Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Of course," the man who is not Dream spits, "Just my fucking luck to run into you seconds after getting away."

"Something's chasing you?" Karl asks and the Not-Dream glares at him from his perch on Karl's couch.

"Of course someone's fucking chasing me," he hisses, "Your fucking fiancés are trying to put me in the ground."

"Fiancés," Karl repeats, suspending any disbelief and confusion for when there isn't a probably-armed, probably-injured, probably-terrified carbon copy of Dream in his living room.

"Okay," Karl says, agreeing to help without a second thought, "I'll help you hide."

"Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because," he says slowly, "The only people I could see myself being engaged with are George or Quackity, and they wouldn't dream of killing anyone who didn't deserve it. If you don't deserve it, and it's pretty obvious you don't, they'd want me to step in and stop them."

"...You don't know your own fiancés?" the man asks dubiously.

"I'm not engaged," he says, "I'm sure the Karl from your world is happy in a relationship, but I'm dealing with a lot of other stuff at the moment. Honestly, I don't have time for that kind of commitment. It wouldn't be fair to anyone involved."

Karl sighs. "That's not really the point I was making there, though. I'm willing to help you, especially if there's a chance my "fiancés" from your world came through here too."

"My world," Not-Dream tries. He laughs, "You're insane."

"I'm a Chosen harbinger of the apocalypse, Dream," he says, "It kind of comes with the job."

"..."

"Look, you don't have to believe me," Karl says, "The Dream from my world wasn't a fan of it at first, either. Honestly, if it weren't for Michael, he'd probably be enemies with half of the people I know."

"Michael?" Not-Dream asks, "Tubbo and Ranboo's kid?"

Karl hums. "Yep. Michael, the Antichrist, bringer of terror and doom and all that. You're the Sought and I'm the Seeker, but the titles don't really mean all that much. Even if you were no one, I'd still help you hide."

Not-Dream says nothing, but he looks unconvinced.

"Look, I'll be right back," Karl says, "I'm going to grab my first aid kit."

"You're going to call Sapnap, you mean," Not-Dream sneers.

"I don't even have Sapnap's number," Karl admits, "I've met him twice, I think. He's your roommate, down in California."

"What the fuck is California?"

Karl laughs.

"Do you have phones in your world? Or cars?" he asks, "because I can show you both of those things right now. If you need receipts, proof that I'm not lying, just look around. Does any of this seem familiar?"

Not-Dream doesn't seem stupid, and he seems fairly receptive of the idea of alternate worlds. Still, he's being chased, or he was, so Karl needs to get him healed and as safe as possible as soon as he can.

"I'm going to list names," Karl says, "You tell me who you'd be okay with me calling."

"Fucking no one," Not-Dream says and Karl rattles off the list of friends not currently busy with the apocalypse.

"Philza, Tommy, Other You, Techonblade, Ponk, Sam, Skeppy--"

"You'd call other me?" Not-Dream asks, bewildered.

"Why wouldn't I?" Karl asks, "I'm not lying about this. He might not be able to get here, but we can probably facetime or something."

"Facetime?" Not-Dream mutters to himself, before asking, "You'd call Tommy?"

"Yeah?" Karl says, "I mean, he's pretty close with other you? And he's a skilled fighter. Other you might come along, though. He's been pretty protective since they got back from hell."

"Hell--" Not-Dream cuts himself off with a grin. "Tommy, call Tommy. I want to talk to Tommy."

Karl agrees, "Sure. I'll call Tommy if you promise to let me bandage your wounds while they portal here."

"Fine," Not-Dream says, settling into the couch, "but if Sapnap shows up, I'm using you as a hostage."

"Sure," Karl says, "I mean, I'm basically immortal, so I don't have a problem with that."

Not-Dream blinks.

Karl smiles.

"What the fuck is this?" Tommy asks, looking at Not-Dream with some kind of distaste, "What kind of fucking shapeshifter turns into Dream? Especially when I, the biggest of men, am right here?"

Dream, or Karl's Dream, laughs. "He's not a shapeshifter. It's a universe crossing. I literally told you ten seconds ago."

Not-Dream watches Tommy leaning on Karl's Dream with wide eyes. He doesn't look happy about it, necessarily.

"Ew, don't buy that one," Tommy says, making a face at the sandwich Not-Dream's picked out, "They make that shit out of garbage, I swear. Get something good."

"I am deeply sorry," Karl's Dream says, "I can't believe we forgot to tell other me that eating normal food is a crime, Tommy."

" That is not normal food. It tastes like fucking thumbtacks."

"You taste like fucking thumbtacks," Karl's Dream says idly, browsing the shelf.

"So you're friends?" Not-Dream asks, something sharp in his gaze.

"Brothers, more like," Tommy says, "Only brothers survive the fucking Vault together."

Not-Dream freezes.

Karl pretends not to notice his hands shaking under his lime green hoodie.

"The Vault?" he asks with a false air of curiosity, burying a sharp smile, "What happened in the Vault, Tommy?"

Karl's Dream looks at him sharply.

"I'm going to guess," Karl's Dream says, "That you killed Tommy in your world."

Tommy doesn't look particularly bothered. Not-Dream is, apparently, not the first Not-Dream Tommy's met who's killed a version of him at one point or another.

"I brought him back," Not-Dream says fondly, "because we're friends. I care about Tommy."

"Correction," Karl's Dream says with a surprising amount of softness, " Tommy cares about you."

"You're gonna learn the difference, big man," Tommy says, swiping a pack of Oreos from the shelf.

"They always do."

Chapter Text

Dream wakes up in a different world.

Dream wakes up in a different world where nobody is trying to kill him.

Nobody except for capitalism, Tommy says. Tommy who's apparently made it his life mission to fix Dream.

Like Dream needs fixing. Tommy is the one who needed help, and Dream gave it to him. He taught Tommy the taste of death, the rules of the world, and even the love of a friend.

He loves his Tommy.

This Tommy is a fucking nightmare.

He doesn't follow any sort of rules and the other Dream just lets him get away with it. It's pathetic, on both of their parts.

He hates them, hates them more than he's ever hated anyone else in his life.

He can't stand them so he leaves, one night. Walks out of Karl's house and doesn't stop. He walks until his knees scream in protest and the bandages on his arms start to peel from the rain.

The cold seeps into his bones and he embraces it like a good friend. In the prison, cold was a luxury he was never afforded.

He's walking somewhere, but he isn't sure exactly where that is. The code of this world is all spotty and hard to read, so he just lets it string him along somewhere.

A cat finds him late into the night, rubs her sides against his legs. She yowls and corrals him down a winding set of roads and to a hole in the ground. It's murky and shifting like water, but something tells him it will be solid beneath his feet so he steps onto it.

It holds the weight of him and the cat for a moment before they both suddenly sink into the ground. He doesn't even have enough time to shout before he's being spat up somewhere else.

'Portalling,' he thinks distantly. Why the cat took him to one, he doesn't know.

"Dream?" a voice asks and Dream goes cold. Shears, hammers, a pickaxe--

"Dream, are you alright?" the other world's Quackity asks, stepping closer.

The other Quackity pauses and looks down at the cat.

"Patches?" he asks, "Why'd you bring him here? I thought Karl was keeping him until Tommy fixes it or whatever?"

"Back off," Dream hisses when the man moves to approach.

Other-Quackity puts his hands up. "I'm not going to hurt you or anything, dude, but you shouldn't be out here in the rain. You'll catch a cold or something."

"Fuck you," Dream spits, "Fuck you, go away, I'll fucking kill you."

And he would, if he had a weapon, or if he weren't half a step away from losing his last life.

"Quackity?" someone calls, "Everything alright over there?"

The fucking Warden steps out of a small house surrounded by trees and Dream scrambles up.

"Woah," the Warden says and Dream lunges for his throat. He knows it's stupid, knows it won't work, it never does, but he has to try.

The Warden grabs his wrists before he can do any damage at all, not even a single hit, and Patches yowls.

"It's okay," the Warden says and Dream sinks to his knees, his hands still caught in the Warden's. He's going to crush his fingers, burn his hands in the lava, let Quackity rip off all of his nails. God, what was Dream thinking? He can't fight the Warden.

He bows his head and prays that the man will let him respawn instead of healing him halfway.

The Warden is speaking, and so is Quackity, and Dream needs to listen, to be good, but he can't.

He doesn't beg, but only because his tongue is caught in his throat. The Warden doesn't like when he begs. Quackity loves it.

"--please, just breathe," Quackity says, "---fine---a breath---"

Water hits his face in drops.

They're going to drown him again.

Someone chokes, someone who isn't him, and he wonders if Sam will drag him by his hair to the water basin or if he'll be expected to walk to his punishment.

"---Tommy---George is closer---Techno---"

No, he thinks, jolting with a gasp. Quackity can't get to Technoblade, he's got a pickaxe and I'll put it through your fucking teeth Techno--

A sharp pain shoots through his finger, small and needle-like. He opens his eyes, reminds himself to thank Quackity for letting him see today, and finds the cat biting his fingers.

Right.

Another world.

Another Quackity.

Another Sam.

He breathes, wraps his hands around his chest, and wonders idly how long they've been free for him to move.

"Dream," Other-Quackity says, relief evident when he meets the man's eye, "Breathe."

He is, now that the Warden's a good dozen yards away from him. Sam, he reminds himself, Other-Sam.

"Not the Warden," he whispers into his fist and Other-Quackity inhales sharply. Dream tries not to wince.

"He's not the Warden, no," Other-Quackity agrees.

Dream nods and pets the cat; Patches, he thinks she's called.

He breathes deeply and stands on shaky legs.

"I'm sorry," he says, louder, to Other-Sam. Warden or not, he knows when he needs to apologize.

"It's alright," Other-Sam says, "You didn't hurt me."

Of course he didn't. He couldn't even if he wanted to, even though he wanted to.

"Are you feeling any better?" Other-Quackity asks and Dream nods. At his feet, Patches slinks between his legs like she's trying to orbit him.

"Where are we?" he asks, certain he's more than a long way from Karl's house. The trees here look like they're from an entirely different biome.

"My house," Other-Sam says, "This is California. Dream--the other Dream--lives about an hour away."

"You portalled?" Quackity asks.

"Patches brought me to one," he admits.

"Will you come inside?" Other-Sam asks, "It's not raining too hard anymore, but it's bound to start up again soon. Patches doesn't do too well in the cold."

'Come inside, or Patches gets hurt,' Dream knows he means.

He averts his eyes and pointedly doesn't think about Tommy killing his cat in prison.

Somehow they've already caught onto his attachment to the cat. He's being manipulated already.

He'd like to say it doesn't work, that he books it into the surrounding trees, but Dream knows when he's lost. He can't outrun any version of the Warden, not half-starved in a world that doesn't operate right.

He has no alliances or favors here. He is at the mercy of strangers wearing familiar faces.

It doesn't take a survival genius, which he is, to know that he's utterly and entirely fucked.

Dream grits his teeth, holds the cat to his chest, and comes inside.