Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You just don’t know when to fucking give up, don’t you?”

As Quackity quickly came to expect, the prisoner didn’t reply.

It was infuriating. It’s been seven months. Seven whole months, and the bastard still hasn’t cracked. Not a damn word, not even a single fucking hint as to where the book was.

(He ignores the voice in his head, taunting him about how it wasn’t about the book anymore.)

Quackity grudgingly had to admire his spunk.

Even when beaten down to the lowest of the lows, the bastard still found a way to annoy the everlasting shit out of him.

If this stubborn son of a bitch (no offense to Puffy, her other son was so much more better than this bastard) refuses to cooperate soon, Quackity might have to use even more… complicated means of persuasion.

(Quackity could feel himself smile as he forced the healing potion down the prisoner’s throat, watching with glee as the prisoner choked and sobbed and begged.

His misery was music to his ears. Quackity loved it.)

Unfortunately for Dream, Quackity’s patience was thinning. He blew a breath, grip tightening on his shears.

He was getting rather frustrated, and Quackity never claimed to be perfectly sane anyway.

That stupid mask will be the first to go.

Dream was tired.

He just… didn’t understand what went wrong.

Sure, the initial plan was to lock himself up in the vault just in case things went south but… it seems like the situation quickly got out of hand.

Sam The Warden had changed a lot of the original designs, made the prison inhumane, a far cry from what Dream had in mind when he first commissioned him.

It was perfect for the public’s number one enemy.

Dream was so hungry.

He hardly had anyone left on his side. Techno was only there for the favor, and Punz… Punz was honestly better off without him.

He wasn’t sure if Technoblade was even gonna come back.

It’s been two months since he last saw his rival.

Quackity glared at him with absolute hatred, and Dream struggled to connect this wrathful man with the bright-eyed and fun-loving law student he invited to his server almost two years ago.

(Dream realized with a heavy heart that he would never get to see Sapnap off at the altar.

He could almost imagine that day…

Sapnap wearing his tie as a bandana – much to Bad’s chagrin and Skeppy’s amusement; Karl with his trademark colors, a purple suit with a green bowtie, maybe some rainbow shoes to match. Quackity with his perpetual beanie, his wings groomed to perfection, finally wearing a suit that fits his frame.

All three of them smiling joyfully at one another, their rings shining brightly from their fingers.

But alas, in the end, it was only that.

A dream.) 

His friends hated him, and all his attempts to salvage what was left of their friendship was met with scoffs and dismissive words.

It hurt.

Everyone seemed to be too eager watching his fall from grace.

Can’t they see the good he was doing for the server?

Apparently not.

Hypothetically, even if Dream did die inside this cell, he wasn’t too worried about what would happen to his server. With Callahan and DreamXD as his fail-safes (with the former being his successor – the elder admin had agreed with an exasperated sigh when Dream pleaded and argued with him; the latter was a puppet of sorts, modeled after his literal-godbrother. DreamXD was created to host most of his admin abilities. He never did like the tremendous power gap between administrators and regular mortals, it made him feel detached from the general population, and Dream did not appreciate being shunned), and the knowledge of the Revival Book passed down to Punz, Dream has little left to worry about.

(Dream wondered if Mama would still love him if she saw him now.

…

Who was he kidding?

Of course she wouldn’t.

She hardly paid any attention to him back in his childhood, why the heck would she start now?

Besides, she’s got another annoying and loud blond kid to look after.

Fucking Tommy. He always got everything Dream ever wanted.

What made him so special?

What does Tommy have that Dream doesn’t?)

Dream saw no point in crying now. What was the point of tears when all Quackity was going to do was hurt him until he’s begging for the other man to stop, then shove healing pots down his throat?

It was a painful process, and he keeps repeating it everyday and everyday and everyday and everyday –

Dream felt like he was going to break.

Now he, the villain of their story, was kneeling inside an obsidian cell, chains bounding his wrists, with a madman standing over him with shears.

He was weak now, and he couldn’t even fight back against Quackity of all people.

If only Tommy broke in to kill him again. It would’ve been much less embarrassing. 

Because you know, poetic justice and shit.

It must’ve been an hour? No, maybe two or three minutes since Quackity asked that question.

And Dream’s answer was: no. He does not know when to give up because his Mama didn’t raise no bitch– (that was a lie, Puffy didn’t do shit since she was always busy with her voyages, how he turned out as a person was Foolish’s fault.)

The longer he stayed silent, the angrier Quackity became. Dream had to bite back a taunt, which would probably make things worse.

Short people getting angry will never not be entertaining to him.

…

Is this how his life would end?

Dream supposes it was an execution befitting for a villain. The tormentor of tormentors finally kills the master manipulator. Quackity would be heralded as a hero by many.

Would Punz mourn him?

A selfish hope in his heart believes so.

Quackity seems to switch to a different approach. Dream held his breath, confused, as his tormentor knelt in front of him and lightly tapped on the edges of his mask with the shears.

“Let me see what’s under your mask, Dream,” Quackity cooed, reaching for the clasp hidden underneath too long hair.

The metal refused to budge.

A frown marred Quackity’s scared features, most likely realizing that he had to break the porcelain some more to permanently lose the enchantment.

Quackity raised his shears. Dream closed his eyes, tension in his frame.

And with a sharp crack–!

The purple light between the lines of broken porcelain flickered, then faded away, signifying the loss of the enchantment.

Gotcha. Quackity grinned as the mask fell from Dream’s face.

Quackity’s mouth dropped open like an ‘o’, and Dream could barely bite back a snarl.

Just get on with it, Dream wanted to say, but that would surely earn him a harsh slap in the face.

Quackity was easy to anger, and one strike from those shears would kill him dead immediately.

But then again, death’s what he wanted in the first place isn’t it?

Quackity surveyed him with disbelieving eyes for the next few moments. Dream hated it, he hated being stared at like some exotic animal. Just say he’s fuck-ugly and move on.

“What a waste,” Quackity mused, his touch oddly gentle as he thumbs across his cheekbone. Dream found himself subconsciously leaning towards it. “It’s a real shame you’re pretty.”

Dream startled, because excuse me, sir, but don’t you have two fiancés–

“It’s real shame you’ll have to die soon,” was all the warning Dream gets before he chokes on his own blood, finally wordless.

Quackity had thrusted his blade into Dream’s neck.

Blood spills everywhere, and Dream couldn’t even scream for help.

A sudden shockwave sends Quackity flying across the cell, miraculously taking the bloodied shears with him.

Blood bubbles up his throat, spilling down his chin, and Dream gasps for his life. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t–

He could fucking feel his skin tearing. It was excruciating.

DreamXD’s wings towering menacingly over Quackity was the last thing he saw as Hypnos drags him to oblivion.

Gods. He can’t even die right.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

Quackity had him. He almost fucking had him, but this god-wannabe looking asshole just had to swoop in at the very last second and fucking took him away.

It took a few seconds for Quackity to process. Then, he did what he thought was the most logical thing to do: he panicked.

And no, it was not one of those full-blown, over-the-top meltdowns, no. Quackity went completely, and utterly silent. But his heartbeat.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba- dum–

It was so, so loud.

The first coherent thought he had was, Dream is free.

The second: he’s gonna hurt Tommy again.

Then, oh my gods, Karl and Sapnap.

Dream is free. And now he’s going to– he’s gonna– his fiancés aren’t safe.

“Quackity,” came Sam’s voice, filled with silent fury, effectively snapping the other man out from his inner turmoil. Feeling faint, Quackity was confused; didn’t he hate Dream? Dismissing that thought, Quackity did not move from where he stood shell-shocked, the prisoner’s blood dripped from the blade of his shears in a quiet, drip, drip, drip.

Suddenly, Sam– the Warden’s mask was dangerously close to his face, his tie held in a vice grip, choking him. Quackity gasps, struggling to breathe.

“What the fuck did you do?”

Quackity laughed the laugh of a deranged man as Sam let him go. It was an unpleasant sound, like metal scratching against metal. Sam waited, desperately trying to calm his racing heart.

“Suddenly blind, Sam?” Quackity taunted. “You fucking saw what happened.”

Sam silently and skillfully reminded himself that it was unprofessional to throw Quackity into the lava for his insolence.

“But why?” Sam bit out. He was not about to be ridiculed by this ridiculously short government official, thank you very much.

“Don’t act like you suddenly care about him, Sam,” sneered Quackity. “You’re not a saint. Don’t even try to act like this wasn’t what you wanted since the very beginning. We’re doing this for the good of the server! We’re doing this for Tommy’s sake, remember?”

“Well now you went too far, Quackity!” Sam exploded. A faint hissing filled the air, akin to the creepers Sam descended from. “You weren’t supposed to try and kill him!”

“I wasn’t trying, Sam,” Quackity snapped back. “Gods, you‘re dense. I was going to kill him before that floating guy came in and teleported them out!”

Sam runs a hand through his dark green locks almost frantically. “They’re going to kill us,” he muttered, turning away to ignore the cause of stress. Quackity made a noise of vexation. “If they find out that the prisoner is gone, then we’re dead meat!”

“You’re dead meat,” Quackity corrected like the filthy little politician that he is. “They don’t know about my affairs here, Mr. Warden. So I am safe. You, on the other hand, are not.”

Sam looked like he wanted to squeeze Quackity like one would to a tube of toothpaste.

“Just…” Sam sighed, loudly, signifying his growing annoyance. “Get out of my sight.”

“What?” Quackity began dangerously.

Sam glared at him. “I said out. Do not let my guards see you. I will handle the public, but you will be helping me find my wayward prisoner. Deal?”

Quackity scowled, but figured there was no other way to go if he still wanted Sam to work with him. Sam was a powerful ally, it would be such a shame to lose him

“Fine. Deal.”

With one last scorching look at Sam, Quackity saunters out of the obsidian cell, not once looking back.

Sam waited until his footsteps subsided, before finally letting his guard down. Shoulders dropped, breathing slowed. Sam closes his eyes for a moment.

Fuck him, honestly.

He sighed heavily, suddenly wanting to cry.

No. He had to stay strong. For his friends, for the server.

He looked at the empty cell, trying his damnedest not to recoil at the sight of blood on the floors and walls. He glanced at the weapons Quackity had neatly arranged to the side. He wanted to burn them.

Sam looked down to the pair of shears Quackity made no move to retrieve as he promptly left. He picks it up, and Sam cringes as blood (Dream’s blood) slid down to his palm.

He could almost taste the iron on his tongue.

Sam felt conflicted. Of course, he thought Dream deserved prison. Everyone did. Well, except for the two live-in best friends bunking in the Arctic and Michael McChill, but Sam hardly thought they counted considering the former two were anarchists and the latter simped for Dream in an unhealthy amount.

When he allowed Quackity his daily visits, he had to admit he wasn’t in the right state of mind at the time. Tommy’s death and sudden revival was a fresh wound in his mind, and all Sam wanted was for Dream to hurt like Tommy did in his last moments.

(“Sam! Please!” Tommy begged, and Sam felt his heart break even more. He was just a kid. “Get me out!”)

He didn’t mean for it to get this far.

Quackity had been aiming to kill.

Despite what Dream has done, Sam didn’t want him to die.

(And Sam knows that deep down, he still holds an ounce of affection for the prisoner he once considered his little brother. His death would affect him in more ways than one. Sapnap would be devastated, as would his father, Bad. But Sam knew they put duty above all else, and would push personal feelings aside in favor of the other members of the Essempi, particularly the younger ones, to make sure they’re safe and happy. George would withdraw even more – the thought irritated Sam just a bit, the half-fae was elusive enough as he was. And Puffy… he was ashamed to say that he didn’t know.)

The Warden made a decision.

Nobody has to know the truth but him and Quackity.

“Initiate Protocol Atlas,” the Warden commanded, his heavyset boots clunking against the obsidian. Bad and Antfrost looked at each other, confused and perturbed. Nobody had seen Sam this agitated before. Not even when Tommy got himself locked up and killed. “No one is to enter.”

Nevertheless, they followed his instructions. It pained Bad to disable the redstone that allows visitors to enter Dream’s cell, but that was what he was here for after all. He signed up for this. 

Any personal feelings must be pushed under the rug. A prison guard must be cool, calm, and collected. Must be mechanical, must be detached, must be able to follow instructions without complaint.

Meanwhile, Ant thought this was all a bit much, but Sam must’ve had a good reason right? Maybe Dream (Ant really failed him as a friend) was becoming too much of a danger or something.

The Warden had become stricter and harsher ever since the revival incidents months ago.

“From this day forth, Pandora’s Vault will be on lockdown.” The Warden stared at his guards, the light from the lava giving his mask an ominous glow. “Indefinitely.”

He’ll die, Callahan tried one last time, a last-ditch attempt. 

“Do or don’t, he will die either way, as humans do,” XD said coldly, and Callahan fought the urge to strangle him. “But my decision is final. I will send him away, and give the prime administrator status to you. I do not wish to see my creator near them ever again.”

Shouldn’t he get a choice?

XD was silent for a moment, contemplating. “...He is hardly coherent to make a choice, no? My primary protocol is to protect one Dream Hunt, and if I, a false god created by he, cannot even do that, then I hope some god else will.”

Callahan frowned. His brown shawl fluttered lightly in the wind as he signed his next words. You wish to send him back to his brother? Or to Lady Death?

“No,” answered XD immediately. Lady Death was already displeased at his creator for disrupting the balance of Life and Death, and the Totem God of Storms now unknowingly works for the man who made his creator’s life a living hell for the past few months.

He does not even want to think of Lady Ichor, Technoblade’s patron god.

“No, he will not,” repeated the puppet. “As I said, I will be sending him away. My first thought was Hypixel, but alas, people swarm him too much, and the rumors about the Essempi will not do him any good. Now Hermitcraft on the other hand–”

Callahan’s eyes went wide. You’re sending him to Hermitcraft?

Everyone knew of Dream and Grian’s notorious tomfoolery back at the academy.

“What– no,” XD shook his head. “Surely you have heard of The Rift?”

Callahan nods, a bit unsure. Everyone knew of Hermitcraft’s Rift by now; it was a big wibbly wobbly, timey wimey, squirrely whirly, purple thingy that could somehow connect servers together. Rumors say that it allowed players to travel between Hermitcraft and Empires Essempi, effectively bypassing admin commands, and since apparently Grian created it, everyone chalked it off as “Grian being Grian”.

Other rifts existed in history, Callahan recalled reading something about it back in the academy for history lessons. The most memorable one was a visit by a self-proclaimed “world-hopping enthusiast” who went by the name Adelheide centuries ago. She introduced a communication device which (if she were to be believed and she was not just some rogue modder) was created in another world she visited, someone in the High Council took notice, and that was how modern communicators were born. 

But unfortunately those rift incidents got overshadowed by Grian’s self-made one.

Callahan always knew that kid was crazy. Who in the world names their base Dwayne?

“My creator is… not suited to handle the server. Anymore. With the threat of the Egg metaphorically looming over us, his connection to the server is… deteriorating, and as such, it is reacting appropriately,” XD explained. “Remember what George said about leylines and energy flows?”

Callahan nods again. Leyflows and energy lines. He got that from one of George’s sleep-deprived rambles on the very rare occasions he talked about the fae side of the family. Cracks through space can be formed through the disruption of the energy flow running deep through the server when it gets attacked with glitches and the likes.

That was actually one of the proposed theories on how rifts were formed; how it did not get any more traction was a mystery to him. But then again every single crack created by leyline overflows only lasted no more than a few minutes, and people were definitely not taking the risk to go through it.

These “cracks” in reality bore similarities to Grain’s rift, and if Adelheide really was a world-hopper, then that might be the reason why she got into Minecraft in the first place. 

You plan to send him to another world. Callahan realized. Not just another server. A different universe entirely.

XD tilts his head, and his twin halos shone a little bit brighter than before. “It is a risk I am willing to take. I dearly hope one is kind enough to take care of my creator.”

Callahan was at unease at how devoted this false god was to go through such great lengths to keep Dream safe. 

Where would you find a rift though?

XD glanced back at Dream’s sleeping form, then back to Callahan. He raised a finger, almost looking rather sheepish. “I have a suggestion.”

Callahan couldn’t believe he was agreeing to this. They would demand answers for sure. But it was clear there was no stopping XD now as the false god teleported the three of them right to the fucking Egg.

The blood red grass seemed to hiss and curl away from him and XD as they slowly trudged towards the ridiculous giant egg. Dream was still asleep, now being gently held in the puppet’s arms. He still looked malnourished and unhealthy, but at least most of the scars were healing.

XD set Dream down near the base of the Egg, and Callahan just about noticed the few white streaks blending in his hair. Were those because of the prison?

The Egg whispered something to them, and Callahan found himself subconsciously inching closer to XD for a sense of comfort.

XD retorted something to the Egg, in the same strange-like hissing dialect that they both seem to speak.

The Egg’s vines slowly curled towards Dream, the nearest one wrapping on the other admin’s arm. Callahan summoned his sword purely by instinct and slashed right through, severing it.

The severed vine turned to ashes with a shriek, and the Egg’s furious whisperings only grew. The server shook, and Callahan flinched, but XD made no sign of being affected by it.

“Wait,” was all XD said.

And then, a rift appeared between Dream and the Egg.

It was amazing as it was terrifying. All Callahan could see was just pure nothingness . It was eerie, just staring straight into the void.

Callahan stares at it, it stares back.

XD was looking at something beyond a mortal’s comprehension, muttering under his breath. 

“...somewhere… there’s bound to be something… maybe this one… borders are getting weak… might work…”

The rift rippled, as if it was breaking, and Callahan was rudely reminded that the average crack in space-time only lasts for about a minute.

So far, no vines have crawled near Dream. That’s good.

“...ever might be listening… keep my creator safe.”

Oh, crud. Was XD… praying?

It was silent for a moment, then–

A bright flash. Callahan quickly shuts his eyes and presses both hands firmly against his face. A foreign presence was in the air, it felt heavy, suffocating. He felt the wind picking up, which was odd, since walls were built around the virus, shielding the outside world from it.

Another flash, this one brighter and harsher. It was a miracle his eyes did not bleed.

An afterimage of wings – magnificent wings with thousands of eyes – had seared itself to Callahan’s eyelids.

When the light dimmed down, Callahan cautiously opened his eyes. Both Dream and the rift disappeared. His communicator pinged, and Callahan fumbled to open it.

[SYSTEM ERROR] D̷̢̦͍̫̔̍̿̈́̂̋̋́r̴̫̓̑̎̽͂͠ȩ̵̧̨͙̳͚͉̟͖̮̒̔̓̄̔̕ͅȧ̶̧̬̖̥̙̱̌͛̎͝ͅm̸̛̜͍ left the game

XD was looking a bit unsure from what he just did, but held his head high.

Callahan takes a step away from the virus, his blade still held tightly in his hand. They’ve done it.

…Dream’s gone.

DreamXD transferred the role(s) of [Server Owner] and [Head Administrator] to Callahan

Callahan has made the advancement [King of the Castle]

“Shhh–!” Someone hushed urgently. “Nara is awake!”

“What the fuck–” Dream frowned up at the little mushroom creatures that crowded around him. Some of the mushroom blobs had his signature “ :]” on their faces. Alarmed by this, he sat up, and winced at the stab of pain on his head. 

Did XD try to save him? Did he fail? Was this place his limbo? 

One of them yelped at the sudden action. “Eek!” They hid behind their little fungi friend. “Is Emerald Nara a good or bad Nara?”

He was significantly in a lot less pain than usual, but his head still hurt. He subconsciously rubs at his throat, no wounds.

…What happened? Where was he?

Dream blinked spots away from his eyes. “What’s a Nara?”

“A Nara in Aranara language simply means human,” came a voice from behind the little veggie crowd. The mushroom minis gasped, and parted for a young girl in a white dress accented with silver and gold.

Dream could’ve sworn he saw some poor mushroom faint. They were unceremoniously dragged away by their little friend.

“Queen Aranyani,” greeted a mushroom, looking rather silly with their oversized cap and funky mustache. “Welcome to Vanarana! Is the Queen here for Nara? If so, us Aranara will take our leave. Everybody, let us go and give Queen Aranyani and Emerald Nara some privacy.”

The girl – a queen (?!), apparently – laughed lightly. “Thank you, Araja.”

The mushroom mini, Araja, bowed slightly. “You are welcome, Queen Aranyani.”

Soon enough, the crowd slowly dispersed.

Throughout that exchange and through his throbbing head, Dream eyed the newest arrival. It was clear that she was no ordinary sort of royalty.

Despite her small and innocent appearance, she exuded power. Just a faint hum of energy thrumming through her veins. It felt like soft sunlight somehow. Gentle and comforting.

Dream was briefly reminded of Foolish, his brother who tried his best (but sometimes one’s best was simply not enough–), and he wondered if this queen was just like his brother.

The queen of the veggies looked on curiously, her eyes as green as the lush forests which once surrounded the Community House. And, oddly enough, she has clover-shaped pupils.

Dream needed answers. He wanted to know where he was. Who she was. What she is. He could sense great power swirling within those ancient eyes (far older than her visage bellied). His voice cracked (“Pathetic,” he heard Quackity spat). “W-who...?”

Of course, those mushroom fairy people called her Queen Aranyani, but something had urged Dream to ask for her name once more.

The girl smiled kindly at him.

“My name is Nahida,” she introduced, eyes flickering like gems. “What’s yours?”

“D-Dream,” he whispers, vision blurring up. His head feels awfully light, but Dream forced himself to get the words out before his inevitable death. “My name is Dream.”

He passes out before he hears her reply.

Somewhere in the far northeast, amidst the land of wine and songs, a young bard smiles.

Chapter Text

Nahida purses her lips, her delicate features frowning gently as she looks at the – yet another – outlander.

This was the, what… third or fourth outlander in the span of a single millennia? Alice, Lumine’s brother (although Irminsul’s knowledge would vehemently disagree with that), Lumine herself, then this one.

Funny how they were all blonde. 

Barbatos would find that hilarious, Buer thought fondly, lost in her memories for a moment before turning her attention back to Dream.

Dream. That’s what he said his name was. What a pretty name.

What stood out from him though were the white streaks in his otherwise dark blonde hair. He looked too young to be having those. What he wore was odd too: a bright orange jumpsuit with the numbers “001” stitched on the front pocket. Old bandages wrapped his feet and arms, and there was a horrific scar across his throat. It looked recent, and Nahida realized with a sinking feeling that it was way too precise and clean for it to be self-inflicted.

This would not do.

Nahida encases his body in pure Dendro energy, allowing it to levitate.

Waving goodbye to the residents of Mahavanaranapna, Nahida transports them both to the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

She might have just the idea to help Dream… and perhaps help Scaramouche in the process too.

Beelzebul’s creation lay suspended in the air, inside a pod made of crystallized Dendro.

From the outside, the Balladeer looked at peace. His eyes closed, his soft features relaxed, as if he was merely sleeping, but Buer knew what rages inside the boy’s mind that very moment.

Resentment towards the world, and loathing towards himself. The archon could hear bits and pieces of his thoughts, and every single one of them broke Buer’s heart… if archons had one, that is.

She settled Dream next to him, now inside a pod of his own. This one was created with the specific function to give and sustain whatever the outlander needed.

Satisfied with her work, Nahida reaches deep into their consciousness, into their dreams. She focuses on Scaramouche first, and feels the utter resentfulness and hate the former Fatuus had been harbouring for centuries.

She then focuses on Dream. She felt the feelings of bitter betrayal and abandonment from those he was closest with, then quiet acceptance and agony.

Their consciousness manifests as a stream of Dendro energy, wrapping themselves around Nahida’s outstretched hands.

And so the God of Dreams combines their dreams together in hopes that they will be able to help each other.

Buer clasps her hands, and prays for guidance.

A few months later…

“Leave. Me. Alone!” growled one Kunikuzushi – formerly Scaramouche, formerly the Balladeer, formerly Shouki no Kami.

Dream gave a pleasant smile. “Hey, we’re making progress,” the outlander pointed out, lazily. “Last week you told me to die. Nahida would be proud of us.”

Kunikuzushi grumbled, tucking his head into his knees. His next words were muffled, “Don’t know why you even bother trying to get a god’s approval.”

(Nahida was a sour reminder of what they both wished they got from their own families, and for Dream, the white hair and green eyes was just a bonus punch in the gut.)

Dream’s smile fell a bit, but since Kuni (Dream had resorted to calling him Kuni after butchering his name one too many times) was too busy moping around, he didn’t see the change in expression. Which was good, otherwise the little bastard would bully him mercilessly for it.

He reminded Dream of Tommy, in a sense. Arrogant, a little sad, and overall a huge fucking asshole if they wanted to be.

At least there was progress. Positive progress. Unlike… well, maybe it’s best if he does not think about them right now.

Mandatory therapy sessions with an angsty sentient puppet and a lucky little grass goddess in another universe (not server, but universe ) was not on Dream’s bucket list.

He was still reeling from the knowledge of dimension travel being true and possible. He had thought of it as fiction, and read stories about it long ago – he’d borrow books from the academy’s library and curl under the covers of his dormitory bed, eyes wide at the idea of being able to traverse the multiverse, learning about anything and everything.

(His roommate, a handsome brunet with a sexy voice that Dream unfortunately forgot the name of, had been very irritated about his careless usage of their shared lamp.)

Sure, it was frightening at first, being in a new and unfamiliar environment, and he may have possibly insulted the goddess (he chose to ignore that piece of information for the time being – for the sake of his own sanity) once or twice (in his defense, he was still rather delirious at the time), but in his very core, Dream is and will always be a polymath, and this world just made him want to peek into every nook and cranny, uncovering as many secrets and stories as possible.

But Nahida had been firm in her decision to keep them in the land of Nod for the time being. At first, Dream had argued. He wanted nothing to do with the weirdo who seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood, but relented after the small goddess visited just to argue a few more times.

If I cooperate, Dream had thought stupidly, maybe she’ll let me go sooner.

How naïve that thought was. Nahida had successfully trapped them in a never-ending therapy session to force them to talk about feelings.

It’s way better from back there at least, Dream mused wryly. And the scenery is great.

Instead of suffocating white walls with fake-ass encouraging posters, Dream was presented with a beautiful painting-like scenery filled with calm sea waters, violet-hued grass, and a serene atmosphere that allured to his senses.

Kuni had called him a weirdo for it, but Dream didn’t care. You lose every single drop of your dignity when all your dirty laundry was aired by a tiny goddess to your technically-roommate.

(Kunikuzushi had sobbed and screamed and cried for Dream to end his life. Dream akin him to a newly born child – frantic and confused and angry at the world, letting it all out through volatile emotional outbursts.

(Dream realized with a sinking feeling that XD could’ve been like Kunikuzushi, if he had not been there to guide him.

He could’ve been like that, if it weren’t for Foolish…)

Kunikuzushi had collapsed in Dream’s arms, thoroughly exhausted, and it made the outlander wonder why this so-called “puppet” was chasing after something he already had in the first place.

A heart.)

After that, Nahida appeared.

Dream was sitting on the shoreline, the waves nearly lapping at his legs. The sun had not quite gone down the horizon yet, giving the dreamscape a magnificent orange and blue hue.

The air was still, Kunikuzushi was in slumber, and Dream breathed in slowly.

Nahida sits beside him.

“What do you think?” A soft bell chimed as she spoke. Oddly enough, the sound had harmonized with her voice.

“Did that change your perception of him?”

Dream thought about it for a moment, then nodded just a bit.

“He reminds me of myself,” Dream began in a quiet voice, as if speaking a tad louder would disrupt Kunikuzushi’s slumber. “In the most terrible ways possible. Kuni– he… Gods, his life is filled with a shitload of misunderstandings. I get where he’s coming from, a parent throwing you away would’ve been anybody’s breaking point. That being said, Kuni broke from the start.”

(“Mama–”

“You don’t get to call me your mother, Dream,” Ma- Puffy said harshly, jade eyes burning holes through his skull. “You are not my duckling. Not anymore.”)

“You are not afraid of him?” Nahida looks at him curiously.

Dream shrugs, staring at the sun. “Not really. Should I?”

“No.” Nahida hums, as if thinking to herself. “I suppose not.”

They sat in silence once more.

As the last of the sun’s rays winked goodbye, Nahida gets to her feet. Her eyes and leaf accessory shone faintly in the dim lighting. 

“You should get some rest,” Nahida urges. She dusts off leftover sand from her dress. “You may be in the dreamscape, but you need to look after yourself still.”

“I will,” promised the outlander.

Satisfied, Nahida then pats his head, much to Dream’s bewildered amusement.

Dream didn’t want to admit it yet, but it felt nice to be taken care of. It was way too soon for that.

(The last time he allowed himself to be so vulnerable with someone was with Punz, and that was more than a year ago.

He missed Punz. So, so much.)

Dream blinks once, and Nahida vanishes, leaving not a single trace of her visit.

The wind resumes blowing, the evening air refreshingly cool.

“...ey. Are you listening to me?” Uh, oh. Kuni sounds irritated.

“Yeah, no. Loud and clear,” Dream replies. “What was it that you said again?”

Kuni rolled his eyes, reminding him of a certain pyrokinetic hothead if not given his way.

(Dream’s chest ached.)

“Nevermind.” Kunikuzushi huffs. The synthetic human points to the floor in front of him, radiating impatience. “Now come on, you promised you’d tell me more about your abilities. Explain to me what the heck is ‘insta-crafting’.”

Dream raises an eyebrow as he grudgingly moves to sit in front of him. “No please?”

A grumble. “...please.”

“You are a grumpy cat, Kuni,” Dream informs him cheerfully, earning himself a glare. He touched the tips of his fingers together and pulled them apart, a glowing green string connecting them with each other. He shifted his hands for a bit, forming a random pattern on the string. “You see this? It’s called a cat’s cradle–”

“Fuck you.”

That… surprisingly went well.

Nahida was looking forward to what the future would bring for her boys.

She only hoped they would not hurt or be hurt once more.

But judging from their progress, she should have little left to worry about.

After all, Nahida is the God of Wisdom, and she is everything but a pessimist.