Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dream spends far too much time looking at the sunrise.

As soon as he was strong enough to walk, he would push open his window, take a face full of wintery air, and climb onto the roof. It was a good bit of freedom— one he clung onto when he was well enough to walk. Just being able to go somewhere, no matter how ridiculous it was, was nice.

It was embarrassing the first time he did it granted his legs were still rather weak from the lack of exercise. Needless to say, Techno was rightfully worried when he heard a crash followed by whining. His worries diminished a bit when he raced outside, wearing his chestplate over his pajamas and his axe in hand, only to see a very stupid and sun-starved manchild in a crumbled snowy heap.  

(He can still remember how hot his face got when his eyes caught one of the windows to see Ranboo peering through, frozen with a questioning stare directed at him.)

Dream knows better now. He pushes open the trapdoor window and uses the small spaces in between them to support his legs. He has a blanket wrapped around his waist and wears gloves to avoid freezing his hands off. It's like clockwork now; he isn’t as scared as he had been when he grips onto the sloped roof and pulls himself up. His arms do shake a bit, still not used to carrying his own weight, but he manages.

Dream’s lucky that Techno really only cares about the frontal portion of his home. He’s not sure how he would feel about the vines that Dream uses as a ladder to crawl up to the roof. (Actually, he’s not sure how Techno would feel about him scaling the roof at all.)

Pulling himself up is a bit easier with proper support, and when he finally gets to the top, his face is blasted with sunlight.

The feeling of the sun on his face is as amazing as it was the first time. Honey dipped rays peeks over the mountain tops, casting over the commune, rich and loving. Warmth pools out, stretching its hands to shine on Dream feverously.

There’s something awfully enticing about the feeling of sunlight on him, like he’s being beckoned to stay for a while longer. The sun’s affections are vehement; its touch pulls him closer to sit and spend a moment in its hold.

Dream unties the blanket from his waist and pulls it over his shoulders. The sun is bright and he’d be happy to bathe beneath it for hours. But the frigid northern winds are stronger, cradling the showers of warmth away just as quickly as they came.

He flutters his eyes shut and lets himself sunbathe for a few moments.

He tries really hard not to compare the sun’s warm caress to lava’s heat, talons of white hot agony digging into his flesh. The sun peppers kisses on his cheeks and face, and for a terrible moment he can't help but imagine the blankets of bubbling magma oozing into his flesh, leaving him scalded and bleeding fire. If he pulls the blanket closer to him it feels like a gentle embrace; an embrace that doesn’t feel like a cage. 

The very thought of skin grazing against his makes goosebumps rise and bile form in the back of his throat.

Dream hears the flutter of wings and his ear twitches. He thinks of multicoloured parrots passing through for migration, he imagines crows with shining pendants wrapped around their throats, sun raining onto iridescent feathers. Instead, he feels the light get overshadowed by something big and huffs.

Dream’s eyes flutter open. He squints.

A halo of golden hair frames an avian’s face and hovers over its shoulders. A face lined with age and stress contrasts with its cerulean eyes; still. As bright as its hair is, as endless as its eyes are, Dream prefers the sun and the sky, dotted with clouds. 

Phil snickers at the look and scoots over to the side. It settles into a crouch a few feet away, pressing an elbow on its thigh and supporting its chin. 

“Sunbathing then?” It prompts.

“It’s really pretty,” Dream murmurs in response. It comes off defensive, but Phil doesn’t seem to mind. Its smile is gentle, and Dream forces himself to not analyse it any further. (He thinks for a moment that its eyes shine with pity. The expression reminds him of a hooded figure with empty promises.)

“It is, it is,” it hums. “How long have you been waiting?”

“Since sunset.”

Phil furrows its brow, wondering if it had misheard. When Dream’s expression doesn’t change, Dream can tell Phil is trying not to sound exasperated.

“Have you not been sleeping?” Dream shifts uncomfortably. Phil sounds awfully like a parent, and he’s not sure how he feels about getting scolded. 

He shakes his head, blinking blearily at the rising horizon, ignoring the way it burnt his retinas. His eyelids feel heavy, but sleeping didn’t feel right in a bed— as comfortable as that yet. It was a vicious cycle Dream was currently going through: avoid sleep for far too many nights than normal leaving him bleary and sluggish before he finally crashes for a few hours. The sleep that comes afterwards is devoid of any dreams; that he remembers that is and that makes it worth it in the end. 

Phil heaves a sigh, looking as though he wants to say something. He looks more sympathetic than anything when Dream glances at him. He can’t stand to look at it for longer than a minute. “Is this… the first time you’ve been out of your room?”

“ ‘S not been that long has it?” It was just the other day he slept over in Techno’s room. The piglin wasn't easy to fool. He took one look at Dream's tired eyes, suggested a card game and Dream dozed off in a matter of minutes when his mind was free from worries outside of what was in Techno’s hand.

“What’s the last you remember?” It's the same tone Phil uses with Techno when it's trying to get him to remember something. Not outright telling him more gently guiding him to the answer. Dream thinks it's a way to care without babying. It still makes him feel like a child anyway.

His memory is like a scrapbook; snapshots of moments with no tangible evidence of date or time. Faded polaroid images sticking to water-damaged pages and Dream struggles for a moment to make sense of the sepia figures in the frame. It's embarrassing and he almost doesn't want to answer. He tries anyway. “I came for lunch, cause… cause I told Techno I would help make it. And…" This feels familiar, this feels right. "And then you came and you made hot chocolate…”

“That was a week ago, Dream.”

“Oh.” That's on Dream for trusting their sleep deprived memory. Phil folds his arms and the way he's looking at Dream, all concerned and wary, as if he's wondering how to tackle tip-toeing around the topic makes them feel off.

“Does Techno not take you out?” (That makes him sound like a dog.)

“I usually tell him I don’t want to.”

Phil gives a deep sigh and Dream breaks eye contact, pushing down the bubbling hot guilt. It feels sweltering beneath the warm rays of the early morning sun. 

“That’s strange...” Phil murmurs, distant. Its tone sends warning signals and the warm feeling from before freezes over.

“What?” They don't like how concerned they sound but panic still fills them. When they dare to glance at Phil its eyes are scouting the distance, over the trees with its eyes narrowed. Does it see figures in the distance? How many then? Dream hasn’t even exercised outside of stretches and climbing up here. He doesn’t want to be useless— a damsel in distress— a liability if there are people coming. What if they’re outnumbered? What if they use something against them again? What if they use him against them—

“Uh…” The avian breaks Dream out of his trance, looking unsure. It presses its lips together, shifting its weight on one foot like its contemplating even asking. “Does the forest look, like… taller to you?”

It’s a strange question, one Dream doesn’t have the answer to. He squints at the forest, feeling a dull pang in his head as he tries to recount the memories. He doesn’t see any figures in the shadows of the trees. 

Were they.. 

“... I don’t think so.”

Were they always that thick?

The podzol beginning to creep out beneath the fence is something jarring enough for Dream to realise it’s out of place. The trees are big; thick like taiga trees with lichen that clings beneath where the shadows lay and dimly illuminating it.

The forest surrounding Techno’s house was definitely something Dream didn’t recognise when he first got to the commune. In his fuzzy mind, he did remember it being a lot more open. There was a clear path as well on the side near the mountains. It was a decent screen; one tall and dense enough that the commune was mildly hidden.

Now though? The forest looked more like a barrier. It even seemed to multiply; some smaller ones lining the mountain short enough where the sun was still visible, and from this height, Dream could see it stretched out a lot further.

“Maybe actually,” Dream restates shifting to crane their neck to get a better look. “That’s weird, I never noticed that.”

“Interesting,” Phil squints before shrugging. (His hands twitch up like he’s about to clap, but he switches to just placing them on his hips. Dream vaguely remembers jumping so hard they’d spilled soup the last time he did it.) 

“Come on then. You’re helping with breakfast.”

Dream squirms a bit. Phil is a bit harder to convince than Techno. He knows most likely he’ll push a little for Dream’s sake. It’s a nice gesture, but the idea of tearing himself away from the bright sunshine or leaving the confines of his room brings an anxious swirl in his stomach.

“Do I have to?”

"Oh comeon. I’m sure Techno would like seeing you during breakfast.”

Techno. Gentle hands guiding cups and bowls to their lips. Wary but welcome arms wrapped around their shoulders whenever they stumble, shooting a joke to distract them from their shame. Calm knocking against their door, never stepping in unless he gets confirmation. When he doesn’t there’s an easygoing assurance that he’ll leave their food at the door and come back later. (“Blitz is a thief though, so I would advise you to be quick, but it’s your choice.”)

“... I’ll come.”

“There you go. Need help?” Phil held up its hands. Hands with intention to hold and help, to guide him down safely. All Dream could see were sharpened talons— so like ones that had carved boxy smiley faces into their shoulder and lower back and they flinched, stepping back. They almost cover their head but catch themselves only holding them out. Phil’s smile falters when they tremble.

“No, no. I can get there.”

---[]---

Phil was right. When Techno shuffled downstairs, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes, they noticeably creased into little crescents at the sight of him.

Techno passes a hand through Dream's hair as he walks by, a silent affirmation of the unfamiliar but appreciated behaviour. 

Dream's first few weeks in the commune were rough, rightfully so. He spent a lot of his time at first in Techno's room, swaddled in blankets that were always warm in the ice-biting heat and smelled of campfire smoke and pine. (Like home cooked meals that warmed you to the bone, something you’d chase after being bombarded with the crisp chill of snow prodding at your nostrils.)

He honestly felt like a mummy the whole time with how many bandages and braces he was wearing. It was a routine at first of waking up, squinting out the open window while Techno checked on his bandages and try to eat, end up getting fed and barely finishing a quarter of it. (It was tough at first but something about Techno taking a seat on the bed with his own plate did make them want to bear with it a bit longer. Pretend that he wasn’t pathetic and force himself to play house. It got easier each time.)

Behind the scenes Phil built Dream a side room on the first floor. One that pushed out in the back with enough space for him to walk around in when he was finally able to stand. (Techno told him it wasn’t a permanent residence, something that made Dream heart sink as he took in the cosy bed and shelves, there was even a writing desk there as well beneath a window. It wasn’t until he pointed to a spot outside his window, with the promise of both of them building him his own house that made him swell with a different emotion.)

It was meant to be his own (temporary) space. The prison cell, albeit small and guarded, was invasive. There was a security camera watching his every move and when he commissioned that he hadn’t realised the weight of it. Especially considering everything was in that cell. The bathroom, for example and Sam wasn’t great (He knew that now), but he wouldn’t find any use in watching him do that.  

Still. It was just the presence of it that made it weird. The privacy of a room was nice and Techno was very adamant of giving Dream any bits of freedom as well as securing his dignity.

He did that in many ways. When Dream couldn’t walk well because of the bandanges, he kept their dignity as he guided them around. He turned his back whenever ‘business’ had to be done. Now, even when Dream was getting used to the presence of someone else in a room, Techno gave them the option of their own space. He cared but never suffocated them. He never treated Dream like glass but he didn’t treat them like steel either.

They understood each other— they both hated feeling weak— and Techno was very good at being there when Dream needed him to be and detaching himself when they were going to explode.

Dream liked his room. It was a blank slate but Dream soon made it his. The writing desk was pushed to a corner of the room, the bed rearranged to sit beneath the window. Techno pushed a lime green weighted blanket into his hands the next day as a ‘room warming’ gift. He’d pointed out that it looked knitted and Techno stammered and scoffed at the implication. Phil sent his regards in the form of a small potted plant with a fern. (There had been books on his writing desk when he came down after dinner. He remembered Ranboo passing by to trade with the villagers right before and leaving rather hurriedly afterwards.)

It was a nice room; so nice that Dream found himself simply holing up in it. He found a safe corner and wanted nothing more than to just stay in it. There was still that need to stay alone that he’d instilled in himself.

He knew Techno won’t force him out of his room. He knew Techno understood better than anyone the need for a safe place.

Still. He wants to make the attempt. Techno is fairly easy to please and Dream’s paranoias shouldn’t get in the way of that. 

They make breakfast together. Techno and Phil are going over chores while they all crush mushrooms for stew.

“Why is…” Dream’s hesitant to interrupt at first but the pair's unbothered eyes turn to him at his inquiry. “Why does this bottle have this black and white stripe on it?”

“Ranboo milk,” Phil answers simply, taking the bottle from Dream to pour into the stew. “Will suggested that he trademark them for sale. He didn’t really care for it but had fun designing them so he just gifts ‘em to people.”

“Your son is attemptin’ to get your adoptive child into the clutches of capitalism,” Techno summarises. “Honestly, I would be concerned.”

“You’re like— what? Anarcapitalist?”

“That's just not a thing I taught you better, Phil."

“You're like dirty rich though, aren'tcha?” Phil doesn’t let up, whether it’s to defend his war criminal son or to just playfully jab at Techno, Dream isn’t sure. He picks up an empty bowl and sits at the table to watch anyway.

“In an already capitalist-dominated world even I must bend to their corrupted ways to get by,” Techno defends as he reaches up and roots through his cabinets for herbs. “And if that means being at the very top to get decent enchantment books then that is not my fault, that is society— the government, Phil. The government is at fault."

The avian warbles a sigh, Techno is getting into one of his monologues again. A smile forms on its face anyway as the piglin goes on as he's nearly chopping away at herbs.

"I do not mean to be the best, that is simply a by-product of who I am. Trademarking, however— branding?! In my anarchistic commune, oh no, that's drawing the line. We're getting toxic now—"

“We have villagers in our basement,” Phil interrupts with a deadpan.

“They’re workers," Techno doesn’t miss a beat. His audacity to sound so confidence earns a squawk from Phil.

“You kidnapped them.”

“So that I could give them jobs, Phil. I’m a saint, I know—”

The conversation goes on to compare the morality of enslavement over the inherent evils of company brandings. It’s something nice to listen to while the stew cooks and Techno slides over a bowl to Dream before sitting down as well.

“Have you seen the forest?” Phil pipes. He’s scooping bowls as well but putting on covers over them as well. Most likely for Wilbur or Ranboo. Maybe both. The piglin raises a brow, his own spoon just an inch away from his lips.

“Why?”

“ ‘s grown overnight again,” Phil says with an expression Dream’s never seen before. Creased eyes, fond smile and gentle, faraway voice. Techno seems to realise something faster than Dream and frowns warily.

“Is that so?” He’s looking at Phil expectantly. When Techno continues to stare at him he presses his hands together and settles it beneath his chin in a way that would be slightly pleading but the pout is very dramatised. Techno’s lip twitches at the sight.

“Can-Can we...” He’s chirping softly, using his requesting tone and Techno scrunches his lips together like he’s immune to it. Dream knows better; Techno is far from it. “Can we think about letting Dream out for a while? Have him help us with chores?”

“Dream?” Techno blinks, surprised by the request. He doesn’t seem opposed to it but still wary. “I mean…”

“The forest’s like, taiga sized now! If anyone tried to get through it would take them quite some time to even realise where we are.”

“Still not a guarantee it’s safe,” Techno counters. “If they navigated through it they could probably spy on us with that cover.”

“Mm, I have a feeling they wouldn’t,” Phil says cryptically.

“What is…” Techno’s gaze flickers to Dream, who’s looking at the two confused. Techno’s eyes narrow when he looks back at Phil before recognition sparks in his eyes. He huffs exasperated. “It’s Her, isn’t it?”

“Her?”

Dream knows he’s not as close to Techno as Phil is. He knows Techno and Phil have been together since the beginning of time and before that and then some more. He doesn’t expect to understand all their little inside jokes, the knowing looks or gestures. He’s fine with the way he knows Techno now. (He appreciates the little distance they have between each other. He doesn’t know if he can handle a closeness like they have anymore. He doesn’t think he wants to know how it would feel to lose someone you’re that close to again.) 

This doesn’t seem like an inside joke however and now Dream’s curious. Techno seems to have forgotten Dream was there and glances back at him before pressing his lips together, hesitant. 

What?

Phil chooses to ignore him as well, too focused on convincing Techno.

“It’s fine.”

“I dunno how I feel about it. Didn’t even bother askin’ ‘bout my plans on landscapin’. ‘M gonna have to look into how trees work into my property value." He turns to Dream, as if he’s attempting to dodge the conversation slightly. “What is that like, ten percent?”

Dream blinks owlishly. “I mean... I don’t know...”

“Probably like a six or seven cause it’s residential…” Techno shrugs and leans against his hand. He’s actually deliberating. “Maybe over twelve since technically it could count as a buildin’ lot.”

“ ‘Ey, focus.”

“I dunno how I feel about you and Her conspirin’ against me.” It’s a lighthearted jab and Phil snickers.

“I didn’t even ask. We’re protected by Her.”

“Feel like married couples should communicate more,” Techno murmurs, leaning over to Dream like they’re two students talking shit about the teacher. The ‘teacher’ in question squawks indignantly and Techno pops a spoonful of shrooms into his mouth innocently. “Not to mention, I wouldn’t say bein’ watched by Her is as comfortin’ to you as it is to other people, Phil.”

“Oh come on, She wouldn’t,” Phil is very confident and Techno frowns, the cracks in his lighthearted spiel showing slightly. “She promised. And I don’t think She has any qualms about Dream.” He’s staring at Techno with those fond, trusting eyes and Techno is melting under them. (What a dangerous power to possess.) Phil reaches out to Techno’s other hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s okay.”

Techno squeezes back and it looks like he’s about to crack before he turns. “... Dream?” They half expect him to make a joke, maybe poke at them to get him out of this situation. His eyes are genuine. “How do you feel about it? Goin’ outside farther than just between houses?”

Oh, that’s just like him; giving them the choice here.

“I mean…” It’s not like he doesn’t want to but he’s never really thought about either, too used to his little corner away from the world: So used to pretending like his room was the only thing that existed.

“If I’m allowed?” It’s not a wrong answer. Just not enough. 

“ ‘course you are,” Techno assures him with an air of nonchalance, trying to lighten the mood. It’s not some big life-threatening decision, and Dream doesn’t have to overthink it. “We were mainly keepin’ you in since we weren’t sure how safe flauntin’ you outside was goin’ be. Inside the fence is the safest place on the SMP granted we’re still wanted but… you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. You’re not a prisoner anymore.”

They've isolated themselves from the rest of the SMP ever since they broke out. They shattered and relocated their nether portal away from prying eyes. Just the other day they were discussing plans to either raise the fence, get more weapons for a seige or even just secret patrols to see if everything’s still alert on the Main SMP. As far as their calculations go, the commune is safe, and it’s only getting safer.

“I think the time outside your room would be nice,” Phil adds. “You’re walking more; we don’t have to worry too much about clothes. You could pitch in with chores with us.”

“Yeah! Pull your weight, roomie. We work as a unit here,” Techno tacks on, and it makes Dream smile. He’s really lucky. He barely gets any time to spiral when he’s around them, and that’s good… Honestly, it’s properly healthier for him to get out of the house.

“Okay,” Dream nods. “Okay. I can help out.”

“Good, we can start today if you want? Could check on the turtle eggs—”

“Maybe tomorrow is better.” Phil interrupts and points a finger at Dream accusingly. “This one over here has been up since sunset.” His stomach drops and glances at Techno who simply blinks.

“I mean, same—”

“You work on the nether’s clock and hibernate. Dream’s an overworlder, doesn’t count.”

Techno leans over to stage whisper to him again. “Uh oh, watch out, you’re getting ‘Dadza-ed.’”

“No— I’m,” Phil lets out an exasperated breath. “Don’t be like the crows, I don’t want that to catch on.

---[]---

The next morning a familiar red mantle with a fur rim is hung up outside his room. It looks quite out of place with the green sweater he’s wearing, but it’s better than freezing outside. He rubs his fingers against the raised golden embroidered thread work when he steps outside to only see Phil waiting for him. (His anxiety doesn’t spike as high when its gaze rakes over him.)

It takes in the bundles of red over their shoulders and smiles. “Hey, mate. How we feeling? Get some actual sleep?”

“With all the tea you gave me, I’m surprised I’m not hibernating,” Dream shoots back wearily. “Speaking of…”

“Techno’s working doing patrols around the Main SMP today, sorry,” he says apologetically when Dream noticeably deflates. They’re sure Phil thinks it’s probably because of the dogs; Dream was quite fond of the animals on the commune. Though he hasn’t met them all, he’s seen enough to know that him and Techno share a deep love for them. A love expressed by getting loads of them.

He’s really only met one dog, Dhah, one that raced out of the doghouse during mealtime. Little cutie hopped onto Dream’s lap while he was on the couch and made home there. Clever beauty knew that Techno wouldn’t scold it too hard after Dream cooed and scratched behind its ear lovingly, instantly enamoured.

Phil probably thinks Dream would love to spend more time with them when in reality, Dream would have much rather worked with Techno for his first time.

Dream doesn’t hate Phil, they’re just... not used to him yet. They still find themselves stiff and tense around him. Honestly, if it weren’t for the fact Phil’s wings were much bigger than average duck’s they’d probably—

“Welp.” Phil is either oblivious to this or has caught on that bringing it up will do more harm than good. “You’re gonna be under my care for the time being, then, if that’s alright?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay! Let’s go.”

They’re looking after the bees today. Phil is more adept at it and to make sure Dream doesn’t get stung, he’s on flower duty. It’s a very simple job; he just waters and replants new flowers.

The inside of the bee house is a lot warmer, as there are campfires littered around to keep the bees co-operable. (In the back of his mind, he remembered walking by a warmer side of the SMP, waving as he passed by a boy gently undoing the frames of beehives, giggling when they bumped against his face.)

There really is a whole different vibe inside the beehouse. The warmth keeps the grass green, the trees curve and flower in a way Dream’s never seen before (azaleas, Phil explained, once he caught Dream staring at it for too long) and an artificial stream cuts through with colourful fishes and a bridge to add to it.

They work in quiet harmony at first. Dream takes off his gloves to avoid getting them dirty as he digs trenches to gently set pre-prepared flowers into them. The sight of dirt beneath his fingernails feels somewhat rewarding. He’s gotten used to seeing blood beneath them during prison, and seeing them clean had never felt right anyway.

At least with the dirt he feels as though he’s doing something. His mind strays a bit but not too far. The dirt is warm beneath his hands and he has to be somewhat aware so he doesn’t crush the flowers. (He doesn’t have to look out for any thorny roses. He’s not sure if he’s happy about that or not.)

“We used to have a machine for collecting honey,” Phil says as a way to fill up the empty space. “But we ended up liking working closely with the bees more. The machine is good for efficiency, but sometimes it’s nice to have something to do.”

“I mean…” Dream hesitates for a moment. He glances over to Phil, who’s carefully adjusting the bee house frames, waiting patiently. He turns back to the dirt. “I mean— efficiency speeds things up. Won’t waste as much time, you know? No one wants to waste time.”

“It’s really only good for enchantments,” Phil argues. It’s a counter, but he doesn’t sound particularly defensive over it. He sounds more contemplative. “When you live as long as I do, spending all your time wondering how to lengthen life, looking into ways to have more time for the exciting things— sometimes the little mundane actions are worth wasting a bit of time over.” 

Phil’s holding a little baby bee in the palm of his hand. It fits snugly there, and his talons, ones that Dream has seen scratch faces in the midst of battle and form withers on top of buildings, gently scratch against its head. Dream can hear the content buzzing from here.

“Though you don’t seem like the type to enjoy mundane tasks,” Phil adds on lightheartedly.

Dream thinks of a time when he would messily draw uneven floor plans onto parchment paper and yell red-faced in response to teasing. He remembers small boats sailing through seemingly endless seas in the presence of friends with a fishing pole in hand and gentle rain droplets dewing his hair. He can feel the prick of a needle and thoughts of messily mended rips in clothes, obvious inexperience from the out of place seams on its side. He can still feel the swell of affection when grateful words were sung despite them.

“... you’d be surprised.”

“Got me there,” Phil says sheepishly. “I don’t think I’m in the place to make assumptions.”

Dream thinks of a time where his hands held the sun and stars. Where everything he touched burned with life and love. Where he shook hands and let them linger, where he squeezed his friends tight like he never wanted to let go. 

He remembers a time when after he hit someone with a sword and they fell back, he could reach a hand out to pull them back up.

A time where his hands didn’t stink of gunpowder and blood. When the only satisfaction he got was from carrying baskets and tools for a friend and not from his enemies suffering. (Does he even remember how to be useful in a way that didn’t make his vision swarm with red and his heart feel as though it were withering away?)

“I don’t suppose there was a machine for replanting flowers?” Dream takes a crack at a joke, and when he glances over to Phil, he’s smiling as well.

“I think you give redstone too much credit.”

“Well, I mean— Isn't it a bit tedious? I don’t see the point in it.”

“The bees like the variety,” he explains. “We switch out the flowers every once in a while. Sweeter honey for happier bees.”

“Happy bees.”

“Happy bees.”

The small interaction is enough to draw a bit of a laugh out of him. It’s getting easier to do it nowadays. It no longer sounds hoarse but he hasn’t wheezed in a while. (He’s probably too used to attempting to be quiet.)

While laughing, though, his gaze was elsewhere and he reached for a flower, feeling his smile fall when his hand closed over something soft and fragile. That wasn’t the stem.

When he pulls his hand back it comes back with broken yellow petals, a bit of its dye spread across his fingers.

“Shit…” He mutters despite himself. He reaches down to wipe it off, pausing immediately. No, can’t wipe it off on Techno’s cape. He feels ashamed for even thinking that. Maybe if he’s quick he can—

“Is everything okay?”

Curse Phil and his enhanced bird hearing.

The avian straightens up and Dream positions himself in front of the crumbled flower to hide it. His hands are hovering over it, mind suddenly drawing blanks.

“Y-Yeah! Everything’s fine.”

“I’m coming over.”

Curse Phil and his very perceptive tone reading.

Panic flares in Dream’s gut and he finds himself hustling to clean up the pieces. It feels like he’s racing against the clock with how his hands are shaking, and the way his ears burn when Phil’s footsteps close in on him. 

By the time he’s right behind them, Dream clears their throat and straightens up. Their neck burns with Phil’s gaze on it.

“Dream?” He hates how gentle Phil’s voice is; like he’s coaxing a scared animal. The tone is enough for Dream to force the tremor down and bite the inside of his cheek until he tastes blood to stop his lip quivering.

“Yeah, told you I’m—” Their voice cracks at the end and they clears their throat roughly, attempting to brush it off. “I’m fine.”

“Dream.” There’s that authoritative tone that sends a chill down their spine. “Turn around.”

Dream does just that, swallowing thickly while counting to ten, and forces himself to meet Phil’s eyes. The avian’s eyes dart over to their hands behind their back.

“It’s fine,” Dream attempts to assure him. They can feel their leg twitch, and they resist the urge to bounce it, forcing away the anxious tick. It does little to deter Phil who continues to look at Dream with this look that shows a picture-perfect view of understanding.

It makes his stomach turn.

“I can fix it, it’s fine,” Dream repeats.

“Then don’t hide it,” Phil retorts. He’s firm with this, something that boggles Dream’s mind briefly. The anxious buzz beneath his skin makes it hard to keep still. Phil hasn’t reached out to touch him; hands firmly place on his sides.

“It’s nothing bad,” Dream attempts on

“Then there’s no harm in telling me. If you made a mistake, it’s fine. No need to get worried about it.” 

There’s no use hiding it anymore and Dream kicks at the dirt uselessly before holding out the crumpled mass of leaves and petals out to Phil. He feels oddly childish now that he thinks about it; hiding away a broken flower because he was worried. (He wishes he was just worried about getting hit or something. That would make sense. That would warrant understanding— it wouldn’t feel as shameful as Dream does right now.)

Phil isn’t mad, which Dream expects, and it makes the whole situation feel even more foolish. Honestly, he wishes Phil would just make fun of him instead of slowly raising his hands to hover over Dream’s. He doesn’t know whether he appreciates Phil for waiting for Dream to pull away or if he hates that he’s being treated so gently.

“We have a bunch of flowers,” Phil assures him and instead of touching his hand he tugs on his sweater sleeve instead. It feels a lot less personal then, and Dream is pulled towards the stream.

“Still, I’m not a child,” they chide. Phil pulls them down to the stream, letting Dream drop the crumpled flower pieces before dipping their hand in the water. (It’s oddly still and while he’s scrubbing his hands a few colourful fish flit pass by.) “I should be able to do this without messing up.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Phil tells them. “It’s your first time. It’s a process—”

“It’s too fucking long of a process!” Dream spits. He pulls away from the stream and the force at which he does so generates a splash. It has nearby fishes swimming away in alarm. He wants to reach up to pull at his hair but the idea of having a temper tantrum has him holding back, instead focusing on taking deep breaths. They shudder and come out in puffs at the end. “It’s so stupid how much time I’m taking for this. It should be simple and easy. Why am I messing up so bad?”

Phil realises a bit too soon that they’re probably not just talking about flowers now.

“You can’t exactly speedrun mental health, mate.” It's an attempt at a joke, a way to lighten the mood. All it does is make Dream feel like he’s overreacting.

“We’ve blown up the prison faster than this,” he mumbles out.

“Equating the reconstruction of your obviously broken mindset to some light terrosism is a…” Phil smacks his lips, searching for the word. “A reach, if I do say so myself.”

“I feel like I’m wasting time. Like I’m moving backwards. I stayed here because Techno wanted me to. I mean how could I deny it? I have nowhere else to go.”

“I guess it is tough being backed into a corner—”

“It’s really not, you all are so nice. You’re literally harbouring a fugitive.” He’s going in circles, stuck between his own self-loathing and not wanting Phil to feel bad.

“A good few of us are war criminals, Dream. Seriously, it's fine,” Phil’s voice dips, concerned.

“I’m being actively hunted. You could have just stopped at the prison but instead you house me, you feed me— god, you gave me a whole room and made me clothes and I just…” Dream hates the way his voice cracks at the end. 

“Mate…” Realisation dawns on Phil’s face.

“I just don’t want to be more trouble than I’m already worth.” A part of Dream wishes he could selfishly take their help; bide his time in the arctic knowing that he has some of the strongest people protecting him, while he slowly but surely regains his strength. Instead, all he feels is guilt.

He thinks of people who treat him so tenderly, who make accommodations for him far beyond what’s needed— far beyond what he expected.

He sees people who are far too patient with him through his episodes both the ones where he needs someone to cling to and ground him back to earth and the others where he needs someone to pin him down less he scratches their eyes out.

He looks at a man who’s listening to him ramble on about something so small and insignificant but feels really big. He remembers another man who asked him to stay. Who pointed out a spot where he could set his roots and let it grow into the underbelly of this arctic earth.

“I’m not ungrateful or anything.” And that’s the worst part. He’s so grateful; he’s so thankful that he doesn’t think he deserves it. “I-I want to help. I do. I appreciate everything you guys do so I pull my weight and stuff.”

“Mate, it’s fine,” Phil says softly and his hands twitch as if he wants to touch him but refrains. (Phil is quite logical with his comforting, Dream’s noticed. He tugs apart the tangled yarn in Dream’s brain, gentle and reasonable. He lays down the facts in a way that doesn’t overwhelm, but it reassures. It’s very unlike Techno’s soothing motions on his back and warm hands on his hair. Where Dream’s brain untangles around Phil, around Techno the buzz dulls to a soft thrum.

He isn’t sure which he likes more: being aware or being protected.)

“Really. Techno was joking with the whole pick up the pace thing.”

“I don’t want him to worry.” Dream murmurs, shaking his head. “He won’t tell me but I know he is.”

“Quite easy to tell when you’ve spent a lot of time with him, huh?”

“He wouldn’t knock on my door every day to make sure I actually ate something if he didn’t care a little,” Dream scoffs, and it draws out a fond snort from Phil.

“You care about him a lot, huh?” The question makes Dream flush, and he frowns when Phil lets out a laugh at his embarrassment.

“I don’t get him.” Dream’s hands make its way back in the dirt. His finger bumps against a clover, and he continues to prod at it as he avoids thoughts of actually verbalising how much he feels for Techno. “He does so much for me, and even then he asked me if I wanted to help out. I should be put to work for all I’m doing without question—”

“Hey, enough of that. Techno’s against forcing people. That’s like his whole agenda,” Phil shoots, properly perching next to Dream on the ground. “Techno’s easy to please. I don’t think you have to psychoanalyse him to figure out what he wants from you.”

God if his face could get even more red. It’s alarming how easy it was to start reading Techno when he spends so much time with him.

How you can tell whenever Techno’s about to make a joke from the quick twitch of his lips; an idea popping into his mind that he reacted to before he could say it. You can tell the difference between an idle joke and an anxious joke, the latter only happening when Techno presses his lips together to bite the inside of his cheek right before. (Something he did a lot during Quackity’s visit.) How his teasing touches with Phil are sometimes just an excuse to touch it, arms wrapped around the avian's shoulders only to linger for a moment longer. (He still hasn’t been able to translate the two’s vague hand gestures and eye contact language yet though.)

At some point though, the same anxious twitch Techno got when seeing Ranboo’s bandages from water spills looked an awful lot like the way he got with Dream when he glanced over at his wounds in the cell. The same way Techno coaxes Ranboo over to pick up a bowl of breakfast, the gentle insistence that’s hard to deny, is reminiscent of when Techno would let Dream press his head on his shoulder to rest when he’s too tired to go downstairs to his room.

A part of him wonders if Techno’ll praise him after this the same way he praises Ranboo when they come back from woodland mansion hunting.

“He wants me to get better.”

“Maybe even happy if you can stomach it.”

That manages to draw out a laugh from Dream. What a strange man Techno is.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing you happy either,” Phil adds nonchalantly. “I know what it’s like to lose track of time. Sometimes being alone for a long time can make it a bit hard to remember things. Being around people though? Perfect remedy for shut-ins like us.”

“You sound like a therapist.”

“Oh god don’t say that, that’s near worse than dad-za,” the mortified look on Phil's face has Dream laughing out again. “Lord knows this server needs one but I don’t wanna have to be responsible for all the server’s problems. Who would want all that pressure?”

“Mm… well .”

“But either way I’d like to think we’re somewhat friends, Dream. And I think friends are allowed to support each other. This, what we’re doing, is supporting you. No favours, no debts, nothing. We’re doing this cause we want to. It’s like our whole thing. Helping however we can.”

“I honestly thought you hated me,” Dream admits. “I feel like you weren’t exactly pleased to see me when I first came.”

“Eh, maybe at first. But in my eyes, seeing you and Techno come out from the trees made me think of the time I led Ranboo here after Doomsday. Techno trusted me and I’m trusting him as well.”

“Not me though?”

“Well, you have to be somewhat trustworthy to Techno if he lets you in here.” That’s not an answer. Dream bites the inside of his cheek to avoid asking anything else and stands up. “Let’s get back to work then.” Phil takes a gander at the remaining pots of flowers next to the spot Dream was working nearby. “You’re almost done there, I can help speed it up since I got all the honey stores up already.”

Dream gives it a stiff nod as he stands up and the two make quick work to finish up. Their hands are filled with honey jars as they're walking out.

“You don’t have to—” Phil pauses as he’s closing up the bee house. Dream glances at it and it contemplates its answer for a moment. “Just… I’m a normal guy. I don’t expect us to be close but you can talk to me without needing to walk on eggshells.” It’s out of the blue but it does… inspire Dream to try something.

“Can I… ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“...Who is Her?”

---[]---

Techno comes back home to Phil perched on the couch and Dream at the foot of it. They’re both nursing mugs of tea, filling the room with the soothing smell of rosemary and peppermint. 

“There’s some honey in the cabinets,” Phil says when Techno walks over, still wearing his cape and gauntlets. The piglin presses his chin on the top of Phil’s head. It's a greeting, but it also gives him a good view of Dream.

There’s a clover tucked behind Dream’s ear in the shade of his lidded pupils.

“Lavender?” The words register in Techno's head, ears perking up.

“Mhm, freshly picked.”

“Ooo." That gets him up and walking over to the cabinet. Sure enough, there's a tied bunch of lavender cut from their buds in the cabinet.

Phil said they're meant to dry them out, which makes them last longer, but Techno seems pleased by the sight of fresh buds more and gets to work with them. While the water is boiling he slips off his cape and trades his gauntlets for gloves.

"The bees doing okay?" He asks, as he undoes his chestplate straps.

"Oh, yeah, totally. Very happy bees, they like the new flowers." He ends that off in a goofy voice and Techno's lip twitches.

“That's good to hear. No problems or anything?” Dream blinks, at the mention, though a common quiery makes the hairs on the back of their neck twitch. They glance at Phil who’s taking a sip of his own drink, unperturbed.

“I, uh…” They clear their throat before wincing. “I broke a flower?”

“Eh, I’ll add it to your rent tab,” Techno waves off.

“Is that more or less than Ranboo’s?” Phil jabs. For a pair so close you’d think the avian would care for his friend’s reputation. To suggest such a thing is surely akin to betrayal.

“Don’t worry about it.” The sharp whistle of the kettle saves Techno from the horrors of admitting that he cares about his friends. “Where’s the honey?”

“Bottom cabinet,” Phil shoots back. There’s the sound of them opening and Techno yelling out a thanks before he saunters over with a cup of his own. 

"You drink honey with your tea?" Dream asks, tilting his head back to look at Techno, who takes a seat next to Phil. The avian scoots over and leans its head on Techno’s shoulder. The piglin returns the gesture by pressing his cheek against its hair.

"Don't like mint," Techno huffs. It sends a bit of Phil’s hair flying; he chirps out a laugh at the sensation. "But lavender by itself is a bit bitter, so…” Techno raising his cup as emphasis. “Honey." He takes a sip. 

"There's a bunch of mint in the cabinet though?"

"Phil's a freeloader."

“Bruh.” Phil twists his head to glare at Techno. It lacks the heat it would usually have if he was actually upset.

"Y'see," Techno's arm juts out from his side to wrap around Phil's shoulders. The grip is there for emphasis; the jostle along with it is for comedic effect. "Old man Phil here doesn't like most teas because the one tea bush he liked went extinct—"

"Nothing's the same!" It swaks in protest.

"Peppermint is nice to smell and ginger is for his old man stomach."

"You little shit." Phil presses a pointed talon into Techno's side. He barely makes a sound but does flinch away with a grin he hides by sipping his cup. They don't stay separated for long, Phil knocking his head against Techno's shoulder with a frown.

"What's rosemary good for?" Dream asks, the question suddenly sprouting. 

"Helps you sleep." Dream frowns and Phil snickers. "It's also good for anxiety. Ranboo drinks it with milk cause he heard it helps with your memory."

"We could give you something else if you don't like it."

Dream takes a long slurp, making sure to suck obnoxiously at the last comment. It earns him a light nudge that he retorts to with a yell about spilled tea. It earns him a snicker from Techno, his hand reaching down to ruffle Dream’s hair.

He forces down a frown, holding his cup protectively against his chest. 

“Why are you even down there anyway; there’s space on the couch, y’know?” 

“Uh, well—” Dream’s not sure. Usually he’d sit cross legged on the couch but he’s also very used to keeping Phil at an arm’s length, never quite knowing how close to be with him. Now that he knows Phil doesn’t actively hate him, though…

“ ‘mean I’m not forcing you or anything but—”

“Techno’s inviting you to the cuddle puddle,” Phil translates.

“I mean it’s probably not comfortable—!”

“Techno’s in a snuggly mood, hurry and take advantage!”

“Hey— no, do not spread these lies—” Techno’s voice is cut short when Dream stands up. His shoulders tremble a bit when he feels their gaze and just bites the bullet, leaning back. He plops right next to Techno and leans his head on him.

Techno’s arm wraps around his shoulder to hold him tighter. Phil holds his hand out of Techno’s lap as a quiet invitation and Dream lets their hands intertwine. He’s never joined in on one of these. On the days where he’s present for lunch, right before he heads downstairs, he catches glimpses of the two sitting down at the fire in this same position. Sometimes, when he’s scaling the roof he can see the two leaning against the other as they gaze into the distance.

To actually be in the cuddle puddle himself is… nice. He already knows he likes being next to Techno; he’s big enough that he shields him from the rest of the world— everywhere he touches is firm and safe. The ever present soothing motions against his hand from Phil is comforting in a way he hasn’t felt in a while. 

Their mugs have been set down, and Phil straightens up to wrap his arms tighter around Techno’s side to also reach Dream’s shoulders. Dream’s mind is far too fuzzy from being surrounded by so many soothing presences to even feel scared by his talons anymore.

"Nice, right?" Phil murmurs, voice a bit muffled from the folds in Techno's shirt. " 's like a big teddy bear." (It feels like Techno is going to say something but the piglin's eyes are closed, still leaning on the top of Phil's head.)

Dream gives a drowsy nod which earns him a soft laugh from Phil. "Very easy to fall asleep on. Necks gonna be killing us in the morning."

"Who cares?" Dream mumbles, eyes feeling heavy.

"True. Good to focus on the now."

"I like now."

"Mhm?"

"I'm happy now."

Dream hears the faint coo from Phil at that right before he drifts off to sleep.

---[]---

Dream gets used to going outside very easily.

It’s not every day he does chores outside, but it’s become commonplace to follow Techno or Phil outside when they mention going out to feed the dogs or checking on one of the farms. There are some chores that he takes up by himself; namely just checking on the small number of automatic farms that they have. (“Stuff like this has no effect on the animals, so there’s no harm in it,” Phil had explained.)

On early mornings, Dream would wake up, and tug on a sweater and gloves to get started. It felt nice to do something on their own, something that not only kept them busy but was also productive. Techno liked to keep himself busy, but Dream felt a bit lighter seeing him move with a less urgency when the morning came, and he didn’t have a large list to do after Dream took out a decent portion of it.

It’s a morning just like that; Dream exits the house with an empty basket in hand to check if any crops are ready for harvest. Even if they’re not, the smell of herbs and the sight of sunlight against golden wheat fields was always a lovely sight to see.

He realises how fast he's getting through things when he checks on the turtles and finds there were no scutes there. It’s a slow harvest day but Dream doesn’t mind it too much. Better him idle and sleepless than his busy, overgiving caretakers.

Dream is just leaving the turtle pen, trotting back to the cabin with thoughts of securing a seat in Techno’s very comfy chair, when he sees something that makes all his thoughts stutter to a stop.

In the corner of his eye, he sees something. Right beyond the fence, tempting and enticing, now illuminated by the fresh morning sun, is a rose peeking out from the forest. 

Dream loves the tundra; loves being near his friends, and the cold is lovely, the chill is a welcome change, and bundling up is great, but if there’s one thing he misses, it’s flowers.

The beehouse was a decent substitute. They had clovers and dandelions and cornflowers aplenty; there’s an allium on Ranboo’s windowsill as well, but there are no roses.

How they haven’t found any— whether that be a singlet or a bush— is beyond Dream, but now that he’s set his sights on them he’s running over. His basket has been discarded, but Dream’s too busy racing over, barely even thinking until he stops short at the fence barrier.

‘Inside the fence is the safest place on the SMP’ Techno’s voice rings in his ears as Dream’s gaze flits between the small but imposing spruce barrier and the paradise seeping through.

Vines creep and curl up the fence, small buds like shards of ruby beginning to form. Dream can see bigger roses past the fence, wrapping around the large trees and poking out of the ground tauntingly at him.

His hands squeeze on the fence in frustration, and something borderline childish curls in his gut with how disappointed he is. He lets out a whine, frowning deep as his eyes take in more of the forest outskirts, before he finds an oasis in the desert.

One bush of roses flutters softly in the passing wind. It bobs idly back and forth just outside of the forest, close enough where Dream can—

He stops, considering for a moment. He glances over his shoulder at the houses. No shadows move past either of his caretakers’ rooms, they’re probably still asleep. Dream turns back to the roses; they seem to beckon him with how they bob in his direction aggressively, and Dream takes the bait.

He scurries over to the rose, pressing himself against the fence, and reaches. He stretches as far as he can, letting the wood dig into his ribs, grounding one foot in the snow and pushing his hands out. Almost…

The rose bush tilts into his hand and Dream grasps onto it, face lighting up— only for him to pull away and wince when his hand closes over a thorn. His hand comes away with a streak of red.

“Ah! Shit—”

“Oh, sorry—”

Dream jumps, a pained wheeze escaping him when the fence jabs in between his ribs. It’s only when he steps back, clutching it does he notice something.

There’s a shadow in the woods; it’s a shadow so large it barely stops at the taiga’s tree tops. It completely covers the inside of the woods and the sight is so imposing, so out of place that Dream feels foolish that he hadn’t noticed it before.

“Uh…” It’s so strange as well because the shadow is so close, yet he can’t make out any distinguishing features besides the fact that whatever’s in front of him is big, fucking gargantous. 

“Don’t be shy,” the voice continues on pleasantly, seeming unperturbed by Dream’s frozen shock. “You’re not ready to come in any deeper, take these instead.” The rose bush between them blows in Dream’s direction as an offering. 

Dream can’t feel any breeze blowing.

The sight is disorientating— the situation is disorientating! He can’t seem to focus on the shape before him despite him squinting and racking his brain to make sense of the shapes. He can’t see past it either, and it makes the rose bush look strangely ominous. Like if he touched them, or worse, tugged on them, it’d open a trapdoor and he’ll tumble down into Wonderland.

He feels like Alice: crazy, he means. Out-of-touch, he emphasises.

Dream realises he’s staring too long when the roses are leaning forward, the petals brushing against the fence. Dream takes the leap and scoots closer. He’s already mad, though maybe a bit placitated because of better circumstances, but still mad and curious. Carefully avoiding the thorns this time, he plucks the bush from its stem. 

A trapdoor doesn’t open beneath his feet; the shadow is not the white rabbit.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Dream imagines it— the shadow— would tilt its head forward subtly as a nod, but the shadow remains motionless, completely formless,  and the lack of movement throws Dream completely off. The longer they stare, the harder it is to understand, and the idea brings a slow growing panic to their gut.

He isn’t sure what worries him more: The presence of a completely formless shadow making its home in the commune’s forest that’s surrounding them completely, or the fact that he can’t tell what it’s thinking.

Dream can’t see the whites of their eyes or coloured pupils, or even a head angling down towards him, but he still feels as though he’s being watched, scrutinised even. For what reason specifically, he isn’t sure. There’s something creepy, otherworldly, about what’s before him and the way he feels so distanced from it, despite being within a few feet of it, makes him think he’s dreaming. 

“Would you like me to help you with that?” It asks, and Dream has trouble focusing on its words.

“Uhm, I’m sorry?”

“Your hand,” it reiterates. “It’s bleeding. I’m offering my help.” Dream isn’t sure of its tone; whether it's being genuine or it feels the need to guide them through its words like a child.

Their hand is bleeding but the pain is so dull, a mere prick that happened to draw blood, that they’d forgotten about it.

“I mean…”

“I insist. You won’t even have to move past the fence.” Dream doesn’t need to read its tone to sense some level of assumed authority there; so sure and persistent that they’re persuaded to listen. Dream is almost inclined to, considering the words it speaks aren’t wrong.

The surety of its tone isn’t misguided; it isn’t something assumed based on their own preconceived notion.

Dream hasn’t mentioned not wanting to cross the fence. Was it watching them stretch over? It seems likely that it offered the flowers in the first place. If so, how long has it been watching? How much does it know?

“I’ve heard it’s a lot better if you close your eyes.” It. Ominous. 

“... does it hurt?”

“No.”

Dream is sceptical. The shadow picks up on this.

“It’d be very easy to hurt you, but I won’t. If I wanted to hurt you I would have done so earlier.” It can cross over the barrier if it wants to. It’s been watching them since they stepped foot outside.

Techno would flat out deny and Phil seems like the type to scoff and gently maneuver his way out of a situation like this. Dream should take a page from their book; turn tail and run away.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” And this is the only tone Dream can read; where before its words felt like they were swarming around his head rather than sticking around for him to analyse, this one shoves itself at the forefront of his mind. It sounds sincere.

Anyone can fake sincerity, Dream shouldn’t let this one line he can read define everything.

And yet…

“Do I… what do I do again?” They ask softly. The leaves, which Dream assumes are near its face, rustle.

“Hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

The time they spend just staring should have been time spent running away, reconsidering, but instead, they hold their hand out and squeeze their eyes shut. The world deciding to suddenly stop doesn’t help their anxiety either; the rustling of the leaves stops, no birds fly overhead, nothing. Everything has suddenly hushed as if all gathering together in silence to watch Dream’s latest fuck-up. (“I can’t believe they actually did it. I didn’t think it would work!”) All they can hear is the thudding of their own heartbeat that sounds more like the small rational worker in their brain trying to beat sense into them.

The poor worker is too late, the imaginary mob gets their show; they get to watch Dream, the gladiator, get thrown into the lion’s pit. The lion presses its nose against his hand (in actuality— something thin like a twig, but malleable like a hand closes over it) and the pressure makes his eyelids twitch, but he keeps them squeezed shut.

“It’s a lot better if your eyes are closed.” Making eye contact with a lion, seeing the bloodlust and thirst in its eyes, sounds terrifying, but is it worse than keeping your eyes shut, not sure if it’s gonna— when it’s going to strike? Goosebumps rise against his arm, only one arm, the one that’s probably about to get bitten off, and the panic is suddenly too much to bear. Is it better to just open his eyes to see inside the jaw of a beast before it bites his head clean off, should he live his last few moments in bliss— should he pull away, open his eyes— something— anything, make it stop, stop, stOP—

“I’m done.”

And then it’s gone. Fear fades away like blood against cold water, and Dream lets out a shudder as their eyes flutter open, the shadow right where they left it before. Still unreadable as ever. And their hand? The dull pain is gone and their hand is healed completely. Like… Perfectly. Like—Like… Dream remembered pulling their sleeves up to their fingertips because of a blocky smile in the sensitive bit of skin in between their thumb and index finger— and it’s gone now. Not-Not to mention his pinky always bent weirdly when he relaxed them— what… what is—

They are suddenly wholly aware of the shadow’s presence and Dream’s eyes gaze up at it. They assume it's staring at him expectantly. “Th-Thank you—”

“Dream?” They whirl around, eyes glancing over at the window where Techno called them from. Dream can spot his comically small glasses in one of his hands, the other rubbing fresh sleep from his eyes.

“Oh, uhm, sor—” The shadow in the forest is gone; Dream can see further into the wood and there are even more roses both bushes and singlets. There isn’t a dent in the dirt, or footsteps to show that someone was there.

The forest is alive again and before when it felt like there was cotton forcibly stuck in his ears, everything suddenly feels loud and moving too fast. While Dream is still reeling from the events, trapped in a moment where he’d spoken to a shadow in the woods, one that disappeared without a trace, the world still goes on.

Dream walks back to the house with a bundle of roses in his basket and far too many questions in his head.

Chapter Text

The past few days go by fast for Dream. Perhaps it’s the implementation of chores, or maybe it’s the new entity he’s been made aware of in their woods. Or perhaps in the sinking, near crushing feeling that things are changing and will probably never be the same. But either way, the days go by in snapshots of moments that get him to where he is now.

Not anywhere terrible or dramatic per se just…  different than he was on the first day.

---[]---

“Roll call!” Technoblade declares with a grandeur befitting such an occasion. Dream gazes out alongside him at an army of wolves standing attentive, who were, before, running around the area without much direction.. It’s always a sight to see whenever they get themselves sorted, trotting in front of the two before sitting down and putting themselves in neat lines. It makes sense to Dream; wolves must be very well trained if they’re meant to be prepared for war at all times.

“Good work,” Techno praises as he waits for the remaining wolves to get into position. Their eyes look at the two eagerly and Dream finds it very hard not to coo right there and then. Techno, on the other hand, remains bone stiff, with his arms crossed. He has the mindset of a general and he insists on his authority. He remains unnerved by their adorable eyes. 

It keeps them in line, Techno said the first time Dream followed him into the kennel. They’re less likely to misbehave if you show them who’s in charge— that hierarchy is very important with wolves. (A bit ironic considering his ideals, Dream chipped and Techno’s singular exasperated blink had him in stitches.)

So Dream copies Techno, keeps his hands that itch to pet and caresses on his sides. Not the time, not the time.

Techno distracts him, giving Dream a glance. “Name off the dogs?” Dream gives a nod, taking note of the wolf’s restraint from moving while also managing to look as though there isn’t a thought behind its eyes as he looks down at their golden name tags.

“Max.”

“Mhm,” Techno hums affirmatively. Dream hears the sound of charcoal pressing against a page.

“Dhah.”

“Ya.”

“Technochan.”

“I should rename her.”

The dogs are meant to sort themselves based on importance (Dream is unsure if this is based on power or how much the voices in Techno’s head likes them) and really only a few wolves are out of place. There are a couple who are still a bit excited, dipping out of line as the two pass by, jumping up on Dream’s thighs when he crouched to lick his face and even barked a few times. That usually led to another dog barking, and another and another, and now the dog house is just filled with barking.

Techno takes their disobedience with stride, rectifying their behaviour with a few choice words and a pat on the snout. It oddly reminds Dream of the times Phil would just pinch the crows' beaks whenever they’re chattering too much for his liking.

Phil and Techno, though working well together, are very different. This is very apparent in how they do their chores as well. 

Phil relied on his crows, chatting back at their shrill squawks when he forgot something and relaying info to be reminded of later. It took Dream a while to learn that the crows can actually speak. He hasn’t heard any full sentences but they were intelligent enough to prove a point in very few words.

Techno is more organised than it was. He carries a little notebook and a sharpened piece of charcoal to write down his objectives. The voices in his head helped as well, usually reminding him when Dream didn’t. Techno learns to take what chat says with a grain of salt though. Dream’s memory is fleeting on occasion but today they were fairly attentive in stopping Techno from repeating and walking in circles or just doing something that Techno hadn’t even mentioned.

The way the two do their chores probably says a lot about them as people, but Dream is still deciding on that.

Right now though, Dream isn’t psychoanalysing their caretakers, no. They’re watching Techno, intrigued by the drills he’s currently doing and making sure he doesn’t spill any of the dog food on the floor. 

Techno barks a few orders to the hounds, making sure they’re not rusty and can still take commands. He starts off with simple instructions like ‘sit’ and ‘stay,’ the like. Others like ‘attack’ or something more specific like shooting a body part where the dogs would pile on the nearby dummy they were using.

One that caught Dream’s eyes was a simple ‘crowd’ where all the wolves charged at their master but rather than attack they surrounded him. Some knocked against his feet and slipped through his legs but the sight brought him back to Doomsday with how they were spinning around him like sharks surrounding prey. It was probably different from a simple ‘come’ command. Dream guessed that no one would be able to make it through that perimeter without cutting their way through.

The thought brought ice to his veins and he continued to pour food in their bowls.

Dream sneaks a few more pieces of steak in their bowls of ground rotten flesh, and Techno fusses over their fur for a while, most likely waiting for Dream.

Phil once told Dream that Techno acts more like a father than he does; acts completely unaffected, but is very much affected. Pretends to be more hands-off, ends up being doting.

Dream sees this a lot more when they see Techno cupping one of the wolves, Em’s, faces. Wolves he insists are just war hounds, his weapons of mass destruction. It’s endearing watching Techno look after them, looking underneath their fur, adjusting their collars and checking their toe beans.

“I should take them on a walk,” Techno huffs. It’s sweet how he actually sounds apologetic for holding them up in a small space. They have loads of room to roam but they are also wolves, born and bred to be in the wild more. Current events made Techno a bit too busy to be as caring as he usually was and that may be the thing Dream is most sorry about. Denying these wonderful pups their freedom was his presence’s biggest sin. “Maybe take some laps around the commune, or just let ‘em roam in the forest surrounding us. May as well get some use.”

Dream doesn’t reply, continuing to fill the bowls with food as they attempt to resist clenching a fist at the mention of the forest.

Dream tried to rationalise it at first. They wanted to insist it was fatigue, that the added workload was taking a toll on them and their body just needed to catch up. It’s not the first time they’ve hallucinated; when the darkness of obsidian walls formed familiar shadows. Some they freely spat arguments and defences at others they grovelled and sobbed for.

They thought they moved past that, naively assuming that their unwell mind was finally healing but the possibility that it’s fucking with them again is definitely a possibility. Perhaps others would find solace in the voice— it was definitely an improvement from their previous delusions. 

It wasn't. If anything, the fact only serves to confuse them further... Their hallucinations were usually voices they could vaguely recognise, this one, however… 

Dream winces, unclenching his fist and looking down at the marks beginning to show up. The fresh bleeding marks look lonely against his hand, completely clean of any scars and Dream feels dread begin to pool in his gut.

He can blame the voice on his unwell mind, the roses he’d been given as his height coming in handy and the rise in anxiety as he passes by the forest— the supposed surety that he’s being watched— as just leftover worry from this vision and the fact that he was wanted.

The empty space in their hand can’t be explained. Dream’s scars are the uneven edges against a pot, the prison is their academy and they are the potter; an amateur at that. Meant to be set straight through art school and graduate as a better artist. Meant to have their hand gently held as they marvel at how the shapes of clay form at the lightest touch.

Their instructors insist on holding their hands yes— but one feels acidic, harsh against their wrists, forcefully guiding them because they can’t be trusted to do it by themselves. Another’s makes their hands shake because they never know if their own wary, trembling hands is going to mess things up or if they’re going to be roughly moved to fuck it up. Either way, hell is to pay because clay is expensive and how are you not grateful that we’re taking our time to help you become a better artist, why aren’t you thanking us when we try so hard for you— (How can someone grow, how can someone be creative, how can someone be better when they’re too scared to try anything other than what they’re told and only when they’re told. Otherwise, it’s nothing. There is no passion otherwise— was there even passion, to begin with? Why are they even doing this in the first place? Was this worth it?)

They can pick away at the clay around their cuticles, can wash off the thick smell of clay but the pot on their mantlepiece— one that’d been laughed at for its ugliness and scoffed over for its mistakes, haunts Dream. The edges aren’t unique or pretty— they aren’t a show of their growth— growth implies there was any way to thrive in an environment where uniformity is praised and deviance gets things thrown at a wall.

Dream will look at their palms and remember clay that isn’t there anymore and wonder why they miss it so much.

“Dream?” Techno’s voice snaps them out of it. The piglin appraises them with pursed lips and a raised brow, a silent question in his eyes. 

(Technoblade would be the type to glance at the embarrassingly childish flower design and compare it to some famous painter; a line meant to joke and be lighthearted at but it only makes Dream’s stomach sink. Dream wishes they could be like Techno whose home is covered in uneven mugs and cups and bowls made from his own affectionate hands. Who can lovingly reminisce about certain pieces and joke about the less admirable ones.) Dream hasn’t done anything wrong but they still feel a spark of anxiety-like a fallen thunderbolt in their stomach as their lips press together hard.

It’s awfully reminiscent of the time Techno idly asked them about their chores the other morning and they failed to bring up the shadow in the woods.

Perhaps it’s the mere thought of the shadow that stuns Dream to silence rather than the myriad of ways Techno could react to it. The feeling itself was familiar as well; the way his throat closed and brain instinctually shut down the idea of bringing it up, shouting at him to never mention it.

(There’s really only one other time a topic made Dream refuse to talk; even to Techno.

Something eldritch and ancient, interesting in the way a light would flicker, captivating like the shapes you see in the darkest corner of your room, intrigue bubbling and prickling through your veins like they would when you step down creaking stairs to a dimly lit basement.

It’s the type of thing you can’t let go of for the sake of your sanity. Something you wouldn't dare disclose whether it be your mind's greed for such a secret or your heart's desire to hide such a horror.)

“Sorry,” Dream says, throat awfully dry. “Just spacey.”

There’s a beat of silence that makes it clear that Techno doesn’t believe them.

“That’s fair,” the pigman shrugs and turns back to Em to ruffle their fur. “Well, we’re almost done here so try not to brainstorm your fanfic ideas for too long.”

Dream doesn’t even bother answering with more than a scoff.

Once Dream is done Techno waves the dogs off. They linger by their bowls for a moment before their eyes turn up to Dream who furrows his brows. When he glances at Techno the man is looking at him as well motioning.

“Uhm—” he blinks. “Eat?” 

“Bit more force than that,” Techno pipes when the wolves don’t budge, continuing to look at Dream with expectant eyes. “Show who’s boss.”

Dream bites the inside of his cheek. He can’t remember a time in the past few months he hasn’t been anything but timid. He barely raises his voice and even when he does it’s almost always followed by apologies. He’s fallen out of the honorifics habit, but he may as well still have been under someone else’s thumb; even if he dragged their hand on him, forcing himself down.

It was comfortable, familiar— it really shouldn’t be. He likes scaling their roof while everyone else is asleep but keeps quiet when being spoken to, never daring to interrupt or complain. He hides his journals underneath his bed but would easily push it in the hands of his caretakers if they asked. 

Perhaps it’s with someone else’s command— insistence— suggestion that he even manages to get a word out that didn’t sound unsure or inquiration.

“Eat.” Using the same firmness he’s heard Techno only use towards his dogs, the hounds dip their noses into their foods immediately, and start chowing down. Techno hums and tugs out his notepad to cross something off. Dream soothes the rattling of his heart by focusing on the sound of charcoal against paper. The deliberate double scratch of a tick against a box followed by the tapping while Techno looked over the next objective.

Chores are finished earlier than usual. The sun’s in the middle of the sky, signalling afternoon. Techno greets the fresh morning sun with a groan and he stretches his limbs above his head. Dream cringes at the sound of bones cracking and Techno hurriedly shakes off the stiffness of his wrists.

“Good work today,” He says and Dream smiles without thinking. “ ‘s a free day pretty much. I usually have to sleep for some free time.” The pigman tilts his head contemplatively as if thinking what to do next. Dream has one idea of what they could do and his eyes glance over to the glass dome of the beehouse.

“Almost done taking notes for this book Eret sent me, I could probably finish it…” Techno glances at Dream, noticing their silence. “Unless you have a better idea?”

“I mean—” Dream presses their lips together cursing their haste and bites the inside of their cheek.

“You can deviate from the script, Dream. I don’t mind really.”

They know. They’re still trapped in the weird middle ground of feeling comfortable enough to not be afraid to speak but still, that awful force of habit that makes them close up when they assume they’ve made a mistake. Techno is patient though, doesn’t point it out and lets Dream walk themselves out of this habit.  “If you don’t mind—”

“Yes, I said that—”

“—can we go to the beehouse?”

“Beehouse?” (“Think it's called a greenhouse actually.”) Dream’s foot taps at the blunt confusion. Their first thought is to just stop talking now, embarrassment from the idea of elaborating but the growing desire weighs it out.

“Yeah, I… I kinda wanna sit in the grass.”

“Bruhhh,” Dream snorts at Techno’s deadpan. The pigman looks over at the beehouse then pouts, glancing back at the house longingly. “We have a perfectly good chair inside though.”

“I know! But, it’s like—” Dream struggles for a moment, half embarrassed, a bit amused. Still, Techno’s logic checks out and Dream just frowns. “Okaaaay.” It was more of an impulsive idea than anything. It’s rare that he ever gets to go to the beehouse for anything more than chores, granted that’s what it was used for.

Still, there’s the urge to sit and linger for a while longer, embrace the natural warmth and think back to a time where—

“What are you spacing out for? Daylight's burning, the greenhouse isn't as interesting in the night.” ("Do you have the keys or do I?" Techno definitely has the keys but he still makes a show out of patting his pockets as he strolls over to the beehouse.) Techno glances over his shoulder, furrowing his brows and motioning his head like Dream’s the one keeping him waiting.

Dream freezes for a moment, visually processing before they hurry after him like Techno would change his mind if they take too long. The thought of the greenhouse has them smiling as they fall into step next to Techno and his frown falters a bit, a scoffed laugh escaping him.

(What a dangerous power to possess.)

Keys are miraculously found and twisted into the heavy padlock of the greenhouse. Dream takes in the atmosphere of the area with a deep breath. He’s eager and walks past Techno with a light bouncing step but still narrowly avoids the fragile flower beds in his path. He takes a seat right beneath an overhanging azalea tree that’s next to the stream. 

Azaleas are slowly becoming his favourite tree; what with their blooming plum blossoms and unique hanging structure. It’s a lovely add-on to the beehouse and Dream has longingly looked at this very tree with thoughts of discarding his chores in place of taking a nap beneath it. 

Dream’s daydreams are coming true by the minute and he crosses his legs to tug at the lace of his snow boots after tugging off his gloves and jacket. Techno’s a bit slower, but eventually makes his way to Dream while he’s pulling the tongue of the shoe back.

“Whatcha doing?”

“Shoes,” Dream chirps back simply, tugging his feet out of his shoes. His toes wiggle at the purchase.

“Ah, yes, I see that,” Techno doesn’t say anything until Dream is onto his next boot. “May I ask why?”

It takes Dream a second to answer. The first answer that pops in his hand draws a surprised laugh out of him. “You know I actually don’t know why. It’s just…” He presses his lips together, pensive. “It’s something Sap would do and, I don't know, I just copied him." Dream toys with the lace of his shoe, thinking of races through long fields. He remembers coming home and having to dip his muddy feet in the pond after getting scolded not to track mud in the house. (“I think he said it connects him better to nature.”

“Didn’t take Sapnap for a nature lover, I’m gonna be honest.”

“That’s fair. I called bullshit on it as well.”)

Dream pulls off his other shoe and lays down. Grass tickles the back of his neck and in the corner of his eye, he sees an azalea blossom.

Memories race past his eyelids when he closes them. He can hear the faint sounds of his friends laughing, their footsteps beating against the ground as they race past him. The sun isn't as blistering but Dream appreciates that, appreciates how soft around the edges the memory is. It's different from his more recent ones in that it almost feels like it didn't happen.

Maybe Sapnap wasn’t full of shit because laying like this, grass between his toes, and fingers, the soft splash of fish in the stream he feels like a part of nature listening like this, completely content to admire them in this form. 

Dream hears the crunch of grass and his eyes flutter open. 

Techno settles next to them, sleeves rolled up and cape in his folded arms. Techno tries to seem disinterested but when his eyes rake over to Dream, they crinkle, lips pressing together to hide the upturn of his lips. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Mhm,” Dream hums a bit dazed. They stretch their arms out like one would do if making a snow angel and let blades of grass cling to their arms. “ ‘missed the grass.” 

“There’s perfectly good grass outside,” Techno counters and Dream furrows their brows.

“Yeah but it’s underneath snow , Techno.”

“Maybe you should add shovelling snow to your list of chores if you wanna complain.”

On another Dream would snark back but right now? They’re too comfortable to care. It’s the same way they get when inside near the fireplace, the relief of warmth when all you felt was chill, but something about the greenhouse felt different.

The crackling fire was nice as was the strong scent of rosemary tea. Dream doesn’t blame Techno's initial adherence to wanting to stay in. Dream’s fallen asleep on every comfy furniture in there and the hard ground in comparison is miles apart.

But Dream was born to be outside. The endless hills against the horizon, the freedom of never being tied down to one place, to be complacent like the wind, relentless as the rainfall and bright like the sun; the concept had him by the throat.

He understands why he can’t right now, understands why it’s best for him to convalesce and stay put but that doesn’t make him miss it any less. He wasn’t being delirious when he said he missed the grass. It was a true statement. A part of him misses… a lot of things actually, things he can’t have any more for multiple reasons. 

"Is it hard to make a greenhouse?" Dream asks.

"Eh, not really. Why?"

" 'want one in my room."

"Bruh, then you'd really never leave it, you shut-in."

An unabashed giggle tumbles out of Dream as the cosy cloud of comfort makes its home in their mind's horizon. They push the self-loathing thoughts beneath the rug as they would dust in the house. Pretending like it wasn’t there usually made them feel better about it.

"A greenhouse in your room, prime, is that going to be one of the requests for your house?"

"Oh right, my house—" Dream sits up. It’s a weird thought granted he’s spent most of his time sharing a house with other people. He wasn’t a builder and the community house was no masterpiece. It was put together by inexperienced hands going off on cruddy drawings, idle daydreams and a whim. He was much more comfortable focusing on practicalities like building structures and storage while his roommates made it comfortable. The community house only looked good to avoid complaints from them anyway.

This is shown for their more personal builds where they followed a very utilitarian style— hell, their old bedroom beneath the community house only had a bed and nothing else. 

They didn’t even design their current room. It’s a premade filled with objects given in hopes that they liked it. And they did, don’t get it twisted! They like it but to think about their likes and comforts was something that felt locked away in the deepest crevice of his mind.

The possibilities are vast, overwhelming even. 

Dream frowns leaning back down. "Can’t I just live in the greenhouse instead?"

“Bruh, no,” Techno’s voice is too easy to laugh at and when Dream glances over his form is relaxed; the barest hint of a smile forming. “The bees already claimed and paid for their property. Specially requested.”

“Come on. You’re the landlord, you can persuade them.”

“Phil is the one who built it actually,” Techno corrects. “And the problem isn’t you, it's the rent.”

Dream furrows their brows. “What? What do you mean rent?”

“Honey, Dream,” Techno says like it’s the simplest concept to grasp. “The bees pay rent in honey. It’s the highest currency.” The piglin has the nerve to raise a brow, challenging. “Do you think you can match that?”

"Just put it on the tab, please?" Dream tries to do the same thing Phil does; with the hand beneath their chin and giving Techno fond eyes in an attempt to get their way. (Use this dangerous power for your own benefit, it’s not like you haven’t done it before with others.)

“No way, get dono-walled, nerd.” Dream gets nudged with Techno’s hoof and they pout to hold in their laughter. “With how much community service you’re doing to pay off your massive favour, I would take what you get.”

“That’s true, you’re right about that.” As if their presence can be chalked down to a simple favour—like Dream isn’t here by request made from a foolish man’s care for a monster.

“Hey, just call me your accountant, man.”

It’s a big step. To actually have a house in the commune feels bigger than Techno’s making it seem. A room is something small, repurposable. If Dream is of no use to them anymore they could throw away his books, move out his bed into the basement and fill it with chests. (Or Techno could just blow it up, though that would be a bigger pain. To warrant such a response though, for Techno to want to erase them from his life so bad he lights it up in ablaze. Is it sick of him to hope for a hypothetical like that?)

A whole house though? An entire building specially made for him would be a bit more difficult. Not in the sense of taking it down, but the memory is still there. Would they leave it like an awkward piece of furniture, throwing items and procrastinating over demolishing it because he's just not important or memorable enough to erase fully? 

They could still blow it up, but Dream feels like that would sting a bit more. A small part of him wants to suggest something big and noticeable. Something that would burn into their minds so they remember him, whether that memory is awkward and uncomfortable or fierce and hurting, it didn't matter. 

Pulling a flower from the bed was easy, but to sever a root from a tree...

"Is it… weird to ask how my house building is coming along?"

“So eager to be emancipated, are we?” It would be funny if Techno tried to sound like a doting parent; heartbroken at their piglet leaving the uh… crimson forest—honestly, Dream isn’t sure, they don’t understand piglin dynamics. "Good time as any to talk about it.”

The subject calls for professionalism; like Techno’s about to open a notebook for requests, sport his tiny glasses while tapping a quill against his tongue. Maybe pull out some wood pallet designs or pinterest on his communicator for inspiration. (It brings them back to a memory of looking over at a beach being recounted ideas and feeling his headache at the explanations of experimental yet complex redstone contraptions.)

Something like this feels important, professional and yet Techno just stares at him like it’s the most normal, mundane thing in the world.

“Do you have any preferences? Like woods maybe. Oak—” There’s a notable difference in the listing. There’s nonchalant indifference— “ —birch ,” Face scrunching up, speaking the wood type like a curse and finally— “—spruce!” Excitement, oh my god, amazing, Techno is giving a thumbs up and everything.

"Hm… Totally not feeling persuaded to choose one in particular."

"Oh no, I would never attempt to sway your opinions for the sake of aesthetics."

“Of course not,” Dream agrees. “Spruce is nice.” They pause to think for a moment. “Dark oak is good as well though.” They add on softly. Techno doesn’t seem appalled by it.

“There's a forest nearby so that won't be too hard,” Techno nods before pausing. His lip twitches. “Should we go with deep slate instead of cobblestone, the dark colours could fit your evil lair theme.”

Dream stares at him blankly.

“You seem like the nostalgic type,” Techno says continuing on, looking far too amused for such an out of the blue topic. “Could get you a basement like you meant to with your other house.” The memory hits Dream like a splash of cold seawater and he splutters, resisting the urge to spit out the shocked embarrassed salt from his mouth.

“You know about that?!”

“You went like barely fifty blocks away, Dream.” Oh, it’s so unfair how the only time Techno grinned widely was in the face of his friends’ chargin. Dream, embarrassed, pressed their palms into their face to hide the rapid flush in their cheeks.

“Don’t worry,” Techno assures, unassuredly, pressing a hand against Dream’s shoulder. “Phil and I won’t let you build such an abomination again.”

“It was a nice house!” Dream defended, barely believing themselves. Techno didn’t help their dubiety.

“You mixed two wood types for the roof.”

“Okay, but!” Humiliation and a tenacity to prove Techno wrong mixed with their crippling unpreparedness didn’t do them any favours now as it did back then. “I fixed it in the end!”

“You did." Hope was short-lived. "By destroying it. A great fix if I do say so myself.”

Dream narrows his eyes and turns over, opting to taste the earth rather than listen to Techno’s teasing. He focuses on the stream instead, watching the fish paddle by, admiring the seagrass swaying side to side. (He isn’t quite sure how he feels about the artificial stream. It’s pretty, too pretty to the point where you know it’s more decoration than nature.

The coral adds a lovely pop of colour but it also feels out of place. Something meant for large seas and vast oceans trapped in a tiny pond. Not to mention the fact that the only movement coming from the water was the fish.

It really just made them remember that they weren’t really outside. What qualifies a prison?) 

A loud splash of water makes them jump, eyes widening as they refocus on the brook. A part of them assumes it to be Techno, but the pigman is still sitting idly nearby, glancing up at the sky through the glass roof. Probably deciding to let up on the teasing for now. The culprit seems to be a little fish that sits suspiciously near the edge of the creek.

Dream’s seen fishes before, watched them flip around idly but it’s rare that one stops to stare back. The stream is big, big enough where a whole school of colourful fish can flit by without care, without fear of separating but one small fish pauses.

Dream turns on their stomach and the fish tracks their movements as they settle to get a closer look at it. It’s a small fish, striped red and white with small endearing button black eyes. 

Dream holds their hand out watching the fish turn its head in that direction. The sight draws a smile to their face as they quickly wave their hand the other direction. There’s just something awfully endearing about fish.

Dogs are cute, fiercely loyal and useful in battle as well. Even outside of the battlefield they’re wonderful companions, with boundless energy and affection to spare.

Cats are wonderful as well, clever more protective miscreants. Good for keeping creepers off your land but even then people keep them for a more calm slow paced pet.

God, birds as well are lovely. They’re adorable! Perhaps not good for your paranoia granted they have the habit of repeating scary animals sounds but look at them. You can’t stay mad at them for long.

Fish are… well, fish! Dream lived in more forested areas so when they travelled to the ocean and caught sight of a school of multi-coloured beauties they couldn’t help themselves. Even then, Dream didn’t want to keep them confined to a bucket so they made an aquarium. And a pond. Then they fought wars for them. Then he stole one for the sake of that war— point is! He likes fish. He doesn't know why but they’re cute.

And this one is no different. Even to Dream who’s seen some with more colours, the simple striped pattern this beauty has is so charming to him.

“Oh—” The fish flits closer and Dream freezes for a moment, eyes wide with interest. They usually didn’t come this close and Dream doesn’t want to move too much so as to not scare it. It’s still tempting now that Dream can see it up close like this.

There’s a bit of black on the top of its fin on its head, more streaks of it bordering its stripes on its body and finger flippers.

She’s so small too, she could probably fit in their hands if they tried. The way she twirls for a moment draws a smile out of Dream. It’s almost like she’s showing off, like she can tell she’s pretty and Dream takes the chance.

They gently reach out watching as the fish keeps track of the hand but doesn’t move away. Dream’s hand, the one that was once scarred, held weapons of mass destruction— that wreaked havoc and pain on all unfortunate enough to cross him gently pressing against the top fin of the fish.

She doesn’t seem too upset by it, and Dream doesn’t place too much pressure. She dips from his grasp to instead gently rub against his knuckles and Dream flips his hand over to feel her scales against his palm.

“Whatcha starin’ at?” Techno says suddenly. Dream feels him press against their side and they scoff, scooting a bit to show the fish off. “Ooo.”

“Mhm,” Dream hums, “Pretty, huh?”

“Eh, I’ve seen prettier.” The look Techno receives in response has him laughing and Dream’s mouth falls agape, suddenly offended on the fish’s behalf.

“Don’t listen to him, Vee, he’s mean,” Dream consoles. “You're very pretty, Techno is just jealous he doesn’t have lovely scales like you do!”

“Vee?”

Dream doesn’t know why such a simple question made his stomach drop. He didn’t even think twice about it and the thought scares him somewhat. The hand gently caressing Vee pulls back. The pressure of a string on his finger makes him clench it.

“Oh, I guess I did name her,” Dream says, swallowing, hands suddenly feeling sweaty. It does nothing to loosen the string squeezing tightly on his index finger and he presses it against his chest. “Whoops.” The laugh that escapes him is forced and his throat feels dry.

“I like Vee, good name,” Techno nods and glances at Dream. Whether he’s oblivious to Dream's internal struggle or not is unclear. (“Good name, you’ve improved from ‘Dream has a house.’”

“You remember that?”

“Dhah.”

“Fuck.”)

 “You want her?”

“Excuse me?” Horribly oblivious, Dream decides. 

“I can grab you a bucket and you can scoop her up if you want.” Techno clarifies. “She usually never leaves her little hidey hole when we walk by but she seems to like you so I doubt she’ll be unhappy.”

“W-Well— I—” Prime no, gods.

The idea makes his chest flair up. If Dream even thought about having another fish he’d stuff it in an ender chest and never take it out. Being attached to Techno and Phil were different, Techno’s knocked this into his brain a few times, they can protect themselves at least. They’re smart, Dream only has to worry about not being good enough, not about them being used against him. 

A fish though— the idea of this defenceless thing he’s now attached burdened himself to being used in an altercation makes bile rise in his throat. If Techno wasn’t here he’d probably throw her out into the snow.

See it’s… less hard to sever ties with people than it is pets and things. A good few of them are fragile, with enough words and actions, even things you don’t mean to say, actions you didn’t even know could be used against you! — they scatter. Things, objects and pets on the other hand hurt a bit more.

He’s happy Sapnap and George hates him, he wouldn’t be able to kill them to protect himself from having things used against him.

“I don’t… I don’t want to keep her in a bucket all the time.” It’s not a complete lie, the idea of keeping Vee in a bucket instead of the stream feels cruel. (A prison is a prison but Dream would have liked the courtyard and his cell more than just his cell.)

“Fair, okay, how about this?” Techno says. “When we build your new house, we’ll make an aquarium—” Dream is a bit embarrassed by how fast his head snapped to Techno, an unfairly light feeling lifting in his chest. For a second the string was forgotten. “—you can help with that, we can make it as big or as small as we want. And the bucket? You don’t have to keep her in it all the time. Think of it like me taking my dogs for a walk. Show Vee the world outside of her stream.”

“I, well…” Rationality. An old friend now his paranoias fated folly.

“Oh, come on, look at her,” Dream’s eyes dart to Vee. Not a thought behind her eyes as her head twists and turns as either of the two move. “You can’t deny her of Dream time. She looooooves you, dude.”

“I don’t want… what if someone—”

“Who Dream? Me? I wouldn’t do that. Phil wouldn’t, no one here would.” He doesn’t say it explicitly but the sentiment is there and Dream doesn’t meet Techno’s eyes. “Don’t let a bad experience stop you from enjoying something, from loving something. This.” (Techno looks like he’s about to motion to himself but pauses and motions to Vee instead.) “Isn’t a weakness.”

“It—It—” They’ve had a conversation like this before. Techno’s firm about these sorts of things and in the past Dream thought he was stupid for it. A part of him still admires the bravery bordering on stupidity to have these attachments, to let those red strings wrap so haphazardly on his tender points.

(Dream’s a meticulous gardener, severing weeds that he believes would take down the entire garden and Techno glances at the weeds, sees vines that coat the trees and tall devils prinkling his grass as decorations.)

“Hey, hey,” Techno sees Dream’s hands curled up in almost fists twitch and he sees it as an invitation. His hands fit in Dream’s just fine and they squeeze without a second thought. Techno’s skin is much tougher than theirs, they don’t break as easily when Dream scratches. “I’m here. Just like how I protect and do everything in my power to protect the things— the people I—” Techno swallows thickly.  “The people I care about, I’ll help you do the same.”

“I can’t even protect myself properly,” Dream grits his teeth.

“Not yet, that’s what I’m here for.” Dream’s been staring at his lap but he can imagine Techno’s earnest eyes and makes his heart strings tug and squeeze dangerously. What about you, what about you, what about you, who protects you— what if I need to protect you, you fool, you idiot—

Techno’s head bumps against Dream and stays there. 

“I’m not incompetent, I know what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine, because I said so.” Dream’s breath hitches when they go to laugh. “You live in a house with a paranoid pig who stresses over every little thing, overthinks and never overlooks a single detail. My insanity and obsession to always be prepared has no bounds.”

Dream gives the barest hint of a nod and grinds his forehead against Techno’s, focusing on his breath against his face to keep his own breathing still. 

He doesn’t end up picking up Vee that day, but the next morning there’s a single key on his desk that matches the one that fits into the heavy padlock of the greenhouse.

--[]--

The residents of the Arctic Commune are big readers.

Phil read tomes, thick old books that Dream recognised from Eret’s library and others he just knew were Phil's. It’s hard to tell which are ancient texts that the avian collected himself or just his own findings stuffed in an old leather bound notebook.

Ranboo is more of a writer, but they do take suggestions. The few times Dream has seen them, they’re usually returning a book that’s been given to them. His caretakers thumb through the folders of pages that the enderman has bashfully handed over; Phil usually underlined mistakes and put smiley faces next to certain lines and Techno, meticulous as ever, highlights certain lines with much longer edits but with that comes the much longer compliments that no doubt leave Ranboo flushed when they have to check them over later.

Techno reads as well, of course. More sleek, well-loved books sit on his shelf; less factual, more fictional. The word mythology printed out on the spines the most, Roman, Greek, Nordic, anything and everything is displayed on Techno’s shelf.

As of late, however, there’s been a brief shift in his reading material. Techno came home one day on his patrol with a bag full of poetry books. Eret got a new shipment of them and Techno, being the loyal library goer he was, had been given a bit of the special treatment when Eret caught sight of him.

The books are a lot smaller than Techno’s used to, so he gets through them fast. So really, Dream shouldn’t be surprised that Techno’s suggesting one to him.

He’s been given suggestions before, or he’ll just lean next to Techno peering into a book midway through if they’re both on the couch.

It’s one of the smaller ones; about the size of a picture book really and Dream assumes that’s what he was being offered and gives Techno a weird look before thumbing through it.

It’s formatted like a dictionary; stanzas of ‘definitions’ print out beneath words and Dream tilts his head at them in confusion.

“ ‘s a good read,” Techno explains when Dream asked why. “First time reading poetry that wasn’t tied to myths and I wanted to share.” It’s a nice gesture, Dream should be honored but—

“Not a big poetry person.”

“Spoken like someone who’s definitely opened a poetry book.” Techno doesn’t take it to heart, or rather he doesn’t let it show. “It’s niche but it’s nice. I wouldn’t suggest something you wouldn’t like.”

“What would I like?” The flare of panic at someone actually knowing about him is dulled from months of trust building. He’s less defensive and scrutinises Techno with a side smile, curious.

“Something short and simple for starters. For your attention span."

Techno grins when Dream’s gaze on the cover sharpens on him.

“Come on, now.” Dream just can’t shake off the feeling that there’s something more to this. Perhaps leftover paranoia or just general curiosity. What’s in this book that made Techno eager (as eager as he could seem) enough to come downstairs to hand it to Dream, rather than just wait at the table.

Once realising Dream wanted a proper answer Techno shoved his hands knuckle deep into his pockets. The sigh he let out made Dream straighten from his lean against the door frame, the atmosphere turning a bit more serious.

“I’m not exactly someone who’s amazing at talkin’ about my feelings.” That’s definitely a lukewarm sentence that really doesn’t put into perspective how emotionally avoidant Techno can be sometimes. Especially when it comes to himself.

There’s never a dull moment around Techno, in fact, it’s hard to be serious around Techno. In terms of serious discussions, you'll get lighthearted conversations at best, awkward rambles at worst.

Dream’s only memory of Techno talking about his feelings seriously was during Doomsday. The sight of raining TNT, the scent of gunpowder and the shrieks of animated wither corpses in the background did nothing to dampen the emotion in Techno’s confession. In fact, the environment was indicative of how Techno probably felt in those moments.

Disastrous. Like everything was slowly crumbling around you leaving you panicked on tilted terrain and constricting smoke in your lungs.

Doomsday was memorable, yes, for more reasons than one; Dream remembers all too clearly Techno’s raw feelings. Feelings, Dream, at the time, wasn’t even aware Techno felt.

“You don’t say?” Dream grimaces a smile.

“I know, shockin’,” Techno says wryly as if he was thinking similarly. “Art is a good form of ventin’ though. I’m not a big writer but finding books that speak to me usually help me feel less alone.”

“I’m…” His previous thoughts made that last sentence hit a bit harder. “I don’t feel alone.” He scrambles to collect himself, immediately on the offence.

“I know, I didn’t say that,” Techno says, gently. “I just thought you’d like something like this for no particular reason. Not at all because I know how emotionally stunted people like us are.”

Dream has a feeling Techno’s not being too honest with him, no idea why just a hunch.

“Your bookshelf is pretty barren anyway,” Techno adds on quickly. “You fill up books well and every good writer reads.”

Dream scoffs, heat clouding his cheeks. “ ‘m not a writer,” he shoots weakly. His hand reaches over to his door to close it slightly to hide his bookshelf. He knows his top shelf is messily stacked with journals and he’s feeling self-conscious about it now.

It started as a way to document time in the prison, he continued doing it to savour moments but he’s fallen back into the habit of venting frustrations on a page rather than talking about it.

(Maybe this book will inspire him to wax more poetically in them; tie his shaky filled rambles into a neat bow. Perhaps it would be easier to share his tortured thoughts when they’re disguised by flowery words and wistful imagery.)

"Why not share it with your book club?"

"We're more focused on political commentary these days. Trying to be politically correct, not make the same mistakes, history repeating is lame, y'know?" Techno presses his lips together, brows downturned. "If you don’t want the book it's fine Dream—"

“No, no," Dream hugs the book to his chest when Tehno holds his hand out for it. The eyebrow raise is strangely smug and Dream almost wants to give it up now. "I’ll give it a go.”

"There you go. Tell me what you think when you're done!" And with that, Techno waves Dream off heading back upstairs. Dream watches him leave, finally staring down at the book in his hands.

The cover has an illustration of faded roses beneath its title. Dream wonders if Techno picked it with him in mind.

He’s stupidly wary, not exactly of Techno’s intentions anymore, but the contents. He places the book on his desk and hovers over it for a bit like it’s a ticking time bomb before he finally sucks in a deep breath and sits down.

It’s really just poems but before he can even really read something catches his eye. In the margins of the book, there’re notes written in what Dream recognises as Techno’s handwriting. A bit messier than his usual thin fancy cursive that Dream sees dotted on sticky notes; the scrawl seemingly more for himself than to impress others. 

Dream can’t help the nosy part of them that rakes over the notes; this automatic eagerness they get when given the opportunity to know something. (Whether that be him being too interested in other people’s problems or far too invested in the weaknesses of his enemies.)

A voice in the back of their mind wants to scold them for looking at something that seems so personal but the shame dissipates when they see something they recognise.

Dream’s seen Techno when looking over literary works so they expect a lot; paragraphs cut short from the confines of small pages, stick notes of his own thoughts about it filling the pages up. Here, instead, it’s mockingly simple.

Names. It’s the names Dream recognises.

Not on every page but when Dream looks for it, they find names next to highlighted parts of the paragraphs.

Names of who Techno is fondest of Dream guesses. Phil, for example, is written next to the first stanza of the poem dizzy . The loving, carefree tone feels like something only Techno would know about; the type of nostalgia Techno would tear up at and Dream envies not being able to understand it fully.

Dream finds Ranboo’s name next to the poem ghost . It’s a bit easier to understand how it relates to Ranboo. Dream hasn’t quite gotten to them yet but the tone of unrealised greatness behind a shuddering exterior screams Ranboo.

Niki takes the third stanza of flight. It feels inappropriate of them to feel some form of pity for Niki’s struggles, they doubt she would find much comfort in it, but the stride in which she overcame them was something to admire. 

(The last definition of Pride has Tommy scribbled next to it. It’s the only one Dream avoids, turning the page before they can read anymore.)

Dream feels self absorbed for being disappointed at not seeing their own name. The self-loathing thoughts come to a screeching halt when they notice a smiley face in the second paragraph of— well, that’s convenient— the poem titled Dream. 

Techno knows his friends well. The way he links these stanzas to what he feels for them is nice; comforting that Dream has managed to delude— make him think— manipulated— find themselves in the company and care of such a man. Dream thumbs over the smile subconsciously like reading over what’s written there would make them feel how Techno saw them. 

'My spine is softer now, but still strong.'

---[]---

The sun is what motivates Dream to come outside and the moon is what keeps him from sleeping to see it.

While the sun is the heat he craves, the familiar bile at the back of his throat, the comfortable sting that quells the panic from the unknown, the unplanned, the moon is cold and safe, beautiful and simple, lovable she is, dearest moon. The cooling balm to the sweltering heat of familiarity is enough to keep him rooted in place if only to stand in her gaze a moment longer. He’s no stranger to her line of sight. On late nights when sleep cannot befall him he stares at her in hopes of pretending the restlessness he faces isn’t worrying him.

The restless thoughts that he's more monster than human because good, normal people sleep— people don’t have things weighing on them that makes it hard to sleep.

Dream really should have moved his bed near the window, but he likes the childish foolishness in grabbing all his blankets and pillows to cushion him while he stares out through dark circled eyes at brilliant white against endless dark.

Tonight in particular, his focus isn’t on the moon. He’s waiting. 

A comet washes over the Antarctic Empire every month and every month Dream folds his blanket into his lap, presses a pillow against it and waits. It’s a sight he really should share with Phil and Techno but the comfort of secrets are too tempting to keep close to his chest.

Perhaps something must be said about how someone can find comfort in never being known— in never being understood. It’s not that, rather the familiarity of something he’s lived with for a long time.

He has Techno’s book with him still, pressed tightly against his chest. He’s read it over a few times, wanting to take after Techno and link it with his loved ones, past and present. It always hurts reminiscing and clinging onto old memories. It makes Dream wonder what the point of the gift was.

He can’t find it in him to see any ill will and chalks it up to just being his fault.

Dream watches the moon make her full round, stretching out from the horizon and up to the very centre of the sky. It is then that their communicator, gifted to them a few months after they left the prison, buzzes on their side.

Dream bundles up the blanket in their lap and throws it out their window. They swing their foot over the window, letting the other follow it. For a moment, they dangle, legs hovering above the ground and arms shaking from their own weight. They drop down in the heap of fluff and wait.

All he can hear is the faint croak of a toad, chirp of crickets and rustling of leaves. No doors haphazardly opening to check on the noise, no clink of armour or weapons and Dream slowly pushes themselves up glancing towards Ranboo’s house for any wandering eyes and freezes.

A meteorite stands in front of Ranboo’s house and the sight alarms Dream that something he’s been keeping away from others for months lays out in the open. He scrambles over, cutting his observation short, leaving his items in a crumpled heap near his window.

The light blue aura of the fallen star looks a lot more like a coat and a familiar silvery blonde top brings something warm to his chest. Still, the brief panic at the sight makes the affection dull in comparison.

Punz, Boyhood, stanza three, stands leaning against Ranboo’s house, toying with the golden pendant pressed against his sternum. 

“Hey—”Punz’s head snaps towards Dream. More alarmed by the panic rising in their voice than the voice itself. “What are you doing, Ranboo is—”

Punz holds a finger to his lips and Dream pauses. He slowly lifts his finger up and Dream follows it to an open window.

Dream’s eyebrows furrow, confused. “W—”

“I saw her leave a while ago,” Punz said and Dream glances up, catching no sight of the house owner. “Not sure where exactly, but the coast is clear if that’s what you were worried about.”

“Right. Sorry.” Dream shakes their hands out to hide the tremor that began. “I should know better than to question you— you’re usually very careful during these meetings.”

“Eh, don't sweat it.” Punz brushes it off and pushes himself off  the wall to face Dream fully. He’s wearing a big coat over his armour, glittering with lapis enchantments and when Dream angles their head down Punz’s weapons glint at them. “Did you bring something?” Dream looks back up. Punz’s chin is motioning over to the crumbled heap of clothing Dream pulled out.

“Nah, just extra blankets,” Dream tuts and walks over. Punz is right at their heels and their gaze flicks up to Phil’s. There’s no light coming from its windows and the chimney isn’t coughing up smoke either. They let their panic drain. “I nearly froze my ass off last time.” They still insist on being quiet and Punz picks up on this as well, keeping his voice just as soft.

“It was kind of spontaneous at the time,” Punz says. Almost like he’s lamenting.

“I fell out of the window.”

“Spontaneous.” Dream gives him a look as they’re picking the blanket and pillows up in their arms earning them a snicker. “Oh come on. You can’t say you didn’t enjoy stretching your legs out.”

“My toes froze over,” Dream turns away to hide the smile beginning to form. Punz doesn’t miss it and hovers over their shoulder with a shit eating grin.

“You can walk now, can’t you?”

“I guess,” Dream scoffs and straightens up. They decide that since Ranboo is out they can continue to converse nearby there and pray that Techno doesn’t wake up for a glass of water and glance out the window. “And I’m not as holed up anymore like last month.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Next part of the healing process is physical therapy.” Dream explains as they’re unfurling the blanket out. Dream feels lucky that the commune enjoys giving gifts; the abundance of blankets they have stuffed in a closet doesn’t make them worry as they lay the blanket on the ground. “I’ll be out of practice if I spend too much time lazing around.”

“I thought that’s what all vacations are like.” Dream glances at Punz, being wholly unhelpful as he watches Dream set up. Dream scoffs, dropping the cushions down as well. Not this again. “Y’know,” Punz clarifies, “being all snuggly and lazy.”

“It’s not a vacation, I’ll have you know,” Dream retorts. They look over the blanket and decide that the wrinkles don’t matter, it’s just about not sitting on the cold floor and take a seat. Their plan was to slightly angle themself away to emphasise their point but Punz falls in front of them in a slide lay, cushioning himself with the pillows Dream brought.

“Right, recuperation is what we’re calling it then.” Punz prompts their arm up to support their chin to give Dream a look.

“Look—” Dream presses their lips together, not wanting to admit how smooth that looked. “Just fill me in.”

Punz doesn’t push it past an unconvinced smile and they laze on Dream’s blanket to deliver a report. It feels oddly like they’re catching up with how relaxed they’re being. It’s not too far off from a year ago— when they trusted each other enough to let go of the formality of armour on, rather than being upright and focused, they’d laze about, maybe even take scenic walks.

Usually whenever Dream hears about these sorts of things his mind is racing. Thinking about how certain elements would help or deter their goals in the past. Nay, it’s not the lack of armour, the change of scenery from dark alleys and fortified structures or the relaxed posture, no it’s the way Dream’s only half listening. He almost feels detached from it. Detached from the SMP in general. Almost at least—

“It’s been quiet without you,” Punz says. Dream doesn’t stay cold for long and Punz’s head lays on Dream’s thigh. Their hand that was toying with the hair at the nape of his neck pauses to glance down at Punz. He’s looking back at them. “Most of the entertainment back at home are Sam’s drills and Tommy’s ranting.” Punz notices Dream’s face scrunch up and winces. “Yeaaahh.”

“I don’t even want to know.”

“That’s a first.” Dream breaks his gaze. Punz sounds hesitant. “Isn’t he like public enemy number 1?” Like he’s choosing his words carefully.

“The world is bigger than him. Really I just care that he’s out of my way,” the words feel strange in Dream’s mouth and they resist the urge to gag. “ Enough about him. I’m meant to be regaining my energy, not stressing out.”

“You sound like you’re definitely on vacation.”

“I feel like if I start thinking about him again I’m gonna have to be restrained from leaving.” Dream justifies. He covers his face and groans, furiously rubbing at his eyes. “Not now.”

“You look better.” Dream peeks out from his hands to look at Punz. There’s a familiar softness there that makes his heart skip. “Last time I visited I had to hang from your window cause you were bed-bound. And we also couldn’t talk this loud ‘cause Techno was in the other room.”

“Oh my god, it’s weird when you say it like that.” Punz chuckles as Dream returns to covering his face, now out of embarrassment rather than frustration. “Like I’m hiding a secret lover from my parents.”

There’s a beat of silence. Dream can hear the cogs turning in Punz’s head and—

“... well that’s not too far off, is it?”

“Shushsshshs—” He outstretches his hand to push them and Punz rolls away, not at all concerned by Dream’s furious flusteredness due to his poor word choice. Punz has to stifle his laughter with his fist and doesn’t seem unapologetic in the slightest.

“Should I start viewing Techno as like your dad or something—”

“Don’t even, that’s a terrible image—” 

“That suddenly makes all the times I’ve walked past Techno in the past month really different.” Dream can imagine Punz pretending to be contemplative by putting their hand beneath their chin. 

“What’s he said?” Dream’s voice comes out a bit muffled still hiding behind his hands.

“Usually he denies the fact that I’ve seen him. It’s a very common occurrence.”

“Sounds like Techno.” 

Punz gets sick of Dream hiding far too quickly and reaches up to tug apart his fingers. Dream forces a frown that he’s sure is wobbly by Punz’s snort.

“It’s fine. It’s kind of funny sneaking around,” Punz speaks like it’s a fun secret and Dream bites the inside of his cheek to avoid smiling at the ridiculousness of it. “Like we used to sneak around— you know hide our alliance but without the whole danger of my safety involved, it’s fun.”

“I guess it’s not terrible.” Dream squeezes Punz’s hand. “It’s only temporary though. It can’t be fun forever.”

“It’s the calm before the storm you said.” Punz’s smile falters slightly, a less than happy thought flickering in his mind’s eye. Dream catches it faster than Punz can speak. 

“What is it?”

“Prime, I can’t hide anything from you, huh?” The wording is bitter but Dream knows it’s a tactic to soften the blow of whatever they’re about to say next. 

“Did something change?”

It does him no favours. He wasn’t ready for that question and Punz’s worry becomes even more clear when Dream freezes. His grip loosens and he swallows thickly.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just…” Punz is the one to squeeze Dream’s hand this time. “A bit different as all. I’m curious if something happened that you didn’t mention.” It feels like his chest is splitting in two, like the light feeling he’d been consumed by all these months was suddenly weighing him down. “Hey.” Punz sits up. The weight of their hands-on Dream’s shoulder is there to ground him and he grasps onto them. “I’ve been with you this long. Whatever it is, it won’t make me upset.”

He knows that but a part of him hasn’t been ready to properly admit it loud yet. He’s admittedly a bit ashamed to say it to Punz.

“I think they want me to stay.” Is what he goes with instead. His tone gives away far too much and Punz squeezes his shoulder.

“Do you?” 

Dream sure Punz can feel his hands shaking. Despite it being a losing game, he feigns ignorance if only to delay the confession a second longer.

“I don’t understand.” 

“Do you want to stay?”

During Dream’s first month, on the first night he spent awake and in Techno’s room alone, he told Punz this was temporary. That he was just going to heal up and then after, part ways with Techno and the entirety of the commune. Punz was fine with that. They waited for him while he was in the prison and honestly, they admitted, this felt a lot easier to deal with than that.

It started off as just disjointed, unplanned meetups when Punz guessed Dream was alone in the room, or in the rare but best cases, home alone. And by the third month when Dream was given a room for his things, Punz gave him a communicator when he was able to hide it properly.

Then Dream started to walk properly again, no longer getting winded from going up and downstairs. He was getting better, eating larger meals, no longer reacting as badly, things were looking up. Soon, he really wouldn’t even need that much assistance.

Techno must have realised this as well. The memory is crystal clear, but the conversation still felt somewhat like a dream. If not for the fact that the shock was so clear he would have questioned the farfetchedness of the topic. 

The setting was so familiar to him too. Sleepily pressed against Techno’s side, eyes barely taking in the words of the book the pigman is flipping through; the bubble they’ve constructed smelt like rosemary tea and pine wood. The edges of Dream’s sight are golden from the fire and he felt nice. It was nice to be comfortable enough to not be afraid if something is going to disappear or reappear when he wakes up.

“You don’t have to leave, you know?” Techno said out of the blue. It didn’t pop the bubble but it definitely rippled. Dream didn’t say anything, waiting for the punchline. “I don’t mind you stickin’ around.” Instead, Techno continued, further hammering it in.

“I mean I’ve been laying here for like a while, I wasn’t really planning on moving,” Dream said because it was a really random thing to say out of nowhere.

“I meant like—” Techno motioned outwards, the book closing over his thumb as he did so. “Here. In the commune.”

“Surely you’d want your backroom again,” Dream scoffed. He wasn’t really taking him seriously at the time. At the time he thought it was just some really elaborate joke. Techno continued to stare at him and the atmosphere got serious. “I don’t want to impose,” was the first thing that came out. Because if anyone was out of place it was Dream obviously. He was only meant to be a temporary visitor.

“You’re not imposing. In fact, I’m inviting you to—to impose. Or pose or look!” Techno took Dream’s silence as scepticism. It wasn’t. It was shock. Dream was processing and Techno saw that as his chance to continue on. “Phil is getting used to you and Ranboo doesn’t seem to get worried whenever we bring you up. Not to mention the conversation you had with Niki. And I’m all about helping the homeless—”

“Oh my god, Techno—” Dream thought that was it. Techno said his punchline. They’ll both laugh, Dream would overthink this before he fell asleep and forget about it over their next meal.

“If the house is what’s bothering you, we can make you a house.”

It wasn’t. Techno just can’t stand a serious moment, they made him embarrassed and uncomfortable. It helped Dream out a lot as well, made the anxious buzz of their brain screech to a halt to deadpan or snicker at whatever’s being said. Whether Techno knew this and did it for their sake or for his own, wasn’t ever confirmed. Dream in the future guessed it was an unintentional mix of both.

“What?”

“Wow, was it really the house offer that got you?”

“No, I just—”

“Not even my friendship that you want, it's all about the house.”

“Techno.” He’s not being serious. “You made the same joke when you added my room. Which is probably just an extension to your already cramped storage room.”

“No, really, if that’s the case then fine, here uh—” Techno closed the book and Dream’s eyes widened in alarm when he didn't feel around for his book mark. He didn’t even comment on what they said about his storage room. Techno opened one of his windows and glanced at Dream for a while until they got the memo that Techno wanted them to follow.

Techno outstretched his hand on a plot of land, tracing the area with a roll of his finger. “Right there. We can build it all tall and stuff— or even really diddly if you’re not into space— though my guess is that’s the opposite.”

Dream’s not even looking at the plot of land too busy searching Techno’s face, wondering why he’s not holding back from bursting out in laughter.

“You’re being serious.”

“ ‘s kinda offensive how you think I would joke about this.” Techno turned to look at Dream who was still staring at him. “Okay, I make jokes about everything but— I am being serious. If you think there’s no space, I’ll make space. If you’d like to stay, I’ll make room for you.”

(Dream guessed that Techno’s just good at adapting. Usually, he jokes and is overly flippant with others but because he’s observant he must have known that being firm and resolute— not leaving any space for things to overthink— was the way to go for with Dream.

It was so different from how they operated in the past too. A time when jokes about their ‘friendship’ standing were commonplace because the two were far too proud to admit a lick of care to the other. Or perhaps they were just scared at the time. Attachments. Trust in other people. It was a two-step plan for disaster at the time.

It made Dream think that things must have been better if Techno wasn’t scared of letting Dream in if he was being upfront with them.)

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not just—” Dream felt dizzy. “You’re not just fucking with me—”

“I wouldn’t. Not about this.” It’s the firm tone that assures Dream that they’re not being fucked with. That Techno was being serious. That he wanted Dream to stay. 

The golden edge of the candlelight disappears and there’s just the moonlight and the deep pit in Dream’s stomach and Punz’s hand on his shoulders—

“I…” Dream presses his lips together, heading dipping down to stare at his lap. “I mean—”

“Hey.” Dream is jostled a little, snapping them out of the haze, from falling into the deep pit that his stomach constricted. “I can like—” Punz snorts, endeared by Dream’s mental crisis. “I can hear the cogs in your head screeching.”

“I said I would come back after.” It felt scummy. Like he was going against everything they had planned—

“Yeah, you did but things changed, didn’t they?” The understanding tone makes Dream melt.

“I really like it here.” He admits and it's like a breath of fresh air. Like he finally stopped holding his breath and Punz sees the relief and bites their lip to hold back a smile.

“You know what I like?” Money. Diamonds. Good results. Me? Say me— “You.” Oh, they really said that— “And if staying here makes you happy, then stay.”

“I promised I would fix everything.”

“And you stuck to it for so long.” Punz sounds proud and their hands leave his shoulders to frame his face. “Longer than you deserved.” They swipe a thumb over Dream’s cheek, expression sombre. “I don’t know if I want to watch you suffer anymore.” Dream’s never explained what went on in the prison. He doesn’t think he ever will but it’s easy to see he came out different. A few cracks more in their mental health. Techno saw a glimpse of it and barely brought it up past a few rare jokes and Punz, who probably hated being in the dark, let their mind supply what Dream can’t admit.  “One person can’t fix everything, Dream. Two is perhaps a bit easier but when something doesn’t want to be fixed there’s no point.”

Dream didn’t give up on his goals loudly. Bit by bit his determination had broken down. Funnily enough, it wasn’t in the prison. It wasn’t after Sam started looking at him differently after he shakily confessed his atrocities in hopes of The Warden staying a moment longer. It wasn’t after he killed Tommy. It wasn’t even when Quackity started visiting.

It was when he was given the chance at a fresh start.

Only when shown the light at the end of the tunnel did he wonder if he should give up on making a fire inside. Was admitting defeat better than waiting for the harsh whistle of a train and substituting the light he hopes for by staring into its tail lights? It’s a bit embarrassing at that point when the answer was so close to him the entire time, that his pride had blinded him to an answer that could have prevented all his suffering.

“I did so much just to give up.”

“You’re not giving up per say—”

“It’s giving up—”

“Well stop saying it like giving up is the bad choice.” It’s rare that Punz sounds genuinely annoyed, or at least towards Dream and it sparks his attention. “They wouldn’t listen when you were nice. They hate you when you’re firm. You’re taking the better option.”

“What, Punz?” He whispers. They've been stuck in their own head about it whenever they thought about Punz coming back, about why what they're doing was right and no answer satisfied them. A part of them desperately wanted to hear it. “What is the better option?”

Punz gets close, so close their noses are touching. His eyes are the shade of the stars in the galaxy. His voice is soft and the breath against his face may as well have had the stars infused in them.

“Being alive,” he whispers like it’s the most important thing in the world. “Being here with me again. And technically, though it wasn’t exactly the way we wanted, you got your little family.”

“Kinda wish you told me this before I stuck myself in a prison.” If he jokes enough maybe he won’t get overwhelmed by the warmth in his chest. It feels like his heart is far too small for the amount of love that’s starting to overflow.

“You were very convincing.” That draws a chuckle out of Dream and Punz follows it weakly. “I didn’t think it would end that badly. I wouldn’t have even agreed to this if I knew it would end up this way.”

“I know.” Dream can’t say he disagrees with them. The thought springs another one that should have been alarming. “I don’t feel sorry yet.”

“What?”

“I don’t…” Dream doesn’t think he’d be able to talk about this with the commune members. Though they’re ones to forgive and forget when shown results of change, Dream doesn’t want to push his luck. “I don’t regret what I did yet. I don’t like that it had to happen this way but I’m not mad at myself for doing any of the things I did.” 

“I mean I’m not mad for helping,” Punz says, not at all phased. “I’m just happy you’re still here in the end.” He’s glad he has Punz at least, who he’s positive won’t despise him for his less than savoury thoughts.

“You’re in that family still.” Dream blurts out and Punz looks at him confused. “If—If we’re going with the idea that this place is my home then you’re a part of it as well. Even if you don’t live here— yet! I just… I just need time.”

“It’s okay.” It’s really not, Dream is making them stand on the sidelines again, waiting.

“I’m—I’m— I’m making plans. And you’re—” Dream presses his lips together. “I’ll take you with me.” 

“That’s… ominous,” Punz laughs nervously and Dream doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Just. Wait for me.”

“Do you even have to ask?”

“I like being sure.”

Dream presses his chin against Punz’s shoulders and they wrap their arms around him. They stay like that for a moment. Punz must realise their time is running short because they suddenly squeeze tight. Tight enough to force a laugh out of Dream who wraps his arms around Punz as well who ends up melting into Dream as well. 

“It’s late,” Someone has to be the one to say it and it’s not only Punz who groans softly when it’s brought up. “I spent far too long here. I need to go now.” Dream pats their back and Punz tightens their grip. “Punz.” He’s given one more groan before their grip loosens and Punz pulls away.

“Thank you,” Dream smiles and gets up with a stretch, purposefully ignoring Punz’s frown. “Come on, get up. I gotta get my blanket.”

Punz gets up and carefully steps off the blanket. They don't stay sulking for long and even help Dream pick up the pillows.

“Hey, hey—” Punz speaks up before Dream can take the pillows from them. They reach out, gently taking Dream’s hands in theirs. Despite being held just moments before, something electrical sparks through his veins.  “The end of a lover’s escapade usually ends a certain way.” Dream wants to rip his hand away.

“Oh my god, you’re ridiculous—” He doesn’t want to let go, really, but makes a show of it by tugging without much force. Judging by the growing smile on Punz’s face he must realise and goes to tease even more.

“Come on, Dream. Who knows when we’re gonna see each other again?”

“I have a communicator.” The communicator they gave him. He only ever messages them anyway. “We do monthly visits.”

“A month is far too long,” Punz sounds strangely truthful there and it makes heat rise to Dream’s face at the concept of being missed. He tries to satisfy the mush in his chest for the fact that Punz is most likely hyperbole— overreacting for a reaction. “It’s torture—”

“I spent months in prison, don’t talk to me about torture—”

“Agony—” Punz’s voice is a bit louder as if to truly express their agony. If this was a book about star crossed lovers Techno would eat it up but Techno is asleep with the assumption that Dream is as well— at the very least in his room at the thought makes them whisper furiously,

“Punz, you’ll wake them up—”

“AGO—” Dream pulls away from their hands only to cover their mouth, dropping the blanket as well.

“Punz! Okay, okay!”

Dream is hyperaware of the fact that his lips are chapped, that they probably aren’t soft and there’s this small indent on his lip where a scar lay. Yet when he pulls away the frown slips away at the absolute dopey face he’s being given. The same face Punz made when he kissed them before he went to prison.

Almost like absolutely nothing has changed.

“Thank you. I’ll go now.”

Dream is given one more kiss on the cheek before Punz pulls their hood up and runs off. They make a whole show of it, turning around and waving. Dream slaps a hand over his mouth to hold in a wheeze when they try to blow a kiss and end up knocking their back into the fence, nearly falling over.

They don’t let that deter them and they blow their kisses and jump over the fence disappearing into the woods.

Having Punz here felt nice. Strangely nostalgic despite the fact that they’ve always been a part of his life. Dream supposes that’s because they’re one of the only people that stuck with them from the beginning days of the server. Probably not the earliest but still the longest.

He’ll miss them. Maybe they’re right, a month is too long.

Still. He’s glad he got to talk to them. He wouldn’t say the aspect of deciding to stay longer than intended was weighing him down but he can’t say he didn’t feel lighter when the two of them talked about it.

It’s only when Dream’s folding the blankets and pillows over his arm, just barely catching Techno’s book he’d accidentally brought, did Dream start thinking.

Punz just went through the forest.

Dream turns around and stares at it for a moment, Phil’s words ringing in his mind.

Did it let them in?

Dream rounds about the house, deciding to take the silent route and ducks beneath the bridge. At most the water sloshes when he takes steps on the lily pads but it’s probably much safer than the potentially creaking staircases.

Dream isn’t sure what he’s expecting to see as he walks over to the edge of the fence. It’s much darker than usual, the sky only barely being illuminated by the waning moonlight which only serves to make the forest look just as sinister. He wouldn’t be able to make out the differences between the shadows of the night and Dream presses the bundle of blankets to his chest.

He glances left and glances right, then stares straight forward at dark wood.

It’s silent, save for the usual ambience and Dream huffs. A part of him is too timid, not to mention embarrassed to call out to anything. 

What would he even call out to? ‘Oh, forest… witch-person. Do you actually exist? Or are you just a figment of my imagination? Have I lost my mind as well? Believing that there’s a forest spirit living here?’

Self-bullying helps and Dream’s embarrassment rises enough that he just wants to drop the whole thing. Dream turns around with thoughts of warm blankets and sleepless readings nearby his window before freezing. There’s something rustling behind him. 

Then there’s slushing; slow, deliberate footsteps dragging across the snow and he holds his breath. Their body goes stiff as a board, curiosity and basic instinct burning hot from the inside out but something cautionary— no, warning insists for them to keep looking forward.

Dream glances at Phil’s house, eyes flitting up to his window. They can see the small shape of the candle wicket and a fat crow, more shaped like a ball than anything standing there stationary.

Then Dream hears a voice; they expect a threat, an accusation, perhaps something slightly scolding even. The situation does feel like a child getting caught by a parent doing something they’re not supposed to.

“And what are you doing out so late?” The voice gives nothing away. Dream is left with their assumptions. The assumption that, a) this entity let Punz walk to the Commune without any trouble, and b) that it’s been watching long enough to know why he was there in the first place.

Dream decides that if it’s not going to bring it up— to stay clueless or be respectful— or if it just doesn’t know, they’re not going to bring it up. The excuse comes out shakily. They almost glanced over their shoulder but a metaphorical hand pushed their head back and they held up the poetry book in their hands.

“Reading.”

“So late?” Concern, condescension, incredulous? Dream can only guess.

“Best time for it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Dream feels strangely lightheaded before realising he’s still holding his breath. “Well, don’t let me stop you.” It doesn’t address the elephant in the room; the glaring oversight of Dream’s presence.

“Okay.” Neither does Dream. He drops the blanket and cushions and falls with it. Dream cracks open the book he’s reading, pressing his back against the fence to avoid slouching. In the corner of their eye, they can see a shadow being cast alongside the trees. Its shape overlaps and Dream blinks a few times, thinking his eyes were crossing.

Dream still doesn’t turn around. Instead, they gently adjust their book so it’s hanging off the side of their leg. The shadow blankets over them and they can hear the creak of the fence behind him like a weight was being put on it.

“Milk tooth,” it reads, much to Dream’s surprise. “We suck summer air into our lungs. Empty glass bottles on the porch steps, orange ladybugs curled in on window sills, strawberry stains on our hands and mouths, our laughter so golden-sweet. Love looks like dandelions in bloom or the sweat sticking to our shoulder blades.”

“ ‘s pretty,” Dream says softly. It’s more contemplative than defensive. “Think it’s one of my favourites.” Their hand twitches where they wrote community house in between the two stanzas.

“Why is that?”

“Feels nostalgic,” Dream admits. In the back of their mind, they’re surprised by their openness. Perhaps Punz’s visit has them feeling a bit sentimental. “Reminds me of back then when things were easier. It’s ridiculous, I was barely twenty when I came here— the SMP— but every day there felt like I was a child playing house.”

Thinking back that early gives Dream whiplash; compared to the life afterwards it was so different— jarring even. He had it so good back then. Good was the perfect word for it.

Good was Dream getting a headache from rolling his eyes so much at his friends’ squabbling. It was the relief at their amicable roof dinners that made the indents on his temples from massaging them so much worth it. Dinner on the roof of their house that they built with their own hands—

Over a lake of all things! It was a pain but being able to step back, watching all his efforts bathed in the golden light made all the struggles seem minuscule in comparison to the overwhelming pride. Even on the bad nights where they had to put up a tarp to avoid getting their beds soaked by the rain because they all wanted to sleep on the platform, the excitement of a project slowly coming together muddling their logical thought, it was worth it.

Even when Dream got unbearable, hyper focusing on finishing this task it was worth it. He could remember sleepless nights, ignoring George’s annoyed mumbling against his pillow that Dream building kept him up. ‘Just come to bed already, Dream, we can finish it in the morning.’

The few times he did listen his clothes were usually sopping wet from working in the lake. He’d be too tired to change and fall backwards on his side of the bed. Sapnap would whine when the water droplets seeped onto his side of the bed but Dream still woke up to his friend nestled to his side. 

And maybe that motivated him to turn in earlier if only to fall into the cosy haze that he could only get when nestled between his loved ones. And even on nights where he couldn’t sleep, being huddled up in a bed with his two best friends, the rest of his closest friends sleeping around them in sleeping bags was refreshing enough.

If he could keep everyone happy like this forever, it’ll be worth it.

Where did he go wrong in the end?

“It’s no use lamenting about it,” It says and Dream feels as though his thoughts had been broadcasted over his head by how quickly it had spoken. “It happened. A life was lived, a rose bloomed for a moment and in time it wilted. A great oak chopped down but in its place acorns fell and another grew. When something dies, something else lives. As is the cycle, as is the routine. There is no life without some sacrifice. There is no happiness without hurt.”

“Maybe you should write a poetry book.”

It’s meant to be slightly snarky but the voice doesn’t seem offended in the slightest. It chuckles something that sounds like it’s coming from between a closed-lip smile.

“I apologise, I have been told I can be a bit harsh at times.” Dream wants to hope that it's being sincere.

“Someone needed to say it,” He said, a silent pardon in his words. “Techno said talking about your problems usually helps. It does wonders… getting a second opinion.”

“He should follow his own advice.” The blunt response forces a surprised laugh out of Dream. He slaps his hand over his mouth to muffle it, still self-aware of his sleeping caretakers. The voice does him no favours, seemingly unphased or really eager to criticise Techno. “I don’t see how he can suggest such a thing and still hide behind a curtain of jokes. If anything he internalises far too much for his own good and I hardly think you can call the chorus in his head a second opinion—”

“Oh my god, you’re roasting him—” There are stitches forming in his sides and Dream falls to the side, head still cushioned by the blankets beneath him, back still facing the forest.

“I’m only telling the truth!” It defends and Dream notices its voice picking up as it goes to defend itself. It makes him wheeze.

“Well, he talks to Phil at least,” Dream says breathlessly. Techno isn’t here to defend himself and even if it was funny, Dream felt like he had to at least try to defend his honour.

“When he’s cornered usually,” It sounds like something said through grit teeth. Like something it meant to only think, not let escape its mouth. “He can’t lie to the angel but he can try to hide. Try is the keyword.”

“You speak as though you know him,” Dream notes, now adjusting to their laying down position. They adjust the book to remain open and the presence of something looming over them doesn’t unnerve them as much as it did before.

“I know everyone.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t want to unnerve you when you’ve only now started to feel comfortable around me.”

“Do it anyway.” Dream insists, now curious. This isn’t how they expected this to go. They really only intended for some stargazing, staying up late and sleeping in. A part of them wonders if they’re still dreaming with how sleep seems to cling to their eyelids still. “Read me. I’m thick-skinned, trust me.” (The daisy braid of his spine shivers. Almost like it’s laughing at him for lying.)

There’s a beat of silence that stretches on for a long time. Dream isn’t sure if it’s withholding information for his own good or it’s trying to figure out what would satiate his self-destructive need for criticism at a time like this.

“Do you miss it?” The seemingly tame sentence suggests the latter and Dream exhales.

“I can never have that life back.” He picks the safe choice in hopes of showing that he’s unaffected.

“I didn’t ask that.” 

Dream feels like a ghost forced to wear the same clothes they died in; a part of them still remains from the scene of the crime— water dripping from their skin after screaming beneath seas, singes on their clothing and soot staining on their cheeks, wounds that remain fresh and open after the murder— haunting him and keeping his tortured soul rooted to wandering and wailing in hopes of finally being left to rest. Except he’s alive and well and the wounds are memories, entire pages of vent books asking why , dizzy daydreams cut short to stop him from crumbling at the seams.

His murderer is the people he loved— still loves. His death is a crime of passion, of revenge— he deserves it. He doesn’t deserve a second chance but he has it and he’s too selfish to turn down a second chance. 

He didn’t calculate the possibility that someone would show up to his haunted mansion in hopes of letting him rest.

“There’s no shame in grief, Dream.” It doesn’t feel right to be upset over an outcome he foresaw. “You’d be sad over a glass breaking. Even if you flung it to the wall of your own volition. I suppose that’s just mortal nature to not realise the damage you’ve caused or— the weight of your actions until you’ve done it.” Dream calculated, he knew what he was getting himself into when he dropped the glass. Knew the effects it would have on everyone but himself— why would he? He had to think of the bigger picture.

He didn’t think it would hurt that much. “But there are still other cups— glasses. You won’t be able to enjoy or appreciate the things you have now if you’re still grieving— still picking up the pieces of shattered glass.”

Techno encircled a paragraph in light charcoal, one that almost wipes away fully when Dream presses his thumb against it. Can you feel how your withered heart opens up? It’s ready to heal. Dream is careful not to smudge the charcoal highlight when he holds his hands over it, letting his fluttering eyelids shut.

“Appreciate the mugs you have,” The voice sounds strangely far away and Dream stifles a yawn, not even realising how tired he is until he doesn’t open his eyes again. 

Dream wakes up with his back pressed against the snowy floor, his book pressed against his chest. Strangely enough, though his chest feels warm and there are roses and lilies of the valley peeking out of his sleeves.

He makes it back inside fast enough, ignoring the eyes of a fat crow staring at his back and pretending it doesn’t worry him while he’s eating breakfast.