Chapter Text
There's a pungent smell in the air; it hangs heavy and for a moment Sapnap isn't even aware that he's awake at all. The air is muggy, and his vision is cloudy, and to be honest the entire thing seems like one bad dream that he can curl into Karl afterwards and be thankful his fiance isn't away on one of his stupid trips.
But the bitter smell of smoke makes him plenty aware that he's alive and conscious, though maybe—considering his circumstances—not for long.
Sapnap wakes up fully when that particular thought hits him, and eyes make it clear what's going on. Everything is burning.
Kinoko, in all its former glory, is burning to a little less than shit. When he gets used to the haze of the smoke around him, Sapnap is able to identify the crumpled fountain Karl had loved so much a few yards from him. Where it had once stood tall it now remains the only thing not engulfed in flames.
He can not say the same for the rest of the mushroom houses—the cottages, the homes that Sapnap spent so much time perfecting—they are gone, burnt to nothing. He doubts even soot remains, stem is very flammable.
Ironic, he supposes, considering his nature.
He is also able to identify a familiar door in front of him; he and Karl had painted it right after their home was finished, a symbol of a new life maybe, the final piece to their, hopefully, peaceful puzzle.
Now it's charred and broken. The once white wood is almost entirely black and grey with burns and ash, and there's a small flame licking at a painted-on mushroom at the bottom. The ‘welcome home’ paint is gone completely.
Sapnap looks further than that, and his eyes catch on to a burning orange tulip. Even the flowers, he thinks, his home is burning. Sapnap's face falls. His home is burning.
“Fuck– shit!” Sapnap stumbles to his feet, though it takes a few tries due to the full pain that racks his body. He doesn't understand why, he's been wounded worse before, and he's not like he can be physically hurt by the fire. So why does everything ache? “Karl!”
He stumbles further into the flames. Before this nightmare he had been on the outskirts of the kingdom, tending to the horses as he knew they hadn't been groomed in a while. Then a sudden force had shook the world and he's half sure his head had gotten caught on a flying rock, knocking him unconscious. He half-heartedly wonders how much time had passed. How long it took for his entire world to be reduced to nothing.
“Karl!- Honey, please. Hello?!” He catches sight of a burning blue orchid and grimaces through his panic. “Hello? George!? Oh- fuck!”
He can't see much through the smoke, and by now he's sure he's just yelling nonsense. In his head he's chanting their names (Karl. George. Tina.) In hopes that maybe he can telepathically summon them to him, breathing not burning.
It's after a good few minutes of stumbling around a kingdom he doesn't recognise anymore, yelling both names and curses, that the panic finally starts to hit him. What if they're gone?
Fire has always been his temptress, his fatal flaw. The way it licks and curls around an object like a dangerous seductress always had him leaning in for more. Bad had blamed it on instinct, Dream has blamed it on the thrill. “You love it,” he had said once, “being so close to something that should pain you, but never would. It makes you feel powerful.”
He was right, of course. Even at eight years old Dream was always above his pay grade.
But now Sapnap is tempted to rip off his own fire-proof skin if it means he may lay down with his family and rest. Please, he's thinking, please please Prime please. He can't lose this, he can't lose them. He doubts he'll have anything but his resistance to the flames left to give if they leave.
He's only half-aware of the lava tear rolling down his cheek, and a shard of something digs into his ankle as he stumbles. Everything hurts, it's so loud, Sapnap wants to go home. “Pl- Fuck I… Want… No just- Karl! Please..”
He doesn't even know if Karl’s here, he realizes, Karl could be off dancing with the fairies right now while his fiance stumbles around a burning dystopia screaming his name. Karl could be safe, and Sapnap doesn't even know. You're pathetic, he tells himself, and then thinks, but what if Karl is gone?
No. No no no, he couldn't handle that–
Then he stops.
Oh . Oh Prime, please no.
Around ten or so meters away, behind a pile of cobblestone soaked in ash, Sapnap can see the sleeve of a familiar purple hoodie, and a head of brown hair. “No.” He says.
The edge of the sleeve is black and burnt, Sapnap remembers how Karl used to use them as sweater paws, how he used to sneeze into them and cover his mouth when he giggled with them. They were disgusting to be honest, and if not for Sapnap he doubts the hoodie would ever be washed at all. Now, staring at it, all he wants is to grumble and complain to his fiance about something so measly and insignificant as an item of clothing.
Attachment. He thinks of Dream’s words. Attachment to insignificant items, the downfall of many.
He takes a step forward, and he can't hear how his boot gently taps against the cobble against the roaring in his ears. “No.” He says.
Then, through the roaring: “hello?”
Sapnap freezes, spine going still as he holds his breath in hope he's not going crazy.
“Hello?—what the fuck..” The voice calls out again.
Karl is gone. Sapnap understands that much, Karl’s not coming back. But that tired British voice breaking through the fire like a safe spurt of water—he is alive. And Sapnap can't lose anything right now, so he tears his eyes from the purple, and looks for the blue.
“What the heck?” The voice is still muttering. “This is so–”
“George!”
The man is sat in the middle of what was originally his front lawn. The few items George owned are scrawled around him, mostly burnt and bruised. Sapnap swears he can see a glint of gold from the crown the brunette refused to get rid of. He's the only thing not damaged in the apocalypse, and as he slowly stands the grass beneath him is revealed. It's the only greenery for miles. George, Sapnap realizes, is a white daffodil in a field of red poppies.
The man turns at the sound of Sapnap’s croak, and he tilts his head like an innocent puppy at the sight of Sapnap’s distraught expression. “Hello.”
His imperial cloak is somehow still on his shoulders; damaged, but forever royal. The red is a different kind of orange against the fire behind him, against the green of the grass beneath him, and he's a true juxtaposition of his surroundings. Even in disaster, George still manages to be dainty.
Sapnap rushes forward, throwing himself to George like a catapult has cast him to his target. The force of him urges George back to his knees, and the two fall together.
The older makes a rightful "oof" as they go toppling down, but Sapnap is too focused on hugging his best friend to notice. His calloused and stained fingers grasp at the red of the cloak, and as soon as he finds purchase he's holding on like George would fly away if he didn't.
“Sapnap!” The brunette writhes underneath him, “Sap-” but his complaints are already forgotten as the other stands again and pulls George with him, suddenly aware again of the fire roaring around them.
“Sapnap!” George huffs petulantly, pulling away from the blubbering ravenette as soon as he's able. “What's wrong with you?”
Sapnap pauses in his frantic movements, mouth hanging open as he stares at George, reflecting on the question. The words seem so insignificant against the weight of the answer.
“Karl.” He speaks eventually, voice barely audible against the roar of the flames.
Still, George squints and leans forward to hear. “What? What about Karl?”
Sapnap chokes on a sob, and George recoils at the sight of emotion, movements akin to a creeper at the sight of a cat. “What?” But his voice isn't as confident anymore.
He doesn't get an answer though, as Sapnap is back to his frenzied worrying as a flame licks closer to the grass George had so kindly preserved. He blindly grabs at the older’s arm and opts on dragging them out of the country.
“We need to, we have to– it's not safe, it's not..” He's evidently not in a very clear state of mind, so George lets himself be herded.
Luckily, the brunette’s house is close to the edge of Kinoko, so it isn't long before they're stumbling out into the woods that surround this side of the country. Sapnap doesn't stop though, and George seems so distracted in his own thoughts that he doesn't have the attention to stop him.
His mind seems to be running away from him, George feels like he should be having a million and one different thoughts right now (his house is gone, where will he go now? Are the others safe? This was almost definitely Dream, how does that make him feel?), but instead all he can think is how he would make fun of the snot dripping out of Sapnap’s nose were they not in any other situation.
This might, he realizes, be the first time he's ever seen the other cry. He supposes he should revel in it or something, or should he soothe him somehow? He can't exactly hug him, that would hurt far more than it would be worth it.
They're walking further than they probably need to to be safe, George discovers when he comes across the third perfectly-fine daisy he needs to avoid with his feet, and he looks up a bit too see Sapnap still trudging ahead with a large-eyed, blank look on his face. His tears have ceased now, at least, but his expression is utterly harrowing. He looks hollow.
George stops walking. “Sap?”
Sapnap turns around, expression not changing as he ceases his steps. He hums croakily in reply.
George turns his head, glancing behind them. Apparently they had walked around a grove of trees, and the crumpled ashes and the bronze grass left of Kinoko isn’t visible. Smoke still climbs over the trees though, dancing and swirling to a dying song.
He moves back to be facing Sapnap. “What about Karl?”
Sapnap follows George’s prior gaze, but quickly glances back so they’re making eye contact again, swallowing around a particularly large lump.
“Dead.” He quickly swivels on his feet again, instead of walking striding. Like he has somewhere he needs to be.
George rushes to be follows him, lifting the edges of his cloak up in a meaningless attempt to not tear it on the rocks as he picks up his pace. “Wh- Sapnap?” He isn’t quite comprehending that word in his head. Because that word means..
“His leg was stuck under a large pile of rubble. He was stuck.” Sapnap’s voice is quiet, and George strains to hear him as they continue to power-walk on. He doesnt dare interrupt for a volume request though. “His hoodie and hair were burnt to a crisp and he wasn’t moving.” he pauses. “I was too late.”
George processes that in his head. Oh.
He is unsure, truly, what he is supposed to be feeling right now. Sadness, sure. He feels sad.
Karl was one of the few good people left on this server, and though George isn’t entirely sure what the last year or so for him was like—because people can change drastically in even less, if anyone knew that, it would be him and Sapnap.
But even in the unlikely situation that Karl has somehow pushed down his effortless good-will to become a dickhead, George would still mourn the Karl he knew. The Karl that had a million and one hugs to give, and always a sweet word to say.
He wants to mourn. To help Sapnap mourn (Karl was his fiance afterall. Or.. maybe they had gotten married? George doesn’t think Sapnap would get married without George there though, right?), but instead he feels nothing.
Not numb. Not distraught. Not troubled. Just.. Nothing.
He rushes forward so he’s faster than Sapnap, stopping infront of the man so the other can’t march off again. The ravenette looks dazed, like he’s not entirely sure that this entire experience isn’t a dream he can wake up from. George can’t blame him, he’s wondering the same thing.
“Sap.” He says, trying to sound soft but instead sounding stern. “Take a deep breath.”
This is an old tactic of Dream’s to calm them down: taking deep breaths.
Back then, when hearts would be pumping too quickly after a manhunt or they were arguing with more harsh words than their usual playful bickering, he would sit them down—no arguments allowed—and have whoever it was rest a hand over his heartbeat until they were breathing normally again. Like he thought the reminder that one of them were still living and breathing (surviving) would rouse them back to normality.
George doesn’t want to use Dream’s strategy, doesn’t want to remind Sapnap of him when he’s already so distressed over Karl, but the truth is George knows nothing that doesn’t somehow involve the blonde.
So instead of sitting the two down and grabbing Sapnap’s burning hand to place over his chest, he stands taller and takes a large inhale for the ravenette to copy, no touching.
Sapnap looks at George for a second, before pursing his lips and copying. In through the nose, out through the mouth. They repeat it a few times, and eventually the smoke rising from Sapnap’s skin fizzes out almost completely.
“Good.” George breathes when the other’s airy gasps become little more than sniffles. “That’s good.”
When he realises he’s finally calmed down, Sapnap tugs his bottom lip to be trapped under his teeth, biting down hard enough for it to go white.
Neither of them say anything for a moment, and when George blinks, he lets his eyes stay closed for a moment too long— being asleep would be a hell of a lot easier than this mess, he muses, but he could never leave Sapnap alone when he’s in such a fragile state of mind —before coming to a final conclusion and opening his eyes again.
The ideas running through his mind are dangerous, but he recklessly speaks them aloud anyway. “What if we fake our deaths?”
Sapnap lets his lip fall out of his teeth’s wrath as he stares at George in perplexion. “What?”
“What if we leave, right now, and never come back. No one would have any idea we were still alive, no one would bother to come looking for us.” He stares into Sapnap’s bloodshot eyes as he evaluates. “We have no one left to care.”
Sapnap considers this, eyes flashing with a hundred and one different emotion.
“What?” He echoes eventually.
George huffs at the lack of capability. “We have no one left to care.” he repeats. His voice is quiet when he speaks, but the tone is unwavering.
"Look, think about it. We both know this was Dream, right?” (Sapnap flinches at the use of his name) “So that means that we’re going to have to face him eventually, whether that’s for you to kill him, or for him to brag to us how powerful and epic he is for being a psychopath.
“But we also both know how painful that will be. Imagine it Sapnap, staring into your former best friend’s eyes, knowing he murdered the man you love in cold blood.”
Sapnap imagines it.
George finishes off his thought. “So what if we just.. Didn't? What if we run off into the forest and explore the world with nothing but a few rocks in the shape of a sword, just like the old times? We could be free again. We could do what we want rather than be tied down by responsibility, and war, and Dream.”
George gets more and more excited as he depicts it, which Sapnap clearly notices. He analyzes the brunette’s determined expression carefully, rationalizing in a way he would have scoffed at five years ago. It seems in the years of being locked in the cage of conflict, he has grown out of being the pinnacle of reckless spontaneity.
Finally, Sapnap speaks. “What?”
George goes to open his mouth again, but Sapnap interrupts.
“No- What.. What the fuck George?!” His face contorts into one of anger, and his reddened, tear-stained cheeks look more threatening all of a sudden. “My fiance—my Karl, my sweet, perfect Karl—is dead. He’s gone George. And you’re suggesting, what? I go prancing off into the forest with you and leave the man who killed him to find more victims and take more lives-?”
“Sapnap!” George matches the other’s energy easily. “You don’t get it, do you? It’s a cycle, its a trap. You kill Dream and another person takes his place, another war starts, more innocent lives are lost. We fight and we fight and nothing happens.”
“Well it’s my fight.” Sapnap spits. “It’s my duty as Karl’s fiance, to-”
George groans. “Oh, can you stop thinking about Karl for one second and think about yourself-”
Sapnap practically growls, and George realises a moment too late that the man’s skin is burning again. He looks terrifying, with his horns and body lit up as magma through his broken skin and eyes red as the ruby on his ring.
His hair and stubble have grown more since George has last properly looked at him, and his jawline and muscles are more defined under his burnt clothes. The differences in him stand hand-in-hand with the knowledge that this man is no longer a boy, a best friend, but a threat.
“How dare you.” He seethes, taking a large step forward that has George flinching. “Less than ten minutes ago I saw the only man I have ever truly loved lifeless body burning to a crisp. Taken by the same thing that keeps me alive.” He shoves an arm out to prove it, taking another step. “And.. I could have saved him.”
He’s crying again by the time he’s standing face to face with George, but the tears look more of anger than grief, or rather, like he’s crying for the sake of having something to show off his inner pain.
George sighs without breaking eye contact. He knows he should feel the same grief, but instead he feels the need to focus more on calming Sapnap down. He refuses to be hurt more from the idea.
“He was a good man.” He raises a hand to Sapnap’s hair under the semblance of holding his face soothingly, but instead lifts his his fingers so they’re stroking over the inside of the man’s horns.
When they were kids, the area was ticklish enough to be a target point whenever the two were playfighting. Now, it doesn’t quite send Sapnap into fitful giggles, but the pressure it enough to make the man give in to his emotions completely, and his head falls almost instantly onto George’s shoulder as he breaks into hyperbolic sobs, his tears fizzing his fire away for the final time today.
The brunette tenses under the man’s weight, but accepts it quickly. He has never, and will never, liked hugs—or even any form of intimate contact really—but he understands social situations enough to know when is not a good time to shove someone away.
Sapnap is his responsibility now. He has dug himself this hole and he will die happily in it. The other is mourning, and will likely be very emotional (ugh) for the next few months, but George is excited for their future together nonetheless.
For the first time in years, he feels hope. He feels like maybe the future will include more than wasting away the days in a existential confinement. Like his life of solitary suffering may actually count to his childhood dreams of a life travelling the world with his best friends.
He lifts a hesitant hand to pat Sapnap’s back awkwardly, and keeps his other in the man’s hair to run his fingers through his greasy hair. “I’m going to make it okay.” He whispers. “I’m sure we’ll be okay.”
Finally, the ravenette speaks, lifting his head and straightening himself out. His face is still crusted with tears, and snot is starting to dry against his skin under his nose, but his expression is stubborn. “And what about Karl?” His voice cracks.
George’s determination softens, and he takes a careful breath. “What about him?” He asks, treading warily.
Sapnap’s eyes are dark in the shadow of him facing away from the morning sun, but still look a matching ruby red to his tear-flushed cheeks. He looks broken, in an artful sort of way. Like the loss of his lover is enough to make warrior scars look tender.
“He’s dead.” He states placidly. “Gone. You have no idea what it's like to lose someone you love so much.” (George internally frowns in disagreement, but keeps his countenance calm). “I can't just leave him, I can't.”
“He would want you to be happy.”
Sapnap’s face changes, and it’s no longer curious or conflicted, but hardened. George is preying on his weak mindset, and Sapnap has finally realised it: he is a rabbit in the hound’s trap. The truth, however, will always be true. And that is that he would always choose George. Always.
But still the older doubts, as he stares at the other’s blank expression, that Sapnap will ever bawl so openly infront of him again. Their friendship has always been tip-toeing across a tightrope. You can never wobble nor look down, getting it done quickly and elegantly is the best route.
Right now they are at the centre of the ring, and Sapnap will not let himself fall, but the adrenaline of it is the only thing keeping him from jumping.
So despite how Sapnap yearns for his fiance, and George yearns for freedom, they will continue to tip-toe around eachother, continue to cry when a back is turned and grin when face to face. Because nowadays, there is nothing else to grin about.
“You’re right.” He whispers, like it’s a secret only for them. “Fuck, you’re right.”
George nods. “Yeah, I am.”
Sapnap weighs the options for a moment, staring at both of their burnt clothes and lack of weapons or resources. “No starter chest this time, huh?” He references to their childhood games of survival. It sounds like it should be a joke, but his tone is too solemn.
But George smiles anyway, leaning forward and grabbing Sapnap’s arm. “For the first time ever, we’re doing a manhunt from scratch.” He jests.
Sapnap lets himself be pulled as they make their way into an unexplored forest, away from civilisation and principled life. “Who are we hunting?” He asks, going along with it.
George grins knowingly. “Integrity.”
(Sapnap does smile at that, a quick flick of the corner of his mouth in amusement. “That’s so stupid.” He snorts.
George frowns in a way that’s just teasing enough to be a pout. “Don’t make fun of me, I was being poetic .”
“Yeah okay, stick to the wild Mushroom Boy.”)
Integrity (noun): the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles.