate right now.” Stress smiles at Dream. It's the most genuinely warm expression anyone has given him so far. “I’ll look after you, luv. False, let's take him back to my base.”

“Getting him into the ravine might be a bit tricky,” False points out. 

“True,” Stress agrees. 

“We can put him in my megabase!” Gem offers. “I made it very navigable.” She seems to have gotten over her guilt about hurting him pretty quickly, Dream notes sullenly. Ah, well. Beats Quackity. And yeah, he did fuck up the jump all by himself. 

By the time they get back out to Gem’s megabase (and Dream gets another holy shit this is one person's build moment), Dream has halfway nodded off. He's exhausted and overwhelmed and in pain and the only person around that his subconscious registers as a threat has him cradled in her arms to keep him from hurting himself further. It's a pretty businesslike cradle and he's not stupid enough to think she feels any kind of affection for him, but it's been a while since he's had this much human contact. It's… nice. 

And as soon as he thinks that, he lands with a graceless thud in a bed. Gem’s, if he had to guess. Gem grabs a couple extra pillows while False pets a yellow cat who's watching from the balcony. Stress bustles in a moment later with a first aid kit and starts tending to Dream's leg. 

“Wow, you're really good at this!” Gem comments. “I had no idea you knew medical stuff! That's so cool!”

Stress chuckles. “I let Doc handle things most of the time because, well, you’ve met him. He's a worrywart.” That is not a term Dream would have used to describe the terrifying cyborg, personally. “But I do have field medic training. Comes in useful every so often, you know?”

“Don’t let her sell herself short,” False adds as the cat nuzzles against her cheek. “Honestly, I go to Stress before Doc most of the time.” 

“Yeah, he would probably try to give you robot parts or something,” Gem nods. 

And even sleepy and distracted by pain, Dream still scents blood. He sees the way the other two women pause, share a glance so quick that anyone slightly less hypervigilant than Dream probably wouldn’t have caught it. The way False’s lips turn down into a frown for just a moment. 

“That’s not really his style,” False says. 

“Yeah, he can’t break the laws of reality itself if he’s busy doing something as mundane and boring as surgery,” Stress agrees, far more casually.

“Makes sense, makes sense.” Gem doesn’t seem to have picked up on whatever tension passed between the other two. 

Nothing comes of it and Dream is far too tired to push it further, especially when Stress passes him a mild healing potion. But he still files the interaction away in the back of his mind to consider later. He sips the potion until he feels the swelling in his ankle go down and the pain recedes into a pleasant floaty feeling. He doesn’t even flinch when Stress pats his knee. 

“Get some rest, luv,” she prompts. “You can try the parkour in the morning if you’re still feeling up for it.” 

That… that would be nice. Dream would like that. As he drifts off to sleep, he thinks back to his youth running parkour maps with his friends. Even if it won’t be anything close to the same, he’s looking forward to trying it again.

Besides, he’d much rather just think about parkour than how long it’s been since he had something to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Dream wakes up the next morning in a small cot next to Gem’s bed. He's not sure how he feels about that. On the one hand, it's nice to sleep deeply enough that he can be moved without waking up. On the other hand, oh fuck someone moved him without him waking up.

Gem and False are sitting across from each other on the bed, chatting quietly as they play a card game. Stress is curled up in a chair on the balcony with a sketchbook on her lap. Dream's ankle is still elevated on a couple of pillows, but he flexes it a little without feeling any pain. He takes a moment to just revel in the quiet atmosphere. 

And then the air is punched out of his lungs by a cat landing on his stomach. 

“Goose!” Gem scolds. She rushes over and scoops him up to dangle above her head. “What have I told you about landing on our guests?” 

Goose plants his hind paw on her nose and uses the leverage to wriggle down to stand on top of her head. 

Gem gives him a dramatic sigh. “Goose…”

Goose baps at the flowers that dangle from her antlers and his claws latch onto the ribbons when Gem grabs him and gently pulls him away. She lets him flop out of her arms onto the floor and saunter off to pester Stress. 

“Are you alright?” she asks. 

Dream realizes he hasn't been breathing. The deep, shuddering inhale all but thunders in his ears. His vision swims. His fingers tingle. He's going under. He fought for so long and so hard, kept his wits about him and keep his head above water as he was tortured for months, and now it all fails him. Now that he's safe and he should be able to plan his revenge, all he can do is dissolve into a pitiful wreck. Is he sobbing? He thinks he might be sobbing. Maybe gasping. His lips burn for air that he's not getting. 

He’s not getting any air. Someone’s taking it away from him. He can’t show any weakness. Slow down. Think . Breathe as deep as you can. Don’t fight back when your limbs are grabbed, moved. He can feel something moving against his palm. Not the cool netherite of Quackity’s axe or the satisfying crunch of Tommy’s skull or the harsh crags of obsidian walls. It seems to be…vibrating. 

Purring. It’s a cat. He’s breathing deeply and petting a cat and the cat is purring and this has happened in his cell before but he’s not in the cell right now. He’s in Hermitcraft, in Gem’s megabase and he’s petting her cat and he can get himself under control. 

Slowly, his breathing levels out. Goose flops over onto his back and baps a paw against Dream’s mask and Gem probably wouldn’t murder her own cat just because Dream likes it. He’s fine .

“Back with us?” False asks after who knows how much longer. Her expression is blank and professional. There’s no pity in her eyes, but no compassion either. 

Dream doesn’t know what his tell was, but he just nods. 

“Can you tell us what set you off?” 

“I– I had a cat in prison,” Dream explains. “ Tommy killed it.” It occurs to him that they probably don’t know who Tommy is. Dream doesn’t care. He should have killed Tommy before the brat could do anything to an innocent, helpless animal. 

Gem frowns. “That’s awful!” 

“Pets don’t tend to be super long lived on that server, but…” Dream allows himself the vulnerability of pulling one knee to his chest. 

“You don’t have to explain,” Stress says from her balcony seat with a small, sad smile. She’s put the sketchbook away and is looking at him with open concern. 

“I don’t want your pity,” Dream sighs. Goose chews at the tether around his wrist for a moment, then darts off the bed to leap back into Gem’s antlers. 

“Well, you’re not getting mine,” False butts in. 

“False!” Gem chides.

“Want to share with the class what happened to Tommy after that?” False demands. There’s no sign of Quackity’s gleeful cruelty on her face. Just her normal calm professionalism. 

Dream glares. “What do you know about any of that?”

“Iskall’s mentioned a thing or two to me.”

Fuck. Fuck. “He killed my cat. I couldn’t just ignore that.” 

False’s expression doesn’t change. 

“I was just teaching him a lesson. He forced my hand!” 

False’s eyes bore into him. She blinks slowly, deliberately. 

“I revived him anyway! I don’t see what the big deal is!” 

False’s eyebrow raises. Gem whispers something to Stress, who whispers back, making Gem frown. She holds Goose close to her chest. 

Dream shuts up. He’s safe here, he has to remind himself. The hermits aren’t going to torture him. Probably. They can condemn him all they like. He doesn’t mind being condemned, if that’s what it takes to get the job done. He can put up with people disliking him. He’s fine. He’s fucking fine.

It looks like False doesn’t even intend to challenge him any further. She breaks eye contact first to check her comm. “Well, it looks like Joe’s ready to take you back. You want to take one more shot at the parkour before you go?” 

Dream rotates his ankle carefully. It feels fine and the healing potion should have taken care of all of it. He’s better rested too. But he’s not looking to take another humiliating fall. And he’d prefer to get out of False’s sight. Back to the safety of people who don’t know enough about what he’s done to condemn. He doesn’t mind the condemnation, but he doesn’t prefer it either. Especially not given how often it’s been coming from the business end of an axe lately. The fact that False’s preferred weapon is a sword does little to encourage him.

“You can come back later if you want,” Gem offers. 

Dream gives her a suspicious look. 

Gem shrugs. “Who among us hasn’t murdered a friend over a minor disagreement at some point?” 

False opens her mouth like she’s about to retort, but then shuts it as she thinks. “Stress?” 

Stress laughs as she gets to her feet, the tension in the room dissipating. “Really, False? It’s like you don’t even know me.” 

“It’s not my fault you look so sweet and innocent,” False says with a smile.

Stress waggles a finger at her. “It’s your fault you’re still falling for it.” 

As they walk back to Joe’s (Dream riding Gem’s horse Sun), False and Stress banter to each other about the “Hermit Civil War”. Dream pays close attention, though he’s starting to doubt that it’ll give him any information he can use. False and Stress were apparently on opposite sides of the war in question. Still, they talk about it like old friends. Based on how they act, Dream is tempted to write it off as one of those play wars between friends (the kind he’d always been fine with having on his own server before Wilbur ruined it). But he can hear the actual content of what they’re saying too. Murderous “pranks”, forcing people to accept gifts of what they most hate, expertly planned and brutal ambushes, whatever the fuck a ghast cannon is. It sounds pretty intense. 

“You guys didn’t get any withers involved?” Gem asks with a light laugh. 

“We considered it to clean up some of Joe’s architecture,” False explains. “But Iskall hadn’t been bothering to run xir wither skull farm since the whole…” she waves her hand dismissively, “big fight thing. It was one of those ‘oh yeah, I’ll go grind for skulls right after I’m done with this other thing’ kind of deals.” 

“Also Iskall was on our side so it would have been theft,” Stress adds. 

“Yeah, Mojang forbid we commit any theft during a war ,” Gem replies sarcastically. 

The other two women both nod. “It’s unsporting,” Stress explains. “TNT is much easier to work with anyway though.” 

“Fair, fair,” Gem agrees. “So, what was the big fight thing?” 

“Oh, we summoned a hundred withers to fight,” False says.

Dream chokes on his inhale. “... How many at a time?” he asks after he’s coughed his lungs up. 

False stares at him for a moment. “A hundred…” she repeats. 

“False, that’s a lot of withers,” Gem points out, sounding as incredulous as Dream feels. 

“Yeah, it was a few too many. We got about a dozen or so, but they lagged out the whole area pretty bad. We had to just abandon the whole area,” False recounts. “I kinda miss the old big wither fights we used to have – we managed a stack without too much trouble in season three, but the continent is way too small this season to find a good spot for it.” 

“Hey False?” 

“Yeah Gem?”

“What the fuck?”

Sun balks when they get close to the inn. Dream doesn’t blame the horse. The whole place reeks of blood bad enough that even he can smell it. He dismounts so Gem can soothe Sun and lets False lead him the rest of the way to the inn. Gem promises to invite him over sometime so he can try the parkour again, maybe even make one a little more challenging. It’s a sweet gesture. He doesn’t trust it.

When he opens the door to the inn, Joe and Cleo are sitting there with a feast laid out between them. Cleo is gesturing dramatically as she talks with her mouth full and teeth stained red by the various bloody foods. 

“So, by this point, Big B and I have absolutely no idea where the enchanter could have gotten off to except that there’s no way Joel still had it because– Oh, hey Dream! Welcome back!” 

Dream nods at her and takes the loaf of bread Joe offers him. 

“Sorry I spooked you,” Cleo says with a sheepish smile. “We’ll make sure we have my spawn set properly next time. Anyway–” 

There’s not much left to her story nor is there much that Dream can glean from it, so he finishes his meal and heads out to get his chores done. The beaver has been freshly harvested, so no need to bother Joe about that. Then it’s down to the portal to check on the flower stalls. Once again, allium and orange tulip are completely bought out. He can just turn on the allium farm and leave it running in the background for a little while while he searches for tulips. Nah, that’s a bad idea. He’ll get distracted and the alliums will despawn. So instead, he turns the allium farm on, gives Waxed Exposed Cut Copper Stairs the dog a quick pat on the head, and takes a minecart down to the spider farm. He can’t farm the spiders himself of course, but if he knows Joe– yep. Still plenty of string. And spider eyes too. Hmm. He skims a couple off the top of the last stack, certain that Joe won’t notice. The tether doesn’t act up either. Perfect. 

Dream leaves the mine before he can get too distracted and collects the stacks of alliums that have piled up in the farm. The non-allium flowers top up the less popular colors in the flower farm and then Dream goes to the gym to check the stock there. Definitely room for improvement, even if sales haven’t been the greatest lately. He tosses the couple of Derpcoin he can find into the payment barrel and separates out his own payment from the flower farm profits. He’s up to owning a grand total of six diamonds. Practically Technoblade levels of wealth here. He hopes Techno isn’t still trying to break him out of prison. As funny as it would be for Techno to stage a break in only for him to be missing, Dream wouldn’t mind still being able to call on him for that IOU. 

Okay, he can grab extra stock from the flower farm to get dyes for the candles and he really needs to get around to optimizing his route for this because even if his ankle only twinges a little bit, this back and forth is pretty much unnecessary. Would it be faster to grab the beeswax and make the plain colored candles now? Probably. 

He steps into the graveyard and oh! There’s someone in the church! What’s Doc doing in there? The door to the basement is open, so he must have been fetching something from the clinic. Dream steps closer to the window to investigate.

“–is pretty severe, so I can’t promise I’ll be able to make a full bionic eye,” Doc is saying. 

Whoever he’s talking to says something that Dream doesn’t catch. There’s an uneasy feeling in the pit of Dream’s stomach even as he creeps right up under the window, green hoodie keeping him hidden in the bushes. 

“I have the knowledge, yes, but–” A pause. “Repairing the optic nerve when it’s damaged so far back takes a fair bit of manual dexterity that this prosthetic doesn’t allow for.” Another pause, then a sharp laugh. “Take it up with Dinnerbone.” 

That’s interesting. Doc didn’t strike Dream as the religious type. Who is he talking to anyway? Iskall and Etho both have bionic eyes already and there’s no one else on this server that Dream has seen who would need one.

More words Dream can’t quite catch, more inexplicable anxiety in the back of his throat, and then, “I am the only trained neurosurgeon on the server… Ha. Well, I suppose I could ask Etho, if you really want a functional eye, but I wouldn’t trust him poking around your brain. He’s a bit too curious for his own good. Or, more importantly, yours.” 

Oh this is good. This is juicy information. Dream peeks his head over the windowsill to see inside. 

And, heart hammering in his throat, he ducks back down again. Every muscle in his body locks up. Stay still. Stay quiet. Act like you’re invisible and pray to anyone who might listen that he’ll ignore you. 

“I mean, I do really miss having my depth perception,” Quackity says and his casual laugh rips into Dream’s nerves like shears.

Chapter Text

Dream kneels in the bushes, completely motionless. Head down, eyes down, hands down, everything down and quiet and submissive so Quackity won’t hurt him any worse and to make sure Quackity has as little exposed area as possible to hurt him. Not that it’ll save him. Not that it ever has. But if Dream can’t cling to the hope of even slightly mitigating the pain, then he loses everything. 

“Depth perception is nice, but if Etho does something he shouldn’t, there won’t be anyone able to reverse it.” Doc’s voice breaks through Dream’s terror, just enough to focus on what’s actually going on. They’re talking about making Quackity a new eye. That makes sense. Dream remembers sitting in the field before, Cleo looming over him and telling him that not everything is about him. That idea is reassuring now.

Dream still isn’t gonna move though. Not until he knows the coast is clear. 

“Is this Etho guy likely to do something like that?” Quackity asks.

Okay, this could end in Quackity suffering permanent brain damage. Dream definitely doesn’t mind that idea. He’s fine, actually. He’s doing fine.

Doc doesn’t answer immediately. “He hasn’t done it in a very long time, but as far as I understand, he hasn’t had the chance to either. So it’s hard to say.” 

“Right. Right. Could I maybe meet him and decide for myself?” 

“If you like. I’m not sure where he is, but we can check his base first.” 

Doc and Quackity are moving then and Dream prays that they won’t see him, but the gods are about as responsive now as they were in Pandora’s Vault and he hears them step outside and turn the corner and then stop in their tracks right behind him. 

“Up,” Quackity snaps. 

Dream shoots to his feet, plants his hands on the wall on either side of his head. He has no idea if Quackity is armed, but the Warden is always on Quackity’s side and the Warden is always armed and he’s not about to take any chances. 

“What are you doing here?” Quackity demands. 

Dream opens his mouth to reply, but Doc cuts him off.

“Don’t answer that. Quackity, you don’t have any authority over our prisoner.” 

Oooo. The girls are fighting . Dream wishes he could see the look on Quackity’s face. 

“But–”

Doc doesn’t let Quackity speak either. “Dream is under Hermit custody. That means only Hermits are allowed to act as his wardens. Besides, he’s not permitted to speak to members of his old server. You can wait in the inn while I talk to him.” 

Is Doc… is Doc coming to Dream’s defense? He’s not exactly being kind about it, but Dream is excruciatingly aware of how close Quackity is and yet Quackity hasn’t hurt him yet. Because Doc interrupted him. Dream shouldn’t feel so pathetically grateful that Doc is doing more than the absolute barest minimum to keep him alive, but here he is anyway.

Quackity snarls in rage and Dream flinches and presses his face closer to the stone wall of the church. But then he hears Quackity storm away. Then Quackity is gone. It’s just him and Doc. And the wall that Dream can’t quite bring himself to peel away from. 

“So, what are you doing here?” Doc asks. This is even weirder than Dream initially thought. It’s not even just that Doc didn’t care about the information. It’s a reasonable question to ask. Or at least an unsurprising one. But he didn’t let Quackity ask it. Though, he is pretty strict about Iskall’s rules.

“Getting wax, sir,” Dream explains. He’s figured out the exact way to pitch his voice so that he can be heard by someone behind him without them thinking he’s shouting. “To restock the candle store.” 

“And why were you hiding in the bushes?” 

“I heard Quackity and I panicked, sir.” 

Doc sighs heavily. Dream flinches again, hands twitching against the wall. “We had intended to keep him away from you,” he says, sounding almost apologetic. Dream doesn’t know what to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything. He hears Doc typing into the comm behind him. Then Doc says, “Come. We’re going back to the inn.” 

Dream’s heart sinks, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He turns around and forces himself to put one foot in front of the other. He can’t even bring himself to stuff his hands into his pockets. The cheery orange roof of the Dran and Courtier hangs over his head like an anvil ready to splatter his brains across the ground. 

Doc opens the door and Dream walks in. His eyes are fixed on the floor, but Quackity’s neat leather dress shoes are unmistakable. He’s gotten new ones since the last time Dream saw him. The new ones don’t have the small scratches and scuffs from Dream desperately clawing at him and pleading for mercy. But it’s not only Quackity anymore. Dream can see Cleo’s magenta sneakers, Joe’s gray work boots, Doc’s bright green Crocs. Dream knows none of them are on his side, but this isn’t Pandora’s Vault. He might even survive. 

“So, I was under the impression that Dream was going to be imprisoned here,” Quackity starts, contempt thick in his voice. “Not just wandering around unsupervised where he can spy on people.” 

“Dream, were you spying on people?” Cleo asks as she gestures for Dream to sit down next to her. Joe sits on her other side while Quackity leans against the bar and Doc guards the door. 

“No, sir,” Dream replies. “Uh, ma’am. No, ma’am. I was just doing my chores and I heard Quackity talking.” He sits and places both hands flat on the table where everyone else in the room can see that they’re empty.

“What did you hear?” Quackity demands. 

This time, it’s Cleo’s hand on Dream’s arm that shuts him up. The stitches between her middle and ring fingers are starting to fray a bit. Dream tracks the path of the thread through her hand to stave off all out panic.  

“You’re Quackity, then?” Joe asks. 

“Yeah, that’s me.” 

“The guy who tortured Dream?” 

Just like that, the air in the room changes. Everything goes quiet and still and unbearably tense. Dream doesn’t dare to move.

“Yeah, I did,” Quackity admits. “And you know what? He deserved it. He still does. Even if I tortured him every single fucking day for the rest of my life, it wouldn’t even come close to making up for the shit he’s done. He’s ruined all our lives, pitted everyone against each other. He destroyed the Community House just so he could blame Tommy for it. He destroyed our whole fucking country. He forced Tubbo to exile his best friend and I still don’t know what he did to Tommy in exile but I know that we thought for months that Tommy had fucking killed himself because of it! He fucking beat Tommy to death with his bare hands just to see if he could bring him back from the dead! He made a whole museum of all our attachments so that he could use them to control us like some sort of fucked up puppetmaster. So, yeah, I tortured him. And he fucking deserved every last second of it.” 

Dream doesn’t speak. He isn’t allowed to speak. He clings to that like a lifeline. He has his reasons for doing everything. Good, sound reasons. He was acting for the good of the server and Tommy provoked him anyway and he knows that’s never earned him any mercy before because the server decided that the only way they would even think about uniting was against him and this is just the natural consequence of that. No one wants to hear his reasons. They just want to scapegoat him. 

The Hermits are silent for a long moment too. They don’t seem to know what to say to Quackity. 

Cleo is the one who breaks the silence first. “He won’t be doing any of those things anymore,” she says, soft but stern. She speaks it like a simple truth. It’s the tone the Warden had tried to take when assuring people that no one could escape Pandora’s Vault. The one he’d never managed to hit quite right. 

“He’s a threat,” Quackity insists. “Even if you have him locked up. As long as he can speak, he’s a threat.” 

“That’s why we’re not letting him speak,” Cleo explains. “I understand that he’s much stronger than most people on your server. But we’re not on your server. We’re on Hermitcraft and we are capable of keeping him in check.” 

“He deserves to suffer for what he did.” 

“Even at the expense of the rest of the server?” Doc asks. “You said it yourself. He was still a threat. How can people move on and recover if they have that constant threat in the back of their minds? It would be foolish to do so. But here, he is not a threat to anyone.” 

Now it’s Quackity’s turn to be silent. Dream much prefers this option. He would really prefer if Quackity could also still understand that Dream is very threatening, thank you very much, but this is not the time or place to stop playing nice. 

“You can move on,” Cleo repeats. “Doc can fix your eye up and we’ll keep Dream away from you while that happens and then you never have to even be in the same server as him again.”

“Except for when he’s using the Revival Book,” Joe clarifies. “But that doesn’t take too long.” 

“Don’t you know some necromancy anyway, Joe?” Doc asks. 

“The Necronomicon is a bit of a misnomer. I suppose it’s sorta necromantic in the sense that you’re bringing things into this world which really are better off not being here, but there’s nothing in there about actually bringing the dead back to life. Point is, I couldn’t take over dead-raising duties without a copy of the Revival Book for myself.” 

“I think you could, Joe. I believe in you.”

“Aw, thanks, Cleo.” 

“I thought you brought Cleo back?” Doc says.

Cleo huffs. “Heaven forbid a man and woman just be friends without something more between them.” 

“Can we get back to the part where Dream is frolicking around in flower fields instead of facing any sort of punishment for all the fucked up shit he’s done?” Quackity interjects. 

Dream would really rather they didn’t, personally, but no one cares what he thinks about the situation. 

“Sam called on me for help because he was no longer mentally capable of acting as Warden,” Doc explains. “From what I understand, he probably should have called me far sooner than he did. But regardless. Keeping Dream in prison was the best option you had available to you at the time to minimize the chances of him causing harm. But now that he is in our custody, he is absolutely no threat to you at all.” 

“Look, I get that,” Quackity says. “And I do appreciate it. Thank you. Seriously. But don’t you think he deserves a little more consequences than–” he waves a hand around the room “–this?”

“Maybe so,” Joe agrees and Dream’s heart plummets, “but I don’t really want to be a torturer.” 

“I don’t think any of the Hermits do,” Cleo agrees. “It’s really more about us than him.” 

“It’s not fair!” Quackity shouts. “It’s not fucking fair that he gets to torture people for months and just get away with it!” 

“It’s not,” Doc agrees. “It’s not fair at all. And it’s not fair that you do either.” 

Finally, Dream can’t resist. He raises his head. Sees the firm, but calm expression on Doc’s face. Quackity looks openly shocked. Cleo gives Dream a reassuring pat on the arm. Joe is crocheting. 

“I saw the aftermath of what you did to Dream,” Doc continues. “And most of it three months after the fact. What you did to him is absolutely despicable and the only consequence you will get from it is a top quality prosthetic. That’s not what any reasonable person would call fair.”

“Well, if you think I’m such an evil person, why bother helping me to begin with?” Quackity demands. Dream could ask the same question about himself.

“Because, regardless of who or what you are, I am a doctor.” 

“You don’t have to think it’s fair,” Joe says, not looking up from his crocheting. “And I will be having a talk with Dream about some of what you mentioned. But it’s my job to have that talk. It’s not yours. Not anymore. You can move on with your life. Maybe try some frolicking in the flower fields for yourself.” 

That’s the wrong thing to say. Dream can see the exact second Quackity fully registers what Joe said. He watches, frozen and horrified, as an iron sword appears in Quackity’s hand, arcs towards Joe’s throat, and–

The blade embeds in the post behind Joe. Joe himself is… fine? He looks fine. Moderately annoyed if anything. 

“What–?” Quackity asks. Weird how much he and Dream have been on the same wavelength, Dream thinks from the edge of hysteria. 

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Joe says, completely unbothered by the attempted murder. “Just hit a face camera expansion, which comes with a corresponding drop in Joepacity and thus tanJoebility. If you want to stab me, best to wait until six am Punxsutawney time.”  

“What the fuck?” 

Doc huffs a laugh and places a heavy hand on Quackity’s shoulder. “It’s best to not ask too many questions with Joe. Let’s go find Etho.” 

The door closes behind them. As soon as it does, Dream goes into his room. He shuts and locks the door behind him, digs up the chest under the floorboard to stash away his spiders eyes, covers it up again. He goes through as much of a normal routine as he possibly can until the day’s events catch up with him like a gut punch. But even as he curls up into a ball and sobs through a panic attack, he can tell that something has changed. For the first time since he started breaking all his attachments on purpose, it feels like there might be someone in his corner. 

He doesn’t expect the feeling to last any longer than whatever conversation Joe wants to have, so he resolves to enjoy it while he can.

Chapter Text

When Dream emerges from his room that evening, Joe is… hazy. He’s in the reading nook with a book perched on a lectern. It would be a familiar sight if Dream couldn't also see the back of the chair that Joe’s sitting on. 

“Are you uh… like, what's up with you?” Dream asks, internally wincing. 

Joe looks up from his book. Looks down at himself. “I’m fine,” he says. “This just kinda happens sometimes. It'll reset in the morning. Although, I’d appreciate it if you could turn the page for me. Gets a little tricky with Jhosty fingers sometimes.”

Dream approaches him hesitantly and turns the page. 

Joe smiles up at him. “You ready to have the hard conversations now or do you wanna wait until I’m a little more Joepaque?”

Dream wants to shove his hands in his pockets. He still can't bring himself to do it. “Is never an option?”

“Not if you want to stay here,” Joe says. “False, Stress, and Gem are the only other group who might take you in full time and they weren’t too keen on it, last I heard.”

Dream flops down in the seat across from Joe and puts his feet up on the table like a sullen teenager. Some small measure of rebellion to make himself feel better about how little any of it actually matters. “I don't think my answers are gonna make you want me around,” he points out. “So maybe it's in my best interest to just not say anything.”

“Well that's almost self awareness,” Joe muses. 

Dream glares. “I’m self aware. I know I’ve done bad shit. I’m literally saying people don't like being around people who do the things I’ve done.”

Joe hums. “So do you just not like people or what?”

Dream huffs. He's got a chance now to tell his side of the story, one he's wanted for so long, but the words stick in his throat. “I don't mind people,” he begins. “I just mind when they cause problems for other people.”

“You’ve done a fair bit of that, from what I’ve heard.”

Dream hooks his thumbs into his pockets. It still makes his heart beat wildly, but it's more tolerable than trying for his whole hand. “It would have been fine if people just listened to me. My server was great for a while! And then people stopped listening to me and they started fighting each other and people were getting killed and no one wanted to make it stop and I figured you know there's nothing that brings people together like a common enemy so if I gave them one then maybe I could get things back to normal.”

“Did they?” 

“Do you think I’d be here if they did?” 

“I don’t know what normal looks like on your server.” 

Dream drums his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Don’t know if it even really counts as my server anymore. It’s supposed to be the Dream SMP not the whatever stupid factions we’ve decided to split into this time SMP.” 

“Mm.” Joe thinks for a second. “You know, Xisuma wasn’t always our admin. He was just the guy who stepped up to the plate when our last admin left. He’s been acting as admin so long that most people forget he didn’t found the server, but we still kept the old name.” 

“What happened to the last admin?” Dream asks. 

“He wasn’t able to admin anymore.” 

“I feel like there’s more to the story than that.” 

“The story ends there,” Joe replies. “But no story can contain the whole of anything except itself. Point is, you can have the Dream SMP be a perfectly good place to be without Dream being in charge of it.” 

“Well, it’s clearly not. Splitting off into factions the way they did never caused anything but violence and bloodshed.” 

“What prompted the splits?” 

It’s not an accusation, but it feels like one. “They didn’t like some of my rules, so they were acting up on purpose.” 

“And how did you respond to that?” 

Dream doesn’t answer.

Joe fixes him with a stern look. “Was it violence and bloodshed?” 

“They started it!” Dream crosses his arms across his chest, uncrosses them, wishes he had the nerve to ball them into fists. Instead, the swirling anger just keeps swirling, unfocused and unchanneled and grating on his already frayed nerves. He hates how petulant he sounds. “They deserved what they got. That’s what happens when you defy the admin.” 

“Not all servers work like that.” 

“Mine does.” 

Joe laces his fingers together. The look on his face is infuriating. It’s judgemental and patronizing and everything that Dream had feared when he thought about trying to explain his side of the story. At least everything he had feared until Quackity had–

“Look,” he snaps before his mind can go too far down that path. “I know everything’s all picture perfect here and everyone gets along great, but not everywhere is like that. Sometimes you can’t actually fix all your problems by having a pleasant chat over some tea. Not everyone wants to just talk shit out and be best friends.” 

Joe’s expression changes to one that reminds Dream a lot of Cleo. Not quite calculating, but something in that area. “Tea’s not a bad idea actually,” he says, standing. “Could you put the kettle on for me?” 

Dream wants to press him for an answer but not as much as he wants to not have this conversation so he follows Joe to the kitchen without complaint. Joe manages to open the cabinet, but the kettle slips through his fingers and falls down the middle of his torso. He ducks out of the way and Dream manages to catch it before it hits the ground. 

“You literally just asked me to get this for you,” Dream points out as he turns on the tap. 

“Slipped my mind,” Joe says. He gets the box of tea bags out without any incident. 

Dream sets the water on to boil and rummages through the cabinets for a mug. One has “Best Admin” written on it. He grabs it and blinks. “Is this for Xisuma?” he asks. 

Joe smiles sheepishly. “No, that’s mine. Cleo got it for me after I cleared my whole inventory by accident. You can borrow it if you like though.” 

Dream blinks. “You’re the admin?” he asks incredulously. 

“One of ‘em,” Joe confirms. He grabs a thick plastic mug. It slips through his fingers and bounces off the floor, but doesn’t shatter and he gets it the second time. It has a little doodle of Joe sitting in a coffee mug with the words “Cuppa Joe” written on it. 

That… that explains some things at least. Mostly how Xisuma always seemed to be conveniently at hand whenever they needed something adminly done. Why they trusted Joe to be responsible for Dream despite his seeming lack of power. It raises a lot of new questions though.

“Why do you need more than one admin?” 

“In case something comes up and Xisuma is busy,” Joe replies easily. He tries to rifle through the various tea bags, but his fingers keep phasing through. 

Dream just dumps the box out on the counter and spreads the bags out so Joe can see everything. “What if one of you wants to take over as head admin?” 

Joe laughs. “Why would we want to do that? It’s just extra responsibility. But if someone really wanted to do it, we would talk about it.” 

“Talk about it,” Dream repeats dully. He picks out an orange flavored herbal tea for himself and tears the bag open. “Right.”

Joe goes for a bag of oolong. “So, do you actually think we all get along here on Hermitcraft or were you just exaggerating?” 

“I mean, all of you can be in the same place without bloodshed long enough to ‘talk about’ whatever, so you’re already doing better than us.” 

Joe doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Do you think your server is doomed?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“Well, if you can take us not being at each others’ throats now as evidence that everything is ‘picture perfect’, then can a server where people kill each other ever be anything else? We get along on Hermitcraft, according to you, so we can’t understand what violence and bloodshed is like. So now that it’s started on your server, is there any way it could possibly be stopped?” 

The kettle starts whistling. Dream pours the water for both of them. He doesn’t want Joe splashing boiling water all over the kitchen. He’s had enough of boiling to last him a lifetime. Suddenly, the tea doesn’t seem so appealing anymore. He tries to keep it off his posture, but Joe must pick up on something. 

“I got sweet tea in the fridge too,” he offers. “You can grab yourself a glass if you like.” 

“Thanks.” 

The iced tea is in a blue pitcher covered with plastic wrap next to clear takeout containers filled with congealed blood. Most of the fridge is filled with blood, actually. Makes sense why Joe cooks with it so much. This is probably a lot to try and discard. Dream’s hands don’t shake when he pours the tea. Nothing about him shakes at all as he leans against the counter to sip it. 

Joe wraps both hands underneath his mug. It slips through one palm every so often, but the other always manages to catch it. “We don’t all get along,” he says just when Dream had been hoping that he’d been distracted. “No one ever gets along all the time. And we don’t always manage to talk out our differences either. And honestly? Bless Xisuma’s heart but he’s not cut out to be a mediator.” He puts the mug down on the counter, shakes out his hands like holding the mug had strained them. “This server has seen a fair bit of violence and bloodshed in its day. But we always manage to come back together.” 

Dream’s heart aches. He hasn’t been on his feet long enough to blame it on that. “I’m sure it’s a lot easier to work that shit out when your admins are good people,” he replies sullenly. His voice is caught somewhere between sincerity and sarcasm and he’d be hard pressed to decide which one he’d been aiming for. 

“Do you think you’re a bad person?” Joe asks. 

“I’ve done bad shit,” Dream admits easily. “But I had my reasons.” 

“The ends justify the means?” 

“Something like that.” 

“And what if the means don’t get you to those ends?” 

Dream stares down at his glass of iced tea. Takes a sip and hears the slight click of the joint on the custom mask his captors made to make his life here more comfortable. Certainly a better prison than the last. His own prison certainly hadn’t gotten him what he wanted. “Then I guess that would make me a bad person,” he admits. “Even if I did have the right reasons. But even bad people doing bad things can still…” He trails off. “Fine,” he blurts out. “Okay. Fine. I’m a bad person.” It almost feels like a weight off his shoulders to say out loud. 

“Are you?” 

“Yes,” Dream manages to keep his voice level. He takes another sip of sweet tea to try and steady his nerves. It doesn’t help. “I’ve done a lot of bad things and I did it for bad reasons that didn’t even do what I wanted them to do.” The words spill out of him more easily than he cares to admit. But he may as well, if he’s admitting to everything else anyway. “I got… I got tunnel visioned, I guess. I knew what I wanted and I knew– I thought I knew how to get it and I was wrong and it didn’t work and now everyone on my server hates me and they have plenty of good reasons to and– are you even listening to me?” 

Joe glances up from his comm. “I’m listening, Dream. Just had to ask Doc something real quick.” 

Dream puts his tea down on the counter and jumps up to sit next to it, swinging his feet against the cabinets. “So what now? You got your confession out of me. I’m a bad person and I can’t imagine you want to be around me any longer than you have to, so…” he gestures vaguely into the air. 

“You’d be surprised by the kind of people we keep around,” Joe responds mildly. “We got a guy who literally has Evil in his name.” 

“I’ve met him though,” Dream scoffs. “I seriously doubt he’s actually managed to hurt anyone that badly.” 

Joe laughs. “You’re not wrong about that.” He looks back down at his comm. “But if you got a minute, let me tell you a bit about Doc and Etho.” 

It’s a chance not to think about his emotions and to learn more about the guy he’s been most curious about from the start. Dream doesn’t see any downsides. 

“It’s not like I got anywhere else to be.”

Chapter Text

“So, how much do you know about Etho?” Joe starts. 

Dream shrugs. “He’s a redstoner?” he offers. “Should I know him?” 

“He’s pretty famous in redstoner circles,” Joe explains. 

“Ah. I’ve never paid much attention to those.” It occurs to Dream that more caffeine might not be what he needs when he’s already so keyed up. But taking another sip of his sweet tea is something to do with his hands. 

“Well, he’s never been the kind of guy to love the spotlight anyway. He’s…” Joe pauses, considers his words for a moment. “I’m kinda not sure where to start, actually.”

“How about how he and Doc met?” Dream offers.

“Yeah, that’s not really gonna work,” Joe says. He glances down at his communicator. “But Doc says he’s heading over to tell the story himself. It’s really his to tell, so. Saves me the trouble. Have you had dinner yet?” 

“Been too nervous to eat,” Dream admits. 

“Understandable.” Joe grabs some bread and puts it in the toaster. He checks his comm again. “Alright, Doc told me where to start, at least. So, it started with Chocolate Island. Way back in the day, Etho had a survival world he called Chocolate Island, and he was doing a lot of the early experiments on mobs. How to keep them from spawning, how to farm them, things like that. It wasn’t widely understood. He was at the cutting edge, really. A pioneer from well before things like ethics boards got established. Doc was–”

The burst of firework rockets cuts Joe off and the door opens to reveal the creeper hybrid himself. Doc walks over to them and Dream is finally paying enough attention to see how weird his pace is. One leg moves more or less normally, but the other… Is it a limp? He pulls up a barstool and drags it into the kitchen and as much as Dream’s memories like to shy away from remembering the Warden in too much detail, he does remember why Sam much preferred stools to regular chairs. 

“You can ask,” Doc says with a chuckle. 

Dream flinches a bit, but he blurts out “Are you missing legs?” 

Doc laughs louder. “You didn’t notice?”

“I was… distracted.” 

Doc considers that for a moment and walks over to the counter to make himself a cup of tea. His left leg moves backwards and now that he’s paying attention, Dream can see that it’s a creeper hind leg.“Fair enough, I suppose. But yes, I am missing legs,” Doc confirms. He gestures to his redstone eye. “Half my skull too. They never grew in properly. But I’m still the closest Etho ever got to a successful experiment.”

Something twists in the pit of Dream’s stomach at that. Not that he's above human experimentation himself, but… yeah it's still a shitty thing to do. He’s done shitty things.

“What about your arm?” he asks.

“Lost it later,” Doc says with a casual shrug. “We’ll come back to it. The main point is that Etho was lonely in his single player world and he already had an affinity for creepers so he wanted to see if he could make a creeper-player hybrid. The means he attempted to do so were…”

“Fucked up?” Dream offers. 

“Fucked up,” Doc agrees, sitting on the stool with his cup of tea. He went for the same one Dream had tried. “I’ll spare you the gory details of all seventy six experiments before me but by the time I was old enough to form memories, I’d already undergone eleven surgeries. I had brand new untested redstone devices hardwired into my brain and it took him a few tries to get them right. He had to take them out and redo them almost from scratch more than once. He hadn't found any anesthetics that worked for me yet either. He grafted in the goat DNA when I was about six? Maybe a little younger. My head was too small to fit all the redstone in it so he made me a hollow horn to put the extra in and the other just grew in naturally.”

Doc talks about it all matter of factly, with little emotion in his voice, while Dream fights down the horror. Joe is hiding his expression behind the cup of tea, but he doesn't look pleased either.

“That's what made me officially a project failure,” Doc continues. “The goat DNA. Etho wanted only creeper and player, but none of the experiments after me were even close to as viable as I was. They were all stillborn or else detonated within a year. Etho is the only non-creeper who actually understands the mechanisms behind our gunpowder, but even he couldn't meddle with it successfully.”

He taps the redstone device implanted in his chest. “This one filters the excess gunpowder out of my bloodstream. I have enough player in me to respawn if I do detonate, but it's not a pleasant experience. The waste gunpowder isn't even usable, which is very annoying. I tried fixing that once but it's so close to my heart that I can't really do much. And I’m not gonna let Etho try to do it. He might try to optimize it.”

Dream sips his tea and resists the urge to bang his heels against the cupboard doors. Hermitcraft has seemed like such a friendly place. Even their openly evil guy wasn't very good at being evil. Iskall threatened him, sure, but xe’s left him alone ever since. It's hard to imagine them alongside someone who does fucked up experiments on children. Which is definitely worse than what he's done. He's done fucked up experiments, sure, but not to children. …Not very young children, at least. 

“The problem is that the gunpowder gland ends up very very close to the heart when you have a human heart involved,” Doc continues as though this isn’t all incredibly horrific. “In most cases, they were either fused together or even intersecting, which makes it impossible to adjust the function of the gunpowder gland without also damaging the heart. That’s why most of the experiments detonated so quickly. I just got lucky that mine were actually properly separated.” 

“Fuck,” Dream breathes out. “I don’t–” He hesitates. 

“Go on,” Doc prompts. 

“I don’t know if I’d consider it lucky to go through all that.” 

Doc snorts. “I am quite happy with my life now and I never would have been born without those experiments. And yet, they were still unforgivably evil.” 

Ah. Dream sees where this is going now. He tries to cut it off before it gets there. “Look, I get it, okay? I’m a bad person. We all agree on that. I don’t need you to treat me like a child.” 

“Oh, is that what we’re doing?” Doc asks. “I just like talking about myself. I am a miracle of biomedical engineering. In fact, I am the blueprint for every creeper hybrid. Mojang took Etho’s designs and modified them into something stable that could be born naturally. Full heads and four legs and everything. They never did quite manage to perfect the hips, though.” 

Not everything revolves around you says the little Cleo in Dream’s head. He isn’t exactly thrilled to discover her existence. But also, this conversation is very much supposed to be about him.

“Joe and I were talking about, well, my own history. I mentioned that it’s a lot harder to have a server where people can get along when the people on the server aren’t trying to start problems on purpose–”

Doc bursts out laughing. “Sorry, sorry,” he chuckles. 

Joe, who has at least had the decency not to laugh, adds “He also was talking about how we all get along so we must not understand what bloodshed and violence are like.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Dream insists. “I just said that not everywhere has people who are willing to get along and stop hurting each other without forceful intervention.” 

“And I suppose you assume that the admin is the one who has the force to intervene?” 

“I mean, no one wants to listen to someone without a good reason to and it’s not like you can get Mojang to intervene directly.” 

“Oh you can,” Doc says. “I just advise against it. That’s how I lost my arm.” 

“You lost it to Mojang?” 

Doc nods. “I beat Dinnerbone in a fight and I boasted that I needed to be nerfed.” He grins sharply. “He agreed.”

Right. The hermits are incredibly terrifying . Dream really needs to stop forgetting that part. 

“Could have been worse, though,” Doc continues. “It wasn’t really painful. The arm was just there one moment and gone the next. Gave me much more control over where and how to attach the nerves because I didn’t have to work around any trauma or scar tissue. And yes, I did do the surgery myself. Etho was the only other person who could have done it at the time and I wasn’t about to let him at me again.” 

The toaster pops and Dream flinches violently, almost spilling his tea. The bread is slightly burnt. He takes it anyway. “You–” 

“Did the surgery myself,” Doc repeats impatiently. 

“We’re getting off track though,” Joe finally interrupts. “But there’s two things I want you to take away from this. And I know you don’t wanna be patronized to, so I’m just gonna put ‘em right next to each other and let you draw your own conclusions. First off, we are not people that easily cede to authority figures just because they say they’re in charge–”

“Joe’s probably the worst out of all of us,” Doc adds. 

“Aw, Doc, now my points aren’t gonna be right next to each other!” 

“He’s a big boy. He can figure it out.” 

“Point two–” Joe says, glaring at Doc. “We still manage to get along just fine. Despite the fact that we don’t have anyone with the power to force us to do what they want. Despite the fact that we don’t always get along. Despite the fact that we aren’t all good people. We make it work.” 

“Etho’s a good person,” Doc says. “I haven’t forgiven him for what he’s done to me or to any of my siblings and I never will. But he stopped. He says it’s just because I got booted from the world when my player side fully manifested, but he took up note blocks instead of new hybrid experiments. And when he got lonely again in his new single player world, he made a fully redstone machine to keep him company instead. He probably could have found a way around the single player world restrictions if he kept trying. If anyone could, it would be Etho. But by then he knew how much harm he’d done and he decided to stop.” 

Dream is starting to see the appeal of talking about things indirectly. “What does it matter if he stopped though? He still did it. How do you trust he won’t do it again?” 

“I don’t,” Doc replies like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I don’t trust him and I don’t forgive him. For years, I didn’t go anywhere near him. For years, I was furious that he was even trying to be a good person. That after everything he had done–and believe me I have barely scratched the surface of what he’s done–he had the nerve to pretend that he could change. That he could simply decide to stop being a monster and force me to just deal with that. He stole the chance for me to slay the monster that had haunted me for my whole life. But. People aren’t monsters. They’re just people. Sometimes they’re despicable people. Sometimes they’re people that don’t want your help. Sometimes they’re people who must be dealt with harshly and swiftly before they have a chance to harm anyone else. But sometimes they’re people who decide to be better people. And it’s a good thing when they make that decision.” 

Dream doesn’t reply immediately. He tries to tell himself that it’s a stupid philosophy. That the hermits are painfully naive and just don’t understand the real world. But he can see the redstone holding Doc together with his own two eyes. And not just that. He’s seen the bloodlust that consumes Cleo, the demons that Joe binds, the stories False and Stress tell of withers and wars on a scale he’s grateful to know he can’t fully comprehend. He knows they’ve had every chance to treat him like a monster too. 

He’s spent so, so long as the monster. Maybe it’s just selfish of him to want to give it up. Maybe he just doesn’t want to deal with what people like Quackity and Sam are willing to do to keep monsters contained.  He’d never thought Sam was capable of sitting back and letting a person be tortured, but it’s different when you’re dealing with a monster. 

Maybe it’s selfish. Dream tells himself it’s selfish. It’s so much easier to tell himself that it’s for self defense and a chance to get the server back under his thumb and so he won’t get tortured again and for any other reason besides the thought that he could come back from everything he’s done. 

But he doesn’t think he wants to be a monster anymore.