Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dream never planned on having a roommate.

In fact, he actively avoided the idea. He liked his space, his routine, and most importantly, his peace. But life had a funny way of throwing obstacles at him, and this one came in the form of sky-high rent and an underpaid job.

Dream lived in the big city of L’Manburg. Like all cities, there was the wealthy side that boasted towering skyscrapers, high-end restaurants, and gated communities, and then there was the side where people like Dream lived.

His neighborhood had a certain charm- old brick buildings covered in graffiti, police sirens almost constantly, and even the classic streetlights that flickered ominously at night. People who are from this side of L’Manburg called it the Underground. You can easily tell when someone grew up in the Upper where the rich folk lived or if someone grew up in the Underground.

Of course, there were also the heroes, villains, and vigilantes in this town. They were just another part of life in L’Manburg, like the subway station or the never-ending traffic.

The heroes were adored by the Upper- the shining symbols of justice, funded by corporations and paraded around like celebrities. They were the ones who smiled for cameras, had their own merchandise, and got paid to keep the rich safe. For the Underground, the heroes were nothing more than flashy celebrities.

Then there were the villains, and those people were unpredictable. Some were in it for chaos, some for revenge, and some just because they could. The worst of them didn’t care who got hurt in the crossfire. Others… well, some villains were just people who had been dealt a bad hand in life.

And finally, there were the vigilantes- the ones who didn’t fit in either category. They operated outside the law, not quite heroes, not quite villains. Most of the Underground respected them more than the polished, government-funded heroes, but that didn’t mean they trusted them.

Well- there was also the Mafia part of L’Manburg but everyone in the Underground, including Dream, knows to keep their head down and not talk about them much.

Most of everyone had powers, whether they were strong or not. With great power comes great resp- yeah, no. If you had a strong power, chances are- you were going to use it for your advantage. Whether you worked for the government, become a villain or vigilante, or even join the Mafia, you were definitely going to use your power to your advantage.

Dream had long since stopped caring about any of them or powers in general.

He was just a guy trying to live his life. He didn’t have a heroic backstory or a tragic fall from grace. He was just Dream- some random dude trying to pay rent in a city that didn’t care whether he sank or swam.

Rent had once been manageable, but with the city’s rapid expansion and greedy landlords, he found himself struggling to keep up. Dream could barely pay his month’s rent.

At first, he tried to make it work. He took extra shifts at his bartending job, cut out unnecessary expenses, and even started living off instant noodles more often than he liked to admit. But no matter what he did, it was clear he couldn’t afford to live by himself anymore.

That’s how he found himself scrolling through roommate listings, something he had sworn he’d never do.

Most of them were terrible.

“Looking for someone to lay in bed with ;)) Rent is cheap, but we’ll be splitting a single bedroom lol.”

“I have five cats, six birds, two snakes, and one dog. If you don’t like animals, don’t bother.”

“Looking for someone to contribute to my house vibes. No corporate drones.”

Dream nearly gave up after looking at the listings. He would rather sleep on the streets- wait, no. That would be a horrible idea in the Underground.

But then, he saw it.

“Looking for a roommate. Two-bedroom, decent sized apartment. No pets, no weird habits. Just pay your half of the rent.”

Straightforward. No unnecessary details, no weird expectations. Just what he needed.

Dream hesitated for a second before typing out a message.

DREAM : Hey, is this still available?

The reply came fast.

UNKNOWN # : Yeah. Come by tomorrow if you wanna check it out. Address is 9834 Maine St, Apt 11B. Don’t be weird.

Dream snorted. Alright, this guy’s either a total asshole or the perfect kind of roommate.

The next afternoon, Dream found himself standing in front of a slightly worn-out apartment building. The area wasn’t too busy- only a few people passing by here and there. He climbed the stairs to Unit 11B, knocked once, and waited.

The door opened a few seconds later, revealing a tall, messy-haired guy wearing an oversized sweater and round glasses perched on his nose. He looked Dream up and down, expression unreadable.

“You Dream?”

Dream nodded. “Yeah... Wilbur, right?”

“Yep.” Wilbur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You a serial killer?”

Dream blinked. “...No?”

Wilbur shrugged. “Good enough for me.”

With that, he turned and walked inside, leaving the door open in silent invitation. Dream hesitated before stepping in, taking in the apartment. It was… surprisingly normal. A little messy- books and papers scattered across the coffee table, an empty mug sitting on the counter- but nothing bad. The place actually had some character- a few vinyls hanging on the wall and a couple of plants decorated around the room.

Wilbur flopped onto the couch, legs stretched out as he grabbed his phone. 

“You get the smaller room which is on the left there.” Wilbur pointed to a small, narrow hallway that had three doors in total. “The bathroom is across from your door. Rent’s due on the first.”

Dream raised a brow. “That’s it? No interview? No rules?”

Wilbur turned on the television in front of him with a remote. “I don’t care what you do as long as you pay your share. Just don’t touch my stuff.”

Dream considered that. No fake niceties, no over-the-top friendliness. Just two people coexisting. It was perfect.

“Alright, deal.” Dream said. “Should I come back tomorrow morning with my stuff?”

Wilbur waved him off. “Sure, sure. I’ll also give you a copy of the keys tomorrow too.”

It was almost too perfect.

He should’ve known there was a catch.

Moving in had been surprisingly easy. Wilbur wasn’t the talkative type. He gave Dream the tour (which only took five minutes), pointed out his room, and then promptly ignored him for the rest of the evening.

Dream preferred it this way.

He got to keep his peace and pay a smaller amount of rent each month.

Wilbur wasn’t messy, wasn’t overly friendly, and most importantly, wasn’t loud. They settled into an easy routine- Dream went to work, Wilbur did… whatever Wilbur did. Dream didn’t ask questions. He figured his new roommate worked from home or had a night shift, given that Wilbur was usually awake in the middle of the night and disappeared for long stretches of time.

Not his problem.

At least, it wasn’t his problem until six months in when he found Wilbur’s big secret.

Dream was pouring coffee into his mug. He finally got a day off work, which was rare, and he’d been sleeping throughout the entire day. His peace didn’t last long.

Dream had just settled onto the couch, coffee in hand, when the news broadcast caught his attention.

“Breaking news- the villain Siren, one of the members of The Syndicate- seen escaping after a high-stakes robbery at the L’Manburg National Bank. Authorities are still searching for leads-”

Dream glanced at the screen, taking in the grainy footage of a tall, lanky figure in a dark trench coat and a mask. Siren’s signature power was the same as always- a voice that could twist minds, manipulate thoughts, and make people do things they never would.

The front door clicked open and Dream’s eyes darted from the screen to who stepped in. Dream paused, narrowing his eyes as he saw who stepped into the apartment.

Wilbur stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath as he kicked off his shoes. Strangely, he didn’t seem to take notice of Dream yet and opted to get something from the fridge. And that’s when Dream cleared his throat, announcing his presence and startling Wilbur.

Wilbur froze, his hand still on the fridge door, as the sudden sound of Dream’s voice sliced through the quiet apartment. His expression flickered, something between panic and concern.

Dream looked at Wilbur’s attire and then back to the TV screen.

“So, Siren,” Dream said, letting the name hang in the air. “That seems like a dangerous hobby to rob banks.”

Wilbur, or Siren, kept staring at him, waiting for Dream to move. 

Dream did move.

But not to call the cops or scream- Instead, Dream took a calm sip of his coffee then leaned back on the couch with a certain casualness.

The news anchor filled in the silence- droning on about the scene where officers were scrambling, the other Syndicate members had fled, and reporters were interviewing people on the street.

Wilbur sighed, finally shrugging off his coat and tossing it over a chair. “So, what now?”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“What?” Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Dream. “You found out your dear roommate is a big, bad villain. This is usually the part where you freak out, call the cops, or, I don’t know, demand I find a new place to live.”

Dream shrugged. “I guess I should be doing that, yeah.”

Dream stared at the television, where Siren’s masked face was plastered across the screen. The news anchor kept talking about the villain’s latest escape, going on and on about how much was stolen and the exact villains that were in on it.

Wilbur, still covered in dust and smelling faintly of smoke, crossed his arms.

“I’m a villain,” he said flatly.

Dream didn’t even blink. “Yeah, and? Do you want a medal?”

Wilbur paused. “I mean-”

“Like, do you want me to clap for you? Throw you a little party?” Dream gestured vaguely. “I can bake a cake. Would you like ‘Congratulations on being a menace to society and contributing nothing’ written in icing?”

“Uhm… Do you know other villains?”

Dream chuckled dryly. “No, not at all.”

“Then how are you so calm about all of this?!”

Dream sighed, rolled his eyes, then set his coffee down on the table in front of him.

“Dude, I’ve lived with you for six months. You sleep all day, disappear at night, and come home smelling like gunpowder and bad decisions. It doesn’t take a genius to make a couple of guesses.” He gave Wilbur a dry look.

Wilbur blinked. “Oh.”

“I thought you were either a criminal, part of the Mafia, or just a really weird dude. Turns out- I was right about two of those statements.”

There was a long silence that stretched between them.

Until Wilbur laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, damn. Here I was, thinking this was gonna be a whole thing.”

“Yeah, well, I’m too broke to afford to care.” Dream stretched. “I think we should make some new rules though.”

Wilbur tilted his head. “Rules?”

“Yeah,” Dream got up from the couch, grabbing his mug and bringing it to the kitchen where Wilbur was standing.

“What… kind of rules?” Wilbur asked warily as he watched Dream start washing the cup.

Dream’s gaze was focused on the soap suds starting to form on the sponge as he continued talking. 

“Rule one: no villains in the apartment. Keep your… associates out. I don’t want to deal with that kind of mess in this home. Got it?”

Wilbur’s smile faded just a little, his eyes hardening ever so slightly. “You think I want to drag my comrades here? In this shitty place? I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Wilbur. I’m not getting caught in any of this crap. You can do your thing, but don’t bring it into my space.”

There was a brief pause. Then Wilbur sighed, a reluctant nod following. “Fair enough. I can manage that. Anything else?”

“Second rule,” Dream continued, “I won’t tell anyone about you. I won’t go to the cops, I won’t rat you out- as long as you keep me out of it. No matter what- I’m not getting involved.”

Wilbur chuckled, tapping his fingers against his arm as he glanced at the television still playing in the background. “That’s reasonable. Is that all?”

“One last rule,” Dream finished washing the mug and put it onto the drying rack. He turned to face Wilbur as he started drying his hands with a small rag. “If the cops come knocking for any reason or if you get captured, I don’t know anything. I’m just a regular guy with a roommate who’s always a little… distant. I’ll deny everything, and I expect the same out of you.”

Wilbur’s lips twitched upward at the corners, though it wasn’t a real smile. “Deal. But is there really nothing else? I expect people to want more from me after finding out my big secret.”

“I want peace and quiet.” Dream replied, his voice steady. “You get your freedom to do whatever the hell you want- just keep it out of my life.

A silence stretched between them. Wilbur’s gaze softened, and for the first time, Dream saw something almost like respect flicker in the other man’s eyes. Wilbur had always been a mystery, a distant person in Dream’s life. Now, with everything he learned, Dream realized how much more complicated it had gotten.

“Gotcha’. Well, I’m going to take a shower then grab myself a cup of coffee.”

Dream nodded. “Have fun with that. I’m going to head to bed.”

Wilbur gave a small wave, his usual carefree grin back in place, though Dream could still see that flicker of something more serious behind his eyes. Maybe it was a subtle acknowledgment of the rules, or maybe it was the unspoken understanding finally sinking in. Either way, Dream couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things were never going to be as simple as they seemed.

He turned and headed for his room. Dream wasn’t sure how much he could trust Wilbur, but as long as the villain kept his distance then he could make this work. It would be hard to find another roommate or a place where the rent was so cheap.

The sound of the shower running echoed through the small hallway, and Dream settled into his bed, pulling the covers over himself. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation over and over.

He had his rules. Clear, simple rules. And if Wilbur stuck to them, Dream’s life could go back to being the quiet, uneventful existence it had been before.

As long as Wilbur stayed out of his way, Dream would do the same.

About three months had passed since Dream found out Wilbur was a villain.

Things had mostly gone back to their routine. Dream woke up, went to work, came home, and spent his evenings on his own or trying to avoid Wilbur’s occasional bursts of energy. 

Wilbur acted differently ever since Dream found out. 

But not in a bad way. 

Wilbur’s behavior had shifted, but in a way that felt more like a curious truce than anything else. He was no longer the aloof, somewhat distant roommate that Dream had first met. Now, there was an odd sense of camaraderie between them. It was like the weight of the secret was no longer a burden, and while it didn’t mean they were best friends, there was a certain ease in the way they coexisted.

Wilbur would occasionally crack a joke during dinner, and Dream would find himself laughing. Dream would tell a few stories of some odd customers at the bar he worked at, and Wilbur found himself intrigued. 

One evening, Dream came home after a grueling day at work- some drunk man about to fight Dream because he cut him off. It was about five in the morning and Dream had just pushed the door open but he was met with an unusual sight- Wilbur, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, flipping through a folder of documents. The faint light from the overhead bulb illuminated his face, and Dream noticed the deep furrow in his brow.

“Hey, man,” Dream greeted, shutting the door behind him. “You good?”

Wilbur glanced up, his tired expression fading into a faint smile. “Hey, Dream. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

Dream frowned, stepping further into the room. “What are you looking at?”

Wilbur hesitated, his gaze briefly flicking to the stack of papers before he closed the folder with a quiet snap. “Our new mission. It’s… not going to be exactly safe.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling Wilbur wasn’t going to explain much more, but Dream also didn’t want to pry. They had their unspoken rule- Dream stayed out of Wilbur’s mess, and Wilbur kept his villain life away from Dream’s own.

“So, you’re worried?” Dream hummed, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of soda. He tried to keep his tone casual, but a small, nagging feeling started to creep up on him.

Wilbur’s fingers drummed against the surface of the countertop. He looked tired, like someone who hadn’t slept in days. There was an air of restlessness to him.

“Yeah, a little,” Wilbur replied. He looked at Dream with a half-smile, trying to brush it off. “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Dream narrowed his eyes, sensing something was off. He could tell when Wilbur was trying to deflect, and right now, that was exactly what he was doing.

“Are you sure?” Dream asked, voice steady but filled with an edge of curiosity. “It won’t bring me any trouble, right?”

He half-joked at the last question, but Wilbur’s expression seemed to have fallen. There was a long, awkward silence before Dream spoke up.

“Dude, you know the rules. Don’t-”

“Don’t bring any villains home and make sure to keep you out of it. I know, I will.” Wilbur’s voice was quieter now, the usual playfulness gone.

Dream leaned against the counter, watching Wilbur closely. The tension in the room was thick, a quiet understanding that Wilbur was on the edge of something- something Dream wasn’t sure he could help with, but couldn’t ignore either.

“Another rule,” Dream says as he cracks open his soda, taking a small sip. 

Wilbur flinched, looking up like he had been shot. “Y-Yes?”

“Don’t use your powers on me. Like, ever.”

Wilbur blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Yeah… okay. Fair enough. I wasn’t planning on using them on you anyway.”

Dream took another sip of his soda, then sighed. “I just want to be able to come home, eat my dinner, and not have to worry about some villainous showdown.”

“Right. No showdown. Heard.” Wilbur hummed. “Anyway, that’s enough heavy talk for tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said with a sudden, cheerful tone. “How about I cook us something nice?”

Dream couldn’t help but chuckle, his mood lightening again. “You’re cooking? You sure you won’t poison me?”

Wilbur snorted. “If I wanted to poison you, I’d probably do it with something way more subtle than eggs and toast,” Wilbur replied as he stood up from the stool and made his way over to the cabinets. “I’m not that amateur.”

Dream played along. “Right, well, I trust you. But if I suddenly wake up feeling weird, I’m blaming the eggs.”

“You’ll be fine,” Wilbur said, grinning as he pulled out a pan. “Trust me, I’ve got top-tier cooking skills.”

Dream opened the fridge next to him, pulling out the carton of eggs and setting them on the counter for Wilbur to grab. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t set off the fire alarm, okay?”

“I can’t promise that,” Wilbur replied, winking at him. “But I’ll try to keep it under control.”

The two fell into an easy rhythm, the awkwardness from before evaporating into the background. Wilbur hummed as he cooked, and Dream, despite himself, found himself laughing at some of Wilbur’s exaggerated, comical gestures as he flipped the eggs.

“Okay, so… no villainous plans for tonight, right? No secret missions or anything?” Dream asked casually as he sat on one of the stools, watching the other cook.

Wilbur glanced over his shoulders, giving a dramatic sigh. “No, just the boring stuff like staying home with you.”

“Wow, thank you kindly,” Dream chuckled.

“Anytime,” Wilbur smirked, shaking his head as he cracked another egg into the pan. “But seriously, it’s a nice change of pace.”

Dream studied Wilbur for a moment. “I bet. Must be hard balancing robbing banks for a living and not setting the kitchen on fire.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You have no idea.”

There was a short pause, the clinking of utensils and the sizzling of eggs filling the quiet space. Then, with an almost too casual tone, Wilbur asked, “By the way, do you have powers?”

Dream blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t expected it, especially not in the middle of cooking. “Powers?” Dream repeated, not sure if he heard correctly.

Wilbur, without missing a beat, shrugged as he turned the eggs over in the pan. “Yeah. Everybody’s got something, right? I’ve got mine, the whole ‘Siren’ thing. You… I’ve never really seen you do anything impressive. Usually, others would flaunt their abilities or brag about it. I’ve never seen you do anything of the sort.”

Dream was silent for a moment, taking in the question.

“I have one but it’s nothing spectacular. I’m just a regular guy overall.”

Wilbur gave him a look over his shoulder, clearly intrigued, but he didn’t push the subject further. He turned back to the stove, the sizzle of eggs filling the silence between them.

“Yeah, I figured,” Wilbur said lightly. “I was just curious.”

“Anyway, enough about me,” Dream huffed. “Are those eggs almost done?”

Wilbur chuckled and shook his head. “Be patient. You’re lucky I’m cooking for you.”

As they continued to banter, Wilbur finished cooking and put everything onto a plate. He placed it in front of Dream, utensils and all, then grabbed his papers and sat on the couch. 

Dream dug into his eggs, the warmth and simplicity of the meal grounding him after the long, chaotic day. The taste was surprisingly good. Wilbur had a knack for making things feel normal, even in the weirdness of their situation. 

He finally finished the meal. Wilbur continued sifting through the mission details, the flickering of the television barely registering as background noise. Dream thanked him before he made his way to take a shower and head to bed. As soon as he was ready to sleep, he shut the door softly behind him, pulling back the blankets and collapsing onto the bed.

The cool sheets felt good against his skin and Dream let his thoughts drift. 

He did have a power, that was the truth. But it wasn’t something small or one where it could be ignored. Dream decided to not tell Wilbur what it was. He didn’t need anyone prying into his abilities when all he wanted was to live a peaceful and quiet life.

Dream let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the bed and he let himself drift into sleep.

It was around four in the evening when he woke up. Dream groggily stretched, feeling the familiar ache of tired muscles, and got up from the bed. He rubbed his eyes, his feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.

He had work in an hour and needed to get ready.

Dream moved through the evening with ease. Though, for some reason, he felt that today was going to be different than most. He shook off that feeling as he put on the tuxedo uniform he always wore to work.

By the time he was dressed and ready to go, he stepped out of his room and noticed how quiet the apartment was.

Ah- Wilbur must be on that big mission then.

Dream grabbed his phone from the counter as he passed, checking the time- still about thirty minutes before his shift started. That was just enough time to start walking. 

He hesitated for a moment, looking back into the empty apartment. The television was turned off, nothing seemed to be out of place. There was only the faint hum of the fridge and the distant noise of traffic outside. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling and made his way to work.

The walk was quiet, save for only a few drunks on the street and a couple of cars passing by.

When he finally reached the bar, the bright neon sign ‘The Tipsy Callers’ cast colorful reflections on the windows. Dream slipped behind the counter, the familiar smells of beer, whiskey, and the soft scent of stale cigarette smoke filled the air. The evening crowds were trickling in, and Dream quickly got to work, grabbing a towel and setting up his station.

It didn’t take long for the weird customers to start arriving.

First, there was the guy who insisted on ordering “something blue” because he “only drank the calming colors of the ocean.” After much confusion, Dream mixed up a blue margarita, which the man sipped like he just received the Holy Grail. He didn’t say much after that- just stared into the glass with deep contemplation, like it held all the secrets of the universe.

Then came the woman who complained about every aspect of her life as she just had her heart broken. Dream found himself caught in the middle of the conversation where she asked him if he believed in love at first sight or if she needed to “try harder.” He smiled politely and made her an Old Fashioned to move things along.

At the far end of the bar, an older man sat with a book, scribbling into a leather-bound journal between sips of whiskey. He had the demeanor of a philosopher, except for the fact that every few minutes, he would look up and mutter something about “the reckoning” and “impending arrival” before going back to writing. Dream wasn’t sure if the man was just having a weird night or if he was genuinely trying to warn the world, but it was all unsettling.

Then there was the couple who came in for their “usual.” The woman ordered wine while the man, who had his face buried in his phone the entire time, ordered a beer, never once looking up. The woman spent the entire time talking about her day, clearly more interested in venting than having an actual conversation. Dream quickly learned to just nod and keep refilling their drinks without saying too much.

As the night wore on, Dream continued to serve drinks and listen to snippets of their lives and incoherent conversations. It was nice to hear about other people’s lives. Although Dream prefers his peace at home, he had to admit there was something oddly comforting about the life around him. Each drink, each conversation, felt like a brief window into a story he wasn’t directly involved in but could still briefly witness.

Despite what others might say about his bartending job, he loved it. Even the weird people who stood out made his work more interesting.

When his shift ended earlier than normal at around two in the morning, Dream felt the familiar weight of exhaustion settle over him. He gave a farewell wave to his boss and made his way home.

The walk felt longer than it should have, the streetlights flickering as he passed. The streets were empty at around this time. Despite this being his usual routine, Dream still had an uneasy feeling as he got closer and closer to his apartment.

He shook it off, chalking it up to exhaustion and Wilbur’s worry from before. It wasn’t unusual for him to feel drained after hours of listening to other people’s problems while pretending his own didn’t exist. Still, the eerie quiet of the night felt heavier than usual.

When he finally reached his apartment building, he hesitated at the entrance. There was nothing visibly off- the lobby was empty, the elevator lights flickered like they always did, and the faint hum of practically empty vending machines filled the void of silence. But something was nagging him.

Dream exhaled sharply and shook his head.

Taking the stairs, he reached his apartment door and then stopped as he heard multiple voices.

Multiple voices. Not just Wilbur’s own.

Dream quickly unlocked it and stepped inside. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him.

Zephyrus was slumped on the couch, one of his black wings twisted at an unnatural angle, feathers bent and broken. There was another visible injury, very visible despite him wearing black clothing. There was a long slash across his chest as blood seeped into the fabric of the couch, pooling around him as his chest heaved with shallow breaths, His face was pale, sharp features contorted in pain.

Dream barely had time to process it before he noticed the rest of them.

Figures stood around Zephyrus, tense and on edge. They were all members of the Syndicate.

His eyes darted over each of them, noting how they all stiffened at his sudden arrival. A few reached for their weapons- instinct, reaction. He recognized some of them, their masked faces and piercing eyes analyzing him as if deciding whether he was a threat.

Then-

“Stand down.”

Wilbur’s voice cut through the tension, smooth but firm.

The others hesitated before following the command, hands slowly retreating from their weapons.

Dream, however, was still frozen in the doorway, his grip on the keys in his pocket tightening. His pulse pounded in his ears but he had enough sense to shut and lock the door before yelling.

“What the fuck is this?” He demanded, his voice sharp. His exhaustion was gone, replaced by the white-hot anger rising in his chest.

Wilbur- Siren- sighed, running a bloodstained hand through his hair. He looked tired, like he’d been dealing with this mess for hours. “Dream, I-”

“You can’t even follow one simple rule?!” Dream snapped, gesturing to the rest of the villains. “And why the fuck is he bleeding all over our goddamn furniture?”

Wilbur met his glare with something almost apologetic. Almost. “Listen, I wouldn’t have brought them here if we weren’t in a bad situation. I know I should have talked to you first but-

“You think?!” Dream scoffed. “There’s a fucking person bleeding out on the couch! Tell me, why did you think this was a good idea to break one of the rules I gave you?”

“Things got complicated.” Wilbur’s voice was controlled, as if he was trying not to lose patience. “We didn’t have anywhere else to bring him.”

Dream let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So your first thought was our apartment? Are you fucking kidding me, Wilbur?”

A beat of silence. The others were watching carefully. Waiting.

Wilbur sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? But this was the closest place and the heroes and police are probably swarming everywhere else we could’ve gone.”

Dream’s jaw tightened. “That’s not my fucking problem, Wilbur. That's your problem.”

Wilbur exhaled, clearly trying to stay calm and not yell back. “Dream, I get it. I do. But I couldn’t just leave Zephyrus to die. He’s my… He…”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “So now you care about ethics? Aren’t you a villain? That’s rich coming from you, Siren.”

A few of the Syndicate members bristled at the name, but Wilbur didn’t react. Instead, he took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I know you don’t want any part of this, and I respect that. I’ve always respected that.”

“Oh yeah? That’s why you brought half your little gang into our home? That’s why you’ve got someone bleeding out on our fucking couch?” He pointed at Zephyrus, whose breathing had gotten even shallower. “Don’t fucking stand there and tell me you respect my boundaries while actively breaking them, Wilbur.”

Wilbur’s patience visibly frayed. “I had no choice!” His voice rose slightly, and for the first time, frustration cracked through his usual smooth composure. Dream even flinched back as he never heard Wilbur get mad at him before. “Do you think I wanted to drag all of them here? This was the last place on my list!”

Dream paused, brow furrowing. “You did it anyway.”

The weight of that statement lingered between them, heavy and unshakable.

Wilbur’s expression darkened. “I trust you, Dream. I know you won’t turn us in.”

Dream clenched his fists. He hated that. Hated the way Wilbur said it like a fact, like it was obvious. Like he knew Dream would never betray him, no matter how angry he was.

And worst of all, he was right.

Dream inhaled sharply, pushed Wilbur out of the way, and grabbed a single can of soda from the fridge. “Don’t talk to me anymore.” His voice was cold, clipped.

Wilbur looked a little pained at that but gave a small, tired nod. “Alright… I’m sorry again.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Dream popped open the can, the slight sizzle being heard as he quietly watched the scene before him. He remained quiet as Wilbur turned and walked back to the group.

“Are you sure we can trust him?” One of the Syndicate members, a woman with a sharp gaze and a cautious stance muttered under her breath but Dream could still hear her. 

She had a mask that covered her nose and mouth, but her brown eyes remained. She had pink hair that tied into a tight bun and her outfit looked almost akin to a lifeguard. Dream knew her as Tsunami and she was able to control water within a certain radius. She could be either really powerful or powerless depending on how close she was to a source of water.

Wilbur shot her a glare. “We can trust him. Just drop it.”

Tsunami still looked doubtful, but didn’t argue.

Dream’s eyes drifted to the others in the room and he recognized each of them as he saw a couple in the news already.

There was Inferno, a rather tall person with blonde hair and a heat-resistant hoodie and pants. As his name suggests, he could control fire. Well, ‘control’ was a big word. Inferno was erratic and sometimes had trouble reigning in his power. He was quite loud on the television and his wording sounded more akin to a teenager than an adult.

Kneeling down next to Zephyrus was Crimson but sometimes called ‘Blood God’ as he uses a constant phrase in the videos shown to the public where he yells out “blood for the Blood God!” He was wearing a boar-like mask and some kind of medieval-like outfit with a red cape.

Ender stood to the side, twiddling his fingers as he stared at Zephyrus’s wounds and muttering under his breath. He almost radiated worry and concern. Dream knew that Ender could teleport in and out of certain situations. He couldn’t teleport people but can teleport objects and himself.

Standing next to him was Shockwave, a shorter person compared to Ender. He had curly brown hair and wore a gas mask to cover his face. His power, like his name, was able to cause earthquakes, fissures, and even ground-shattering destruction.

Of course, there was Siren who Dream knew as Wilbur. He wore his usual long trench coat, black skinny jeans, turtleneck, and boots. However, his outfit was covered in dust and debris.

It must have been a big mission if all The Syndicate members were present, especially since their leader, Zephyrus, took a deep beating.

Dream leaned against the counter, sipping his drink casually. His gaze drifted lazily to Zephyrus, who was still slumped on the couch, his breath coming out in weak, uneven gasps. Crimson was working hard, trying to clean the wound but the results weren’t looking too well.

The others had gathered around, looking tense, their usual hardened exteriors on the camera cracking just slightly as they watched Crimson work silently.

Dream could recognize the signs- some of them were already grieving, their eyes flickering with something close to pain. A few members murmured soft words to each other, ones Dream didn’t bother listening to. He didn’t care. He wasn’t part of this. None of this was his problem.

Wilbur stepped forward, looked at the wound then to Crimson. “Is he going to be okay?”

Crimson remained quiet and that was already enough of an answer.

Zephyrus, despite the clear agony he was in, managed a weak, tired smirk. “Damn… looks like this is it, huh?” His voice was rough, nearly a whisper.

Inferno clenched his fists, taking a step forward. “No, don’t say that. We can still-”

“Toms,” Zephyrus interrupted, and Inferno stepped back like he had been burned. “We both know that’s bullshit.”

There was a strained silence. No one argued.

Zephyrus let out a rattling breath, his eyelids flickering. “Ah… you know, I always figured I’d go out in some big fight, taking down some hero in a blaze of glory. Guess bleeding out on some shitty apartment couch works just as well.”

The others didn’t laugh.

Dream did chuckle a bit and all eyes snapped to him.

Sharp, burning glares.

Dream stopped, rolled his eyes, and set his drink down with a loud clank against the counter. “Oh, come on- that was hilarious. I bet he’s going to start his ‘villain monologue’ soon.”

Wilbur shot him a warning look. Dream just sighed and pushed off the counter, stretching his arms above his head. His stomach growled, not loud enough for the others to hear, but Dream felt it. He shrugged as he began rummaging through the cabinets to grab a bowl and some cereal.

Tsunami scoffed. “Are you seriously eating right now?”

“Yes.” Dream didn’t even glance up as he poured cereal into the bowl. “This is my apartment so I can do what I want.”

Inferno bristled but didn’t say anything. Wilbur only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache.

Just as Dream had predicted, Zephrus started his villain monologue while Dream opened the fridge to grab the milk.

Zephrus inhaled slowly, clearly struggling just to get air into his lungs, before turning his gaze towards Wilbur and Crimson. His voice, though weak, carried enough weight.

“Listen,” He started, gritting his teeth through the pain. “When I’m gone, I need you two to take care of the others.”

Crimson’s hands, which had been working to patch up the wound, stilled for a brief second. Wilbur, who had been leaning in closely, could be seen visibly shaking.

“Don’t say that,” Wilbur muttered, his tone unreadable. “You’re not dying. We won’t let you.”

Zephyrus huffed a weak, humorless laugh. “I am. Just… Just promise me that you-”

“We’re running out of milk.” Dream announced to the entire room, lifting the milk carton.

Crimson stood up and shot him a murderous glare. The others had done the same while Wilbur just looked defeated at Dream’s interruption.

“Dream,” Wilbur sighed, “Can you stop for like- ten minutes?”

Dream huffed. “I already have a bunch of villains in my house, a guy bleeding out on the couch, and now, we’re running out of milk. My day can’t get any worse. But sure, let me just sit here quietly while you all mope dramatically.”

If looks could kill, Dream would be six feet under by now.

“Wilbur,” Crimson said almost too casually. “I’m about to kill your roommate.”

“Tech- Crimson- No, you can’t kill him.” Wilbur sighed. “I know he’s being an asshole but just leave him. And, Dream, can you please be quiet?”

Dream rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, crunching on a mouthful of dry cereal as the room fell silent again.

Zephyrus let out a weak, wheezing laugh that turned into a cough, specks of blood appearing on his lips. Wilbur tensed beside him, his hands twitching at his sides.

“That was a nice distraction from the dying.”

“Thank you,” Dream said between mouthfuls of cereal, pointing his spoon at him. “See? He gets it.”

Wilbur exhaled sharply, ignoring Dream as he knelt beside Zephyrus. “Just hang in there, okay? Crimson is getting you patched up and you’re going to be just fine.”

Zephyrus’s smirk faded. “Wilbur. Techno.”

Wilbur’s words caught in his throat. Crimson twitched at the name. They both knew what was coming.

“Promise me. Promise that you’ll take care of your brothers and the others. Please.”

There was a beat of silence. Wilbur didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as if physically fighting the words. Crimson didn’t say anything either, but the way his hands moved- carefully, methodically- spoke volumes. But eventually, they both spoke.

“I promise.”

Dream narrowed his eyes.

He looked to Wilbur, his mask was gone and his head was down slightly in a silent prayer. Something about his expression and the way his shoulders hunched made Dream paused.

Dream hated it.

He hated the way Wilbur looked at the moment.

He hated how the others seemed to have given up entirely.

And he hated how he was about to break rule number two- staying out of it and not getting involved.

Dream rolled his eyes. He set his bowl down with a clatter, shaking his head like he was about to do something incredibly stupid. In hindsight, he was going to do something incredibly stupid.

Without warning, he stepped towards the group and started making his way toward Zephyrus.

Immediately, Inferno moved to block him, his stance screamed hostility. “Back off,” he growled. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

Dream simply sidestepped him.  “Oh, relax. I promise not to make any more milk-related announcements. I mean, we do need milk but I guess I’ll go out and get that later.”

Tsunami scowled, stepping into his path next. “If you’re just going to be a dick, then get out.”

“Can I not pay my final respects to the man that’s dying on the couch in Wilbur and I’s apartment?”

Crimson scoffed. “I’d tell you to fuck off.”

Wilbur blinked the tears away, rubbing his eyes. “Dream, can you please leave?”

Dream clicked his tongue. “Not until I say goodbye to the man that’s dying in our apartment.”

The others gave up arguing with him, too exhausted from their mission and the sense of loss to deal with whatever nonsense he was about to pull.

“You couldn’t let me have my final ‘villain monologue’ be serious and epic?” Zephyrus tried to smile the best he could in his last moments.

Dream grinned as he knelt beside Zephyrus. “I think you need to practice it a bit more.”

“Yeah, right.” He chuckled weakly. “When I get another chance at my dying wish, I’ll make sure you’re not in the room to ruin it.”

“Now that is a solid plan.”

“...Dream, isn't it? Can- Can you take care of Wilbur? I’m afraid that dummy will starve himself if I’m not around.”

Wilbur let out a sorrowful laugh but he didn’t say anything to that. Crimson turned his face away, and the others braced for the inevitable.

Dream rolled his shoulders. “Hell no. He’s already a bitch of a roommate for breaking one of my rules- I can’t imagine having to remind him to eat. And now, he’s making me break rule number two.”

Wilbur paused, and blinked a few times before giving Dream a questionable look.

As casually as one might fix a crooked picture frame, Dream hovered his hand over Zephyrus’s wound.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, a soft golden light started to grow brighter beneath his palm, spreading out in slow, rhythmic pulses. The glow seeped into Zephyrus’s skin, washing over the wound with a quiet hum, mending flesh, knitting muscle, sealing the damage as if it had never been there.

Soon enough, the wounds were healed as if they were never there in the first place. Even Zephyrus’s wing that was once bent had fixed itself into place and had glistening, healthy feathers.

A stunned silence fell over the room.

Crimson took an instinctive step back. Inferno seemed to be frozen in place, same with Ender and Shockwave. Tsunami’s mouth parted in disbelief. Wilbur’s eyes were blown wide, staring at the newly-fixed skin.

Dream barely seemed affected. His face was neutral, almost bored as the light pulsed one final time before fading completely. He stood up and stretched then rocked back on his heels.

Zephyrus blinked, wide-eyed, touching his chest in disbelief. “What…”

Dream dusted his hands off his pants like he’d just finished washing dishes. “Well, I’m going to head to bed. I have work tomorrow.”

Wilbur’s mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to form words but his brain had short-circuited halfway through.

Crimson, on the other hand, was pissed. “You- you-” He hands balled into fists. “You could do that this whole time and just- just sat there eating cereal?!”

Dream tilted his head. “In my defense, the cereal was going to get soggy.”

Crimson’s eye twitched. “I am actually going to murder you.”

Zephyrus was still running his hands over his chest, feeling the spot where his fatal wound had been mere moments ago. He flexed his wings, staring in awe at the way they moved perfectly, painlessly. “Holy shit.”

Wilbur snapped out of his shock. “You have healing powers?!”

Dream gave him a blank look. “No, Wilbur, I just faked that entire performance for dramatic effect.”

Wilbur’s expression was unreadable- caught between rage and disbelief. “How long have you known?”

“That the milk was running out? About a few minutes ago when I was getting cereal.”

“No, not-” Wilbur groaned. “You know what I mean!”

Dream sighed. “A while.”

“A while,” Wilbur repeated slowly. “...Right.”

“He probably wasn’t going to tell you.” Crimson says, still glaring at Dream. 

Dream gave a small shrug. “It’s not something I can casually mention in conversation. You know- like ‘Hey Wilbur, the internet is down,’ or ‘Hey Wilbur, I have the ability to miraculously heal fatal injuries,’ casual stuff.”

“He’s still a bitch,” Inferno muttered under his breath.

Zephyrus, still looking a little stunned, finally let out a weak laugh. “You know what? I’m not even mad. This is great! My wings feel even better than before I got attacked.”

Tsunami rubbed her temples. “I- I need a drink.”

“I can help with that.” Dream hummed. “I work as a bartender. And I can tell you that I make the best drinks.”

“Dream, not now.” Wilbur ran a hand down his face.

Shockwave, who had been silent this entire time, finally spoke. “So… we’re just not going to talk about the fact that Dream just defied all logic and reality? Shouldn’t he be feeling a little bit of a rebound from his powers?”

Dream waved his hand, already walking toward his room. “Sounds exhausting. You guys have fun with that.”

Just as Dream reached the hallway, Wilbur called after him, his voice tense, urgent.

“Dream.”

Dream stopped in his tracks, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Th-Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Dream watched as he bowed and the others reluctantly followed suit, bowing to Dream in respect and gratitude.

Dream huffed. “Don’t mention it. And Wilbur, the rules remain the same. This time was an exception but don’t do it again.”

With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving them in a stunned silence.

Chapter Text

Dream woke up to the blaring sound of his alarm, which he promptly smacked into silence.

He groaned, looked at the time (which was three in the evening), rubbed his face before finally sitting up and stretching. It was going to be another long day of listening to other people’s lives while making a drink for them to ease their night. Dream remembered yesterday’s events but, just as quickly as it passed through his mind, he shrugged it off. Work was more important. He needed to pay rent.

He rolled out of bed and dragged himself into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and running a hand through his messy blonde hair. Good enough. He threw his work clothes on- black slacks, fitted white button-up, and his usual dark vest. He even put on a trenchcoat because he knew that it gets colder in the nighttime.

Satisfied with his appearance, he grabbed his bag and finally stepped out of the hallway and into the living room area.

Wilbur was already there, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room with a mug of coffee in hand. He looked like he’d been standing there waiting for Dream. That was weird. 

Wilbur never woke up early unless he had to.

Unless the man didn’t sleep at all the whole time and judging by the bags under Wilbur’s eyes, that could definitely be true.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “Hey.”

Wilbur cleared his throat, shifting like he wasn’t sure what to do with his free hand that wasn’t holding the mug.

“Uh. Hi.”

Dream stared at him for a moment before nodding slowly. “Right.” He walked into the kitchen while Wilbur stood on the other side. Dream grabbed an apple from the counter. “New rule, by the way.” He took a bite, chewing as he pointed at Wilbur. “No standing in the living room like a creep. It’s unsettling.”

Wilbur opened his mouth, closed it, then muttered. “I was not being creepy.”

Dream gave him a look. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Wilbur groaned. “Are we just going to pretend that yesterday never happened? You magically healed someone, Dream! In front of all the Syndicate members too!”

Dream shrugged, taking another bite of his apple. “And?”

Wilbur gawked at him. “And? That’s all you have to say? Aren’t you worried that my comrades or even I will use you?!”

Dream snorted. “Use me? For what, free healthcare? I gotta admit, that does sound tempting if I were you.”

Wilbur’s eye twitched. “Do you know what people would do for abilities like yours? What they’d do to you if they found out?”

Dream leaned against the counter, utterly unbothered. “Mmm. Sounds like a ‘me’ problem so I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up over nothing.”

“Nothing?!” Wilbur repeated, looking personally offended. “You can bring people back from the brink of death without breaking a sweat! You- You patched Zephyrus up like he wasn’t nearly bleeding out on the couch minutes before! And now you’re standing here, eating a goddamn apple like it’s a regular Tuesday!”

Dream chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, then pulled out his phone, checked the date, then nodded.

“It is Tuesday.”

There was a pause. A long pause.

Dream continued eating his apple in the silence.

Wilbur let out a frustrated noise, running his hands through his hair. He started pacing the living room now, Dream watching with curiosity and a bit of humor. “Do you even hear yourself? This isn’t just some minor inconvenience, Dream! This is your life we’re talking about! If the wrong people find out and decide you’re worth the risk- you could be taken, experimented on, or even killed!”

Dream hummed then became shocked as he came to a realization. 

Wilbur stopped pacing as Dream grew quiet and watched as Dream’s face shifted- his brows furrowing, his lips parting slightly. For the first time since the conversation started, Dream looked like he was actually processing the severity of the situation.

“Finally.” Wilbur let out a sigh. “Do you get it now?”

Dream looked at Wilbur, his green eyes wide. “Holy shit.”

Wilbur straightened, nodding. “Yeah, this isn’t good.”

Dream slowly set his apple down. “I just realized…”

“Listen, you don’t need to worry. We’ll protect you and-”

“I left my wallet at the bar last night.”

For a moment, Wilbur just blinked, his mind short-circuiting. Then, all of his thoughts came crashing back down.

“Your wallet?” Wilbur echoed, feeling a vein pulse in his forehead.

“Yes, my wallet.” Dream said, looking completely unbothered as he tossed his phone into his bag like they weren’t having a life-or-death conversation. “I can’t believe I forgot it at the bar.”

Wilbur stared at him in disbelief, the frustration building up again in his chest.

“No, no, no- your wallet?” he repeated, his voice tight. “Is that seriously what you’re worried about right now?”

Dream shrugged. “Yeah, that’s where I put my tips.”

Wilbur stood frozen for a moment, his jaw slack as he tried to piece together his rapidly fraying thoughts.

“Dream!” Wilbur snapped. “This is not about your damn wallet! You can’t walk around like everything’s fine. If the wrong people find you, it’ll end badly.”

Dream, finishing his apple that was on the counter, casually dropped it in the trash. “I guess I’ll deal with it when it becomes a problem. Until then, I’ve got a shift to get to.” He adjusted his coat and picked up his keys off the counter.

Wilbur couldn’t believe it. “Are you seriously not worried?”

Dream put a finger to his temple, acting like he was contemplating, then shook his head. 

“Not really. I’m more worried about the out-of-milk problem. Make sure to pick some up if you’re going out.”

Wilbur stood there, staring at him, completely stunned. “Are you fucking kiddi-”

Dream didn’t look back as he stepped outside, leaving Wilbur standing alone in the middle of the room, lost for words.

Dream walked to his job like it was just another day.

The cool evening air nipped at skin as he headed toward The Tipsy Callers, a dimly lit bar nestled near a few other clubs and bars. It wasn’t the most glamorous place, but it had its charm. Plus, the tips weren’t bad despite the place being located in the Underground. He had a steady flow of regulars who liked to chat with him, get a laugh out of his jokes, and sometimes, a little extra help when they got too drunk.

Now, Dream wasn’t a therapist by any means but he had a knack for listening and giving the right advice. People felt comfortable with him, and he wasn’t above offering a few words of advice here and there if it meant getting a good tip. 

Besides, the crowd at The Tipsy Callers was a mix of locals who didn’t expect anything fancy, just a place to hang out and drown their worries for a while. And that suited Dream just fine.

As he approached the bar, the usual neon glow from the sign above flickered slightly. He pushed open the heavy door, greeted by the familiar hum of conversation and clink of glass. It was a steady but relaxed kind of noise.

Behind the counter, Schlatt waved at him with a tired smile, clearly ready to pass the shift over. Schlatt was his boss but he wasn’t a boss that just laid back and let the other employees do everything for him. Schlatt does everything from making drinks, cleaning tables, washing dishes, or even scrubbing the toilets if he had to. 

“You’re just in time, man. It’s getting a bit wild out here tonight,” he said, nodding toward the small but energetic crowd that had gathered.

Dream cracked a smile, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it over the hanging rack.

“Well, you’re lucky that I work well under a little chaos.”

Schlatt gave him a mock scowl. “Sometimes I wonder if I should fire you for that cocky attitude.”

Dream smirked, rolling up his sleeves as he stepped behind the bar. “You won’t. I keep this place running.”

Schlatt scoffed, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes as he wiped his hands on a rag.

“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let the whole place burn down while I’m organizing supplies in the back.”

“I’ll do my best.” Dream shot back, already grabbing a glass and pouring a drink for one of the regulars waiting at the counter.

Schlatt clapped a hand on Dream’s shoulder before heading toward the back. “Don’t start a fight, don’t break any bottles, and for the love of Prime, don’t let that old guy in the corner convince you to try his ‘special homemade potion’ again.”

Dream shuddered. “Trust me, I learned my lesson.”

Schlatt chuckled, shaking his head before disappearing into the storage room, leaving Dream to deal with the growing crowd.

The Tipsy Callers had its fair share of wild nights, and tonight seemed to be leaning toward that category. The music was a little louder, the drinks were flowing steadily, and the patrons were already deep into their conversations, some of them already on the edge of being drunk.

Dream worked pretty well despite the chaos around him. Sliding drinks across the counter, laughing at terrible jokes, and listening to the usual sob stories and offering advice when needed. It was routine. Comfortable. A kind of chaos he could handle.

After more than a few hours of working, the crowd seemed to die down and Schlatt came back, stretching his arms with a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, you’re good to go for tonight. I can handle the rest. I’m surprised that the place didn’t burn down once I left.”

Dream chuckled, wiping down the counter. “You wound me, Schlatt. I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, a professional pain-in-my-ass.” Schlatt chuckled as he made his own glass of whiskey.

“You still hired me.”

“I can fire you.”

“But you won’t.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, smiling. “Get out of here you brat.”

Dream grinned, tossing the rag into the bin. He grabbed his jacket from the rack and put it on. “See you tomorrow, old man.”

“Don’t push your luck, kid.” Schlatt waved him off, already turning his attention to the remaining patrons.

Dream stepped out of the bar, the cold night air a stark contrast to the warmth inside. He pulled his jacket tighter around himself as he started down the dimly lit street, his boots clicking against the pavement. The Underground had an eerie stillness at this hour, the usual streetlights flickering in and out, casting long shadows against the alley walls.

He was halfway home when he noticed them.

Two figures stood in the middle of the sidewalk of the next street, leaning casually against the brick wall. They were dressed cleanly, but there was something off about them. As soon as they took notice of Dream, they straightened up and walked over. Dream stopped in his tracks and stared.

“Hullo,” The one who had long, pink braided hair said in greeting. They were both wearing matching suits, but with different patterned ties. “Are you Dream?”

Dream narrowed his eyes but nodded nonetheless. “Yeah. And who are you guys?”

“Hello, mate,” The shorter one bowed in greeting. He had blonde hair and strikingly light blue eyes. “My name is Philza and this is Technoblade but just Phil and Techno is fine. We’re-”

“Detectives,” Technoblade said smoothly, stepping forward.

He flashed a badge too quickly for Dream to make out the details. Dream didn’t even bother to pretend to believe them. He crossed his arms, shifting his weight onto one foot as he eyes the two.

“Detectives, huh?” he repeated flatly.

Technoblade hummed in confirmation, pocketing the badge just as fast as he’d shown it. Philza stood a step behind him, offering an easygoing smile, but his sharp eyes seemed to be taking in every detail. These guys weren’t just here for casual small talk.

“We just need a moment of your time,” Phil said.

Dream hummed. “Sure. I’ll entertain you guys for a few minutes since you don’t seem to be busy doing actual detective work.”

Technoblade huffed out a small chuckle at that, but Phil ignored the jab as if that didn’t bother him and he continued smoothly, “We’re looking into someone. Wilbur Soot. You know him?”

Goddamnit Wilbur.

Dream feigned a thoughtful expression, as if he didn’t already know where this conversation was going.

“Yeah. He’s my roommate. What about him?”

Phil and Techno exchanged a glance before Techno took over. “We’re investigating some activity with the villains. We have reasons to suspect that Wilbur may know some clues.”

Dream raised a brow. “Activity? That’s vague.”

Philza shrugged. “So’s the situation. We’re just checking in on people close to him. You ever notice anything unusual? Any suspicious behavior?”

“The only thing suspicious that I know about Wilbur is that he eats his ravioli cold. Like- what kind of person even does that?”

“I’m being serious, Dream.” Philza sighed and for some reason- it felt like this man knew that Dream would say something like that.

“And I am too.” Dream replied back. “Listen, if you really want to get information about Wilbur then I suggest asking the guy himself. Otherwise, leave me out of it.”

Philza’s expression didn’t shift, but Dream could tell he was assessing him. Technoblade, on the other hand, let out a huff.

“You know, most people would spill the truth when two detectives ask them a few questions,” Techno mused. “It makes me wonder… Are you used to this sorta thing?”

“Well, most detectives wouldn’t corner somebody in the middle of the night either. That is to say- if you two are even detectives, that is.” Dream shot back with even added an eye roll for dramatic effect.

Philza turned away to chuckle, but Technoblade didn’t look amused. “You’re avoiding the question.”

“I’m not avoiding it,” Dream countered. “I’m just prioritizing the important things. Like, seriously, do you know how disturbing it is to watch someone eat cold ravioli straight from the can? That’s criminal behavior right there.”

Techno’s eye twitched. “Dream-”

“Like, I get it, maybe he’s in a hurry, but we have a microwave. It’s right there. What’s stopping him?” Dream placed his hands on his hips, shaking his head in mock concern. “Maybe you should be investigating that. The only other criminal thing I can think of is his poor fashion choices.”

Philza covered his mouth, and Dream caught the barely concealed smirk. Technoblade, however, was clearly losing patience.

“You do realize we can make this a formal interrogation, right?” Techno said. “Take you in, question you properly-”

Dream gasped dramatically. “Oh no. Proper questioning? In an office at the police station that you two definitely work at? What will I do?” He pressed a hand to his chest.

Techno’s stare was deadpan.

Philza, despite himself, muttered, “He’s kinda funny.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Techno shot back.

Dream beamed. “Finally, someone who appreciates me. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

Techno pinched the bridge of his nose, inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. “Alright. Let’s try this one more time.” His voice was laced with warning now. “Have you noticed any suspicious activity with Wilbur?”

Dream sighed dramatically, rubbing his chin as if in deep thought. “Well, there was this one time…”

Technoblade’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

“He put on his socks before his jeans. Pretty shady behavior right there.”

Philza closed his eyes for a brief second, probably wondering why he was still standing there. Techno, however, was staring at Dream with the intent to strangle him, already tired of this nonsense.

“Dream.”

The man curled his hands into fists and took a step forward. Dream could feel the shift in the air- Technoblade was done playing games. Dream took an exaggerated step backward, hands raised in surrender. 

“Whoa there, buddy. I get it, sock crimes are a serious offense. But let’s not get hasty.”

“Enough,” Techno gritted out. “We’re going to your apartment.”

Dream blinked. “Uh, what?”

“You heard me,” Techno said, crossing his arms. His voice was casual as if they were talking about dinner plans. “We’re going to check things out ourselves.”

Dream let out a nervous laugh. “Right, because randomly following someone to their home is totally normal detective behavior.”

“If you’re telling the truth,” Philza added, “and there’s nothing suspicious going on, then you won’t mind us taking a look.”

Dream hesitated. He, in fact, did mind. He couldn’t just let them waltz in. Wilbur was definitely hiding villain stuff in there somewhere.

“You know what? You two can head to the apartment yourselves,” Dream said, flashing a tight smile. “I think I’m going to hang out in a bar or something.”

Technoblade pulled out a gun from his coat and aimed it directly at Dream’s chest.

Dream blinked at it, unimpressed. “Wow. That escalated quickly.”

“Lead the way,” Techno said, tone completely neutral, like he wasn’t casually threatening him with a loaded weapon.

Dream sighed dramatically but he put his hands up in surrender. “Really? A gun? You don't trust me?”

“You lost that privilege about three sarcastic comments ago,” Techno deadpanned. “Now walk.”

Philza at least looked like he didn’t want to immediately resort to this, but he wasn’t stopping Techno either. Dream knew better than to push his luck too far.

Rolling his eyes, Dream started to walk in the direction of his house, keeping his hands up while Techno and Philza stayed behind him, following along.

Of course, Dream didn’t stop talking. “Seriously, though. Two supposed detectives threatening an innocent person at gunpoint? I’m starting to believe that you two may not be detectives...”

“Good job, Captain Obvious, but I think I’ll start asking the questions here.” Techno said simply. Dream could hear the cocking of the gun and promptly shut up. “Answer- and no sarcastic comments for the love of Prime- Answer all my questions or I’ll put a bullet through you.”

Dream scoffed but complied, leading them toward his apartment. “Fine.”

“Good. See? We should’ve pointed a gun at him earlier, Phil.” Techno muttered.

Dream kept walking, casually shoving his hands into his pockets. “You know, if you wanted to be invited over so badly, you could’ve just asked nicely. Maybe brought a bottle of wine-”

Techno clicked the safety off.

Dream immediately raised his hands again. “Geez, tough crowd.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, their footsteps echoing through the quiet streets. Dream was aware of the gun pointed at him but kept getting distracted by the occasional honk of a car in the distance. It should only be a ten-minute walk now.

“So, now that I have a gun pointed at you, I’m sure you can tell me the truth.” Techno hummed. “What do you know about Wilbur Soot?”

“Well, for starters, he’s a pain in my ass. Always leaves dishes in the sink, plays his guitar and vinyls when I’m trying to sleep, and- oh this bitch- he stole my last yogurt I saved in the fridge.”

Techno’s grip on the gun didn’t waver. “Dream.”

Dream clicked his tongue. “Fine, fine. I barely know the guy, alright? He keeps to himself mostly and so do I. That’s all I know.”

Philza hummed. “That’s all? You didn’t see him doing anything suspicious?”

Dream shrugged. “Look, I’m not sure if you realized where you are right now but this is the Underground. Cops ignore this place for a reason. You think I go around reporting every weird thing my neighbor does? If I did that, I would have filed thousands of tickets by now.”

“How long have you two lived together?”

“About nine months now,” Dream answered easily, like he wasn’t being held at gunpoint. “He needed a roommate, I needed a cheap place. That’s all.”

Techno hummed, the sound low and thoughtful. “Nine months is a long time to live with someone and barely know them.”

Dream rolled his eyes even if they couldn’t see it. “Yeah, well, not all of us sit around interrogating our roommates in our free time. Some of us just pay rent and mind our business.”

Philza gave him a sideways glance. “What about your job?”

“What about it?”

“You’re a bartender, right?”

Dream snorted. “You guys really did your homework. Yeah, I bartend at The Tipsy Callers. Not exactly a glamorous gig, but it pays the bills.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “A bartender in the Underground. You ever come across any, let’s say, interesting clients?”

Dream shrugged. “All kinds. Drunks, dealers, washed-up crime lords. You name it.”

“What about villains?”

Dream hesitated for just a second, but he masked it with his casual-sounding voice. “Not too sure, buddy. Never met any so far.”

“You sure about that?”

“I don’t know, man. Everyone in the Underground has got some kind of alias. Half the time I don’t even know who I’m talking to.”

“And do you have an alias?” Philza asked.

Dream grinned, turning his head slightly to glance at Philza over his shoulder. “Oh, absolutely. They call me ‘Guy Who’s About to Get Shot by Two Fake Detectives.’ Real catchy, don’t you think?

Techno sighed. “Prime above, he never shuts up.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Dream shot back.

Philza pinched the bridge of his nose. Techno didn’t bother hiding his irritation. He gave a light shove forward with the barrel of the gun.

“Less talking, more walking.”

“Fine.” Dream huffed.

They finally neared his apartment complex, Dream couldn’t help but internally curse Wilbur. I swear to Prime, if I live through this I’m not going to let you live this down.

Techno hid the gun in his coat as they entered the empty lobby, but Dream still knew that the threat was there. The dim overhead light flickered as he led them past the peeling wallpaper and the rusted mailboxes toward the stairwell.

They went up one flight of stairs until they reached the second level. The number “11” on level B hung crookedly, barely hanging onto the worn wood. He dug into his pocket for his keys, hesitating for just a moment.

“Get on with it.”

Dream shot them both a look but then knocked twice.

If Wilbur was anywhere in the apartment, he would get the message.

“What was that?” Techno asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I always knock twice before entering the apartment.”

That was a lie. 

Dream never knocks on the door when entering the house. And he hopes that Wilbur realizes this as well. Techno seemed suspicious but didn’t push. Dream could feel Philza’s sharp gaze on him, analyzing. He forced himself to stay relaxed.

With a sigh, he finally unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside first. The apartment was dim, only faint light from the neon signs outside lighting up the place. Dream turned on the lights and made room for the other two to step in.

He turned back to them, forcing a smile. “Go ahead and check but I can promise you that nothing is here Mr. Two Fake Detectives.”

Dream said the words louder than his usual voice, hoping that if Wilbur was in the apartment, he would take the hint.

Techno shoved past him, stepping inside. Philza followed, shutting the door behind them with a quiet click.

Dream tensed as the only escape was locked but then he heard a voice.

“Stay right where you are and don’t move. Dream, you can move.”

Wilbur.

It was the sound of Wilbur’s voice but it was different- commanding and smooth, carrying an underlying warning- that made Dream’s pulse spike. At first, Dream couldn’t move until Wilbur said the second sentence. His body relaxed but the other two, Techno and Philza, were frozen in place.

Wilbur stepped out of the hallway and into the light of the room.

“Dream, are you oka- Phil? Techno?”

Dream’s heart nearly stopped.

What ?

“You know these two?” Dream’s voice grew in disbelief.

“Oh, uh, yes- I mean- One second- Release.” As soon as the words were said, Techno and Philza were able to move again.

Wilbur’s expression twisted into something between annoyance and surprise as he looked over to Philza and Techno.

“Heya Wil.” Philza greeted casually.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at the two. “What exactly is going on here? And don’t tell me you were casually walking Dream home because that’s bullshit and you know it.”

“We needed to see if he would snitch,” Techno said flatly.

“What are you…” Dream’s mind was still processing the situation. Then it clicked. “You were testing me? Seriously?”

Techno shrugged. “We needed to be sure.”

“You pointed a damn gun at me!”

“You pointed a gun at him?!” Wilbur’s eyes darkened as he turned his full attention to Techno and Philza. “What the hell is wrong with you two?”

“Well, Techno is the one who did the gunpoint thing.” Philza deadpans.

“Oh, wow, throw me under the bus, why don’t you?” Techno groaned. “Listen, Wilbur, we needed to be sure he wasn’t working against us. If you don’t like it, that’s too bad. The Syndicate-”

“The Syndicate?” Dream interrupted, his voice a little sharper than he intended. Then he slowly turned his head to Wilbur. “Please don’t tell me that these people are-”

“Dream, I am so, so sorry.” Wilbur took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to rein in his anger. He glanced back up to Dream. “These two… Philza and Techno aren’t just random guys. They’re part of The Syndicate that I work with. They’re Zephyrus and Crimson… but they’re also my dad and brother.”

Dream stood frozen, processing what Wilbur was saying. “Your dad and brother… are also wanted criminals?”

“Yeah,” Wilbur sighed, “Phil is my dad and Tech is my brother.”

“You look nothing like-”

“Adopted.” 

“Understandable.”

"Yep." Wilbur nodded.

Dream exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to his forehead. “Okay. So let me get this straight. Your dad and brother, who are also villains, decided to test me because they thought I might be a problem and you… let them?”

“What? No! I would never do that to you!” Wilbur stepped forward, shaking his head. “These two idiots-”

Philza scoffed. “I’m your father-”

“These dumbasses did whatever they wanted,” Wilbur continued with a frustrated sigh. “I trust you, Dream. I absolutely do. I would never take part in something like this.” He turned back to Philza and Techno with a hard glare. “That was way over the line. Pointing a gun at him? Seriously?”

Techno shifted uncomfortably but didn’t seem to regret what he’d done. “We were just making sure. You can’t expect us to trust your roommate when we barely know him.”

“Says the person who pointed a gun at my head. Yeah, you know, standard trust-building exercise,” Dream quipped sarcastically, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “That’s a real great way to make friends.”

Techno just shot him a flat stare, unamused. “Do you even realize who you’re dealing with?”

“Yes, Crimson, I do know. But honestly?” Dream shrugged dramatically. “I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve accidentally walked into some kind of villainous mastermind sitcom. Should I be looking for a laugh track?”

“Dream,” Wilbur begins, “this shouldn’t be taken as a joke. You should be getting angry at them or even at me. You can’t just ignore this.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve realized. I love when I work all night only to get threatened on my walk back home. Really makes you feel special, y’know?”

Philza, or Zephyrus (where the fuck are his wings?), who had been watching the exchange quietly, spoke up. “Dream, we didn’t mean to push you. The Syndicate is serious business and we needed to know if you would tell other people about us.”

“Oh, yes, big bad Syndicate. Secret society. Dangerous missions. Blah, blah, blah,” Dream interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “I don’t care. Like I told Wilbur, just leave me out of it.”

Philza raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “You say that now, but you’re already involved, aren’t you? You live with Wilbur. You know what he is and what he does. After last night… Well, there’s no going back.”

Dream let out an exaggerated gasp. “Not the dreaded ‘no going back!’ My life is ruined! Whatever shall I- yeah, no. Look, I’m going to go back to my normal life and act like last night didn’t happen. You should all do the same.”

“Mate, you healed me on the brink of death itself.” Philza replied, leveling Dream with a steady gaze.

Dream hummed. “Yeah, and? I would rather not have someone die in my apartment.”

Philza sighed. “You are involved whether you like it or not. You know about us and three of our identities. That’s why I’ll ask- do you want to join the Syndicate? We can pay you more than enough to cover your rent and even extra.”

Dream straightened up, dropping the act but keeping the amusement in his voice. He knew this was going to happen the second he healed someone.

“Listen, I get it. You want a healer on your team but I’ve got my own thing going on. I don’t need to add ‘secret Syndicate member’ to my resume anytime soon.”

Philza frowned. “So that’s a no?”

“That’s a rule two,” Dream corrected smoothly.

“...Rule two?”

Wilbur sighed, already bracing himself for the conversation. “Rule two means he doesn't want to be involved.”

Philza glanced between them. “There are rules? I heard you two arguing about it when I was half-dying but what is that?”

“There are a total of four rules.” Wilbur explained, watching as Dream walked over to the fridge and grabbed himself a soda. He shifted his eyes back to Philza and continued his explanation. “Rule one: don’t bring villains into the apartment.”

Philza tilted his head. “But you’re a villain?”

“He’s the exception.” Dream answered, cracking open the can before taking a sip. “When I made the rule, I was talking about Wilbur’s comrades, which are you guys. This place isn’t a villain Airbnb.”

Techno shrugged. “Fair.”

Wilbur continued, “Rule two, which you’ve already heard: don’t get Dream involved in anything, and in return, he won’t tell the cops.”

Philza narrowed his eyes at Dream who was casually sipping his soda. “That sounds an awful lot like blackmail.”

Dream shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. All I know is I don’t want to deal with your villain arcs. Keep your shitty stories to yourselves.”

Philza didn’t seem convinced, but Wilbur pushed on anyway. “Rule three: if I get caught, Dream doesn’t know anything. No covering for me, no bailing me out, nothing. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a distant roommate.”

Philza stared at Wilbur. “And you’re fine with that?”

Wilbur and Dream shared a look then stared at Philza like he was the crazy one. 

“Yeah.”

Dream took another sip of his soda, looking entirely unbothered. “The last rule I made quite recently.”

“And that is…?”

“Wilbur is not allowed to use his powers on me,” Dream pointed to Wilbur with the drink still in hand. “No commands, no influence.”

“That…” Philza looked down in thought. “That is actually a reasonable rule.”

“Of course it is,” Dream huffed. “Although I put up this sarcastic act, I actually do know what I’m doing.”

Philza sighed, rubbing his temples. “So, let me get this straight. Dream made all these rules and you, Wil, just nodded along?”

“Yes,” Wilbur answered immediately.

“Yes,” Dream answered with more confidence.

Philza looked between the two of them before exhaling through his nose. “What about Wilbur? Can he not make his own rules?”

Dream raised an eyebrow, amused at Philza’s words. “I mean, he could, but he doesn’t.”

Wilbur scoffed. “I can come up with a rule.”

“Oh, really?” Dream leaned against the counter, setting the can of soda to the side and folding his arms. “Tell me at least one rule you have for me then.”

Wilbur opened his mouth to answer, paused, then shut it again with a frown.

Dream grinned. “Exactly.”

Techno let out a short laugh. “Damn, Wil, you just take orders from him now? I thought you were supposed to be Siren! You know- the one who does all the ordering and commanding?”

Wilbur groaned. “Shut up, Techno.”

Dream snapped his fingers, “Listen, Zeppy-”

“Zephyrus.”

“Zeps. I’m just a person who just happens to also have healing powers. All I want to do is live my life as a regular guy and not be caught up in whatever bullshit you villains got going on. Not my problem, not my business.”

There was a short pause until Techno spoke up, nodding along.

“Y’know, I kinda respect it.”

Philza turned to him with an unreadable expression. “What?”

Techno shrugged. “He’s got his boundaries. Most people get greedy, want power, want a purpose. But he’s just straight up vibing.”

Dream raised his soda can. “Exactly. I am just vibing.”

Wilbur let out a long, deep sigh. He was completely done and completely tired. “Phil, can we just accept this and move on? I can promise you that he’s not going to budge.”

Philza still looked like was trying to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation but eventually sighed in defeat. “Fine. But, Dream, if you ever do change your mind-”

“I won’t.”

Philza rolled his eyes. “If you do, you know who to ask.”

Dream saluted lazily. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very late appointment with my bed so you should start seeing yourself out.”

Philza gave one last lingering look at Dream, clearly still by his complete disinterest in everything, before shaking his head and turning toward the door. Techno followed, still smirking.

“You know what- you’re not too bad.”

“I knew you'd come around, Crimson.” Dream raised his soda in mock acknowledgment. “Next time, maybe don’t point a gun to my head in greeting. You should buy me a drink first.”

Techno just snorted before stepping out the door, Philza already halfway down the hall. The moment the door locked shut, Dream let out a long sigh.

“Well, that was annoying,” he muttered.

“Yeah, sorry about that. I swear, Phil and Techno have lost it. They don’t even get how much of a favor you did for us last night. You literally saved Phil’s life.”

Dream yawned, shrugging. “Yeah, and now I’m stuck on their Syndicate radar. Great trade.”

Wilbur hesitated before speaking again. “Are you… actually okay? I mean, all that just happened, and you’re acting like it’s no big deal.”

“I’d be more worried if I actually cared about this whole situation.”

“And you truly don’t?”

“Nope.”

Wilbur studied him for a long moment, then finally leaned back against the wall with a sigh. 

“I wish you’d be more worried.”

Dream raised an eyebrow to that. “Why? So I can freak out like a normal person?”

Wilbur shook his head. “If you’re not worried about them, that means you’re used to things like this.”

Dream didn’t respond immediately, just swirled the can in his hand before setting it down on the counter.

“Or it just means I truly don’t give a fuck? Why does someone always have to have a backstory?”

Wilbur scowled. “Because people don’t just wake up one day and decide they don’t care whether they live or die.”

Dream gave him a dry look. “Bold assumption.”

“That’s not funny, Dream.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

Wilbur’s expression softened, but only slightly. Dream wasn’t exactly in the mood to have a heart-to-heart after being held at gunpoint today, but Wilbur wasn’t going to let it go that easily.

“Dream… why did you help us last night? You could’ve just walked away or gone to your room. That way, nobody would find out you have healing powers so why…”

“I’m not gonna let someone die if I can help, even if they’re all wrapped up in villainy bullshit.” Dream said, his tone light despite the conversation. “I’m not a complete jerk.”

Wilbur let out a frustrated sigh, pushing himself off the wall. “One day you’re going to heal someone you shouldn’t and they’re going to take advantage of you. You’re just lucky my comrades aren’t assholes who force people into their work.”

Dream chuckled, though it wasn’t a particularly light-hearted sound. “You’re reading too much into it. You’re thinking of all the negative possibilities but I’m telling you it’s fine. I survived this long living in the Underground and how do you think I managed that? With hopes and dreams?”

“N-No, it’s…” Wilbur trailed off, trying to choose his words carefully. “I don’t get it, Dream. How can you act like nothing matters?”

Dream didn’t respond right away, his eyes scanning the floor, as though the answer was somewhere there. He could make another joke- just come up with a sarcastic comment and avoid the question like he always does when it gets serious. But with one look at Wilbur’s face- he conceded. With a sigh, Dream straightened up and looked at him, his voice quieter this time.

“It’s easier to just… not care. It’s one less thing to get attached to.” He paused. “I’m not saying I have some tragic backstory or whatever you’re imagining. I just figured out a long time ago that things get messy when you start giving a damn.”

“So you have an avoidant attachment?”

“The fuck?” Dream squinted at Wilbur like he’d just spoken an entirely different language. “What a load of- What? Are you my therapist?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, the way you talk and joke is-”

Dream scoffed. “I know what it means. I just didn’t expect a therapy session right when I got home. That reminds me, did you grab that milk-”

“Deflection.”

Dream let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh my Prime- shut the fuck up.”

Wilbur just crossed his arms. “I’m serious, Dream.”

“And I’m seriously considering jumping out that window if this turns into a feelings talk.”

Wilbur exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about it? Whatever. But I’m making a new rule.”

Dream snorted. “Oh? Did you finally come up with one? What number are we on- rule number five now?”

Wilbur’s lips twitched. “Yeah. Rule number five.”

“And? What is it?”

“If… If anything ever does happen- if you ever get caught up in something you can’t handle- tell me. I don’t care what it is, just don’t try to deal with it alone.”

Dream paused, caught off guard by the sincerity in Wilbur’s voice. For a moment, he considered brushing it off with another joke, but something in Wilbur’s expression made him stop.

“...Yeah, okay. Is that the only rule you have for me?”

Wilbur nodded. “Yes.”

“Alright.”

For a moment, the room was quiet. Then Dream stretched his hands over his head.

“Well, now that we’ve had our bonding moment for the month, I have an important question.”

Wilbur hummed. “Yes?”

“Did you actually grab the milk like I told you to?”

Wilbur froze. His expression remained neutral for a split second, then his eyes flicked from the fridge to the door.

“...I’ll be right back.”

Dream watched as Wilbur grabbed his jacket that was left on the couch and rushed out of the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. Dream let the silence linger for a beat before chuckling to himself.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

A week and a half had passed since the ‘meeting’ with Philza and Technoblade. Everything seemed to be going back to their regular routine with Wilbur and Dream making light jokes, eating a meal together, or just talking in general. Of course, Wilbur does his villain missions on the side but Dream didn’t really notice since he was mostly at work.

Oh. 

And the milk was stocked now. That’s an important detail in this story.

Right now, it was about two in the evening, warm light streaming through the window as the smell of delicious steak carried through the air. Dream sat on a worn-out stool, one leg tucked under him, elbows on the counter, and his eyes watching the other cook.

“Do you not have any repercussions from using your healing power?” Wilbur asked.

Wilbur was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair messily pinned back, searing the meat in the pan that hissed and sizzled like it was threatening to catch fire if provoked.

“No. I don’t,” Dream answered.

Wilbur shot him a look over his shoulder before turning back to the pan.

“Everybody has something, Dream. There’s no way you don’t have some kind of backlash. For example, I lose my voice for a couple of days if I overuse my powers. Philza gets back pains if he uses his wings too often.” Wilbur continued, “Techno’s strength boost gives him migraines if he pushes it too far. Hell, even Ender’s vision goes practically blind when he phases too much. There’s always a tradeoff.”

Dream tapped his fingers against the counter, watching the steak bubble in the pan. He looked thoughtful for a moment.

“Maybe I just got the deluxe package of powers,” Dream said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You’re saying you’ve never blacked out, gotten sick, passed out, lost memory- nothing?”

“Nope,” Dream hummed. “I heal. That’s it. No headaches, no mystery symptoms, no weird visions. My body acts like it always has.”

Wilbur turned down the heat, frowning. “That’s… not normal.”

Dream gave a lopsided grin. “It is for me.”

“There has to be something,” Wilbur insisted as he started putting a steak onto each plate. “That kind of power doesn’t come without any backlash.”

Wilbur gave one of the plates to Dream, who accepted it without hesitation. He was already drooling by the smell and he immediately started cutting into the steak with his fork.

“What do you want me to say? That my hair falls out if I heal too much?” He joked. “Or that I age forward every time I use my power?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and sat on the stool next to him, still visibly unsettled. “It’s just strange. There’s always a cost. Always.”

Dream chewed a bite of steak and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just lucky.”

“Still… A power that has no limits? No price? It feels like there should be something.” Wilbur paused before asking, “Can you only heal major wounds? Like what happened with Phil?”

“No,” Dream shook his head mid-bite, mouth still half-full. “I can heal anything. Paper cuts, bruises, headaches- even the sick. I mean, I can’t bring anybody back from the dead but I can heal anybody back to their original state. Doesn’t matter how big or small- it just works.”

Wilbur looked down at his plate, poking at the steak as if trying to find the answers in the sear marks.

“Have you ever overused your power before?”

“I… don’t know,” he admitted.

Wilbur blinked. “You don’t know?”

“I mean,” Dream said, gesturing vaguely with his fork. “Even I wanted to know how many people I could heal before I got any repercussions but… I never felt any different. No nosebleeds, no dizziness, no chest pain, no blackouts. Nothing ever happens. So maybe I have overused it- but if there’s no effect, how would I know?”

Wilbur stared at him. “You don’t even get tired?”

Dream shook his head, stabbing a steak piece. “Only if I was already tired. Like, sleep-deprived tired. And even then, that could just be from being human, not the healing itself.”

Wilbur frowned deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter. “That doesn’t make sense. Powers are supposed to come with limits. They’re not endless.”

Dream chuckled. “Guess I missed the memo.”

Silence lingered between them, only the occasional scrape of fork against plate was heard. Dream finished his plate first, got up from the stool, and walked over to the sink where he started washing his dishes.

“So you’re saying that you are some kind of anomaly?” Wilbur asked.

Dream grinned as he put the plate onto the drying rack and started washing his utensils.

“Yup,” he said brightly. “A walking middle finger to super-powered individuals.”

Wilbur snorted. “Or you’re just a freak to nature itself.”

Dream pointed a sudsy fork at him. “A freak with perfect health and impeccable skin, thank you very much.”

“You know,” Wilbur mused between bites, “Maybe you are getting backlash, but it’s super subtle. Like your eyebrows get slightly uneven every time.”

Dream gasped dramatically as he put his fork down on the drying rack. “Wil- Oh my Prime, Wil- If my eyebrows are uneven, that would definitely be a crisis. I’d need a mirror and several hours of emotional recovery.”

Wilbur snorted. “That would be a national disaster.”

“Indeed. But… I’m serious though,” Dream added more quietly, taking Wilbur’s dishes once he saw he was done eating. “I’ve thought about it before. Wondered why I didn’t have any backlash like everyone else. I thought that maybe it’s going to hit me all at once but… nothing ever does. And I’m not gonna live in fear of something that might not even be there.”

Wilbur was quiet for a second, watching as Dream was finishing up the last of the dishes, then gave a small nod. “Fair enough… But if you could find out, would you?”

Dream put the last dish on the rack before turning around, and wiping his hands on a rag. 

“And what would you suggest? For me to go to the hospital and heal everybody there until I collapse dramatically?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I was going to suggest someone I know, actually. But sure, if you want to pass out in a hospital, that’s your journey.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Someone you know? Wilbur, I don’t deal with other villa-”

“He’s not a villain,” Wilbur says much too quickly for Dream’s liking. “He’s a… normal civilian. And he’s a sort of power-specialist.”

Dream tilted his head. “Right… And I’m supposed to believe he’s just a ‘normal civilian?’ And what do you mean by power-specialist?”

“He runs a side business to help people achieve their full potential with their powers. He helps with side effects, mutations, or even long-term burnout symptoms. He’s good,” Wilbur said, “And he’d probably be able to help you find out if you have a backlash to your power.”

Dream leaned on the counter, mock-suspicious. “You’re not just trying to get me poked and prodded by some mad scientist with a clipboard, right?”

Wilbur snickered. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I’m telling you that this guy’s legit. He’s helped a lot of people figure out their limits or push them to their full potential.”

Dream thought it over. “You said that this is his ‘side business’ but I don’t think I’ll have enough money to pay for that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Wilbur got up from the stool, “He owes me a favor so he’ll do it for free.”

“Favor? What did you-”

“I saved his ass from the apocalypse in world war Z42,” Wilbur interrupted, putting on the most serious face Dream had ever seen.

Dream blinked.

“...What?”

“I had to single-handedly fend off an army of time-travelers with nothing but a spoon and my unmatched charisma. We managed to get through enemy lines but the real challenge came when we had to cross the time barrier- you know, the one that prevents you from escaping the paradox once you’re inside it? But I pulled through and we crossed the wall but then we were trapped in this weird time loop. So I only had a limited time until the world was reset over and over again but then it hit me. The only way to get through the paradox was to counteract the time loops. And guess what I used to do that?”

Dream opened his mouth, but Wilbur didn’t wait for a response.

“The spoon!” Wilbur exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “The spoon, Dream! Because, you see, that certain spoon I had on me was the one thing that wasn’t affected by the time manipulation! It was literally the perfect time-bender! So I used it to bend time and space itself and saved both of our lives.”

Dream was silent for a long moment, just staring at Wilbur.

The silence stretched on until Dream quietly asked, “You’re talking about a video game, aren’t you?”

Wilbur grinned. “Yes, I am. I got him to level 70 so he owes me.”

“And here I thought I was the only comedian.” Dream shook his head, chuckling. “Turns out, you know how to make a few jokes too.”

“So, what do you say? Would you like to meet him?”

Dream paused, looking at Wilbur with a mix of reluctance and curiosity. The idea of meeting this so-called ‘power-specialist’ was… well, it sounded ridiculous. But then again, Dream had been wondering if there were limits to his powers that he didn’t understand and maybe this ‘specialist’ could help him figure it out. It was worth trying.

He sighed, nodding. “Fine. I’ll meet him,” Dream muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if he starts pulling out needles and shit, I swear to Prime, I’m leaving.”

Wilbur’s grin widened. “Great! I’ll text him right now! We can meet set up an appointment tomorrow.”

Later that evening, after a few more hours of random conversation and catching up, Dream stood up from the couch, stretching his arms. “Well, I guess I should get going.”

“Right,” Wilbur replied. “You’ve got work, don’t you?”

Dream nodded. “Yep. I should start heading out now before I’m late.” He grabbed his jacket that was hanging on one of the stools then his keys that were on the counter. “See ya’ later for that… appointment thing.”

“You bet,” Wilbur said, settling into the couch even more, kicking up his legs on the coffee table. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Alright.”

Dream pulled the door open and shut it closed behind him. He made his way down the stairs until he reached the lobby floor. There were only about two people hanging in the lobby but they didn’t pay much attention to Dream as he made his way outside.

The streets were quieter around this time, the usual business of the daytime starting to die down but there was still enough energy to remind him that the city of the Underground never truly slept. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he was greeted by the crisp air, and walked briskly toward the bar.

The familiar clink of bottles and chatter from the bars ahead were familiar and he was used to it at this point. But as he walked down a narrow street, something caught his attention.

A group of three people were gathered in a dark alleyway, voices raised in heated arguments. The scene stood out against the laughing and chattering happening just a street ahead of him. Dream paused in his steps, a frown tugging at his features.

“We have to get you back to base- we’re not leaving you here!”

“There isn’t time!” Another voice hissed out. “You need to go!”

“Guys, guys- enough! This isn’t helping!”

Dream’s attention was fully drawn to the scene unfolding in the alley. The heated words bounced off the walls, the three figures standing in a tense triangle. One of them was standing up straight, while another was kneeling next to another guy who seemed to be holding the side of his chest tightly.

Ah, fuck. I shouldn’t get involved.

Just as Dream took a step back, his foot hit the ground a little too loudly and all three heads snapped in his direction. One of them immediately pulled out a gun and pointed it towards him.

Dream froze as, yet again, a gun was pointed directly at him. The last thing he expected to deal with on his walk to work was a confrontation like this.

“Look, man, I don’t want trouble,” Dream sighed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just heading to work, okay?”

The man with the gun, his finger hovering just over the trigger, eyed Dream for a long moment. His stance was hostile, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He was tall with dark hair and had midnight-blue eyes. He was wearing a red turtleneck with a black trench coat and pants. Around his neck were a few golden necklaces. He gave off the vibe that he wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with.

“And who the fuck are you?”

Dream kept his cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just a bartender. I’m about to be late to my job.”

The man with the gun didn’t lower it, his eyes narrowing even further. The tense air between them felt thick, like it was only a breath away from snapping.

“Just a bartender, huh?” The second person who was kneeling down asked.

His outfit replicated the first guy: black and red with golden accents. He had black eyes and brown hair. Instead of staring at Dream in pure disdain, he seemed slightly more curious but still had his guard up.

“Yeah, I’m just doing my thing. Unless you want a drink or something then I can’t help much. I’ve got to get to work so…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, trying to convey how uninterested he was in whatever the hell was going on between these three people.

“You’re a civilian, then?”

What the fuck-

“Uhm- yeah? And… you guys aren’t?” Dream tilted his head.

The three people in front of him shared a look, and then the man with the gun gradually lowered it.

“Just get out of here, man.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Dream turned to leave but he caught a glimpse of the man that was slumped on the floor.

He had blonde hair and blue eyes. The man was wearing a slightly different outfit from the other two but with the same colors and he had on a lot more gold, from piercings to necklaces and bracelets on his wrists. But that’s not what caught Dream’s attention.

There was blood.

A lot more than Dream had initially realized.

It stained the man’s hands and soaked through the fabric at his side, a deep crimson stain that pooled beneath him and reflected under the dim street lights behind Dream. The guy looked like he was clinging onto consciousness, eyes fluttering and breathing shallow, one trembling hand still pressed against the wound like he was trying to hold himself together.

Dream paused.

“Uhm- Is he alright?”

The guy who was slumped on the floor chuckled. It was a weak, broken sound- dry and short, like it physically hurt to do it.

“Do I look alright?” the guy rasped, his voice rough with pain but still holding the ghost of a smirk.

Dream hummed. “Okay, fair. That was a dumb question.”

The one that held the gun before stepped in again. “We’ve got it handled. You need to leave.”

“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”

The guy who was kneeling down next to the injured one shook his head immediately. 

“Can’t do that.”

“What? Why not? He’s losing a lot of blood and-”

“We know,” the man that was standing glared at him. “We’re handling it.”

Dream took a slow step forward, glancing between the three of them. 

“I’m sorry but unless one of you is hiding a first-aid kit and a medical degree under that edgy fashion you got going on, your friend’s going to die.”

The guy with the black hair who was standing, rubbed at his temple like this was more hassle than he wanted. 

“Look, man, this isn’t your problem. You’re lucky we’re letting you walk away. Take that and go.”

Dream snorted, unimpressed. “Oh, how merciful of you. Letting the guy who just happened to be walking by live. I’m so touched, I could cry.”

The guy with the gun scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I never take anything seriously,” Dream shrugged. “But your friend is seriously going to die if you don’t do something other than threatening a bartender like that’s gonna fix anything. I’m having a great night, thanks for asking.”

“You don’t even know who you’re messing with,” the kneeling guy muttered, glaring at Dream.

“And what exactly am I dealing with?” Dream asks, “A back alley street drama?”

The kneeling guy snorted like he couldn’t believe the audacity. The guy who was standing looked like he was ready to pull out his gun again and put a bullet through his leg just to make a point.

“We’re with the Mafia,” the gunman said flatly.

Dream blinked.

Then blinked again.

He never ran into the Mafia before, even with his whole life in the Underground, but Dream always knew to keep his head down and stay away from them. He heard people talk about them when he worked at the bar, mostly in hushed voices as if the Mafia could be listening in at every corner. And people like Dream? They make sure they don’t get involved.

But apparently, he lost that memo between being late to his shift and the bleeding mess in the alley.

All thanks to these assholes.

“Oh,” Dream said, nodding slowly. “The Mafia, huh? Well, that explains the matching outfits. Very dramatic. Love the gold. Super subtle.”

“You think this is a joke?” the gunman snapped, his patience hanging on by a thread.

“I mean,” Dream gestured vaguely at the scene. “You’re in an alleyway with your friend bleeding out all over the cobblestones like it’s a murder mystery dinner party. Each one of you are wearing matching red-and-black outfits like you’re about to drop the hottest mixtape of the year. So yeah, kind of hard to take it seriously.”

The blonde guy on the ground gave another broken little laugh, coughing a bit at the end. “He’s got you there, Sapnap,” he wheezed, lips curling into a painful grin. “You gotta admit it’s kinda cringe.”

“Shut up, Punz,” the kneeling guy hissed at him, visibly torn between keeping pressure on the wound and just smacking him for encouraging the other.

“C’mon, George,” The guy- apparently named Punz- chuckled weakly. “He’s hilarious.”

Sapnap, the gunman, turned back to Dream. “You think you’re funny-”

“I know I’m funny,” Dream cut in, stepping closer and finally getting a better look at the wound. “I also know that if you don’t do something, your friend here is going to pass out and probably never wake up ever again.”

“And what are you supposed to be? A medic?”

“Better,” Dream said, giving them a smug grin. “I’m a bartender.”

Sapnap scoffed. “Are you high?”

“No, this is just how I cope with absurd situations. Now, here’s the deal,” Dream held up a finger. “I’ll patch up your dying friend here-” he pointed to Punz, “-but in return, you three never come up to me again. Ever. No creepy notes under my door. No ‘we owe you one’ garbage. No showing up at the bar I work at acting all mysterious in the corner booth-”

“That’s oddly specific.” George deadpans.

“I get weird customers but that’s not the point,” Dream said, then waved a hand. “All you have to do is promise me that you won’t bother me and you won’t speak about what happened.”

George and Sapnap exchange a look to Punz. Their faces didn’t hide the desperation clearly shown. George’s hands were soaked in blood, his expression tight with worry. Sapnap was looking at Punz in a certain sadness that Dream had seen once before… Just like Wilbur looked like.

“...And if we say no?” Sapnap asked, voice low, testing him.

Dream shrugged. “Then you better start praying that your friend here enjoys his next life. Maybe he’ll get lucky and have a better sense of fashion.”

Punz wheezed a laugh again. “I’m dying and even I think we should take the deal.”

“Exactly,” Dream put a hand on his hip. “And there’s nothing to lose even if you do say yes. If I can’t help him then that’s that.”

George looked up, clearly biting back a thousand questions, but finally nodded. “Okay. You help him, and we forget this happened.”

Sapnap paused, his eyes flickering between Dream and Punz then nodded as well.

“Fine,” Sapnap bit out. “But if you make it worse then I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

Dream gave a satisfied clap. “Great! Now, step back for a minute.”

George reluctantly got up from the floor and stepped away from pressing onto the wound. Sapnap also took a singular step back but his eyes were growing concerned of Dream’s every movement. Punz still seemed conscious but his eyes were growing glossy.

Dream crouched down immediately and took a look at the wound. It was nasty- deep and jagged, like someone had gone at him with a very angry serrated knife. Blood had slowed but still trickled out, and Punz was clearly fading.

He raised his hand over the wound, and rolled his eyes before his hand began to glow a soft golden light- not bright, not showy- just a dull warmth that spread from his palm to the torn flesh beneath. The glow sank in slowly and knitted the flesh, muscle, and skin together in clean, seamless motions.

Not even thirty seconds had passed and Dream was finished, standing up and dusting himself off.

Punz blinked, then pushed himself up from the ground. He stared down at his torso like it was foreign, hands moving over his now untouched skin. “Wh-What?” he muttered, pulling up his torn shirt to get a better look. “Holy shit-”

“You’re welcome,” Dream said. “All fixed like it never happened.”

“What the fuck?” Sapnap stared in disbelief at Punz then his eyes flickered to Dream.

George stared at the now-closed wound. “You’re a healer?”

“I told you I was better than a medic.” Dream grinned.

“But you said you’re a bartender?”

“Precisely.”

“No, wait-” Punz was checking other parts of his body and Dream got confused as he watched him. “You… You healed everything.”

“Uhm- well, yeah? Of course I healed your wound. Wasn't that what I was supposed to do?”

“No, no,” Punz shook his head. “I mean you healed everything. From my past scars to bruises, even to the limp I used to have- Like, holy fucking shit dude. It's all gone.”

Dream tilted his head. “Oh, that. Yeah, that happens. I don’t really control what I want to heal- it just heals everything. Sorry if you had some badass scar you wanted to keep.”

Punz let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re apologizing for saving my life? That’s a new one.”

“Right, well, I would like to wrap this up now. I’m already late to my shift sooo-”

“What’s your name?”

“...It’s Dream,” he said. “Though I’m sure that’s not the name you’ll remember me by. It’ll probably be something like ‘the guy who saved my ass but made fun of my fashion choices.’”

Punz blinked, still processing the absurdity of everything (and Dream’s sarcastic remarks). “Alright… Well, Dream, thanks for not letting me die in a bloody alley. I owe you-”

“You don’t owe me jackshit.” Dream gave him a pointed look. “I’ve already said this before I helped you but I truly don’t want anything. I don’t want to be involved and I don’t want whatever you can offer. Just leave me alone.”

Sapnap’s gaze hardened.

With a smooth motion, he reached under his coat and pulled out the same pistol as before, aiming it squarely at Dream’s head.

“Too bad,” Sapnap said, voice threatening. “Because our group needs a healer. And you’re coming with us.”

Dream didn’t flinch, narrowing his eyes at Sapnap.

“Wow. You must be fun at parties.”

George inhaled sharply. “Sapnap, drop it.”

“He’s got powers,” Sapnap snapped, eyes never leaving Dream. “Ones we need. You saw what he did? I’ve met other healers before and even they couldn’t fix a half-dying man. And he even fixed up all of Punz’s old wounds that could have never been fixed! No regular healer can do that- And the guy looks completely fine as if he didn’t receive any backlash from his power! We can’t just let him walk away- not when we’re at war and we have people bleeding left and right.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “And this is how you convince people to join your little crew? Threaten to splatter their brains across an alley wall?”

“It’s effective.”

“I mean- sure, if you want a dead healer. Go right ahead then.”

“Fine, then-”

“Sapnap.”

Punz’s voice cut through the tension- rough but steady, more warning than plea. His eyes were sharp, focused and dangerous.

“Put the gun down,” Punz said, narrowing his eyes at the other.

“But, Punz-”

“I said stand down.”

Sapnap’s jaw clenched and, with visible effort, Sapnap lowered the pistol, his hand still tense around the grip. “Fine,” he muttered, sliding it back into his holster.

Punz turned to Dream. “Sorry about that. He’s just… We’ve lost a lot of people.”

Dream still eyed Sapnap warily. “Well maybe don’t aim a gun at the guy who heals people. Just a thought.”

“Right.” Punz nods. “But we still-”

“This never happened.” Dream cut in quickly. “And if any of you show up at my bar, I’m spitting in your drinks. Have a nice life and see you never.”

“Hold up- Take this,” Punz said, fishing through the inside of his jacket pocket. After barely a second, he pulled out a small token.

Dream looked down at it. “...A coin?”

“Sure,” Punz said, voice casual. “It’s a random coin. Don’t lose it though.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “That’s exactly what someone would say if it wasn’t just a random coin.”

“It is just a coin.” Punz continued before he could get accused. “It’s not a tracker and I swear it doesn’t explode. It also won’t summon a death god if you flip it wrong. I just wanted you to have it as thanks.”

Dream’s eyes went to Sapnap and George who were looking at Punz in slight horror as he was handing Dream a coin. For some reason, he was starting to believe that this coin was much more than meets the eye. 

Dream hesitantly took the coin from Punz’s hands, turning it over between his fingers. It was heavier than it looked. Smooth around the edges, but not perfectly so- like it had been passed from hand to hand, worn down by time and stories.

It was a matte black metal, not painted or shiny, but the edges of the coin itself were covered in gold. The front of the coin bore a strange insignia: a diamond shape with a circle surrounding it. It meant nothing to Dream, but it felt significant.

The back had no text. Just an imprint of a bird in flight- wings outstretched, talons curled as if in mid-dive. The kind of design people get tattooed on their ribs when they are drunk or grieving.

“Looks cursed,” Dream muttered.

“Maybe. And maybe not. You’ll know if it starts whispering.”

Dream gave him a flat look. “That better be a joke.”

“It’s not cursed,” Punz said, half-laughing. “It’s just a coin, I promise you. Just something I give out to certain people as thanks.”

Dream squinted at him, still unconvinced. “Right,” he drawled. “A totally normal thank-you gift from a person part of the Mafia while your friends look like you just handed me a live grenade. Nothing suspicious about that at all.”

“Don’t mind them, it’s just rare,” Punz said with a calm shrug, despite George still giving him an incredulous stare.

“Wonderful,” Dream deadpanned. “Let me guess- you won’t take it back?”

“Nope.” He smiled innocently.

Dream huffed and slid the coin into his pocket, already regretting every decision he’d made. “Well, thanks for the potentially cursed heirloom, Punz.”

“Have a fun night, Dream.”

Dream flipped them off with one hand then turned around and walked, heading towards the bar. He did hear a few whispers behind his back.

“Are you sure you want to give him that?”

“He saved my life.”

“Punz, even I know giving him that was too much-”

Dream continued on, ignoring them and trying to forget about them.

Dream pushed open the bar door, the familiar scent of whiskey, stale beer, and the hum of casual conversations hitting him all at once. The neon lights flickered above the counter, casting a harsh glow on the worn-out stools and stacks of glasses.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was the first time he had ever been late to work and it was all because of some dumb Mafia goons who held him back.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” a voice called from behind the bar.

Dream groaned and turned toward Schlatt, who was leaning casually against the counter, polishing a glass like it was the most important task in the world. Schlatt’s lazy smile was plastered on his face and it looked too smug for Dream’s liking.

“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m late,” Dream huffed, walking forward. “Got held back by some weirdos I met.”

Schlatt snorted, pouring a drink for a regular at the far end of the bar. “Is it worse than the group of lunatics who tried to steal our cash register?” 

“Not quite. But close.” Dream chuckled as he hung up his jacket, and grabbed a nearby towel then busied himself cleaning a spill someone had left behind.

“Well, as long as you’re here in one piece then that’s good.”

“Aww,” Dream smirked. “Did you miss-”

“Your regulars have been bitchin'. Start working, kid.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the drunks.”

As the hours passed and the bar filled with noise, Dream gradually started to forget about the guys he helped earlier that evening- the gun pointed at his face, the three Mafia members. It all faded into the rhythm of pouring drinks, wiping counters, and exchanging banter with the usuals.

The muscle memory took over. His hands moved faster than his thoughts, flipping glasses, sliding drinks, laughing at jokes he barely registered. Routine as always.

By the time the last call rang out and the final stragglers were shooed out into the night, Dream had put the event that happened earlier to the back of his mind as if it was some fever dream.

He stayed much longer than he was supposed to because he felt bad for being late in the first place. When he finally clocked out, he said a quick goodbye to Schlatt, and stepped into the cool air outside. 

Familiar flickering street lights and the quiet hum of the city greeted him. It was about five in the morning now as Dream shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, pulling the collar up a bit higher as a breeze rolled by. His boots hit the pavement with dull, rhythmic thuds- each step a little slower now that the adrenaline and rush of work had worn off.

Dream finally made it back to the apartment. It wasn’t fancy with chipped bricks and mailboxes that never quite closed right but he was glad to have it. He climbed the stairs quietly, his legs moving on autopilot until he stood in front of his door. He fished out his keys, unlocked it with a soft click, and stepped inside.

He wasn’t expecting the light to be on.

“‘Bout time,” Wilbur said, leaning on the kitchen counter where he sat on one of the stools. “I was beginning to think that someone kidnapped you.”

Dream chuckled as he shut the door behind him, locking it before throwing his keys on the counter. “Nah, I just decided to stay a bit longer at work.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Uh-huh. Sure. Not because you were avoiding me, right?”

Dream gave him a pointed look. “Wil, if I wanted to avoid you then I wouldn’t have come back home.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Anyway,” Dream stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I’m starving. What do we have?”

Wilbur leaned back slightly, an exaggerated look of contemplation on his face. “Well, I was thinking something simple… like cereal. Or we have some fruit? I could also cook-”

“I’ll make some cereal. Don’t get me wrong- I love your cooking- but I can’t have you cook every day for me. I think I’ll get addicted.”

Wilbur smirked, crossing his arms. “So you’re saying my cooking’s that good, huh?”

Dream grinned as he pulled out a bowl and poured the cereal. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s bad, but I’d end up expecting a five-course meal every night. And that’s not sustainable.”

Wilbur laughed, pushing himself off the counter. “Fair enough.”

Dream filled the bowl with milk before setting it back into the fridge. He sat down on the stool next to Wilbur, diving into the cereal. Wilbur grabbed his own bowl and sat back down in his seat. For a few moments, they ate in comfortable silence, the soft clink of spoons against the bowls the only sound.

“So, how was work?” Wilbur asked, breaking the quiet.

Dream shrugged, taking another spoonful. “Same old. Busy night. Nothing special. The usual crowd.”

Wilbur smirked. “Sounds fun. Any troublemakers?”

Dream chuckled. “Yeah, a bit. Two of them tried to start something, but nothing that my boss couldn’t handle.”

“Your boss must be a tough guy then,” Wilbur commented.

“Oh, he is. Even I wouldn’t challenge him in a fight. But yeah, pretty regular day.”

Dream took another bite of his cereal. As he moved his spoon to the side, something clinked against the ground. 

They both looked down and stared at the coin that had fallen out of his pocket. The same coin that Dream hadn’t given much thought about.

Wilbur leaned forward. “What’s that?”

Dream glanced at the coin and then shrugged as he took another bite of his cereal. “Just a weird little coin that someone gave me.”

Wilbur didn’t respond. Instead, he stopped eating and got off the stool to grab the coin in question. He stared at it, his fingers curling around it, and did not say a word. His casual amused expression from before became unusually serious.

“You alright?” Dream asked, brow furrowed.

Wilbur didn’t answer immediately. He just kept staring at the coin, his eyes becoming distant and unsettling.

“Wil? What’s wro-”

“Where did you get this?”

Dream paused, putting down the spoon in his bowl. “...Why are you asking that?”

Wilbur’s gaze remained fixed on the coin, his fingers gripping it tighter now as if it were something precious… or even dangerous. His usual calm demeanor had slipped, replaced by something more guarded. Dream’s stomach twisted slightly from the change in atmosphere.

“I asked you a question, Dream,” Wilbur said, his voice low. “Where did you get this?”

Dream blinked, a bit thrown off by Wilbur’s sudden intensity. “Uh, I told you already. Some guy handed it to me earlier. I didn’t think much of it. Why?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Rule five.”

“Rule five?” Dream repeated then shook his head. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“If anything ever does happen, you have to tell me.”

Dream huffed. “You left out the part where I would tell you if I knew I couldn’t handle it. But I handled it just fine.”

“Dream!” Wilbur exclaimed, “Do you even know what this coin is?!”

“It’s just a coin,” Dream said with a nonchalant shrug.

Wilbur wasn’t having it. His eyes burned with urgency, and he shook his head, still gripping the coin in his hand like it was a ticking time bomb.

“This isn’t just a coin, Dream.”

Dream glanced at the coin in Wilbur’s hands then looked up to meet his eyes. “Are we looking at the same thing? Because I’m pretty sure that’s just a coin, dude.”

“This token is from one of the Four Kings.”

Dream blinked, his mind trying to process what Wilbur had just said. “Four Kings? I’m sorry but what the fuck is that?”

Wilbur’s grip on the coin tightened as he stared at it, his expression darkening. 

“The Four Kings are the heads of the four largest Mafia families. They control almost everything- business, money, people. Just like in a deck of cards, each of the Four Kings has their own suit, their own territory, and their own way of doing things. There are four kings in total. From Diamond, Spade, Heart, and Club. This token is from the King of Diamonds. The only ones who can hand out these tokens are the Kings themselves.”

“Oh. Huh. I always thought the Mafia was just one big group.”

“They used to be but then the original leader disappeared. They called him the Kingpin but he just up and vanished about five years ago. No warning. No body. Nothing,” Wilbur didn’t smile. “People panicked after he disappeared. But to keep things from descending into pure chaos, his four top lieutenants divided everything between each other and each one took a suit: Spade, Heart, Diamond and Club. That’s how the Four Kings were born.”

“Some guy got bored and decided to dip?”

“No one is sure. He could be dead or off in another country. But he left an empire that was worth billions behind. Because of that- there is a constant war between the Mafia groups.”

“You know a lot about this.”

“I’m a villain, Dream. Of course I met a few Mafia members.”

Dream paused. “Then what’s with that coin?”

“You just received a token from the King of Diamonds. Having one of these means you’re protected- but not in the way most people think. If anyone tries to mess with you, the Diamond group will take care of it. But… it also means you’re marked by the other Mafia groups.”

Dream leaned back in his chair, casually spinning his spoon between his fingers.

“So, basically, that’s a VIP pass for some shady Mafia group’s protection plan?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed further, his lips pressed into a thin line. “The other groups won’t take kindly to you having a piece of their rival’s power. The Spades, the Hearts, the Clubs- they’re not going to play nice just because you got a shiny coin. They will want to figure out why you got that token.”

“I’ll just tell them I’m not interested. Or, even better, I’ll just toss the coin away.”

“You can’t toss it,” Wilbur says immediately and his tone was full of warning. “If you toss it, you’ll be marked as a target by all four families. You’ll be seen as someone who doesn’t respect the power it represents.”

Dream rolled his eyes, barely bothered by Wilbur’s warning. “Fine, fine. Don’t toss it. Got it.”

“...Dream, what exactly did you do?”

“Nothing! Listen, I don’t even know who this Diamond King is,” Dream shot back, still dismissive. “This sounds like some wild Mafia stuff that I don’t want to be involved in. I’m just trying to eat my cereal, man.”

“It's King of Diamonds. And the Four Kings have people everywhere- and I mean everywhere. They run entire sectors of the city, they control politics, supply chains, even the police.”

“And?”

“I want to help you but you have to tell me what you did.”

Dream hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Alright, whatever,” he muttered, clearly not thrilled to be explaining himself. “I didn’t mean to get involved with anyone. I was just walking to work and heard some voices in the alley and one guy pointed his gun at me.”

“Okay… and then what?”

“He lowered his gun after he realized I’m just a regular guy and I was going to walk away but then I saw this dude on the floor and he was hurt- like- really, really bad, Wil. He looked like a goddamn blood fountain and I-”

“Dream… please don’t tell me you healed him-”

“That’s exactly what I did.”

“You showed your healing powers to a group of Mafia members?!”

Dream winced, realizing how reckless his actions must sound now that he was hearing it out loud. “Okay, well, in my defense- I already used my healing powers in front of the whole Syndicate you are part of so-”

“This is different!” Wilbur let out a frustrated huff, rubbing his face. “You helped out the King of Diamonds without even realizing it! The Spades, Hearts, and even the Clubs are going to be looking for you, wondering why a ‘normal guy’ got involved with the King of Diamonds and even managed to get a token!”

“Not my problem if they’re all so touchy about a little thing like a coin.”

Wilbur groaned, sinking into his hands. “Dream, you can’t just waltz through life healing people and handing out your powers like party favors!”

“Oh, you’re right. Should I have given them a margarita too?”

“You make everything ten times worse,” Wilbur deadpans. “I’m going to guess you also used that sarcasm on the Mafia too.”

Dream grinned. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m just that entertaining.”

Wilbur glared at him. “That’s it. I’m taking you to and from work from now on. First, it was Techno and Philza pointing a gun at you and now it’s the fucking Mafia.”

“Oh, so now I have a personal chauffeur?”

Wilbur crossed his arms, his expression unamused. “If it means keeping you alive and out of trouble, yes. You obviously can’t handle walking around without causing a disaster.”

Dream gave a lazy salute. “Yes, chauffeur, I gotcha. Should I pack snacks for the walk or is that part of the full-service package?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you still live with me. Must be my charm,” Dream replied, setting his empty bowl in the sink. “Wait- did you ever schedule that appointment with the power specialist?”

“Yes, I did.” Wilbur didn’t seem too happy to change topics that fast but continued on anyway. “The appointment is at noon today. He will be coming here-”

“He’s coming to the apartment?” Dream hummed. “I hope he’s not a villain because then you’re breaking rule number one.”

“He’s not a villain.” Wilbur exhaled slowly. “You’ll be fine.”

“Oh good, someone to tell me my powers could possibly be a biohazard- I can’t wait,” Dream muttered as he looked at the clock. “Ah- it’s almost six in the morning. That gives me about six hours to sleep so I’m going to go ahead and sleep now. Hopefully that Diamond King can send me a gift basket then. Have a g’night Wilbur.”

“Yeah, goodnight to you too, disaster incarnate,” Wilbur says. “Maybe the King of Diamonds will send me a coffin next.”

Dream popped his head back around the corner, a grin still plastered on his face. “Make sure it’s one with memory foam.”

Wilbur stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before speaking. “I’m putting a traffic cone on your grave.”

Dream paused. “Why a traffic cone?”

“So people know to proceed with caution,” Wilbur snapped.

Dream wheezed with laughter as he headed toward his room. 

“That’s a good one- I might steal that.”

Wilbur just shook his head and sighed.

“I miss when my biggest roommate problem was him forgetting to do his laundry. Now he’s healing mobsters in back alleys… I swear if he gets assassinated while I’m in the shower-”

“Also, I left my laundry in the washer again! So if it smells like wet dog tomorrow, that’s on me.” Dream called from beyond the door.

Wilbur let out a long, suffering groan and seriously considered calling that power specialist to ask if there was a way to reverse Dream’s entire personality.

Chapter Text

The morning- or what little remained of it- came far too quickly.

By the time Dream woke up, the apartment was cast in weak midday sunlight, and the clock on the wall read 11:37AM.

He had already woken up an hour prior to the meeting, took a shower, and got dressed. Dream made himself a cup of coffee and was waiting for Wilbur to wake up. When it was almost noon, that’s when Dream knocked on his door.

“Wilbur!”

Still nothing.

Dream sighed and knocked again.

“Hey! The power specialist is gonna be here any minute now and if you’re not wearing any pants I swear I will strangle you-”

“Five more hours.” A voice from the other side said.

Dream rolled his eyes. “Nope. Get up now.”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“No.”

Dream leaned against the doorframe, sipping his coffee as he stared blankly at the painted wood in front of him. Now that he was looking at it closely, there seemed to be a dead bug that was painted over with it. He chuckled. Ah, yes, the landlord special.

“I will start reading your diary I found under the couch out loud if you don’t get up within the next second.”

A beat of silence. Then-

“You wouldn’t dare.”

Dream took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Dear diary, today a twelve-year-old kid tripped me and I fell onto the pavement-”

The door flew open instantly.

Wilbur stood there, bleary-eyed and tragically shirtless, hair sticking up like a haystack that had been personally offended by the concept of brushing.

“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Dream teased.

“You are a menace,” he grumbled, already turning back around to grab a shirt off his dresser then putting it on.

“Always have been, always will be,” Dream said cheerfully. “Coffee’s hot. You can still pour yourself a cup.”

Wilbur ruffled his own hair a bit before making his way to the kitchen with Dream tagging along.

“You’re lucky you made me coffee or I would have killed you for reading my diary.”

Dream snorted and took another sip from his mug, leaning casually against the wall as he watched Wilbur grab his own mug and pour the coffee into it.

“You better be awake enough to deal with this guy. What do I even call him? Power Guy? Specialist Man? Spider-Dude?”

Wilbur flopped onto the kitchen stool. “His name’s Fundy.”

Dream blinked. “Fundy? Seriously?”

Wilbur nodded into his coffee, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “Yeah.”

“That sounds like the name of a cartoon fox who teaches kids the meaning of fun,” Dream said, raising a brow. “What kind of name is that for a power specialist?”

Wilbur took a slow sip from his mug. “Says the guy named Dream.”

“Okay, rude. At least I didn’t pick my name off a Pinterest board, Wilbur,” Dream shot back.

Wilbur smirked behind the rim of his mug. “I bet your name was right next to Starshine and Luna.”

Dream scoffed. “You’re such a-”

A knock came at the door.

They both froze, exchanging a glance.

“That him?” Dream asked.

“Only one way to find out,” Wilbur set his mug on the counter and made his way to the door. He checked the door scope and then nodded to Dream.

Wilbur opened the door with his usual casual flair and greeted him. Dream got up from the wall and peeked over to see who this person was.

Fundy was a bit shorter than he expected, maybe a few inches under Dream’s height, with messy red-orange hair and sharp golden eyes. He wore a lightweight beige trenchcoat, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and- because this guy probably had a sense of humor- fox pins near the collar of his shirt.

Dream stared at him for a second longer than necessary.

The man didn’t seem like a villain. Instead, he just seemed like a regular civilian.

Wilbur stepped to the side to let Fundy in then shut and locked the door right after. Fundy gave a small, polite smile as he stepped inside.

“Hello. You must be Dream, I presume?”

Dream raised a brow and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter. “You presume correct. So you’re the power specialist? The guy who helps people not explode or melt their insides with their own powers?”

“That’s… a very dramatic way of putting it,” Fundy replied with a small chuckle. “But, yeah. That’s the general idea. I’m sure you heard but my name is Fundy. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dream narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re way too normal-looking. Shouldn’t you be some kind of crazy scientist with a floating clipboard or something?”

Wilbur made a face. “Why would a clipboard float?”

“Because that would be pretty cool,” Dream replied, waving him off.

Fundy just smiled and set his bag down. “Sorry to disappoint. No clipboard, floating or otherwise. I’m also a civilian, unlike Wilbur here.”

“Oh?” Dream blinked in surprise. “You know that-”

“Wilbur is Siren, yes, I know.” Fundy hummed. “I know many people because of my side business. From villains to civilians and… others.”

Dream hummed. “Okay.”

Fundy nodded, keeping his tone light as he walked over to the living room, taking a glance at the vinyls on the wall and plants hung near the ceiling.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat on the couch, Dream?”

Dream glanced at Wilbur with an exaggerated expression of suspicion. “He’s not gonna like… hook me up to wires or open my third eye or anything, right?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Just sit down, drama queen.”

Dream huffed theatrically but did as told, sitting down onto the couch with his coffee mug still in hand. “Alright, power specialist, what’s next?”

Fundy chuckled. “Well, the gist of it is this- my power lets me read the framework of other powers. It’s sort of like… looking at your abilities. I can figure out how your power works, what it’s capable of, and if there are any limits or dangers you haven’t discovered yet.”

“Oh shit,” Dream said. “Are you gonna update my power to version 2.0?”

“No updates, unfortunately,” Fundy replied, amused. “But I can look at your current versions and tell you how to get better.”

“I don’t really need to ‘get better’ since my healing is pretty good. The only reason Wilbur called you is because he was curious why I haven’t received any repercussions when I use my power.”

“No repercussions? At all?” Fundy looked to Wilbur.

Wilbur, now leaning against the wall with his mug held in one hand, nodded slowly. “None. No nosebleeds, fatigue, nausea- nothing. He healed someone last time who was practically bleeding out and walked away like he just tied his shoes.”

Fundy turned back to Dream, his brows rising slightly in genuine intrigue. “That’s… not normal.”

“Yet, here I am,” Dream gestured vaguely. “Fully intact. A literal abomination to other powered people.”

“That’s not something to be proud of,” Wilbur muttered.

“Jealousy doesn’t look too good on you, Wil,” Dream shot back, sipping from his mug with a smug grin.

Fundy let the banter pass with a slight smile. “Alright, before I do anything, I need to ask you something.”

Dream looked at him over the rim of his mug. “If it’s about blood types, I’m pretty sure mine is just coffee.”

Fundy ignored the joke. “I mean this in all seriousness. When I use my ability, I’ll be able to see everything about your power. Its limits, its function, its laws… everything. But you won’t be able to see anything. Which means I’ll be saying it out loud, and Wilbur will hear it too.”

“...Oh.” Dream straightened up.

“Yes. I’m not a doctor or anything but I have a strict code,” Fundy continued, voice steady. “I don’t reveal anything private unless the client’s okay with it. Not to mention that you’re a civilian and Wilbur is a villain. So, I’m asking you- do you want Wilbur to stay for this?”

Dream went quiet, the humor draining from his expression. He looked over at Wilbur, who was still standing near the kitchen, sipping from his mug, eyebrows slightly raised in that casual, unreadable way of his.

“Your call, man,” Wilbur said simply. “I’ll take a hike if you want me to. I won’t be offended.”

Dream didn’t respond at first. He stared into his cup as if it held all the answers. After a moment of tapping his finger against the side, he gave a slow nod.

“Alright... Wil, could you step out for a bit?”

Wilbur blinked. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Dream gave a tight smile. “I just… want to hear it first.”

Wilbur didn’t argue. He set the rest of his coffee down and gave a two-finger salute as he turned. “I gotcha. I’ll head to the grocery store then. Anything you want?”

“Maybe something sweet.” Dream replied. “Like those chocolate-covered pretzels.”

“Alrighty. Don’t sprout extra arms while I’m out.”

“No promises.”

Wilbur smirked faintly as he left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving a faint echo in the quiet apartment.

Dream looked back at Fundy, who had now taken a small notebook out of his bag and flipped it open, though he didn’t write anything yet. The fox pin on his collar caught the light, a glint of gold shone before he tucked the notebook aside.

“Can we start?” Fundy asked gently.

Dream gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess… So how does this work?”

“Right.” Fundy tapped his fingers on his leg. “So, my powers aren’t really that great. I can’t see people’s limits or powers or anything until I get their explicit permission to view it. That is why I started this as a business.”

Dream set down his coffee on the table in front of him and crossed his arms. “You need verbal consent?”

“Exactly,” Fundy said, voice calm and professional. “Just a simple ‘yes’ to my question would suffice. Once I have that, it’s like opening a book. I’ll be able to read your ability and find out things that even you may not be aware of. It’s painless, I promise.”

“That last sentence made me even more skeptical.” Dream chuckled.

“Ready?”

“Sure.”

Fundy straightened slightly, tone gentler this time. “Dream, do you give permission for me to read everything about your ability?”

Dream hesitated then nodded. “Yeah… I give you permission.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Fundy closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, they were glowing faintly- a soft golden hue that pulsed with an otherworldly energy. 

Dream felt… nothing. No pain, no tug, no sensation whatsoever. Just the normal weight of the air around him.

But Fundy? Fundy looked like he was reading something only he could see.

His eyes tracked slowly like he was scanning lines of text on a screen that hovered in the air next to Dream’s head- except there was nothing there. Nothing Dream could see, anyway. Dream stayed quiet, letting Fundy work.

At first, Fundy was calm, almost expressionless as he read. But then his brows started to lift, just slightly. Then his eyes flicked a little faster, moving back and forth. The glow intensified. His breathing grew shallow.

“Fundy?” Dream was watching him closely, noticing the change in his demeanor. “You alright?”

Fundy didn’t respond. He just kept reading- eyes widening even further. He took a step back in shock… Or fear. Dream couldn’t tell.

“Hey, dude,” Dream continued, trying to lighten the situation. “What’s up with-”

“This isn’t healing…” Fundy’s voice was shaking and he kept his eyes trained on the imaginary screen that Dream couldn’t see.

Dream tilted his head. “Okay, dramatic much. Then what is it?”

“It’s regeneration,” Fundy said, eyes still glowing faintly as he read the invisible framework of Dream’s power. “You’re not just healing people, Dream. Their wounds, their tissue, their cells- it’s like you’re rewriting the damage.”

Dream blinked, still confused. “...So I’m not a healer?”

“You’re something far beyond that.” Fundy’s gaze moved rapidly over the invisible data. “Healing powers usually just accelerate the body’s natural process. But you’re not accelerating anything. You’re replacing it. Regenerating tissue that’s been lost or destroyed- even restoring it to a far better state than it once was!”

Dream squinted. “Okay, but that sounds an awful lot like healing.”

“It’s not,” Fundy insisted. “Healing implies limits. Time. Strain. What you’re doing? There’s no limits.”

Dream leaned back slowly, taking in the information. “So… What about my backlash for using my power? Surely there’s something like Wilbur said?”

“Apparently,” Fundy murmured, still staring at the space above Dream’s shoulder. “Your body should be crashing every time you use your power.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound right.”

“No, it is right. My powers never lie. The only reason you’re not dying every time you use your powers is because of your ‘side effect.’”

“A side effect? To my regeneration power or whatever?” Dream asked, wary now.

“Yes.” Fundy said, squinting at the imaginary screen. “Your side effect is immunity.”

“...Say what now?”

“You’re immune to a lot of things,” Fundy said. “Poisons. Infections. You probably never get sick, do you?”

“Never had the flu. Not even a cold,” Dream replied with a shrug.

“That’s a passive effect of your power,” Fundy explained. “Your body’s adapted to regenerate others so efficiently, it’s evolved to prevent you from needing help yourself.”

“Oh fuck-” Dream laughed. “That’s basically two powers in one.”

Fundy didn’t laugh. He just stared.

“You really don’t realize how much danger you’re in if someone finds out, huh?”

Dream blinked. “Oh, you’re right. Should I start charging people five dollars per miracle and a punch card for the tenth one free?”

Fundy still wasn’t laughing.

“I’m serious, Dream” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t be showing your powers to anyone anymore.”

Dream hummed in mock thought. “You’re absolutely right. I should be charging ten dollars, not five.”

“You’re not listening.” Fundy finally looked away from the screen, his eyes still glowing faintly. “The power you have is rare, almost unheard of. And you don’t have any limits that others would have. You don’t pass out. You don’t weaken. You’re basically walking around with the most high-tier healing remedy that others would kill for and acting like it’s a party trick.”

Dream was quiet for a second, then muttered. “Okay, rude.”

Fundy sighed. “If you want to live a long life, Dream, you shouldn’t be living with a villain. Especially Siren.”

“Wow,” Dream flatly. “Way to judge Wilbur. He makes me pancakes on Sundays.”

“Dream,” Fundy narrowed his eyes. “You might trust Wilbur, but he’s in a position where he has many enemies. And enemies are opportunists. They’ll use people like you. Especially once word gets out about what you can do.”

Dream snorted. “So you want me to replace him with a goldfish? A goldfish can’t pay rent, dude.”

“I’m saying,” Fundy huffed. “You need to start thinking about your own safety.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Wilbur.”

But Fundy didn’t let up. “And there’s another flaw.”

That made Dream flinch back but he quickly tried to brush it off as he joked, “Flaw? Don’t tell me it’s another power-up?”

Fundy stilled, glancing at the imaginary screen then landed his golden eyes back on Dream.

“I think you already know what it is.”

Dream froze.

“And if you truly want to remain ‘uninvolved’ like you keep saying and if you truly want to stay safe,” Fundy’s voice lowered. “Then you need to take this seriously. You need to leave this city.”

Dream didn’t speak. His usual sarcasm, that casual grin- it was gone, tucked somewhere behind the heavy silence that followed. He sat there, shoulders tense, eyes focused on a spot on the floor that suddenly felt a lot more interesting.

Fundy finally let out a soft breath, like he hated being the one to say it. He shut the invisible screen with a blink- his eyes dimming and returning to their normal amber hue.

He grabbed his notebook and messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he moved toward the door.

“I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” Fundy said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “That’s not how I work.”

Dream still didn’t look up.

Fundy hesitated, then added a bit more gently, “If Wilbur really cares about you, he would understand you wanting to leave. And… if I were you… I wouldn’t tell him anything about today.”

With that, Fundy opened the door and Wilbur was present.

“Oh, hey!” Wilbur’s chipper tone broke the heavy tension. He held a couple of grocery bags in his hands as he stood in front of the opened door. “Finished already?”

Fundy barely spared him a glance.

“Bye,” he said curtly, brushing past Wilbur with a clipped sort of urgency, his fox pin catching a glint of light as he moved.

Wilbur blinked as he watched Fundy disappear down the hallway. “Okay…” he muttered, confused. “Weird.”

Wilbur stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, his eyes flicking between the now-quiet room and Dream still on the couch, back slightly hunched, face unreadable.

“How did the appointment go? ” Wilbur asked, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter.

Dream didn’t respond and that seemed to draw even more suspicion in his direction. Wilbur looked away from the groceries and stared at Dream who was still sitting there, motionless.

“Dream?” Wilbur said more softly this time, concern creeping into his voice. “You alright? Did you find out something?”

The other opened his mouth to respond then closed it. He took a breath. Then, he looked up and met Wilbur's gaze.

Dream smiled.

“Nah, I’m just a regular healer.”

It was cold outside around five in the evening. Wilbur was walking beside Dream as they made their way to the bar, the city lights starting to flicker on as the sky turned a hazy blue-gray. Their footsteps echoed against the cracked sidewalk, the wind sharp as it slipped between buildings. 

Dream shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill. Wilbur walked beside him, scarf wound tight around his neck, hands in his coat pockets too.

“I’m sorry, Dream. I really thought Fundy would find out at least something.”

Dream let out a small puff of breath, watching it curl into the cold air before answering.

“It’s fine,” he said casually, though there was something hollow tucked beneath his tone. “I wasn’t expecting much anyway.”

Wilbur glanced at him sideways. “You sure? You’ve just been kinda quiet.”

“Just tired,” Dream replied, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We had to wake up early today. Also, I can’t whip out a sarcastic comment every second of my life.”

“Well, alright. But… if there’s anything wrong, you can tell me.”

“I know,” Dream said, eyes focused ahead. “And I will. When it matters.”

Wilbur paused at that but didn’t reply back.

They turned the corner, and The Tipsy Callers came into view. The neon sign buzzed faintly above the entrance, throwing a reddish glow over the sidewalk. Warmth and distant music leaked through the cracks in the doorframe.

“You’re staying out of trouble tonight, right?” Wilbur asked, stopping just outside the bar.

“Define trouble,” Dream said, smirking.

Wilbur gave him a look.

“No healing strangers in alleyways. No confronting other people. No glowing hands.”

Dream gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Just drinks and sarcasm. My specialties.”

Wilbur gave him a quick once-over before nodding. “You get off at four, right? Don’t go anywhere without me.”

Dream saluted lazily. “Yes, Mom.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. Dream paused at the door, watching him go.

Then, Dream took a breath before pushing the bar door open with his shoulder, stepping into the familiar warmth.

The scent of old whiskey, polished wood, and deep fryer oil hit him instantly. Neon signs glowed faintly above the liquor shelves, and the soft hum of chatter mingled with the low thrum of music.

“Welcome back, kid,” Schlatt called from behind the bar.

Dream raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped his scarf. “Hey, Schlatt.”

“That’s the first time I've seen you with another person. Who was that?”

“Oh, just my roommate.” Dream shrugged as he made his way behind the counter.

“He drops you off now? Since when?”

Dream smirked as he hung up his coat and flicked a stray bit of lint off his sleeve. “What can I say? I’m high-maintenance. Needed a personal escort to make sure I didn’t get snatched by alley raccoons.”

Schlatt snorted. “Please. If anything, the raccoons would snatch up the trash before you.”

“Well,” Dream said, grabbing a bar towel and tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m pretty handsome and charming so it makes sense someone wants to steal me away.”

“You have a strong caffeine dependency and an attitude problem.”

“Details,” Dream replied smoothly, already wiping down the bar. “Besides, what’s a bartender without a little kick?”

“Dead inside,” Schlatt deadpanned.

Dream chuckled. “I’m thriving in this role.”

“You’re surviving. Barely.”

Dream gave him finger guns. “It’s called charm, Schlatt. Look it up- you may need some.”

Schlatt shook his head, chuckling as he slid an empty glass across the counter which Dream caught easily. “You’re lucky the regulars got awful taste in bartenders.”

“You’re just jealous.”

Schlatt leaned against the back counter, checking something on his phone before glancing up at Dream with a grunt.

“Speaking of awful decisions,” he said, “I gotta head out.”

Dream paused mid-wipe. “Wait, what?”

Schlatt grabbed his coat off the hook and slung it over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you. Well, actually, yeah I am. It’s just for one night. I got something I need to take care of.”

Dream blinked. “You’re leaving the store in my care?”

“Yeah.” Schlatt moved to the register, popped it open, and pulled out a couple of twenties, muttering to himself before glancing back up. “You know how to close the store. I’m sure you can handle things, can’t you?”

Dream looked around at the small crowd forming in the booths and seats. It wasn’t that busy compared to most days but it still made him uneasy.  “I don’t know, Schlatt… I might start introducing themed cocktails like ‘existential crisis on ice.’”

“That one might actually sell,” Schlatt said, moving toward the door. “You break anything, it’s on your paycheck. You get robbed, you fight ‘em off. Someone starts crying at the bar, give them a shot on the house.”

“Right, right. Guard the whiskey with my life.”

“Guard the register first, smartass.” Schlatt shot him a grin. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”

With that, Schlatt threw a copy of the store keys to which Dream caught easily. The door shut behind Schlatt as he left. Just like that, Dream was alone behind the bar- bartender, manager, and chief provider of questionable life advice.

The hours passed slowly but they were manageable.

The regulars filtered in and out, mostly content with their usual drinks and half-hearted banter. Dream was comfortably in his zone, sliding drinks, cracking dry jokes, and keeping the vibes semi-decent.

Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

Then the door swung open.

Dream looked up, expecting another regular- or maybe someone already half drunk- but instead saw a small group walk in. Five people in total. Four men in black coats, dark green shirts, and who immediately fanned out and stood by the wall like they were guarding something… or someone.

And that someone stepped forward and sat at the bar.

She had long, wavy brown hair that spilled past her shoulders like a lazy waterfall and sharp green eyes that scanned the room in one glance, catching everything. Her outfit was simple- dark green skirt, black shirt tucked in, black combat boots, and an oversized coat. The way she carried herself screamed confidence.

What made Dream pause was the reaction of the other patrons.

Half the room emptied under a minute.

No shouting, no drama. Just people suddenly deciding their drinks were done, their night over. A few regulars even avoided eye contact as they left- like they knew exactly who had walked in and wanted no part of it.

Dream frowned, glancing from the door to the remaining patrons, which were reduced to a sparse few.

The girl sat down on a stool right in front of Dream, a friendly smile plastered on her face.

“Well, you’ve got the entrance of someone either really important or really dramatic.”

She chuckled. “Why can’t it be both?”

“Fair enough,” Dream says as he puts down the glass he was originally cleaning. “Let me guess, whiskey neat?”

“Bourbon, splash of ginger ale. Tall glass.”

Dream turned to grab the bottle, casting a look over his shoulder toward the four ‘bodyguards’ stationed at the door. He poured the drink into the glass, humming to himself.

“Friends of yours?” Dream asks, nodding towards the four men behind her. He placed the glass in front of her.

“Something like that,” she said with a shrug. She took a small sip, then let out a hum of approval. “Not bad.”

Dream leaned back, folding his arms. “Glad I passed the taste test.”

She smiled, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Hannah.”

“Come again?”

“My name is Hannah,” she says, her eyes seeming to sparkle in amusement at Dream. “And do I have the pleasure to know your name Mr. Mysterious bartender?”

“...Dream,” he said reluctantly.

Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah, I get that reaction a lot,” Dream replied. “Go ahead, get your jokes out now.”

“No, no,” she said, holding up a hand with a smirk. “I actually kind of like it. It’s got flair. Makes you sound like a poet.”

Dream snorted. “Yeah, or a sleep aid.”

Hannah laughed at that- a genuine sound that made the tension in the bar shift just a little. Dream couldn’t help but grin at the sound.

“You know,” she said, swirling her drink with a thoughtful glance toward the liquor shelves, “this place is a lot quieter than I expected.”

Dream gave her a pointed look. “I think you know exactly what happened. Half the bar scattered the second you walked in.”

She blinked, feigning innocence. “Really? I didn’t even notice.”

“Yeah,” Dream said, watching her with a hint of curiosity and wariness. “Weird, huh?”

“I guess people scare easily.” She hummed. “But not you?”

“Takes more than combat boots and four matching henchmen to scare me.”

Hannah grinned. “You’re fun.”

“You haven’t even seen the half of it.”

They talked for a while longer than Dream realized. Customers trickled in and out, a few giving Hannah nervous glances before quietly sitting as far from her as possible. But Dream stayed behind the bar, mixing drinks and keeping the flow going like any other night.

Something about Hannah was just… off. She was sharp and composed. The kind of person who walked into a room like she owned the whole building. Like she already knew the outcome of every conversation before it started.

And the most dangerous part? She seemed to find Dream amusing.

“So,” Hannah said eventually, tapping her nails on the side of her empty glass. “Tell me, Dream… what’s your power?”

Dream paused mid-wipe of the counter, the towel slowing in his hand.

She hadn’t asked it casually. It wasn’t a throwaway question, the kind strangers might blurt out after a few drinks. No. Hannah asked it like she knew something was up- or like she knew there was something worth uncovering.

He narrowed his eyes with a lazy kind of charm. “That’s a bold question, considering we just met.”

Hannah’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “You didn’t answer it.”

“That’s because I was too distracted by the four men behind you who are now taking out guns and- oh- welp- there goes the rest of my customers running out of the bar.”

Hannah’s smile widened.

Dream tossed the towel over his shoulder and sighed, watching the last two customers scramble out the door, one of them nearly knocking over a chair on their way. The quiet hum of background music was now the only sound left.

“Well,” Dream said, glancing at the exit before shooting her a flat look. “Congratulations. You made me have the worst Happy Hour in history.”

She tilted her head. “Deflection. You’re good at that.”

Dream gave her a grin. “It’s a hobby.”

Another beat passed. Her green eyes stayed locked on his, intense but playful, as if they were playing poker and she was waiting to see if he’d bluff.

“Answer the question.”

Dream grabbed her empty glass and began to refill it. “I could say that my power is sarcastic remarks but you don’t seem like the type to laugh twice at a joke.”

“I laughed the first time,” Hannah replied evenly. “And that’s rare.”

Dream chuckled under his breath and slid her a fresh drink. “You gonna explain why half my bar thinks you’re the boogeyman, or are we gonna keep pretending we’re old friends?”

“Maybe I am the boogeyman,” she said, teasing.

“Then I’m raising your tab for emotional damages,” Dream huffed. “This bar’s haunted now.”

She let out another laugh, soft and genuine again. “You’re quick on coming up with something.”

“It’s either that or be trampled on by emotional drunks. I adapted.”

Hannah swirled her drink again, taking one last sip before standing. The air shifted again, just a bit colder now. The four men behind her straightened ever so slightly when she moved- like she was a queen rising from her throne.

“I have taken quite the fancy in you,” she said. “You’re a very interesting individual, Dream. Unfortunately, I must get going.”

Dream raised a brow. “That’s it? Already leaving? That’s too bad.”

She gave a shrug as she reached into her coat pocket. “I’ve got places to be. More bars to haunt. More bartenders to interrogate.”

“Ah, the glamorous life,” Dream said dryly.

Hannah smirked and dropped a few coins onto the counter. “Keep the change.”

Then she turned and walked away, her guards falling into step behind her like they were choreographed. Dream watched her go, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft thud. The bar was quiet again. Eerily so.

Dream stood still for a moment, staring at the door as it gently rocked closed behind Hannah and her entourage. The quiet that followed was strange. Not peaceful- just empty.

He glanced down at the counter where she’d left the pocket change. He just sighed and muttered, “Damn weird Underground people.”

With a quick swipe of his hand, Dream swept the coins into his palm and shoved them into his pocket without a second glance.

There was barely any business after that.

Dream grabbed the rag off his shoulder and started wiping down the counter again, stepping over a chair that had been knocked slightly askew. A couple of empty glasses were left behind by customers who’d bolted at Hannah’s entrance, and he made quick work of collecting them, stacking them up like muscle memory.

He locked the door. Turned off the music. Dimmed the lights.

One last sweep with the mop in the back, wiping footprints away and spills on the floor.

Dream sighed again and leaned against the bar, cracking his neck to the side. Then- he heard a knock at the door. 

It was Wilbur.

Dream blinked at the knock, startled by the sudden return to reality. He looked to the door where Wilbur stood on the other side, peering in through the glass like a suspicious dad picking up his kid. Dream chuckled.

He made his way over and unlocked it with a soft click, swinging the door open just enough to lean his head out.

“You’re early,” Dream commented.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “You’re late. You were supposed to be out five minutes ago.”

Dream stepped aside and let him in. “Well, my boss left the closing to me. I’m by myself.”

Wilbur walked in, glancing around the empty bar. “By yourself? Anything happened?”

Dream shrugged, wandering back behind the bar to grab his coat. “Some girl came in. Real dramatic entrance, too. She freaked out half the customers.”

Wilbur blinked. “What?”

“Long story short- she was weird. Funny, though.”

“You get a lot of weird customers so I’m not surprised.”

“Oh, don’t remind me of the one who swore I was the devil incarnate. My boss had to deal with him.”

“That must’ve been fun,” Wilbur chuckled. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s go.”

Dream flipped the last light off and stepped into the cold night air beside Wilbur. 

The air was colder than earlier, and the street lights flickered like lazy fireflies overhead. The city wasn’t loud, but it was far from asleep- cars passing by, the hesitant hum of music, and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere far off.

Wilbur fell into step beside Dream, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, scarf flapping just a little in the wind.

“Y’know,” Wilbur said, “I can’t believe your boss let you close alone.”

Dream snorted. “Probably means he trusts me enough.”

“Or that he doesn’t want to do it himself.”

Dream’s face became serious, a murderous glare being sent to the other. “Talk shit about my boss and I’ll throw you off a cliff.”

“Prime,” Wilbur jumped back. “I was kidding!”

“Good. Only I can talk shit about him.”

They both laughed and kept walking, crossing the next street. The cold made Dream tighten his coat around himself with a shiver. As he adjusted his clothes, something jingled faintly and then-

Clink- clink-clink.

A couple of coins tumbled from his pocket, hitting the pavement with dull metallic taps. Dream paused and looked down. “Damn it,” he muttered.

“I got it,” Wilbur says as he stops walking and crouches down to scoop them up.

He grabbed two of the coins in one motion, but when his fingers wrapped around the third- he didn’t move.

Wilbur froze.

His hand stayed clenched around it, body hunched over like he had suddenly forgotten how to stand. The night around them went quiet. Dream paused as he stood there, watching Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow deeper.

“...Wil?” Dream said, questioning him. “You good down there?”

No answer.

Dream took a step closer. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur shot to his feet like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes were wide now, almost wild. Dream took a step back in shock, caught off guard by the sudden movement.

“Where did you get this?!” he demanded, shoving the coin toward Dream.

Dream blinked, looking down at the coin. “What? What are you- Why are you freaking out?”

“Take a look, Dream.”

Wilbur held out the coin, palm flat. Dream squinted down at it, the streetlamp above casting just enough light for the details to glint.

The coin was different.

It was black, a deep obsidian black with a faint green shimmer. The edges of the coin were green and etched into the center was the unmistakable symbol of the Club- the same stylized design he had seen before.

Dream picked up the coin from Wilbur’s hand and turned it over.

On the backside was a rose. Not a delicate or friendly one, but one with sharp petals, drawn in thick lines- thorns coiling up the stem like barbed wire.

Dream’s stomach dropped.

“Don’t tell me that this is…”

“That is a token from the King of Clubs,” Wilbur answered, his expression hardening. “Now, not only do you have a token from the King of Diamonds, you also have the token from the King of Clubs. Dream… you didn’t just serve some random girl at the bar. You just made contact with another Mafia King.”

Dream looked at the coin in his hand, then to Wilbur, then back to the coin.

“...Shit.”

Chapter Text

“Not just one but two tokens, Dream!”

Wilbur was pacing around the living room in the apartment, coat still on, scarf hanging off one shoulder like he hadn’t even realized he was indoors. His steps were sharp, erratic, like each one was trying to stomp his stress into the floorboards.

Dream, in contrast, had flopped onto the couch, laying back like he hadn’t just collected interest from two different mafia factions in less than two days.

He took a sip from the soda can he popped open a while ago.

“Well,” Dream said, raising the can lazily. “I’m glad I’m finally popular.”

Wilbur stopped pacing to glare at him. “This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny,” Dream argued, shrugging. “Like, in a sense of ‘haha you’re definitely going to die but at least the plot’s interesting’ sort of way.”

“Dream!” Wilbur snapped.

Dream held up the two coins and it glinted in the pale light of the lamp near him. He placed one coin onto the table and held the other one in his hand.

“Two tokens,” Dream hummed. “Do I win a prize if I collect all four? Maybe a free latte?”

Wilbur looked seconds away from combusting.

“You’re not understanding!” he said, pacing again. “One is already enough to get you noticed by the Four Kings. But two? From different suits? You’re just a walking target!”

Dream raised both eyebrows. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m special.”

Wilbur groaned like he was physically in pain. “No. I’m telling you that you’re in danger.”

Dream twirled the black coin with the green-edge rose between his fingers and glanced at the other glinting coin on the coffee table.

“Okay, but hear me out. What’s so wrong about having two tokens? Now both groups will protect me, right? Isn’t that good?”

Wilbur froze mid-step and stared at him like he’d just asked if fire was cold.

“You absolute moron,” he said flatly.

Dream blinked. “Okay? Rude.”

“Dream, these tokens are sacred to them. Symbolic. If you have one, it means you’re under their direct favor. So tell me- how do you think it looks like when someone from the King of Diamonds has also been gifted a token from their rival group?”

Dream hesitated. “...They shake hands and become besties?”

Wilbur just stared.

“You’re being claimed. And when two kings claim the same piece?”

Dream paused, sighed, and leaned back as he muttered, “It’s war, isn’t it?”

Wilbur dropped onto the armchair like the sheer weight of Dream’s stupidity had finally crushed him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and muttered something that sounded like a desperate prayer.

“Yes, it’s war.”

Dream rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I asked for their dumb coins. And how did Hannah, the King of Clubs apparently, know about me? How would anyone know that I even have the tokens? It’s not like I was flaunting them around like a medal.”

Wilbur dragged his hands down his face again, slower this time- like was trying to pull the stress out of his skin. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave Dream a look that was equal parts exhausted and dead serious.

“They always know, Dream.”

Dream scoffed. “What, are they psychic now?”

Wilbur pointed at the coins on the table, his tone sharp. “Do you think something like that gets handed out without the entire system knowing about it? When a King gives out a token, it’s a statement.”

Dream frowned slightly, glancing back at the glinting metal.

“The second the King of Diamonds gave you that token in the alley?” Wilbur continued, voice rising. “The other groups would have gotten word almost immediately. Maybe not your name at first but they’d know that a token was given. Then the King would make a declaration saying that a certain person was off-limits.”

“The King of Diamonds told them my name?”

“How else would they tell the other groups that you were off limits? Would they have to guess who? Maybe they didn’t say exactly what you did but they would have to say your name.”

Fuckers. They were supposed to stay silent.

Dream looked down at the coins again like they personally offended him.

“Okay, but what if I give them back? Like… politely. No sarcasm or whatever. Just ‘Thanks for the shiny coin, but no thanks’? Maybe attach a gift basket too.”

Wilbur grabbed the throw pillow on the armchair and threw it at Dream. “You can’t just return a Mafia King’s token like it’s a library book!”

Dream had caught the pillow and huffed. “I didn’t ask for the damn coins. I’m just a bartender, Wil. I didn’t exactly sign up for a villain and Mafia crossover.”

Wilbur let out a strangled noise. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Hey, I’m taking the whole possibly-being-hunted-by-multiple-mafia-factions thing very seriously. I just also happen to be very good at multitasking- like, worrying while also thinking of my next new signature drink.”

Wilbur stared at him. “This is serious.”

“I know it’s serious!” Dream finally snapped. “You’ve only said it fifteen different ways in the last hour! You think I want to be in this mess?”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Dream slumped back again, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I just… I never asked for this.”

Wilbur’s voice softened. “I know you didn’t. Sorry, I… I wasn’t trying to blame you.”

Dream exhaled. “So what now? I just sit around and wait for someone to shoot me?”

Wilbur shook his head. “No. You let me handle it. For now, just keep your head down. Don’t use your power. Don’t accept anything from anyone you don’t know. And above all?”

He picked up the two coins on the table and held it between his fingers like it was a snake.

“Don’t let anyone else give you a third.”

A week had passed since the incident.

Dream had officially been placed on Mafia Lockdown™️ .

Wilbur- now self-appointed bodyguard, chauffeur, and full-time headache distributor- walked him to and from work every single day. No matter what was currently going on with the Syndicate, he still made time to take Dream to and from work.

Others would say that it was nice that someone cared so much.

To Dream, it was the equivalent of being on a leash held by the world’s most annoying, overprotective, owner.

“You can’t just keep walking me to work like I’m a lost elementary student,” Dream complained as they strolled down the sidewalk together, the sun already set and the night being called around them.

“Elementary students don’t collect Mafia Tokens like Pokémon cards.”

Dream groaned. “You make it sound like I was going door to door asking for spare change.”

Wilbur gave him a look. “Dream. You have two tokens. I’m only trying to prevent you from getting a third.”

“Yeah,” Dream said with a sigh, “and you still won’t let me make a joke about collecting all four and unlocking the secret boss fight.”

“Because the secret boss fight is you getting shot and me dragging your bleeding body back home.”

Dream winced. “Okay. Yeah. Fair.”

They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the buzz of a nearby vending machine and the distant screech of a subway train underground. Dream kicked a stray rock down the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“Well, it’s been a week,” he mumbled. “No one jumped out of a shadowy van. No riddles written in blood. Maybe they forgot about me?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “The mafia doesn’t forget, Dream.”

“...Right.”

At The Tipsy Callers, life went on mostly as usual. He didn’t tell Schlatt about the incident and they worked together, casually cracking the next sarcastic remark or joke. Some nights slow, some nights full, and Dream handled it just fine.

Dream even taped a sign to the register that read:

“NO TOKENS, NO CRYPTIC MESSAGES, NO MYSTERIOUS NOTES.”

Underneath it, in smaller handwriting:

“Tips still welcome. :)”

Schlatt just shrugged at the sign and let him keep it there.

Today was a slow night. Dream found himself in his usual rhythm: serving drinks, wiping counters, and making a couple of light jokes to the regulars. Everything was calm.

Until Schlatt made him take out the trash.

“It takes two seconds.” Schlatt rolled his eyes.

“I hate getting my hands dirty,” Dream countered.

“Yeah, well, I hate dealing with your sass, but here we are.” Schlatt shoved the bag into Dream’s hands with a grunt and turned back toward the bar. “And if you don’t take it out, I’m telling your roommate you tripped over a chair and fell flat on your face.”

“That was because I was distracted!” Dream shouted after him, already walking toward the back door. “You better not tell him! He will make fun of me for a whole month!”

The alley was just as grimy and dramatic as always, steam hissing from a nearby vent and a cat meowing somewhere out of sight. It was almost the perfect set for a horror film.

Dream moved forward, lifted the lid of the dumpster, and chucked the bag in. He turned back around-

And stopped.

His eyes landed on two figures.

They were dressed in black and deep blue, the kind of sleek, intimidating outfit combo that screamed ‘yes, we are important and dangerous and probably don’t file our taxes.’

They stood there silently at the end of the alley, like they’d just spawned in from a cutscene. One of them, the taller of the two, took a slow step forward.

“You’re Dream, correct?” the taller one said, voice calm but firm.

Fuck no.

“Nope. I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Dream shrugged.

“You need to come with us.”

Dream blinked. Then blinked again. He glanced to either side of the alley like maybe someone else named Dream was standing behind him. But nope- they were talking to him.

“I should warn you,” Dream took a single, cautious step back. “I have a solid two-star Yelp review in self-defense.”

“We don’t want to hurt you,” the tall one said, tone flat and not even slightly comforting. “But we do need you to come with us. Whether by choice or not.”

The shorter figure shifted slightly, stepping just enough into the light for Dream to see the faint outline of something shiny under their jacket. It didn’t take a genius to know that it was a gun.

“Okay, first off, super creepy way to start a conversation. Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’? Second- can we backtrack to the part where you explain who ‘we’ even is?”

“We’re with the Hearts,” the shorter one said.

“Oh, cool,” Dream said casually. “Soooo I’m not going with you. But I get it. I’m charming, devastatingly attractive, and clearly a magnet for mafia drama. Unfortunately, I’m a little busy right now. I’ve got trash to take out. Floors to mop. And a very angry roommate who does not want me to add another coin to Mafia Bingo.”

The tall figure stepped forward again. “You’re coming with us.”

Dream pointed at him. “Do you hear how ominous that sounds? I feel like the next sentence for this drama you’re filming is gonna be ‘you’ll never see the light of day again.’”

They didn’t move. Neither laughed. Not even a smirk.

“Yikes,” Dream said under his breath. “Guess my jokes aren’t hitting like they used to.”

The moment Dream took another step back, both figures shifted- sharp and sudden. The tall one moved first, gloved fingers curling into a fist as if ready to grab him. The shorter one reached into their coat- definitely going for the gun.

Dream flinched back, hands raised in surrender. “Alright! Alright! No need to jump straight into kidnapping! We can talk! Maybe over therapy? You two look like you need it!”

The alley’s shadows flickered.

With a sudden whoosh, a burst of fire exploded between Dream and the two attackers, slamming into the ground. The heat hit Dream’s face instantly, nearly singing his eyebrows off.

Both men staggered back in surprise, arms raised to shield their faces from the flames.

Dream stumbled too, falling back with a surprised yelp.

The flames hissed, crackling against the damp alley walls, casting the brick in flickering orange. Dream barely looked up when a new voice rang out- smooth, steady, and unmistakably cocky.

“Back off.”

The fire split, parting like a curtain as though it was doing a grand reveal.

And there stood Inferno.

Tall, lean, and utterly unconcerned by the chaos he’d just caused. His boots clicked as he stepped through the smoke, hands still aglow with faint embers. His hoodie shifted with every step, the flames curling around him like a living thing.

The two Hearts froze, still standing, the gun now visibly in the shorter one’s hand trembling just slightly.

Inferno tilted his head, looking them over with the kind of disinterest that only made him more terrifying.

“I really hate wasting a good evening on babysitting, but unfortunately…” He pointed a gloved thumb back toward Dream. “That idiot is under Syndicate protection.”

Dream blinked. “Wait- what?”

“Wait- what?” The two Hearts matched Dream’s surprise.

The alley went quiet, save for the faint crackle of fire still licking the edges of the stone and the distant whir of city noise. Although Dream couldn’t see it behind the mask that covered his whole face, he could tell that Inferno was doing an eye roll.

“Do I need to repeat myself? That guy there,” Inferno nodded towards Dream, “is under Syndicate protection. So that means you two need to fuck off.”

The taller Heart clenched his fists, jaw tight. “The King of Hearts won’t take kindly to this. The Diamonds and Clubs have already given that guy a token- and with the Syndicate joining in, this makes three.”

Inferno’s flames surged just a bit higher, licking his sleeves like a warning. “And that’s three reasons not to touch him.”

There was a pause- a long, heavy beat where the alley seemed to narrow, press in, tense like a held breath.

“If The Syndicate is willing to go this far for one person,” The taller Heart narrowed his eyes. “It makes me wonder what he’s hiding.”

Inferno’s hands sparked brighter at that, a flicker of orange flaring up and turning white-hot at the center. The very air around him shimmered like a mirage.

Dream, still on the dirty alley floor, muttered, “Okay, note to self- being the center of everyone’s dramatic storyline is exhausting.”

Inferno didn’t so much as blink as he replied to the other two. “Wonder all you like,” he said, tone low. “But if you try anything else, you’ll be leaving this alley in ash.”

The shorter Heart shifted uncomfortably, clearly less sold on the idea of a barbeque ending.

The taller one wasn’t so easily shaken. “The Hearts will be back. And you better hope it’s not our Ace.”

Dream blinked at that. The fuck is an Ace?

“You can bring a whole army next time,” Inferno replied, stepping forward once- just enough to remind them who controlled the flames. “But you’re not getting him.”

The two finally retreated, slipping back into the darkness without another word.

Dream let out the loudest breath of his life, slumping forward. “Holy shit.”

Inferno turned back, flame dimming to embers as he stalked toward Dream. “You good man?”

“I just saw my life flash before my eyes and it was mostly ramen and late-night sitcom reruns,” Dream said, standing up with a sigh. “So no, not really.”

Inferno huffed. “You’re lucky Wilbur asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“...Wilbur did?”

“Yeah,” Inferno nodded. “Wilbur. Tall, dramatic, always complaining? Yep, he’s the reason I’m out here playing babysitter instead of setting heroes on fire.”

Dream blinked. “I don’t think you should be doing that anyway.”

Inferno shrugged. “Villains gotta do what villains gotta do.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “You’re kinda sassy for a flaming murder man.”

“I take inspiration from your survival mechanism,” Inferno shot back, “Sarcasm seems to be the only thing keeping you alive.”

“It’s just my way of coping. And- Wait- hold on- That guy said something about an Ace? Is that part of their group? Like, do I get to meet them? Maybe politely explain that I’m not worth a war?”

Inferno just stared at Dream.

“If you ever meet the Ace of Hearts, you won’t be doing much talking.”

“Oh good,” Dream groaned. “Add that to the growing list of things I definitely didn’t ask for this week. What is an ‘Ace’ anyway?”

Inferno let out a low breath, the fire around him completely disappearing. His voice dropped to something more serious for once.

“The Ace,” he began, “is the King’s right-hand.”

Dream raised a brow. “Like, their assistant? They help with scheduling? Maybe book the murder appointment?”

Inferno shook his head. “No, dumbass. The Ace is their enforcer. Their shadow. The one who does what the King won’t dirty their hands with. Assassinations. Threats. Clean-up. Whatever needs to be done, if the others couldn’t do it, the Ace handles it.”

“We can’t just talk it out?” Dream asked.

“They don't send the Ace to talk. They send them to end things.”

“Wow. Friendly people. Love the professionalism.”

“They’re the worst kind of professionals,” Inferno muttered. “Loyal only to their King.”

“I thought Aces were higher in rank in cards?”

Inferno snorted. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But in the Mafia world, Kings rule. Aces obey.”

“Great,” Dream muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Does every King have an Ace?”

“Wow, you really don’t know anything, huh?”

“Oh, sorry, let me just pull out my Mafia manual,” Dream shot back, hands thrown in exasperation.

Inferno huffed. “Whatever. But yeah, every King has an Ace. Four Kings. Four Aces.”

Dream exhaled, clearly tired of learning about the shitty way the Mafia works. “I’m gonna die. I’m going to die in an alley with a bag of trash and a man who uses fire like it’s a toy.”

Inferno tapped his foot against the ground. “You could be less dramatic.”

“Says the guy who showed up with a fire explosion.”

“You’re lucky I showed up at all.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dream hummed. “Thanks, Inferno. Really. I mean it.”

Inferno blinked, surprised by the sincerity. “Oh- uh- it’s nothing. Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after you saved my dad.”

“What?” Dream’s head snapped to him, expression pinched in confusion. “Did you just say I saved your dad?”

Inferno sighed and reached his hands up to take off his mask. The mask got removed and revealed a very young boy with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a couple of scars on his cheek.

“Name’s Tommy. And Philza, or Zephyrus, is my dad. I thought Wilbur and Techno told you?”

“No! They didn’t tell me you were their brother! And you’re a child-”

“Fuck you bitch! I’m not a child!”

Dream scoffed. “Says the one who just used the phrase ‘I’m not a child’ with the energy of someone who definitely still eats dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.”

Tommy pointed at him, offended. “Those nuggets are elite. You just have no taste, you ignorant crustacean.”

Dream blinked. “Did you just call me a crustacean?”

“Hey! I’m not here for a vocabulary contest! I literally saved your life five minutes ago!”

Dream chuckled, “Alright, alright- Let’s call a truce, tiny fire gremlin.”

Tommy grumbled something under his breath that sounded like ‘I should’ve let the Hearts kidnap you,’ before muttering louder, ‘stupid Wilbur for making me watch out for the dumb bartender.’

Dream grinned before asking. “So… you’re seriously Philza’s kid?”

Tommy nodded, putting the mask back on. “Yeah. And Wilbur and Techno are technically my older brothers.”

“Are there any others I should know about?”

Before Tommy could launch into a rant about his family tree, the back door of The Tipsy Callers creaked open behind them. Dream turned, already wincing.

Out stepped Schlatt, looking disgruntled and mildly irritated- standard Schlatt expression, really.

“Dream, what the hell is taking you so-”

His words froze as his eyes landed on Tommy, now back in full Inferno gear. The alley was still thick with the aftermath of smoke and scorched brick.

There was a long pause.

Just wind. A distant siren. The meow of the same gremlin cat that seemed to haunt this alley nightly.

Schlatt blinked.

Dream waved. “Hey, Schlatt.”

“Dream.”

“Yes?”

“Why is there a villain beside you?”

“Oh, a villain?” Dream looked to Inferno then back to Schlatt. “Huh. I didn’t even notice.”

Schlatt stared at him.

Dream gave him the most innocent look, which was hard to pull off while standing in a scorched alley next to a kid glowing faintly.

“You didn’t notice?” Schlatt repeated slowly, like he was trying to process this with what remained of his sanity. “You didn’t notice the six-foot human flamethrower standing two feet from you?”

“I mean,” Dream shrugged. “I was too busy taking out the trash to notice the villain beside me.”

Tommy scoffed. “Is that really what you’re going with?”

Schlatt dragged a hand down his face, eyes flicking between the scorch marks on the wall, the faint lingering smoke, and the two people in front of him.

“I send you to take out one bag of trash. One.”

“Well, don’t you worry about that,” Dream said, pointing to the bin proudly. “That task was completed.”

The garbage bin was on fire.

Schlatt blinked again. Slowly. As if he was rebooting.

“Alright, that’s it. You,” he pointed to Tommy, “go home before the fire department shows up and starts asking questions.”

Tommy raised his hands like he was surrendering, already stepping backward. “Fine by me. I was planning on leaving anyway.”

He shot Dream a last, judgmental look, then made his way down the alley, turning a corner before disappearing entirely.

Dream and Schlatt stood there in silence for a moment, watching the dumpster gently burn.

“So,” Schlatt said, deadpan. “Anything else you’d like to say before I go back inside and reevaluate every hiring decision I’ve ever made?”

“Yes, actually, I have five reasons why I’m the best hire-ee you ever hired,” Dream said with mock pride. “Let me remind you, Schlatt, that I am the glue that holds this establishment together.”

Schlatt crossed his arms.

“First off, I’m the reason half your regulars come back- either because they love me or because they’re invested in seeing me fail.”

Schlatt did not look convinced.

“Second, I provide ambiance,” Dream continued, gesturing to the flaming dumpster behind him. “Look at that. Warmth, lighting, drama. That’s high-end mood setting.”

“Dream.”

“Third, I work great under pressure. I’ve been humiliated, overworked, joked at, but I still serve the best drinks known to mankind.”

“Dream.”

“Fourth, I’m a multitasker. I make drinks, charm customers, and flirt with death on a weekly basis, and I do it all in my bartender uniform.”

“Dre-”

“And most importantly- most importantly- I haven’t set the interior of the bar on fire. Yet.”

There was a long silence as Schlatt just… stared. He inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower.

“Let me give you five reasons of my own.” Schlatt began, voice flat. Then he held up one finger. “One. I get constant complaints about your attitude and sarcastic remarks on a daily basis.”

“It’s not my fault they can’t take a joke.”

“Two. You have an ongoing bet with the regulars about how long it’ll take before I fire you. And don’t act like you didn’t know about it because I know you joined in.”

Dream cleared his throat. “Technically that was started by someone else-”

“Three,” Schlatt cut in, third finger raised as he was running out of patience. “You talk back more than you work. If I had a dime for every time you tried to talk your way out of working, I would be rich.”

Dream raised a hand like he was about to object.

“Reason four,” Schlatt didn’t let him. “You have caused at least three minor property damages, two very suspicious electrical shorts, and one health inspector sent crying down the street.”

“That was not my fault.”

“And five,” Schlatt said with finality, raising all five fingers on his hand. “The dumpster. Is. On. Fire.”

Both of them turned to look at the gently blazing trash bin like it might chime in with a musical number any second.

“Dream.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re laid off for two weeks.”

“...Understood.”

“Your boss fired you?” Wilbur asked, confused.

Dream walked beside him, giving a long sigh. “No, he didn’t fire me- It’s a ‘temporary leave.’ Like a vacation but with no pay.”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow as they turned the corner, the soft glow of street lamps casting long shadows. The city was quiet at this hour- only the occasional passing car or faraway nightlife breaking the calm.

“And you’re fine with this?”

“Oh, fuck no. This is my nightmare! A bartender who can’t attend their own bar? That’s like you who’s not annoyingly dramatic! It defies natural order.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You are so full of it.”

Dream sighed again- dramatically, with his whole chest this time- as they passed a closed corner store. “He said I needed time to think about my actions, but I didn’t do anything! I was just taking out the trash until your brother showed up!”

“Techno?”

“Tommy.”

“Shit-” Wilbur winced at that. “Sorry about that, Dream. Uhm- what did he do exactly?”

“He did save me, I’ll give him that. But he also burned half the alley down and set my boss’s dumpster on fire. So when my boss walked outside and saw me standing next to a villain- well- it didn’t end great. I mean, my sarcastic remarks didn’t help the situation either.”

Wilbur gave him a sideways glance. “Tommy saved you? From who?”

“Ah, I guess he hasn’t told you yet.” Dream shrugged. “Some guys from the Hearts tried to get me to go with them. Obviously, I said no but they tried to kidnap me anyway.”

Wilbur stopped in his tracks. “The Hearts?”

“Yep.” Dream kept walking. “They even said something about sending their Ace.”

Wilbur caught up in two long strides and grabbed Dream by the sleeve, pulling him to a stop.

“They said they’d send their Ace?”

Dream blinked at him. “Yes, that’s what I said. Are you buffering or something?”

Wilbur’s grip tightened. “Do you have any idea how bad that is?”

“Okayyy- Judging by your reaction, it’s somewhere between ‘mildly alarming’ and ‘should start writing my will’ and I’m thinking it’s the latter. But relax, dude, Tommy told me everything about Aces. I’m practically an expert.”

Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, looking like he aged five years on the spot. “I have to tell Phil.”

“Why?”

“Out of all the groups, the Hearts are the far worst among them. Sure, the rest are not exactly nice but…” Wilbur lowered his voice, scanning the dark street like someone might overhear them. “The Hearts are brutal, Dream. They don’t negotiate, they don’t bluff, and they sure as hell don’t want to talk. They’re all about control.”

Dream whistled. “Damn. That’s a lot for a group named after a body organ that symbolizes love.”

Wilbur didn’t laugh.

Dream glanced over. “This is the part where you’re supposed to laugh.”

“They’re cold-hearted bastards,” Wilbur says.

“Well, of course they are. They’re the Hearts. It’s ironic branding.”

Wilbur gave him a flat look.

“What?” Dream chuckled. “It’s a missed marketing opportunity. The Hearts? You expect chocolate and flowers, not death threats and secret assassins.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re making jokes. Again.”

“It’s my default setting.”

“You’re lucky Tommy was there.”

“I’m aware. Still processing the whole ‘bartender can’t bartend’ thing.”

Wilbur sighed. “Why do I even try with you? …You know what? It’s good you got laid off.”

“Excuse me?”

Wilbur tucked his hands in his coat pockets, ignoring the offense on Dream’s face. “It means you get to stay home until everything calms down. I’d rather have you stuck at home than working a shift while Mafia members keep popping out from the shadows.”

“I don’t see what’s the problem with me working.”

“You almost got kidnapped.”

“But I didn’t get kidnapped.” Dream shot back.

Wilbur huffed. “That’s because Tommy stepped in.”

“Whatever. I had it handled.”

“Sure you did.” Wilbur gave him a pointed look. “Which is why, starting tomorrow, you are not allowed to leave the apartment without me or Techno.”

Dream scoffed. “Are you serious?”

“Maybe once you stop being a magnet for chaos with terrible instincts, then I’ll reconsider. But for now, you’re staying at home.”

“I have excellent instincts.”

“I bet you tried to distract the kidnappers with your sarcastic jokes.”

Dream went quiet, watching as the apartment building finally came into view.

Wilbur gave him a knowing side-eye. “That’s what I thought.”

Dream grumbled under his breath something about ‘tactical humor’ and ‘people with no appreciation for comedy,’ as they climbed the last couple stairs to their floor.

Wilbur unlocked the door, pushing it open. Dream followed him in and-

Both of them immediately froze.

Sitting on the couch like he owned the place was Tommy, still in his hoodie but now maskless and curled up with Dream’s chocolate-covered pretzels in his lap, munching on them without a care in the world. Dream’s mouth dropped open in horror.

“Oh, what took you guys so long?” Tommy looked up mid-bite, crumbs on his face.

“Tommy,” Wilbur says, shutting the door with a click. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I should do a quick check up on y'all. You’re still alive so that’s a plus.”

“Wilbur,” Dream clutched his chest, taking a step forward. “First, he gets me laid off from my own job. Second, he’s breaking rule one. Third, those are my chocolate-covered pretzels.”

“Oh? These are yours?” Tommy asked while shoving a couple into his mouth. “Sorry about that bro- maybe you shouldn’t have left it out.”

Dream’s hands turned into fists and Wilbur sighed.

“Dream, don’t. I can buy more-”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, TINY FIRE GREMLIN!”

Dream lunged forward and Tommy scrambled off the couch, dodging him with the pretzel bag clutched like a lifeline.

“GET BACK HERE!”

“NO! THESE ARE MINE NOW!”

Tommy and Dream were already chasing each other around the coffee table then to the kitchen counter. Wilbur watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment.

However, there was a slight smile appearing on his face.

“You two are idiots.”

Chapter Text

“Wilbur-“

“No.”

“But I’m bored!”

“Dream, it’s only been three days.” Wilbur sighed, shifting the glasses on his face as he sat in the armchair, a book open in his lap that he had been trying- and failing- to focus on.

Dream was flopped upside down on the couch, his legs hooked over the top, and his head dangling off the seat cushion. He stared at the ceiling with all the dramatic flair of a man in deep existential crisis. He has been at home for the past three days cleaning and organizing. He's not sure what he's going to do with the two weeks he was off.

“I’m going to die here.”

“You are not.”

“I’m not meant for confinement, Wil. I’m a bird. I need to fly high and soar-”

“You are not a bird. Philza is more of a bird than you.”

Dream groaned, shifting so his arm flopped dramatically over his face. “I’ve cleaned every dish in this apartment. Twice. I did my laundry which is rare for me to even get to. I’ve even alphabetized the spices.”

Wilbur finally looked up. “You alphabetized the spice rack?”

“...And then I remixed it by color.”

Wilbur closed his book. “This is because I won’t let you go outside, isn’t it?”

“Ding ding ding! We have a winner!” Dream threw his hands up in exasperation before falling back on the couch, arms crossed. “I don’t understand why I can’t even go to the store. It’s right around the corner.”

“Dream, this is for your own safety.” Wilbur huffed.

“Safety my ass! This is pure torture!”

“Well, I’m not the one who received two different Mafia King tokens,” Wilbur said sharply, standing to stretch like he was preparing for round two of this ongoing battle.

Dream rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t even my fault! Now I’m imprisoned in my own home like a caffeinated Rapunzel while you, my evil tower mother, sit there and mock my suffering.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive!” Wilbur snapped. “You almost got kidnapped!”

“I did not get kidnapped. Attempted, maybe. But not kidnapped. And I would've handled it fine if your fire-gremlin of a brother hadn’t scorched half the alleyway and my career along with it.”

“You think you would’ve handled it?”

“I had a plan!” Dream yells back.

“Your sarcastic remarks don’t count as a plan!”

“They absolutely count,” Dream argued, pointing a dramatic finger. “Sarcasm is my shield, my sword, and my support.”

Wilbur looked two seconds from yeeting himself out the window.

Before he could respond, the apartment door creaked open.

In walked Techno.

Well- more like glided in with the calm demeanor of someone who’d already accepted the chaos unfolding. He was wearing a hoodie, black sweatpants, and the exhausted expression of a man who had just finished one mission and had now been tossed into another.

Wilbur exhaled like the universe had thrown him a life preserver. “Perfect. You’re here.”

Dream sat up. “What’s he doing here? I thought I said no villains-”

“I’ve got somewhere to be,” Wilbur cuts in, grabbing his coat off the hook. “So Techno’s going to be here to protect you.”

“Are you serious?” Dream scoffs. “What am I? A child who needs a babysitter? First it was Tommy and now it’s Technoblade.”

Techno gave a slow blink and looked between them. “Is this a bad time?”

“No.” Wilbur says. “Yes.” Dream answers.

Techno stared for a second. Then without a word, he walked past both of them, dropped his bag on the floor, and sat down on the armchair like it had personally invited him. He pulled out a book. A very thick book. Dream squinted- was that a biography? On war strategy?

Dream turned to Wilbur with the most betrayed expression a human could possibly muster. “You’re leaving me with him? He’s a villain, Wil! You’re breaking rule number one!”

Wilbur buttoned up his coat. “You’ll be fine. And he’s not a villain right now. He’s a regular civilian if you can’t tell by his casual attire.”

“You- You did not just say that,” Dream gaped, pointing an accusatory finger at Wilbur like he’d just committed high treason. “You can’t just change someone’s villain status because it’s convenient for your schedule!”

Wilbur, already halfway to the door, didn’t even look back. “He hasn’t committed a crime in the last twelve hours, therefore he is a civilian.”

“That is not-”

“Maybe when you stop being someone who attracts disasters like they’re on sale, I’ll reconsider,” Wilbur called over his shoulder.

“Are you hearing this?” Dream turned to Techno, who hadn’t even looked up from his book.

“I am,” Techno replied calmly. “I’m choosing to ignore it.”

Dream groaned, throwing himself back onto the couch. “This is dumb. You’re dumb. I hate this.”

“Deal with it,” Wilbur opened the door. “Techno, make sure he doesn’t leave by himself. Stop him if he does.”

“Yeah, yeah. I gotcha.” Techno waved his hand without bothering to look up from his book.

Then Wilbur left, shutting the door behind him.

Silence.

Dream glared across the living room. A clock ticked in the background like it was mocking them both. Dream turned slowly to Techno, who had just crossed one leg over the other, book in hand.

“So… what do you do for fun?”

Techno flipped a page. “Being quiet.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even like me, do you?”

“Define ‘like.’”

Dream rolled his eyes. “So did Wilbur bribe you to babysit or-”

“I lost a bet.”

Dream blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yep,” Techno didn’t even flinch, reading the next paragraph.

Awkward silence. Dream sighed.

“What’s stopping me from walking out that door?” Dream took a glance at the door then back to the unbothered Techno.

Techno turned another page. “Me.”

“You’re not even looking at me.”

“I don’t have to,” Techno continued reading.

Another pause. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Dream’s leg bounced. “So you’re really gonna just sit there and read all day.”

“Yep.”

“Not even gonna talk?”

“Nope.”

“What if I made a break for the exit?”

“Try it,” Techno didn’t even blink. “You’ll be back on the couch with a sprained ankle.”

Another long, suffocating silence.

Dream eventually flopped over again, dangling upside-down off the couch.

“If I die of boredom, it’s on your hands.”

Techno didn’t look up. “I’ll send a card.”

Dream sighed. “You’re the worst.”

“I consider that a win.”

And just like that, the two of them fell back into quiet- Techno reading, Dream slowly losing his mind. The clock kept ticking, and Dream was already planning a third reorganization of the spice rack.

About four hours later, Techno closed his book.

The sound of the cover snapping shut echoed in the silence of the apartment.

Dream, who had been lying on the couch in a dramatic state of full-body despair, shot upright at the sound.

“Did you finish?” Dream gasped, eyes wide with hope. “Are you done?”

Techno looked up at him, expression unreadable. “Yep.”

“Yes!” Dream practically threw his hands up in the air. “Finally! Can we please do something now? Anything? We could arm wrestle, play Uno, hell- I’ll even let you stab me if it means breaking this silence-”

Techno calmly reached into his bag and pulled out another book.

Dream stared at it like it was a cursed artifact.

“You brought another one?”

“Of course. This one is about the psychology of chaos. Real page-turner.”

Dream slowly sank onto the couch with a long, dramatic groan. “This is it. This is how I die. Not by Mafia Kings or their Aces- no. But by pure boredom.”

Techno raised an eyebrow. “I thought you liked peace and quiet. Wilbur told me you did?”

“I don’t like the quiet all the time. I mean, yeah- peace and quiet is nice when I choose it. But this? Being put on house arrest with no customers or boss to poke fun of? This is horrible.”

Techno sighed and closed the second book before it even opened. “Alright.”

Dream blinked. “Alright?”

“I’m taking you outside.”

Dream sat up straight. “You are?”

“Yeah,” Techno stood up, stretching lazily. “Wilbur said, ‘Don’t let him leave by himself.’ Well, you wouldn’t be by yourself if I’m with you.”

Dream’s mouth dropped open until it curled into a smile. “You loophole-genius of a man! I want to hug you right now-”

“Please don’t,” Techno says. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The late-afternoon air was crisp and the city was bathed in a golden haze. Cars rolled by and distant voices echoed from nearby shops. Dream rarely goes out this early in the day so he was quite surprised to see the sun so high.

“I was starting to think I’d never see the light of day again,” Dream muttered, dragging his hands down his face. “I was going to name the spice rack Jeff and make him my only true friend.”

“I don’t want to know what conversations you were having with the spice rack,” Techno said, adjusting his hoodie. “Let’s just walk.”

They started down the sidewalk at a comfortable pace. Dream kicked at a loose rock with every step while Techno silently scanned the surrounding streets like a bodyguard.

Dream glanced over. “Where are we going?”

Techno shrugged. “Didn’t think that far ahead. Just figured you’d enjoy not being inside the whole time.”

“And you figured right.”

They crossed a small park- mostly empty except for a few scattered kids kicking a soccer ball around an old man feeding pigeons. Dream paused at the fountain in the center, letting the sun warm his face as the water gurgled gently beside them.

“Y’know,” Dream said, more softer. “I lived a really normal life before I ended up rooming with a villain. You know, as normal as it can get in the Underground.”

Techno glanced at him, arms crossed loosely. “That’s kinda hard to believe.”

“Why? Because I’m devilishly charming and have ‘main character with tragic backstory’ energy?” Dream chuckled.

Techno rolled his eyes. “No. Because you have healing powers. Not many people don’t take advantage of that. You could be earning hundreds or thousands of dollars instead of being stuck as a bartender making the bare minimum in the Underground. So there must be a reason why you’re not. Is it trauma? Or is it something else you’re hiding?”

Dream groaned and flopped down on the edge of the fountain. “Why must people overthink things? I don’t have a tragic backstory. I didn't have anyone die for me. I just don’t like showing off.”

Techno tilted his head slightly. “You have the power to close up wounds without receiving any backlash from it but… why aren’t you using it?”

“I do sometimes,” Dream said with a shrug. “When it matters. But walking around flaunting it? Charging people? No thanks.”

“So… it’s just personal preference?”

“Exactly!” Dream said, relieved. “No childhood trauma. No dramatic monologue. I don’t want to be known for what I can do. I want to be known for who I am.”

Techno looked at him for a long moment. Then he narrowed his eyes. “I still believe there is something.”

Dream huffed. “Believe whatever you want.” 

Just as Dream looked away, he saw something. “Oh, fuck yeah- wait here!”

“Huh? Dream? What-”

Dream ran over to a street vendor, leaving Techno blinking after him in confusion. Dream jogged across the cobbled path to a small, worn-looking food stand parked near the edge of the park. The smell of grilled meat wafted through the air.

Dream pointed at the sizzling skewers, exchanged a few words with the vendor, then handed over a couple of crumpled bills from his back pocket.

A minute later, he returned with two steaming meat skewers in hand, one extended toward Techno with an annoyingly cheerful grin.

Techno blinked at it. “What?”

“It’s food,” Dream said. “You looked hungry and scary. I figured if I feed you, you might be less likely to stab me.”

Techno stared at the skewer in his hand before taking it from Dream. It took him a long second before finally taking a small bite. He chewed slowly, then nodded once.

“...Thanks.”

Dream grinned. “Was that genuine gratitude? I should frame this moment.”

“I will stab you if you don’t shut up.”

“You’re welcome, Techy.”

“It’s Techno.”

“Techy.”

Techno responded without thinking- he elbowed him. Not hard, just enough to jolt Dream off balance.

Dream stumbled dramatically but managed to catch himself. “This is betrayal! How dare you!”

Techno snickered. “I warned you.”

Dream gasped. “You laughed. That was a laugh.”

“I didn’t laugh,” Techno said flatly.

“You absolutely did.”

“I sneezed.”

“With joy?”

Techno shook his head, biting back the smallest smile as he finished his skewer. “You’re insufferable.”

“Wilbur says the same thing.” Dream chuckled. “At this rate, we’re gonna be best friends.”

“Don’t push it.”

“Fine, fine. Besties.”

Techno didn’t argue.

They walked back toward the street, tossing the empty sticks into a nearby bin. The air had cooled slightly, the golden haze becoming more orange as it reached sunset. Dream’s energy had mellowed, and Techno walked beside him with a kind of relaxed silence.

The two of them started walking back to the apartment, passing by a couple of people and watching traffic die down.

As they passed a small TV store with a wall of screens glowing in the window, Techno suddenly stopped.

Dream walked two more steps before realizing it and turned. “Tech? What’s wrong?”

Techno didn’t answer. He was still staring at the breaking news running across all the monitors. Dream followed his gaze.

On the screen was grainy footage, shaking as another explosion rang out. It showed a flicker of fire and the unmistakable black wings. The two individuals were fighting against two heroes but behind them was someone they both recognized.

“BREAKING NEWS: The Syndicate is attacking West Red Bank! Heroes stepping in!”

Dream’s eyes darted across the screen.

The anchor’s voice chimed in.

“Siren is wounded and looks like he can’t use his powers! Zephyrus and Inferno are managing to block the heroes from getting to him but the heroes have called for backup! This may be the heroes chance to finally capture and get rid of a member of the infamous Syndicate!”

“Goddamnit Wilbur,” Dream muttered.

Techno’s fists clenched.

Dream could see it- the tightening of his shoulders, the sharp intake of breath he was trying to hide, the way his jaw ticked as the live footage played.

Wilbur- Siren- was slumped against the wall, hand pressed to his ribs. His face was pale, his usually flowing movements now sluggish. The only thing keeping the heroes at bay were streaks of wings slicing the ground- Philza, and bursts of fire cracking against the walls- Tommy.

“Fuck,” Techno muttered.

Dream didn’t say anything at first. He was busy watching Wilbur get nearly knocked down again before Tommy caught him. It was surreal seeing his roommate who, nearly hours ago, was just fine but now looking so vulnerable.

“You should go,” Dream said.

Techno paused. “I can’t. I have to-”

Dream gave him a pointed look. “He’s hurt. You’d be a piece of shit if you stayed.”

Techno was silent for a moment longer, contemplating.

Then-

“You’ll be okay?”

Dream chuckled. “I’ll make it back home. I’m not totally helpless.”

Techno hesitated. “Lock the door. Keep your head down on the streets. Call if anything happens.”

Dream gave a thumbs up. “Go save your idiot of a brother.”

Techno turned and ran. His pace was fast. Determined.

Dream, now alone, stared at the TV for one more second- just long enough to see Wilbur try to stand and fall again. Then Dream turned away and started walking back toward the apartment.

“I swear,” he grumbled, “that idiot talks to me about being safe then does this. Fucking hypocrite.”

Dream was going to head straight home.

No, really he was.

He had every intention of going straight home and waiting for Wilbur so he could heal him then complain about the four hours of pure, silent agony that Techno made him endure.

But fate had other plans.

In this case, ‘fate’ was a group of Mafia members.

He barely made it a few blocks before he heard footsteps behind- too many, too in sync.

Dream turned, trying to get a glimpse of who was running up to him, but it was too late. A hand grabbed his shoulder and, before he could twist away, someone shoved a door open and they dragged him in.

“Get off!” Dream was dragged further in until he was thrown onto the floor. Dream looked up and was shocked at where he was.

Flashing lights. Distant 8-bit music. Colorful flooring with neon signs. A wave of confusion crashed into him.

An arcade.

They dragged him into a goddamn arcade.

“What the hell?” Dream hissed, looking back at the (oh fuck- there were ten of them) people who dragged him in. “If you’re going to kidnap me, at least pick somewhere less neon.”

“Silence,” one of them spoke, voice cold and clipped.

They didn’t pull out weapons, which was either a good sign or meant they didn’t need them. Dream looked around between the rows of retro cabinets and blinked against the fluorescent glow.

What stood out the most to Dream was that the arcade was completely empty.

No kids shouting over ticket counts. No teens button-mashing on beat-up machines. No employees leaning lazily behind the prize counter.

It was just Dream. 

Oh- and also the ten strangers who coordinated their outfits to match the ‘intimidating trench coat mafia’ aesthetic. Their colors were a mix of black and white.

Dream slowly got up from the sticky floor, brushing confetti off his sleeves. “You guys really rented out an entire arcade? Was Chuck E. Cheese not available?”

No one laughed.

One of the men took a step forward, his boots not making much of a sound on the carpeted flooring. “Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Oh joy,” Dream deadpanned. “Please tell me it’s Santa Claus. He forgot to give me a present last year and I would like to file a complaint.”

A pause.

“Oh, I like this one,” Someone said smoothly. “He plays it cool. No fear. Nothing. That’s rare these days.”

Dream turned toward the voice.

Stepping out from between two darkened arcade cabinets like he belonged in the shadows, was a man. He was sharply dressed- tailored white coat with silver accents, black gloves, a spade pin fastened neatly to his collar. Brown hair that was slightly covered under a hood and green eyes.

His expression was polite, friendly even, but there was something else behind it. Something measured. Like a smile drawn with a knife.

“Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” Dream asked, narrowing his eyes. “You a cosplayer or something?”

“Language,” the man reprimanded him. “…My name is BadboyHalo. But most people around here just call me Bad.”

Dream blinked. “Bad?”

“Yes,” he said pleasantly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit. Are we done?”

“Oh, but I’m not finished with my introduction, Dream,” Bad added with a grin.

At once, his green eyes flickered into a glowing white. His mouth pulled into a smile that was far too sharp for comfort. His coat flared, pulsing with the faint shimmer of arcane symbols. His skin turned into a void of black and, behind him, a long, coiling devil-like tail lashed once before settling.

The man turned into a demon-like person within seconds.

“I’m also known as the King of Spades,” he finished, voice echoing with a layered, inhuman cadence that made the room feel small.

Dream didn’t speak.

Bad seemed to smile even wider as he looked at Dream’s stunned face. “Scared now?”

Dream tilted his head. He blinked a couple of times.

Then-

“Okay, hear me out… that was the coolest presentation I’ve ever seen.”

Bad’s smile faltered.

“I mean, seriously,” Dream continued, gesturing vaguely at the pulsing symbols and glowing eyes, “the coat flare? The demonic voice you got going on? You nailed the drama. Nine out of ten. Docking a point off only because there was no smoke around. Debating whether to dock off another for the location but I’ll let you have that one.”

Behind Dream, one of the trench-coated men let out a muffled snort. Another coughed way too suspiciously into his sleeve.

Bad’s glowing eyes shifted- just slightly- to glare behind Dream.

They fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Dream shrugged. “Look, no offense, your Spadey-ness- King of Cards or whatever- but I’m trying to get home to help my dumb roommate. If that’s all, can I start heading out now?”

Bad stared at him like Dream had personally defied the laws of Mafia etiquette.

“You’re… not scared of me?” he asked slowly.

“Scared? Nah.” Dream shook his head. “Mildly inconvenienced? Yes. I’m a bit hungry and was trying to get home before your men dragged me in here.”

Bad regarded him silently, tail flicking behind him, like it was debating whether to smack Dream through a wall or give him a gold star.

Dream offered a wry smile. “What? You gonna throw me into the Skee-Ball machine?”

That finally did it- one of the trench-coated men snorted audibly. Bad turned to glare at him, and the man immediately stood straighter, face blank like he hadn’t just betrayed the entire Mafia aesthetic.

“You caused quite a stir,” Bad reluctantly continued, ignoring the joke. “Word gets around fast. Two kings at your heels. Even the Syndicate is protecting you. So, I’ll give you one chance to answer. What exactly did you do?”

Dream’s brows shot up. “Wow. The whole Mafia is in a frenzy over little ol’ me? I should start a fan club at this point.”

Bad didn’t look amused.

Dream scratched his head with mock innocence. “I mean, I’m flattered, really, but I hate to disappoint you, Spadey-”

“It’s Bad-”

“I’m just some dude who makes drinks at a bar and gets dragged into weird situations like this one.”

Bad’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me you’ve done nothing? Nothing at all? That’s hard to believe when this many people are invested in you.”

“What can I say? I’m a charmer,” Dream drawled. “And I make a killer mojito.”

Silence.

Bad sighed. “You joke too much.”

“I cope with sarcasm. You cope by turning into a literal demon. We all have our thing.”

There was a pause. 

Then, to Dream’s surprise, Bad chuckled- low and smooth, like it had startled even him.

“You know what? I like you. You’re ridiculous.”

“...Thanks?”

“This is the first time I met someone who’s not scared of this appearance.”

Dream shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Like my roommate in the morning, for example.”

Another snort came from one of the trench coat guys. Bad didn’t bother glaring this time- just raised an eyebrow like he’d already lost control of the room.

Dream kept going, because why not?

“Also, your demon form? Kinda reminds me of this one video game boss. Real intense. Had to fight him with half health and no healing potions.”

Bad blinked at him.

“And honestly,” Dream added, “you’ve got the whole shadowy mafia overlord thing down to an art. But a few pointers would be to pick a better location- maybe an abandoned warehouse? That would definitely get my skin crawling in fear.”

“You’re very… casual about this.”

“It’s better than me panicking and screaming like that’s going to do anything.”

Bad tilted his head, studying him like a puzzle missing half its pieces. Then he smiled again- less of a knife’s edge this time, more curiosity. “Alright, Dream. Let’s make this fun.”

Dream raised a brow. “Define fun.”

“If you want to leave, you’ll have to earn it.”

“Please don’t say fight to the death.”

Bad gestured toward the arcade. “Pick a game.”

Dream blinked. “A game.”

“Beat me in any arcade game of your choice,” Bad said, casually flexing his claws, “and I’ll let you go. Promise. Lose, and you stay for a chat.”

Dream’s eyes lit up. “You serious?”

“I am.”

“Okay, but you do realize if I win, I get full bragging rights, yeah?”

Bad chuckled again. “Sure.”

Dream cracked his knuckles, then turned on his heel and started walking past the machines. “Alright, Spadey, let’s find something that’ll humble you.”

The arcade lights blinked on in succession as Dream stopped at a machine that held two fancy rifles attached to it. Dream smirked as he made his way over.

Bad narrowed his eyes, watching as Dream patted one of the plastic rifles.

“You want to play Deadzone Zombies?” he asked, half amused, half baffled. “That’s a shooting game.”

Dream’s smirk widened. “What gave it away? The giant neon ‘shoot to kill’ sign or the very realistic plastic guns?”

One of the trench coat guys leaned toward another. “Why did he pick that one? Doesn’t he know who he’s up against?”

“I can’t believe he’s picking that,” another muttered. “Picking a gun game against BadboyHalo? The King of Spades?”

Bad couldn’t help it- he laughed. A real one, not the condescending chuckle.

“You do realize I’m a Mafia leader, right? Guns are kind of in the job description.”

Dream already had the rifle in his hands, adjusting the plastic strap like it was a sniper’s sling.

“Yeah, but have you played arcade games with guns? That’s a whole different skill level.”

“I’ve been in actual gunfights.”

“And I’ve played this game with a fourteen-year-old who cried when I beat his high score.”

Bad huffed a laugh through his nose. “Alright then. If you’re that confident…” He stepped up beside Dream and grabbed the second rifle. “Let’s see what you’ve got, bartender."

The screen lit up with a BEEP as Deadzone Zombies: Elite Mode roared to life. Blinding red lights, gritty sound effects, and a heavy bassline played in the background.

Dream grinned, rifle cocked. “You’re going down, Spadey.”

“It’s Bad,” the Mafia King replied smoothly, aiming his gun.

“Same thing.”

The countdown blared.

3… 2… 1… SURVIVE.

And then it was on.

Zombies burst out of digital alleyways and shadowed corners. The two of them immediately fell into motion- Bad moved with precision, every shot a headshot, every reload automatic and swift.

Dream? Dream ducked, weaved, and occasionally shouted at the screen like- “I WILL PERSONALLY END THIS APOCALPYSE.” and “YOU’RE GOING DOWN!”

He spun the gun dramatically at one point. It didn’t help, but it looked cool.

Behind them, the trench coat men began watching closely- some leaning in, others whispering bets.

“Our boss is ahead- wait, no- that guy just got a triple.”

“Is he spinning? Why is he spinning?!”

“I don’t know but it seems to be working…”

The game escalated. Explosions, boss levels, pixelated blood flying everywhere. At one point, Dream yelled, “COVER ME!” while Bad questionably responded, “This isn’t co-op!”

Finally, they both fired their last bullet.

The screen went black and the scores loaded up with an old-school beep.

BAD: 12,844

DREAM: 12,850

Six points.

Bad started at the screen, his tail falling to the floor in pure shock.

Dream dropped the plastic rifle and threw his arms up. “YES! SUCK IT, SPADES!”

“You beat me.” Bad says, still looking at the screen.

“By six points!” Dream grinned like a man who just won a lottery he didn’t even enter. “WOO!”

The trench coat men were stunned. One actually clapped before the others smacked his hand down.

Bad stared at Dream for a few seconds, then threw his head back and laughed. A real, ridiculous laugh that made half his men go pale like they were about to get vaporized. Even his tail gave a lazy, amused swish.

“Oh,” Bad said, rubbing his eyes like he was wiping away tears, “I haven’t lost that badly since Skeppy challenged me to Dance Dance Revolution.”

Dream grinned, still basking in the glory of his six-point victory. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Bad let out another chuckle, softer this time, then turned and motioned to one of the trench-coated men. “Fetch him.”

“Uh… sir?”

“My Ace,” Bad clarified, rolling his glowing eyes. “Not a soda. Send my Ace in. I’m not letting him walk home alone.”

Dream blinked. “Your Ace?”

Bad gave him a look. “You have one other Mafia faction after you- the Hearts- and apparently, you have no sense of self-preservation seeing as you laughed in my face as soon as I kidnapped you. So, I’m sending someone to make sure you don’t walk into traffic or something equally humiliating.”

“I can cross a street just fine,” Dream said. “And I’m not letting a Mafia member walk me back to my house. I’m not that stu-”

“You live on 9834 Maine St, Apt 11B.”

“...Uhm- okay? Stalker much?”

“Dream,” Bad huffs. “You realize you’re dealing with the Mafia, right?”

“Fuck- you’re right.”

“Language,” Bad says as he walked and reached under the prize counter behind him then pulled out a small bag.

He tossed it.

Dream caught it with both hands- nearly fumbling it- before staring down. It was a small leather pouch and when Dream opened it, the bag was filled to the brim with coins.

“...A bag of coins?”

“They’re arcade coins. You earned it,” Bad said with a smirk. “For your six-point lead victory.”

“I… What am I supposed to do with these?”

“Come back and beat my next high score,” Bad shrugged. “Or don’t. Either way, you’ve become very interesting to me.”

Before Dream could respond, the side door to the arcade opened.

And in walked someone else.

“Skeppy!” Bad greeted. “Perfect timing. Dream, this is my Ace.”

The man named Skeppy wore a leather jacket over a white hoodie, black jeans with a chain at the hip, and sneakers. A silver spade-shaped pendant dangled from his neck and his dark hair was tousled in a way that suggested chaos was natural. His eyes were a very light blue that flicked around the room before settling on Dream.

Skeppy raised an eyebrow, glancing at Dream like he was mentally taking notes. “And you are?”

“I mean… depends who you ask,” Dream replied, still clutching the pouch of coins. “If you ask my boss, I’m an arsonist with poor customer etiquette. If you ask my roommate, I'm a liability.”

Skeppy blinked once. Then, slowly, his mouth turned into a grin. “I like him.”

“I know, right?” Bad replied. “He beat me at Deadzone by six points.”

“You let him win?”

“I did not,” Bad snapped, tail giving a defensive flick. “He spun the gun at one point. It was distracting.”

Dream shrugged. “Style points.”

Skeppy laughed. “Alright. Let’s get you home in one piece.”

“I would very much prefer to stay in one piece,” Dream said while already walking towards the door.

Skeppy opened the door for him, throwing a quick two fingered salute to Bad.

Bad waved lazily as he leaned against the prize counter. “Try not to get hit by a bus, Dream.”

“I’ll look both ways, Bad.”

“It’s Spadey- Wait, no- It’s Bad, you’re right. Dangit!”

Dream laughed as he walked outside. Skeppy chuckled beside him.

“I can’t believe you tricked our boss to call himself Spadey.”

Dream smirked. “It’s my talent.”

The air was cooler now, the kind of night that made the city lights look soft and gold-tinted. The streets had cleared, leaving only the distant rumble of cars and the occasional flicker of a neon sign in a shop window.

Dream kept one hand in his pocket and the other clutched onto the bag of coins. Skeppy walked a few steps behind him with a casual ease, eyes occasionally scanning the surrounding area.

“You might want to be careful,” Skeppy said after a few moments of walking. “My boss is one of the nicer ones compared to the rest.”

“Ah, well, I already got tokens from the Diamonds and Clubs,” Dream shrugged. “So I don’t think I have to worry about them anytime soon.”

“You won’t get one from the Hearts.”

“Oh?” Dream looked over his shoulder. “Is that a challenge?”

“No,” Skeppy rolled his eyes. “The Hearts don’t hand out tokens. Ever. Just death. Sometimes torture if they feel up to it.”

His voice was calm, but his tone had shifted- tightened, like he wasn’t just speaking from secondhand knowledge but personal experience.

Dream decided not to make a joke.

As they turned onto the narrower stretch near the alley beside Dream’s apartment, Skeppy’s steps slowed. He was mid-sentence about something- probably a warning, another veiled ‘don’t die’ remark- when his shoulders suddenly tense.

Dream followed his gaze just in time to see someone step out of the alleyway.

Tall. Confident. Dressed in the same dark red and black gear as last time with gloved hands was a very familiar person. 

And just like last time- he was raising a matte black pistol.

Except this time, it was aimed at someone else, not at Dream.

“Snapmap?” Dream questioned.

“It’s Sapnap.” He huffed.

“Oh, hello,” Skeppy says as he slowly raised his hands halfway in the air. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I thought we were planning a meeting on the next full moon?”

Sapnap gave a smirk, the gun still steady in his grip. “We were. But then I saw you with this guy who’s under our protection and thought I’d drop by.”

Dream looked between them, baffled. “Wait, wait, wait- you guys meet up during full moons? The fuck? Are you all some kind of Mafia Werewolf group?”

Neither of them responded.

“...You guys aren’t werewolves, right?”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “No, we’re not.”

Dream gave a dramatic sigh of relief.

Skeppy gave him a side glance. “It’s a truce night. Every full moon, all the Mafia factions meet under neutral ground. No weapons and no killing.”

“Mostly,” Sapnap added with a shrug.

“Mostly?” Dream repeated. “...Right, okay. I’m done. I’m sooo done with all of you. First it was the card hierarchy system and now it’s the full moon meeting ritual. What next? Playing rock paper scissors to the death?”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Sapnap deadpanned.

“I’m sorry but should I be?” Dream copied his expression.

Skeppy snorted hard enough to cough.

Sapnap gradually lowered his gun before holstering it. “I forgot you were like this. Why do I even bother saving you?”

“Actually, I was protecting him,” Skeppy stated. “Boss told me to get him home safely.”

“Really?” Sapnap’s brow furrowed. “King Bad did?”

“Yeah, my boss likes him.”

Dream huffed. “Yeah, well, if one more mafia boss tries to like me, I’m filing an HR complaint.”

Sapnap raised a brow. “Against who?”

“I don’t know. The Moon, I guess. It seems to be your meeting manager.”

Skeppy bit back another laugh, and Sapnap’s expression shifted into something more annoyed than amused.

Dream, of course, wasn’t done. “Also, your protection is shitty. The token means you protect me, right? But I was kidnapped not even two hours ago. Where exactly was all this legendary protection when I was being dragged into an arcade?”

“We didn’t know-”

“Oh, cool, great.” Dream gave a thumbs up. “That’s exactly what you want to hear from the group that’s supposedly guarding you. ‘Oops, my bad, we forgot to check the kidnapping schedule this week!’”

“That’s not how it works,” Sapnap muttered, looking away.

“Yeah, cause it doesn’t work,” Dream fired back. “First the King of Clubs entered my workplace. Then I get nearly roasted alive in an alley. Then the Spades drag me into a neon-lit nightmare. And now you show up after all of that, with a gun pointed at the one guy who was just walking me home.”

Skeppy gave a tiny salute.

“Seriously,” Dream his hands on his hips. “What does your group do all day?”

Sapnap’s eye twitched. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked at Skeppy then back at Dream.

“You don’t understand.”

“No shit!” Dream shouted. “I didn’t even know Mafia tokens were a thing until this week! Now I’ve got two of them and everybody is out to kill me! And you people are acting like I’m supposed to just know your dumb and stupid piece-of-shit rules of your dramatic murder club!”

Skeppy laughed, finally giving up on any attempt to hide it. “Dramatic murder club. That’s a new one.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking his side,” Sapnap grumbled to Dream.

“I’ll take the side of whoever hasn’t pointed a damn gun at me,” Dream said pointedly, gesturing to Skeppy like he was a trophy. “Ten outta ten. Great guy. No threats. Five stars on Mafia Uber.”

Skeppy gave a pleased grin.

Sapnap looked seconds away from throwing Skeppy into traffic just to wipe that smug grin off his face- but instead, he just muttered something under his breath and crossed his arms.

Dream finally sighed and turned back toward his apartment building. “I’m going to go. Maybe scream into a pillow, maybe yell at my roommate, but I know for certain I’m not staying here.”

With that, Dream started walking.

Skeppy looked at Sapnap, gave him a cheeky wink, then turned and followed after him. Sapnap stared at their backs for a solid three seconds before groaning and stomping after them.

“You’re so cocky just because he complimented you,” he hissed at Skeppy, keeping pace beside him.

“Sorry that I’m just better than you,” Skeppy grinned.

“Are not.”

“Am too.”

Sapnap let out a strangled noise of frustration. “Why are you even here?! You’re not even his protector!”

“King Bad told me to walk him home. I’m following orders.”

“Yeah, well I’m the one whose boss gave him a token.”

“And whose protection was better? The one who let him get kidnapped or the one walking him home perfectly fine?” Skeppy said, smug as ever. “You just showed up like an off-brand Batman.”

“You guys are the one who kidnapped him in the first place!”

Dream, walking a few paces ahead, glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, can you two keep it down? Trying to enjoy my post-kidnapping walk here.”

Skeppy snorted.

Sapnap scoffed. “I’m the Ace of Diamonds! I don’t take orders from anyone but my King.”

“More like an incompetent sidekick.” Skeppy remarked.

“Says the one who used to be part of our group but decided to drop out and follow Bad. Traitor. Tell me, how’s that leg treating ya?”

“I hate you so much.”

Dream stopped.

Both Skeppy and Sapnap nearly bumped into him before realizing.

Dream turned slowly, and when he faced them, the grin was gone. His eyes were sharp, cold, like someone had flipped a switch and drained the warmth right out of him.

“Shut. Up.”

Both of them froze.

Dream’s voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. It cut through the bickering like a blade, clean and final.

And the worst part was- there was no hint of sarcasm.

Skeppy blinked, his smirk faltering. Sapnap stiffened, the words still on his tongue dissolving before he could say them.

“I’m tired,” Dream continued. “I don’t care if you’re Aces, Kings, or Queens. If either of you speak again before I get inside my building, I will personally lose my mind.”

There was a long silence.

Then, without waiting for a reply, Dream turned back around and continued walking toward his apartment with the same calm fury.

Skeppy and Sapnap followed behind him like scolded dogs.

Quietly.

By the time they reached Dream’s building, the mood was… strained.

They were right in front of the apartment building complex and Dream stopped right near the lobby doors.

Skeppy stopped just a few feet away, offering a casual shrug. “This is my stop. I’ve done my good deed for the month. Try not to get kidnapped so easily next time, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dream muttered, offering a lazy salute.

Skeppy turned on his heel and strolled off into the night.

And that left Sapnap standing beside him.

He hadn’t moved.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “You’re still here?”

Sapnap awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Uhm. There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”

Dream paused, narrowing his eyes before he let out a long sigh. “Of course there is. I knew you of all people wouldn’t come all the way here to protect me or whatever. You would’ve sent one of your lackeys to do it.”

Sapnap winced. “Yeah, fair… Look, I’m not-” He huffs in frustration. “I’m not great at this kind of thing, alright? I usually come in guns blazing- literally- and I know I’ve been kind of a dick.”

“Kind of?” Dream echoed, unimpressed.

“Okay, yes, a full on asshole. But I’m here because my King told me to deliver this to you personally.”

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a sealed envelope- black, thick parchment with a glossy red wax seal with a stamp of a diamond.

Dream blinked. “You can’t be serious.”

“It’s an invitation. A formal one,” Sapnap explained, his voice growing softer. “It’s for the gathering which is in two days. You’re… kind of required to be there.”

“Required?”

“You have a token,” Sapnap reminded him. “Everyone who received one must attend. In which, there are not many.”

“I didn’t ask for your damn token! I didn’t want to be part of your Mafia collect-them-all scavenger hunt!” Dream snapped, his fingers curling tighter around the envelope like he was debating whether to tear it in half or shove it down Sapnap’s throat.

Sapnap didn’t flinch. He just… stood there. Hands behind his back, shoulders tense.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Dream stared at him, caught off guard by the lack of resistance.

“And if I say no?”

Sapnap looked away then muttered, “Then I’ll have to escort you anyway.”

“Of course-”

“But! Off the record… I hope you come willingly. I can promise you it’s not a trap or ambush. You’ll just sit there the entire meeting in silence as the Kings talk about random events and things that've been happening in the city.”

“So like… just a silent guest of honor? Just sit in a room with a bunch of high-ranking psychos talking about death and guns?”

Sapnap shrugged. “Pretty much.”

Dream looked down at the envelope in his hand. The seal gleamed like blood in the dim lobby lights. He sighed.

“Two days?”

Sapnap’s eyes lit up. “Y-Yes! Two days. Location’s inside but we’ll be picking you up from your apartment lobby.”

Dream looked down at the invitation. Then at the bag of arcade coins still in his hand. Then looked back up.

“...Do I at least get food at this meeting?”

Sapnap blinked- slowly. “Uhm… I can get you some?”

Dream narrowed his eyes, as if weighing the full gravity of the decision. Then he lifted the envelope a little, as though it suddenly meant power. Or leverage. Or, even better, free food.

“Deal. I want a medium-rare filet mignon- pan-seared, obviously- with rosemary butter on top. And I want the mashed potatoes whipped with roasted garlic, not that powdered crap. Oh- And I want them piped onto the plate in a little swirl, not just slapped down with a spoon like some kind of school cafeteria.”

Sapnap’s face faltered. “Uhm-”

“Oh, I’m not done,” Dream said, counting on his fingers. “I want steamed asparagus with lemon zest and just a little parmesan, not too much. Bread rolls- fluffy, not crusty- and actually butter, none of that sad margarine. I want a large lemonade to drink and a chocolate mousse.”

He just stared.

Dream smiled.

“You get me all of that before we head to the meeting, and I’ll be there.”

There was a long pause.

Sapnap looked like he might cry.

“...I’ll do my best,” he muttered.

Dream laughed, nodding before turning toward the lobby. Dream tossed the coin bag in the air a couple of times as he left Sapnap standing there, stunned.

“Good luck, Snapmap.”

“It’s Sap-”

“Excuse me but I got a roommate to save and a story to tell him.”

Dream stepped through the door, glancing back one last time with a smug grin.

“And one more thing,” he added, already halfway inside.

Sapnap looked up warily. “Yeah?”

“If there’s parsley on that plate as garnish, I’m walking out.”

And with that, the lobby door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

Dream kicked off his shoes at the door and wandered in, still clutching the pouch of arcade coins.

He expected Wilbur to be pacing around the room, waiting for him. Or, even worse, Wilbur lying on the couch, half-dead, waiting for Dream to heal him.

But instead… silence.

The apartment was dark, save for the kitchen nightlight and the soft hum of the fridge. No footsteps. No snarky remarks or pestering about why he was out. It was just… silent.

“Wil?” Dream called out, stepping further in and turning on the lights. “I swear, if you’re doing one of your stupid jump scares, I will not be responsible for what happens.”

Still nothing.

He checked the living room first. A blanket was still crumpled in the corner, the throw pillow sitting on the armchair.

No sign of Wilbur.

Did he even come home at all?

Dream frowned, his steps growing more frantic as he moved down the hallway.

“Wil, are you in there?”

He knocked at Wilbur’s bedroom door. When he received no answer, Dream poked his head in.

Empty.

Bathroom?

Still empty.

Dream stood in the center of the hall, the silence pressing in around him. His eyes narrowed to every corner and space. A weird pit started to form in his stomach, like the kind you get when you misstep on the stairs and gravity remembers it has a score to settle with you.

There was no note. No messages. No blood, at least.

The whole apartment felt off. Too still. Like someone had paused the world and forgotten to hit play.

Dream sighed and dropped the coin pouch on the counter with a clink then exhaled sharply.

“Okay, Wil. If this is one of those weird villain drama things you do when you’re bored- like faking your own disappearance for some pathetic monologue- I swear I’ll kick you.”

Dream took out his phone and texted Wilbur.

DREAM: I saw the news. Where are you?

He stared at the message, watching the little “Delivered” pop up underneath it.

Then nothing.

No typing bubbles. No sarcastic reply. No emoji-filled excuse about dramatic rooftop speeches. Dream waited a few minutes before texting again.

DREAM: Come home. I can help.

Still nothing.

Dream was leaning his chest against the kitchen countertop, fingers drumming anxiously, staring at the phone in hand. There was no mess, no signs of a struggle or a bleeding out Wilbur. Just… absence.

Dream’s frown deepened.

Then, with a tight breath, he muttered, “Asshole.”

He sat down on the couch, checking his phone again- just in case. Outside, the city buzzed faintly. It was around ten in the evening.

Inside, Dream waited.

And waited.

And waited…

The sun rose.

Dream didn’t sleep.

He stayed curled on the couch with the TV on mute, not even watching it- just letting the changing colors of light and shadow keep him tethered to something that wasn’t panic. Every few hours he checked his phone, refreshed the page, and checked the news again.

The news said the Syndicate managed to escape a little around nine last night.

So why wasn’t Wilbur home?

The bag of arcade coins still sat on the counter, untouched since he dropped it. The invitation was left unopened in his back pocket.

At some point, Dream had dozed off slightly.

Only to jolt awake when he heard the click of a key turning in the front door.

He sat upright, staring at the entrance.

The door creaked open, and Wilbur stepped inside.

He looked… not great.

His coat was wrinkled, his hair messy, a few scratches across his neck and face. He was walking, mostly limping. But he was breathing. Very much not dead.

Dream stared.

Wilbur blinked at him, eyes slightly wide like he wasn’t expecting to be greeted immediately.

“...You’re still up?” He asked.

Dream scoffed, standing up from the couch. “Are you serious?”

Wilbur sighed. He shut the door and locked it behind him. “Listen-”

“No- You listen.” Dream snapped, voice louder than he intended. “You were all over the news! ‘Siren wounded during Syndicate standoff,’ ‘no confirmation on his condition’- and then nothing! Not a single message or call! Not even a sticky note saying ‘don’t panic, not dead.’ Nothing!”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Bullshit,” Dream huffed, stepping toward him. “At least let me know if you’re okay. I don’t want to find out the hard way that I’m going to room with a ghost, Wilbur.”

“...So a Ghostbur?”

“What?”

“It’s a mix of my name and-”

“I know what you meant.” Dream rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to distract me from being angry.”

There was a long silence. The clock on the wall ticked louder than it had any right to.

“...I’m sorry,” Wilbur said softly.

Dream looked at him for a long moment. Then, finally, exhausted and emotionally frayed- he conceded.

“Next time you nearly die- maybe shoot me a text.”

Wilbur gave a faint chuckle. “Noted.”

“And buy me gummy bears while you’re at it.”

“Sure.”

Dream let out a sharp breath, pacing a step or two before circling back toward Wilbur.

“Okay. Apology accepted- barely. Now sit down. You’ve got cuts all over, and I’m assuming that limp isn’t for dramatic flair.”

“Could be,” Wilbur muttered under his breath, glancing down at his leg.

“Now look at who's the stubborn one.” Dream chuckled. “I’ll heal you- quick and easy. Just hold still.”

“...No, I’m fine.”

Dream raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the very visible limp and scratches on him. “I have a hard time believing that. Come here.”

Wilbur stayed where he was.

Dream stepped forward again, lifting his hand- just a simple motion, casual, a silent promise of healing.

But Wilbur backed up.

Immediately.

Not subtle. Not shy. He moved fast, like Dream had pointed a loaded weapon at him instead of an open palm.

Dream paused, narrowing his eyes.

“...Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s eyes flicked away.

“I said I’m fine.”

“The fuck you are,” Dream’s voice sharpened, suspicion slowly creeping in. “What, are you suddenly allergic to being healed?”

“Just get the first aid kit that’s in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it myself.”

Dream stared at him like he’d suggested putting out a fire with gasoline.

“You want me to fetch a first aid kit when I can literally wave my hand and fix you in five seconds?”

Wilbur pressed his lips into a thin line, posture guarded. His eyes were fixed on the floor, not meeting Dream’s own.

“Oh, let me guess. Is this pride?” Dream dragged a hand down his face. “Or some dramatic Syndicate rule where you have to suffer for the aesthetic? Because if so, that’s dumb.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?” Dream let out a bitter huff. “Are you afraid I’ll hold it over your head later? Do you really think I would do that?”

Wilbur shook his head once, sharply. 

“No, you wouldn’t do that.”

“Then what?” Dream demanded. “Because I don’t get it. You’re limping and probably bruised and instead of taking the easy fix I’m offering, you’re refusing it.”

“I don’t need you to fix me, Dream. I don’t need your help.”

“But I want to help. That’s literally what my power is used for! It doesn’t hurt me. It doesn’t cost me anything. Why won’t you just let me-”

“Because I don’t want to use you!” Wilbur snapped.

The words cracked through the apartment, sending a wave of silence following.

Dream froze, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at Wilbur, trying to process the sentence. Wilbur stood there, tense and stiff and vulnerable in a way that made Dream’s stomach twist.

“I don’t want to use you,” Wilbur repeated, softer this time. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m keeping you around because of your powers. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re just… just some tool.”

Dream opened his mouth. Closed it. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“It’s fine, Wil. I know you don’t mean it that way.”

Wilbur looked at him, jaw tight. “I still don’t want to use you like that. I won’t.”

Dream exhaled, long and slow, then leaned back against the kitchen counter like the weight of Wilbur’s words had taken its toll. For a second, it almost looked like he was going to say something serious. Yeah, almost.

He shrugged.

“Well, if I am going to be a tool, then I’d like to be upgraded to something fancy. Maybe one of those multi-use ones with the bottle opener and the screwdriver built in.”

Wilbur stared.

Dream held up a finger. “Or maybe a Swiss Army knife. Very versatile. Great in emergencies. Also in red, which I feel is a very powerful color.”

“Dream.”

“What? I’d look good in red.”

“I-” Wilbur looked away, groaning. “Can you be serious for once?”

Dream smirked. “Never. That’s the one service I don’t offer.”

Wilbur ran his hand through his hair in pure exasperation. “I am trying to have a real conversation with you.”

“And I’m trying to emotionally protect us both with jokes so this doesn’t turn into another feelings talk,” Dream said back.

Wilbur gave him a look.

Dream sighed. “Look, Wil. I get it. You got this whole ‘I don’t want to be a bad person’ monologue brewing, which is ironic considering you’re a literal villain, but all I’m trying to do is heal my dumbass of a roommate. That’s it. Nothing much to it.”

“Dream, if I let myself rely on you like that- every scrape, every hit, every broken bone- I fear I’ll start expecting healing from you every time. I don’t want you to feel like some tool. Not by me, not by anyone. I don’t want to look at you one day and realize I’ve turned you into something I never meant to. I don’t want that to happen. Especially not to you.”

There was a pause. A heavy silence.

Then-

“Wow. That was deep. You want me to get you a mic so you can drop it?”

“Dream!”

Dream rolled his eyes. “Let me make one thing clear: healing people isn’t a burden for me. The last thing I want is someone dying right in front of me when I know I can do something about it. And the best part is- there’s no repercussions using my power so there’s nothing to worry about. Also, I’m the one offering to heal you so you don’t have to think too much into it. If I didn’t want to help you, I wouldn’t.”

Wilbur didn’t answer right away. His arms were crossed now, but the tension in his shoulders had eased, just a little.

“You’re frustrating,” he muttered.

Dream chuckled. “Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“I’m still taking it as such.”

Wilbur rubbed his temple, mumbling under his breath. Then, finally, he met Dream’s gaze again.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Dream said, stepping towards him and offering his hand once again. “Now, let me use my very convenient, extremely useful and totally consequence-free power-”

“Dream-”

“I swear, if you say my name one more time like you’re a disappointed father, I’m going to start charging rent by the syllable,” Dream huffs. “Just let me heal you so I can finally get some sleep.”

Wilbur stared at him, clearly still conflicted, but the fight in his shoulders finally started to ease. He sighed, long and slow, and uncrossed his arms before taking a step forward.

“Fine… But-”

“Nope. Not hearing any more arguments.”

Dream’s hand raised to Wilbur’s chest, the golden light blooming, soft and warm. The bruises faded as well as any scratch or cut had vanished without a trace. Wilbur’s leg became lighter and he could finally stand up straight.

When the healing was over, Dream stepped back with a yawn like nothing had happened.

“There. All patched up. See? I’m fine and you’re not stumbling around anymore.”

Wilbur flexed his fingers and tapped his leg on the ground. “...Thanks.”

“Of course,” Dream replied, already heading towards his room.

Wilbur watched him for a second, his brows still drawn- like there were about fifty things he wanted to say but couldn’t find the right words. He turned to grab a glass of water from the kitchen and paused.

Sitting on the counter was a small pouch.

Wilbur grabbed the bag, opened it, and then found… a ridiculous number of arcade coins inside.

He blinked.

“Uh… Dream?” he called out.

Dream poked his head back out of the hallway. “Yeah?”

Wilbur held up the bag. “What is this?”

“Oh, right!” Dream laughed as he made his way back over. “That was from earlier and you wouldn’t believe how I got that.”

“Who gave it to you?”

“Spadey.”

“...I’m sorry but who?”

Dream smirked.

“The King of Spades.”

Wilbur dropped the bag back onto the counter.

“Dream, no-”

“Dream, yes.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, it’s not a token. I got those coins because I won an arcade game against the King of Spades. I think he said his name was Bad? He didn't seem like a bad person. Wait- that's kinda funny. His name is Bad but he isn't so bad-”

“An arcade game?" Wilbur cut in, ignoring Dream's rambling. "Wait- How- When did you-”

“Techno took me outside and we were walking around-”

“Techno took you outside?!” Wilbur practically choked on the words.

“Yep. I was getting bored out of my mind and he was reading a book for hours but he finally let me outside as long as I was next to him. But then we saw you getting attacked on the news and that’s when-”

“When Techno helped save me…” Wilbur finished, finally putting the pieces together. “I thought he left you at the apartment but I didn’t know you were outside! Wh-What happened after?”

“I got kidnapped.” Dream shrugged, casual as ever. “The Spade group took me into an arcade place and that’s where I met Spadey-”

“How are you so casual about being kidnapped?! And are you seriously calling a Mafia King ‘Spadey’?”

“I’m emotionally attached to that name,” Dream grinned. “I made a few jokes and he said he’ll let me go if I win a game against him of my choosing. So I chose a shooting game and won by six points.”

Wilbur stared at him like he’s just said he arm-wrestled a god and won. “Dream, you got kidnapped. By the King of Spades. And then choose the one game with guns to play against a Mafia King?!”

“Hey!” Dream threw his hands up. “I saw a game I used to play when I was younger and picked it. I won so what’s the big deal?”

“You realize that if that had gone slightly different, you’d be buried under a claw machine by now?”

“Probably,” Dream agreed, entirely too calm. “But instead I’m here, bruise-free mind you, and a bag full of arcade coins that we can use later.”

Wilbur blinked slowly, like he was trying to reboot his brain. “How are you still alive?”

“Sheer sarcastic chaotic energy.”

Wilbur just sighed, already tired of the conversation. Then he seemed to pause, looking at the bag of coins with suspicion.

“Dream… you said that the King of Spades didn’t give you a token, right?”

“Huh? Well, yeah. All he gave me was those arcade coins.” Dream replied.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. He slowly reached for the bag, untied the drawstring, and tipped the contents onto the counter. 

Dream watched with a confused expression. “Wil, what the hell-”

Dozens of cheap, clattering coins spilled out, clicking against one another in a harmless pile of plastic and metal.

Except… one loud clink caught the attention of both of them. Right in the middle of it all was a black coin, larger than the rest, with a white tint on the edges.

Wilbur leaned in, picking the coin up between his fingers.

It was heavier than it looked.

One side bore a stylized spade- clean, sharp, and unmistakable, engraved in black enamel. Wilbur turned the coin around and on the other side was an hourglass. 

One thing was for certain… It was definitely another token.

“Dream,” Wilbur said slowly, dread bleeding into his voice. “This is a toke-”

Dream yanked the coin from his hand and chucked it across the apartment.

It ricocheted off a chair leg, spun once on the floor of the living room, and clattered to a stop beneath the coffee table.

Silence filled the room before Dream turned around, expression neutral.

“What are you talking about?” he said innocently. “What token?”

“Dream.”

“I don’t recall ever seeing a token. Must’ve been your imagination. You’ve had a long night. Maybe you’re hallucinating?”

Wilbur stared at him. Slowly. Blinking.

“Dream,” he said again, voice tight. “That was a token.”

“No, no. I think it was just a commemorative coin,” Dream tried.

“With a Spade crest on it?”

“Fuck.”

“This is your third token!”

“...Third time’s the charm?”

Wilbur looked like he was about to explode. “This isn’t winning a raffle! You don’t get a free sandwich after this!”

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a free sandwich-”

“Dream!”

Dream winced. “Okay, okay, no sandwiches. But it’s not like I asked for it. I didn’t say ‘Hey King of Spades, please give me your cursed friendship coin.’ All I did was beat him at an arcade game.”

Wilbur pointed a finger toward the living room. “Go get the token.”

“No.”

“Dream.”

“Nope. Nuh-uh. If I don’t look at it, it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s not how the tokens work.”

“Then the system is flawed, Wilbur.”

Wilbur let out a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a scream, dragging both hands down his face like he was physically trying to hold his soul in place.

“We’re doomed.” Wilbur hung his head down.

“No, I’m doomed. You’re safe because you haven’t accidentally adopted half the criminal underworld through dumb luck,” Dream finished, holding his arms like he was making a very reasonable point.

Wilbur lifted his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

“Sometimes,” Dream replied. “Other times it’s just static and elevator music, which, if I’m being honest, is actually pretty good.”

“Dream, you’ve been marked. Again. That’s three major factions now with their eyes on you.”

Dream groaned dramatically, stretching his arms above his head and letting them fall with an exaggerated flop. “Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“Do you have any idea how serious this is?”

“Not really,” Dream admitted, already wandering toward the hallway. “That sounds like a problem for future me. But present me is going to take a nap.”

“A nap?” Wilbur echoed, incredulous. “You just found out you received a token from the King of Spades and you’re going to bed?”

“I stayed up all night waiting for your dramatic ass to come home,” Dream shot over his shoulder, sending a glare to emphasize his words. “I’ve earned this nap. I’m going to bed and if anyone- mafia kings, villains, aces, or knife-wielding pandas- tries to stop me, I will throw them out a window.”

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Go to bed. But we’re not done talking about this.”

Dream waved lazily without turning around. “Wake me up if the house catches fire or if I somehow get a fourth token.”

He disappeared into his room with a soft click of the door. Not even a second later, he fell onto his bed and ultimately passed out.

The next time Dream woke up, it was to the sound of distant sizzling.

And the unmistakable smell of garlic. And… was that parmesan?

He blinked blearily at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented before everything from before came crashing back- Spadey, the token, Wilbur coming back hurt, Dream healing him… Right.

With a groan, he rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen where the delicious smell was coming from.

Opening his door, he made his way down the narrow hall until he reached the open area with the kitchen and living room. The apartment was rather quiet as the afternoon sunlight spilled in through the curtains. The token that Dream received last night laid upon the coffee table instead of the ground, placed neatly beside the other two. Three total.

Judging by the sun, it must’ve been around four in the evening. He slept almost the entire day which… wasn’t unusual considering his past schedule. He usually sleeps all day and works at the bar all night.

In the kitchen, Wilbur stood at the stove, sleeves rolled up, focusing on stirring a creamy sauce like it hadn’t been a chaotic, messy morning.

Dream shuffled in, yawning. “Is that… chicken alfredo?”

Wilbur glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“Smells good.”

“Thanks, but you’re not getting any.”

Dream gasped in shock. “Wha- Why not?!”

Wilbur turned back to the stove, too calm for the injustice he’d just committed. “Because I didn’t make enough for someone who doesn’t listen to simple orders to stay inside.”

“You can’t hold the token thing against me and starve me!”

“I can. And I will.” Wilbur grabbed a handful of grated parmesan and sprinkled it over the pan. “You have to learn that your actions have consequences, Dream.”

“I beat Spadey at a shooting game, Wilbur,” Dream said, popping the fridge open and grabbing a soda. “That’s not a crime. That’s called being a legend.”

Wilbur snorted. “That’s called being a moron. You came home with a third token and nonchalantly talked about how you were kidnapped.”

“Did you want me to cry about it?” Dream rolled his eyes as he dropped onto the stool.

Wilbur raised an eyebrow, still focused on the sauce. “I’d settle for mild concern. Maybe a little self-preservation. Something human.”

“Ugh, boring. That doesn’t make for good storytelling.”

“This isn’t a Netflix special. This is real life.”

“Give it time. Once I hit four tokens- I’m pitching this whole thing as a sitcom.”

Wilbur turned slowly, the wooden spoon in hand. “You’re… not really aiming for four tokens, right?”

“No! Of course I’m not aiming for all four! It was a joke.” Dream defended, gesturing broadly. “They just keep giving them to me. It’s not my fault I’m incredibly charming in stressful situations.”

Wilbur stared at him for a long beat, then turned back to the stove. “Still not getting any. Not until you tell me why you became like this.”

“Like what?”

“No self-preservation. Zero cares in the world.”

Dream stared at Wilbur, then deliberately dropped his soda can.

Wilbur’s eyes flicked to the can on the floor then back to Dream. In turn, Dream gave an exaggerated, innocent shrug.

“Oops. My bad.” Dream got up from the chair and picked it back up. “So are you going to share some of that or-”

“Dream.” Wilbur warned. “You’re not getting any until you tell me what made you like this.”

Dream reached over and spun the salt shaker in slow circles on the counter, watching it wobble dangerously close to the edge, threatening to fall.

“I would love some food.”

“Two.” Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose.

“What?”

“That’s two distractions now. Stop it.”

“Hey,” Dream said, waving his hands like a showman. “I’m just trying to keep you entertained.”

Wilbur shook his head, unfazed. “I don’t need to be entertained. I just want you to tell me-”

“Want to hear a joke?”

Wilbur sighed. “Three.”

“You’re actually counting? Well, I’m just getting started.” Dream cracked his knuckles. He grabbed a napkin and made a paper airplane, launching it with surprising force across the room before it landed softly on the ground.

“That’s four now. Dream-”

Dream pretended to suddenly sneeze- “ACHOO!”- then quickly grabbed another napkin and wiped his nose.

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Five. Can you please stop diverting the conversa-”

“Wait, wait. I think I hear something at the door.” 

Wilbur became a little alarmed at that and looked to the door, staying silent and trying to hear for anything. There were no sounds.

“Oh, actually,” Dream hummed, “There’s nothing. Just like the fucks I give.”

“...Six. Are you done?”

Dream smiled. “I can make an impression of Techno’s voice? Would you like to hear it?”

Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. “Seven. Dream, enough.”

Dream let the silence sit for a second, swinging his legs idly under the counter. 

“...So. Did you actually not make enough for me, or am I about to settle for microwave noodles for the next week?”

Wilbur sighed, grabbed a second plate, and scooped a generous helping of pasta onto it. “I made extra. Of course I made extra.”

Dream grinned. “I knew you loved me.”

“I tolerate you.”

“Same thing.”

Wilbur set the plate in front of him and made his own portion before sitting down next to Dream in his own stool. 

“Are you going to explain how you’re so… nonchalant about everything?”

Dream shrugged. “There’s not much to explain. I just don’t care.”

“You can’t keep dodging every question and expect people to stop asking.”

“I don’t dodge everything-”

“You do,” Wilbur shot back as he watched Dream munch on a mouthful of pasta. “But I’m not letting this go. Not this time.”

“Well, you should,” Dream twirled the pasta around with his fork. “'Cause all I do is work. Make terrible coffee. Sometimes heal people when I feel like it- but that’s it. That’s all. There’s nothing else to it.”

“That can’t be it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say?” Dream huffed. “I don’t have a cursed bloodline. I wasn’t bitten by a radioactive spider. And there’s no tragic backstory waiting to reveal itself.”

Wilbur took a hesitant bite of his Alfredo. There were a few minutes of silence before Wilbur spoke up.

He set his fork down gently, like he didn’t want to ruin the quiet with metal clinking.

“I think you’re lying.”

Dream glanced up, chewing slowly, a brow raised. “About what? The spider thing? Because I’ll have you know- if a spider did bite me, it died from my sarcastic influence.”

Wilbur didn’t laugh.

He just looked at him, calm and firm. “I think there’s something you’re not saying. You walk through chaos like it’s air and I don’t think anyone gets that way without a reason.”

“Oh, here we go again.” Dream scoffed, shaking his head.

“Dream-”

“Your theory is that I’m hiding some deep-rooted trauma under all my sarcasm and jokes?”

“Yes.”

“Wrong,” Dream leaned back in his seat, expression unreadable. “There is no tragic childhood. No secret vendetta. I’m just me. Sarcastic, funny, and maybe a bit too charming.”

Wilbur frowned. “Do you… not trust me enough to tell me?”

Dream blinked, thrown off by the question. It was quiet. Not accusing. He sounded… small. Almost careful. Like Wilbur was trying not to poke a bruise too hard.

“I do trust you,” Dream replied, taking a more serious tone. “But I’m serious when I say there’s nothing wrong.”

Wilbur tilted his head, studying him. “I think you’re scared.”

Dream snorted. “Of what? I don’t think I’m screaming or crying right now over getting some Mafia tokens and I don’t think I’m scared that my roommate is a villain either.”

“No,” Wilbur said calmly. “I think you’re scared of what happens when you actually start giving a shit.”

Dream paused mid-bite, fork hovering just below his mouth. He stared at Wilbur for a long moment. Then he dropped his fork with a soft clink and sighed, long and loud.

“Okay. I’m gonna say this once, and only once, so listen carefully.”

Wilbur leaned in just slightly, sensing the shift in tone.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Dream said, brows raised like he genuinely couldn’t believe they were still on this topic. “No trauma. No secret angst arc. No dark past filled with betrayal and heartbreak. I’m just a regular guy.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Some guy who doesn’t care about living or dying? Some guy that isn’t scared of the Mafia or villains? That doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make sense to you but it’s the truth.” Dream pointed his fork at him for emphasis. “I don’t care about most things. Never have. Never will. And I’m not scared of caring. I just don’t see the point.”

Wilbur paused. “What about your parents? Family?”

“None.” Dream shrugged. “And before you say anything- no, there’s no abandonment arc either,” Dream continued, stabbing a piece of chicken. “I wasn’t left on the streets. I didn’t grow up in an alley. I didn’t cry myself to sleep.”

“So your parents are…”

“Dead. Probably. Or they left. I don’t know, I don’t care. I was a baby. Some foster system picked me up and I bounced around enough until the system finally threw me out.”

Wilbur blinked, stunned into silence.

Dream continued, chewing on the chicken. “And before you ask: no, the system wasn’t awful. I didn’t get beat or abused. Most of them barely paid me any mind at all. Life kept going and I moved on.”

Wilbur’s expression flickered with something unreadable. “It seems like you didn’t want to get attached to any families in fear of abandonment so you eventually stopped caring about getting one. In turn, you stopped caring about anything.”

“And now you’re reading too much into it.” Dream pointed his fork at him again. “Stop trying to psychoanalyze me. You’re doing the whole ‘wow, he’s so broken and doesn’t even know it’ thing. I’m telling you I’m fine and there’s nothing wrong with me other than my great sarcastic jokes.”

Wilbur stared at him, quiet. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his stool and finally picked up his fork again.

“It feels like I’m going around in circles.”

“That’s because you’re refusing to accept reality.” Dream hummed. “Is it really that hard to accept that I just don’t give a damn?”

Wilbur didn’t answer right away. He stabbed a piece of chicken, twirled it in the sauce like it had personally offended him, and then said, “Yeah. It is hard to accept.”

“Prime- you and Techno are definitely brothers even if you’re both adopted.” Dream clicked his tongue. “It’s not like I don’t care about everything. I do care about some things.”

“Like what?”

“Like you, you idiot.”

Wilbur froze.

The fork stopped mid-air, sauce dripping off the end like time itself had hit pause.

Dream, for his part, didn’t seem to notice the gravity of what he’d just said- or maybe he did and just chose to bulldoze right through. He shoved another bite of pasta into his mouth, chewed slowly, and added through a full mouth, “And, y’know. Pizza. Sleep. Coffee. Not burning up in an alleyway by your brother. Normal stuff.”

Wilbur finally brought himself back into motion, lowering his fork and setting it gently on the plate.

He watched Dream with an unreadable look- half shock, half something softer. Like he was trying to decide if what he’d just heard was real or just another distraction wrapped in sarcasm.

“You care about me?” Wilbur asked, cautious like it might scare the moment away.

Dream raised his soda and took a long sip. “Dude, seriously? I stayed up the whole time, waiting for your ass to come home, and you’re just now figuring that out?” He set the soda down with a light thunk and rolled his eyes.

“I- uhm- well- You never said it out loud so…”

Dream leaned back in his chair, stretching with a lazy sigh. “You really needed me to say it out loud?  Should I hold your hand and whisper it dramatically while an explosion rings out behind us?”

“No, I-”

“I don’t stay up waiting for someone unless I care. You know how much I value my sleep.”

A beat.

Wilbur then gave out a long, loud laugh.

“I just- Wow. I can’t believe you.” Wilbur brushed his hair back with his free hand, it curling slightly in between his fingers. “Never would I have thought the roommate I ended up with would be such a chaotic annoyance.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Dream chuckled, finally letting the tension ease.

“It is. And I’m still not over the part where you added pizza to the list right after me,” Wilbur giggled as he shook his head.

“You’re above pizza. Slightly. Maybe.” Dream shrugged. “Depends on the pizza.”

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Takes one to know one.” Dream remarks.

“You’re insane, too.”

“I agree with that. But doesn't this feel like a comedy show? Or some book?”

Wilbur groaned, poking at the pasta that was left. “Do not start narrating us like we’re in a fanfic.”

“Too late,” Dream said smugly, already leaning on the counter. “In that moment… Wilbur realized- he wasn’t angry at the chaos or at Dream. He was angry at himself-”

Wilbur shoved him lightly with his shoulder. “Shut up. Oh my god, dude.”

Dream cackled, catching himself and holding his soda like a wine glass. “And he also knew that he didn’t just gain a new roommate… he gained a friend.”

“Stop!” Wilbur buried his face in his hands, laughing despite himself. “You’re going to make me choke.”

“Good,” Dream grinned as he twirled the last bit of pasta on his plate. “Then we can stop this feelings talk once and for all.”

They both fell into an easy silence after that, one filled with the quiet clinks of forks against plates and the occasional soft sigh. It was a nice kind of quiet, their own little pause in the world’s madness.

Eventually, Wilbur moved to stand and gather their plates, but Dream beat him to it, scooping both dishes up with a lazy stretch.

“I got it,” Dream said, already heading for the sink. “I’ll handle the dishes. Aren’t I the best roommate ever?”

Wilbur blinked. “I was the one who cooked.”

“Don’t ruin it,” Dream shot back with a grin, flicking the faucet on. “Just accept my gesture before I change my mind and start throwing knives.”

“Fine, fine.”

Dream rolled up his sleeves and got to work, humming something tuneless as suds bubbled up in the sink.

Wilbur leaned on the counter beside him, watching for a moment.

“So… three tokens, huh? Looks like we got to put you on double lockdown. And Techno is fired from looking after you.”

Dream let out a snort, elbow-deep in soap suds. “Techno would be ecstatic about that. I don’t think he likes babysitting me anyways.”

“On the contrary, actually, I think he likes you. Which is weird because Techno doesn’t like many people.”

Dream paused mid-scrub, brows lifting as he glanced over his shoulder. “He likes me? You sure about that buddy? I thought I was annoying him the whole time he was here.”

Wilbur chuckled, drumming his fingers on the counter. “Nope. I’m serious. I got a text from him while you were sleeping.”

“Oh?” Dream turned back to the sink. “What did he say?”

Wilbur pulled his phone out from his pocket and unlocked it. “It started with: ‘Is Dream okay?’ which, let’s be real, he wouldn’t send that text if he didn’t care.”

“Huh, that’s… weirdly nice,” Dream hummed. “Anything else?”

“He followed up with: ‘He’s a weird guy, Wil.’”

Dream snorted, nearly dropping the fork he was rinsing. “He’s not wrong.”

Wilbur grinned. “And then he added- ‘But not the bad kind. Just the kind who says unhinged things in the face of danger with no fear. You got a troublesome roommate.’ And I do have to agree with him there.”

“I also agree,” Dream replied, grinning as he scrubbed the last plate. “But you still haven’t kicked me out yet. It makes one wonder if you secretly like having a troublesome roommate?”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Please. If I wanted a troublesome roommate, then I would’ve let Tommy move in.”

“You’re very lucky you have me then.”

“I think so too.”

“I knew you had a soft spot for me.”

They laughed again, the kind that came easy- real and full. Wilbur took a step towards the living room before turning back and asked Dream one last question.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

Dream’s hands hesitated over the plate he was washing.

Just for a second.

He didn’t look over. Didn’t say anything right away. He could feel the folded envelope still tucked in his back pocket like a stone he’d forgotten he was carrying. 

The invitation for the Mafia meeting. Two days and a place. A black-colored letter with a diamond symbol stamped into the red wax.

Dream set the last plate down onto the drying rack. Then he washed the soap from his hands before he shrugged.

“No, that’s all.”

And just like that- Dream broke rule number five.

Chapter Text

Keeping a secret was hard.

Keeping a secret from Wilbur was almost impossible.

Dream had spent the next day dodging most questions, skirting around curious glances, and brushing off Wilbur’s attempts to ask him further about his ‘kidnapping’ that barely lasted a few hours. Dream did the usual well-timed joke and made a few sarcastic comments to keep the mood light. It worked for the most part.

But Wilbur was smarter than Dream gave him credit for.

“I feel like you’re hiding something more from me.”

“Who? Me?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “Yes. You.”

“How dare you even suggest such slander.” Dream placed a hand over his chest, the very image of hurt pride.

Wilbur didn’t laugh. Not even a chuckle.

“What else happened that you’re not telling me?”

“Wil,” Dream sighed. “There’s nothing for you to be concerned about. I would have told you if there was.”

Wilbur was silent for a long moment before muttering a small, “Fine.” 

He didn’t press any further but he still gave knowing looks towards Dream like he knew he was hiding something. Dream pretended not to notice.

Dream wanted to tell Wilbur the truth about the meeting. Every time he reread the invitation that he hid in his drawer, fingers ghosting over the ink and the neatly sealed edge, he thought about it. Showing it to Wilbur, sitting him down, and saying: “Look, I got this invitation and I’m being forced to go but I technically did promise to go.”

Dream never told him.

And when the night finally came when he had to leave, Dream waited patiently until the apartment was brought into that certain silence where the only sound was the soft humming of the fridge. 

Wilbur was asleep on the couch, headphones sliding halfway down his neck. Dream left the invitation in the drawer, not really caring to bring it with him.

Dream was deciding on an outfit, but then shrugged. He didn’t care what the Mafia members thought of him and he wasn’t planning to stay long. So he put on whatever was comfy. 

Yeah… his kitten-print pajamas.

Not even five minutes later, he was dressed in the dumbest thing imaginable: kitten-print pajama set, a dark green jacket two sizes too big with a faded stain near the elbow sleeve, and mismatched fuzzy socks with open-toe slides. A fashion statement for the ones who truly didn’t give a damn.

Before Dream left the apartment, he gave a small glance to Wilbur, who was still guarding the couch, and sighed.

It should be fine… I’ll be back before he wakes up.

Then he slipped through the door without making so much as a squeak.

The lobby was cold and mostly empty at this hour. The lights above glowed faintly. Dream stepped out from the stairwell and spotted Sapnap immediately, leaning against the wall near the entrance, arms crossed, waiting patiently.

“Yo,” Dream greeted with a small wave of his hand.

Sapnap looked up and visibly recoiled at Dream’s attire.

“You can’t be serious.”

“What?”

“You’re wearing pajamas? To a gathering of the city’s most notorious Mafia Kings? This isn’t a sleepover.” Sapnap groaned.

Dream shrugged. “What’s the difference? They both involve fake smiles and passive-aggressive threats.”

Sapnap looked drained after just five seconds of talking with Dream. “Why must you be like this?”

“And now you’re stuck with me because your King decided to give me a damn token. I gotta say that’s absolutely tragic for you,” Dream snickered, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket as he paced forward. “So, be honest, how long do you think I can get away with my jokes before someone pulls a gun on me?”

“At this rate?” Sapnap opened the lobby door with a bitter sigh. “I’d say five minutes.”

“Generous. I was thinking three.”

Sapnap didn’t respond and guided Dream to a nearby curb where a sleek black limousine waited in the distance. Before they arrived near the car, Dream piped up with a question.

“Not to change the subject or anything… but where’s the food you promised me?” Dream grinned wider seeing Sapnap stiffen. “I believe I specifically asked for-”

“Don’t have it,” Sapnap mumbled.

“Don’t have it?” Dream repeated, mock-offended. “I believe that was the only thing I asked for in return and you don’t have it? I will never recover from this betrayal. This is outrageous. This is horrid. This is-”

“I tried, okay?”

“…Tried what?” Dream asked, genuinely confused at this point.

“I tried to make it.”

“Oh,” Dream said, realization hitting him. “Oh no. You didn’t-”

“Why must cooking be so difficult?!” Sapnap snapped, face flushing. “I looked up like- several videos and bought ten cookbooks, but I still can’t believe I set the steak on fire five times-”

“How do you set steak on fire?! And five times at that!” Dream laughed. “Dude- I meant you can just order it! You didn’t have to cook it!”

Sapnap paused at that. “Fuck. I thought you meant I had to be the one to cook it.”

“That’s hilarious!” Dream grinned as Sapnap’s face started to flush even more.

“Yeah, yeah, keep laughing at me. I’ll grab you take-out on the way back then. Sorry it’s not going to be anything fancy.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes and turned to keep walking, crossing his arms and wincing slightly.

Dream caught it almost instantly and stopped in his tracks, his grin fading.

“Sapnap.”

“What? What’s wrong?” Sapnap glanced back at Dream.

“Show me your hands.”

Sapnap didn’t move.

“...It’s nothing.”

“Show me.”

“It’s fine. Just a couple of burns and cuts. I’ve dealt with wor-”

“Sapnap.” Dream’s voice turned flat. Not playful anymore. “Now.”

Sapnap paused, contemplating, before huffing out a breath and slowly raising his two hands. It was mostly red, irritated skin across his fingers and knuckles. Small blisters and a few cuts that weren’t at all healing like they were supposed to.

Dream didn’t hesitate as he lifted his hand and activated his power. A soft pulse of golden light, almost invisible to the eye, sank into the skin. The wounds smoothed over immediately. It hadn’t even been a couple of seconds, and Dream was done.

Sapnap stared at his hands, flexing them experimentally.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he muttered.

“And you didn’t have to try cooking like a reckless idiot,” Dream shot back, but his voice had grown softer. “A simple thanks would be fine.”

“...Thank you.”

“There ya go. See? Was that so hard?”

“Ugh- nevermind.” Sapnap rubbed his healed knuckles. “I take it back.”

“Nope. No take backsies.” Dream chuckled. “Let’s get this over with so I can get back to my apartment and sleep.”

“Alrighty.”

They finally reached the limo door, and it opened with a mechanical hiss. Sapnap gestured for Dream to step inside first, who did so reluctantly.

The first person he saw was Punz, sitting near the back, legs crossed, dressed in a black suit with a red necktie and multiple golden jewelry pieces on him. He basically looked like the inside of a casino lobby- expensive, overconfident, and definitely dangerous. 

He was looking at the phone in his hand before meeting eyes with Dream and giving a casual smile like he wasn’t one of the Mafia Kings that gave him a token.

Next to Punz was George, sitting comfortably with one arm over the backrest. He was wearing a clean black vest over a dark red shirt with golden accents. His eyes locked onto Dream’s outfit and widened before he broke into a grin.

“Oh, this is going to be good,” George said, already chuckling.

“Thank you. I’m glad someone appreciates fashion when they see it,” Dream said, stepping fully inside and flopping onto the leather seat like he owned the place.

“You look like you got lost on your way to a pajama party,” George noted.

Dream shrugged as Sapnap climbed in after him, sitting across from where Dream was. The car started moving immediately as soon as the door was closed.

Then the group started talking.

Punz, still unreadable as ever, grinned as he added, “I’m glad to see you’re taking this seriously.”

“Of course,” Dream said, adjusting his jacket with mock dignity. “Nothing screams ‘prepared for the criminal elite’ like kitten pajamas.”

George snorted, covering his mouth to suppress his laughter.

“Well, Dream,” Punz starts, “I know I haven’t been able to explain much, but we’re heading to our monthly meeting where we discuss routes, trades, and all that fun stuff. Usually I don’t really have to invite the people with tokens but…”

“But?”

“If you’re a new token holder, especially one without proper affiliation, then you have to be introduced. Brought in. Let the others see your face, know your name, confirmation basically.”

“And if I had refused to go?” Dream raised an eyebrow.

“You’d be seen as rejecting the invitation,” Punz said flatly. “Which means you’ll be marked as hostile. Which means-”

“Alright, enough. I get it,” Dream cut in, waving his hand. “Death, trauma, threats. Got it. Sooo, what am I supposed to do there? Sapnap told me all I have to do is sit there, right?”

Punz nodded. “All you have to do is show up, sit still, let me do most of the talking, and do not stand out or antagonize anyone.”

“Define antagonize.”

Sapnap groaned. “Dream.”

“I’m joking,” he replied. “...Unless someone insults the pajamas. Then it's game on.”

“Prime help us,” George chuckled. “We better make sure nobody does that then.”

“Exactly,” Dream leaned back in his seat, grinning. “You don’t disrespect the kittens.”

“Some have bows on them,” Punz observed, squinting. “You do realize how ridiculous you look right now, yes?”

“Yeah. It’s ironic,” Dream said, entirely unbothered. “The more ridiculous I look, the less threatening I seem, and it lowers expectations. Makes people underestimate you.”

“That sounds like something a psychopath would say,” Sapnap remarks.

“That is something a psychopath would say.” George agreed.

Punz let out a quiet laugh under his breath. “Interesting theory. But you don’t have any offensive powers, so I don’t see your plan?”

“Yeah, I didn’t think that part through.” Dream shrugged, which earned a few laughs from the rest of the group. 

The car started to slow down until it came to a complete stop.

They were here.

The moment the limo stopped, Dream waited until each of them was out of the car, then he stepped out slowly, trailing behind Sapnap. Dream took in the size of the structure looming before them.

From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a sealed industrial building- an old warehouse tucked into the city’s shadows. But inside?

Inside was something entirely different.

As the massive steel doors creaked open, a wash of noise hit them- quiet conversations, the clink of weapons, and the crunch of boots over metal flooring. The interior of the warehouse was enormous, easily the size of a football field, but darker and colder, lit by overhead beams.

In the center of the room could only be described as a dust arena- a wide, circular pit of compacted earth surrounded by a stone barrier that reached to hip-level. Scuff marks and bloodstains were faintly visible beneath the thin layer of dust that covered the ground. This was no ordinary meeting floor. This was a place where warnings were delivered and messages were made.

Around the large arena, the rest of the warehouse opened into wide walkways. Tables lined the walls, but no chairs were seen. Various members of different Mafia factions were walking around, talking. Men and women- sharp-eyed, tattooed, armed- stood or leaned against a wall, watching every new arrival while talking amongst their comrades.

The only reason Dream could tell they were from different Mafia factions is because they fucking color-coordinated themselves. 

Black and red with gold chains signifying the group of Diamonds. Dark green shows the group of Clubs. The black and white were the Spades. And, finally, the deep blue with black was the group of Hearts.

A lingering thought passed through Dream’s mind that the Diamonds and Hearts should switch colors, but he just shrugged it off. It was already weird enough that he was even here.

Dream also noticed that almost all the Mafia members only talked to the same colors. No mingling. No crossovers. Just tight clusters of familiar hues sticking close to their own, exchanging words and half-laughs while eyeing everyone as a threat. 

However, when Punz was leading the way, Dream noticed how all members gave a slight bow.

Not deep, just a respectful tilt of the head, a hand over the chest, and a subtle nod. It was coordinated. Rehearsed. Even the ones lounging against the walls straightened when Punz passed by.

King of Diamonds, Dream reminded himself. It was easy to forget when the guy talked in such an easygoing tone with Dream. Punz kept walking, cool and relaxed, hands in his pockets as he passed by.

Dream’s pajamas earned a few double-takes and more than enough stares. One man with a jagged scar barked out a laugh. A woman near the corner end of the area whispered something to her neighbor while pointing subtly in his direction. 

But Dream couldn’t have cared less.

As soon as this was over, he was going to sneak back into his apartment without waking Wilbur and go back to sleep.

Dream leaned in toward Sapnap and whispered, “This looks like one of those classic high school cafeterias where everyone has their own table and if you sit in the wrong spot, you’ll get stabbed.”

Sapnap hummed in agreement. “You’re not wrong. But in this case, they will stab you.”

“Fantastic.”

They kept moving, Sapnap staying next to Dream while George and Punz took the lead as they weaved through the walkway. Eyes followed them, and Dream could almost feel the curiosity as they stared. He was a new face and, more than likely, they all knew that he received three tokens. Dream is the topic of the century for these Mafia members.

“Wow, you actually made it.” A familiar voice made itself known.

Dream blinked as he stared at Spadey- well, technically it’s Bad, King of Spades. He was using his powers, so he had the void black skin, devil-like tail, and even the glowing white eyes. Bad was dressed in a white coat and black turtleneck with a small silver necklace.

Next to Bad was his Ace, who Dream remembers as Skeppy. He was wearing a similar outfit to Bad, but instead of a nice suit jacket, it was more of a hoodie.

Dream smirked. “Heya, Spadey and Skeps. Of course I came… I didn’t really get a choice in the matter.”

Skeppy smiled while Bad rolled his eyes. 

“You’re really deadset on calling me Spadey?”

“Would you rather I call you ‘Your Edgelord Majesty, Keeper of Losing by Six Points?”

Skeppy snorted, visibly trying not to laugh. “Honestly? That might be worse.”

“You do realize you’re standing in the presence of the Kings?” Bad threatened, but his tail flicked with mild amusement. “You should maybe try- oh, I don’t know- being a little more conscious of what you say?”

“Oh nooo,” Dream gasped dramatically. “Are the big, scary Kings gonna get upset I didn’t grovel at their feet? Maybe you shouldn’t expect people to react like you want them to.”

Around them, several Mafia members turned to stare. Some outright stopped their conversations, stunned that someone, anyone, was speaking to the Kings like this. Many were looking at Dream like he was already six feet under.

A tall man in green leaned towards another member. “Who the hell is that?”

“The new token holder,” the other murmured back. “The one with three tokens. Diamonds, Spades, and… wasn’t Clubs trying to-”

“He’s wearing pajamas.”

“I know.”

More whispers rippled out. People didn’t talk to the Kings like that. Not unless they were looking to end up dead. Yet, Dream didn’t pay them any mind.

Bad turned to Punz and raised a brow. “He’s interesting, I’ll give you that. But why did you give him a coin, Punz? You never do that. Not unless there’s something more to him than meets the eye…”

“What can I say?” Punz shrugged as a smirk fell upon his face. “He’s entertaining.”

Dream smirked. “Awww. You like me.”

“Don’t push it,” Punz replied smoothly.

George kept glancing between Punz and Skeppy. “This has been a great reunion, but we’re going to head to our spot.”

“Agreed,” Sapnap nodded his head. “King Punz, we should get going.”

“Of course, but…” Punz gave a slight pause as he took a glimpse at Skeppy’s leg. “I just wanted to know how my past comrade was doing?”

This caused Bad to narrow his eyes at Punz. For some reason, Dream could feel the room getting colder. Not metaphorically- literally.

The air shifted around them, a pressure building in the silence that followed Punz’s words. A few bystanders noticeably stepped back, sensing something that might turn hostile. Skeppy stiffened at Punz’s words.

Dream, still standing there in kitten pajamas, glanced between them. “Huh. Okay… Awkward. Someone want to fill me in before this group starts throwing knives?”

Bad’s voice was low and vaguely threatening as he promptly ignored Dream. “He’s not your comrade anymore, Punz. He came to my side for a reason.”

“Funny,” Punz said lightly, “I don’t remember saying he still is. Just wondering how the leg’s doing after the duel with my Ace? Was betraying me worth it?”

Dream’s eyes kept flickering from Skeppy’s leg to Sapnap. What did they mean by duel? And what does that have to do with Skeppy’s leg?

“It happened,” Bad stated, still staring at Punz. “It ended. Terms were met.”

“It was years ago,” Skeppy says, eyes flicking between Punz and Sapnap. “And you two won’t let it go.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have betrayed your King,” Sapnap snapped back.

“He’s not my King,” Skeppy retorted, which earned a sharp glare from Sapnap.

“Then maybe I should break your other leg and see how well you heal from that?”  

The tension held a beat longer…

Until Dream spoke up again.

“Okay, wow,” he said, raising both hands. “This had everything: betrayal, grudges, old wounds- I didn’t think I would be walking into an action movie today, but I’m here for it.”

Everyone slowly turned their heads towards Dream, blinking at him in confusion. Sapnap was the only one who didn’t seem as surprised as the others.

“W-What?” Skeppy questioned.

“You guys have a full-on betrayal arc playing out. I’m just saying, if I have to listen to y’all monologue about your tragic pasts, the least you could do is give me some popcorn before the drama unfolds.”

Bad looked Dream up and down. “Is this some kind of strategy? To like… ease the tension or whatever?”

“Strategy implies effort,” Dream replied. “I never do work unless I’m getting paid for it.”

Skeppy turned to Sapnap. “Is he serious?”

“Oh, he’s serious,” Sapnap muttered, rubbing his temples. “He’s always like this.”

“He is…” Skeppy gestured vaguely to Dream. “I don’t even have the vocabulary.”

These were Kings, Aces, the literal fucking Mafia. The most dangerous people in the city. They were used to silence. Control. Blood. Hierarchy. Respect.

And somehow, the person wearing kitten-print pajamas had stolen the room and was talking to them like they were at a community park party.

A laugh came from behind Bad and Skeppy- light, airy, and utterly amused.

Dream tilted his head just in time to see a woman dressed in deep green and black step forward from the crowd, flanked by two silent guards. Her long coat flowed behind her, tailored with embroidered vines curling around the sleeves. She wore a single emerald ring on her gloved hand, and Dream recognized her instantly.

“Hi again, Dream. I’m glad to see you haven’t changed,” Hannah remarked, voice warm with delight.

Dream blinked at the King of Clubs. Of course she’d be here.

“Well,” Dream crossed his arms, “I gotta stay consistent to who I am.”

Hannah laughed again, stepping into the circle of tension like it was a ballroom floor. “I don’t think anybody could be anything like you.”

“You make it sound like a disease.”

“Isn’t it?” She smirked.

“I made you a great drink, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I tipped you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah… with a fucking token.” Dream groaned. “You couldn’t have just handed me a twenty and called it a day?”

“Now that wouldn’t be fun, would it?”

“It would be great for me, actually.” He shrugged.

Hannah chuckled before turning to the other two Kings, a slight glint in her eyes.

“Enough with the arguing. This is a peace meeting and we’re only here to discuss the territories and trades. Let’s try not to kill each other before the King of Hearts gets here, that would be embarrassing,” Hannah said, her voice still light but edged with a quiet authority.

Punz gave a nod. “We’ll take our positions.”

Bad gave one final glance towards Punz, expression unreadable, before turning away with Skeppy trailing beside him. Skeppy didn’t look back. Not even once.

The crowd slowly returned to quiet conversation or began moving to the perimeter of the dust arena. Hannah gave a small wave in farewell as she started making her way to the other side of the arena.

Sapnap snorted as they moved toward a shaded area near the edge of the room. Dream scanned the space as they walked, noting how everyone seemed to slip back into routine, but their eyes still flicked toward him every so often like they couldn’t decide whether he was a joke or a threat.

“Hey,” Dream said, leaning in towards Sapnap with a whisper. “What exactly were you guys talking about? What duel?”

Sapnap paused, sighed, then started to explain. “A duel is a sanctioned fight. Usually happens during the peace meeting and is authorized by the Kings. It can start for a variety of reasons. From owning rights to different territories, simple disputes, or even… Even wanting to switch sides. Once it’s called and the terms are agreed on, it has to happen. No backing out, no second chances.”

Dream furrowed his brow. “You can’t just leave the group and go to another one?”

“It’s not that simple.” Sapnap shook his head. “If you want to leave to join another group… you would have to fight the Ace of the group you’re leaving.”

“So Skeppy… fought against you?” Dream asked, his voice a little quieter now.

Sapnap’s jaw clenched. He was staring off into the dust-filled arena as if recalling the previous fight.

“I didn’t want to fight him,” Sapnap admitted, arms crossing over his chest. “He was my partner. My comrade. He was with me from the start. Then one day, out of nowhere, he said he wanted to leave. Said he wanted to follow King Bad instead.”

“...Are there rules to this duel? Like- what exactly happens?”

“Yes, there are rules,” Punz joined in the conversation. Dream wasn’t sure how long he had been listening in for. "And the duel is usually a fight to the death... or until a King calls out to stop the duel. But that’s rare. No King wants to be the one who yields in front of everyone, especially in front of the whole Mafia. It’s a permanent stain.”

“So,” Dream said slowly, “Skeppy fought you in that arena… and he won?”

That earned a snort from George. “Won? Against Sapnap? That’s hilarious.”

“But- But Skeppy is still alive?” Dream tilted his head.

“I injured his leg heavily,” Sapnap said, his voice low. “He couldn’t walk for months. It never healed right, even with medics and powers.”

Dream blinked, glancing across the arena where Skeppy stood with Bad. There was a slight limp that Dream hadn’t noticed before, like the echo of an old scar.

“I thought you said it was a fight to the death?” Dream asked warily now.

“It was,” Punz hummed. “Bad stopped the fight.”

“Called out for it to end before Skeppy could be finished off,” George added in.

Dream frowned. “But you said that’s rare. Like… humiliating-ly rare.”

“It is,” Sapnap confirmed, glancing back toward Dream. “But King Bad didn’t want to lose him.”

Dream folded his arms. “So… let me get this straight. Skeppy asks to join the Spades, has to fight you, nearly dies, and then Bad swoops in and says ‘Stop’ and they all have a happy ending?”

“Yeah, more or less,” Sapnap shrugged.

Dream watched Skeppy, who was whispering something to Bad, making the King laugh. He stood behind Bad like a loyal shadow.

Dream’s voice lowered. “It’s good that he lived.”

Sapnap blinked. “What?”

“He seems like a swell guy. He shouldn’t die just because he wants to follow someone else.”

“Dream-”

“I’m just saying,” Dream held up a hand, “maybe next time someone wants to switch teams, you let them fill out a form instead of nearly killing them in a dirt pit.”

George sighed. “It’s not about switching teams. It’s about loyalty. If we let anyone be able to walk away without consequence, then what’s the point of having ranks at all?”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “I dunno… trust? Mutual respect?”

Punz chuckled under his breath. “Dream, this is the Mafia. If we operated on ‘mutual respect,’ we’d all be dead within a week.”

“Sounds like you all need therapy then,” Dream muttered, shaking his head. “So is that all the information about your dumb little duel squabble?”

“There are eight duel commandments,” Sapnap added, to which earned an annoyed huff from Dream. Sapnap ignored him and began listing them, like reciting something sacred and unchangeable. “They’ve been the same since the Mafia split into four factions. Everyone honors them. Break even one, and the consequences are severe.”

“Fatal, actually,” Punz stepped in to finish the thought. “Go on, Sapnap.”

Sapnap nodded. “First commandment- Only a King can authorize a duel. Without their approval during the truce meeting, it’s considered murder. 

“Second commandment- A duel must be witnessed by all the Kings and Mafia representation. No secret fights.

“Third commandment- The Ace of the faction must be the one to participate, unless the duel is between two Kings.

“Fourth- No Mafia member may enter the field once the duel begins. No medics. No healers. No allies.” He gave Dream a look. “You step in, you’re next.”

Dream blinked at that. “That’s-”

“Fifth,” Sapnap continued on, “The duel doesn’t end until someone dies… or if a King calls it off. And like we said, the last one almost never happens.

“Sixth commandment- All abilities are permitted. Full power, no holding back. If you can’t survive your opponent at their worst, you shouldn’t have challenged them at all.

“Seventh- Only Kings may yell out during duels. The others may whisper and talk, but not yell, as it may be considered an interference.

“And Eighth…” Sapnap hesitated. “The loser doesn’t get remembered if they die.”

“Wh-What?” Dream’s shoulders dropped.

George replied this time. “It means we can’t speak of them again. No statues. No stories. If you lose a duel and die, you’re erased from the records. Like you never existed.”

Dream’s mouth opened, but the sharp clang of a bell cut through the warehouse, silencing all voices. 

“Finally.” Punz straightened up. “I don’t know why he always arrives late, but we can finally start the meeting.”

From the far side of the warehouse, Dream could see people making way for a small figure who was wearing black and navy, his hair black, and a large scar running from his eye all the way down to his lip. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that was the last King that Dream hadn’t met yet.

The King of Hearts had arrived.

Dream whispered to Sapnap. “Im going to guess that’s-”

“King Quackity,” Sapnap finished. “King of Hearts… Although he has no heart himself. That guy is ten times worse than any Mafia member you will meet. His Ace matches him. Both of them are ruthless and cruel.”

Dream’s gaze followed the figure walking through the silent crowd. Quackity wasn’t tall, but he didn’t need to be- his presence alone was enough. Everyone stood straighter as he passed, and no one dared to meet his eyes for long. Beside Quackity was a very tall figure, his Ace most likely, who had short green hair and wore some sort of gas mask.

Dream leaned a little closer to Sapnap. “His Ace is-”

“Sam. Ace of Hearts. He’s been loyal to King Quackity since the beginning. Doesn’t talk much but listens to King Quackity’s every order.”

Before Dream could ask any more questions, Quackity and his Ace were walking towards them.

“Shit,” George muttered under his breath. “He’s coming over here.”

Sapnap tensed, immediately stepping in front of Dream. His posture shifted from relaxed to protective, one arm slightly angled as if ready to block any incoming attack.

Quackity came to a slow stop just a few feet away, his sharp eyes flicking over each of them before settling on Dream. There was a small smile, but it held no gentleness- just quiet curiosity, like he was studying a painting and couldn’t decide if it was treasure or trash.

“So,” Quackity began, voice smooth, “You’re the guy with three tokens? Your name is Dream, right?”

Before Dream could reply, Sapnap quickly cut in flatly.

“He doesn’t talk.”

“The hell I don’t.” Dream’s head jerked with a glare.

George elbowed him sharply before he could say anything more, while Punz gave a roll of his eyes.

Quackity’s smile widened slightly. “Doesn’t speak, huh? Looks to me like he talks just fine.”

Dream opened his mouth again, but Sapnap stepped backward just enough to pin Dream with a warning look: This is not the time to mess around.

Quackity watched the silent standoff with growing amusement. “Ah,” he mused, “I see. He’s new. Doesn’t know the etiquette yet.”

Dream didn’t back down. He folded his arms and met Quackity’s gaze. “Etiquette’s never really been my strong suit. I have three tokens, yeah, but I was told if I collected all four I’d get a free latte. Any truth to that or do I need to talk to your manager?”

Sapnap visibly stiffened, his fingers twitching like he was debating whether to cover Dream’s mouth or strangle him. “Dream,” he growled under his breath, “stop talking.”

Quackity’s brow lifted, a dark glimmer growing in his eyes. “A comedian. Haven’t had one of those in a while. Usually they end up dead before the punchline.”

Dream gave a bright, mocking smile. “Let me know if you want to book a private show. I do birthday parties, banquets, and- apparently- Mafia meetings.”

“Dream,” Sapnap’s voice was sharp enough to cut steel now. “Not. Another. Word.”

Quackity studied Dream for a few seconds longer before continuing.

“Three tokens,” Quackity mused, more to himself now. “Our own people don’t earn even one after years of working. Yet, here you are. A guy in pajamas with a mouth too big for his own good. That may get you killed one day.”

Dream was unfazed by the hidden threat. “You sound rather impressed. You can admit it, it’s okay. I know I’m great.”

“Enough.” Sapnap hissed one last and final time.

Dream shut his mouth. He swallowed whatever smartass line was next and kept his arms folded, lips pressed into a thin line. He didn’t look away from Quackity, though. He never dropped his gaze.

Quackity noticed. His smile didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed just slightly. He turned to Punz.

“Keep your dog on a leash. The next time he bares his teeth, I won’t be so forgiving.”

Without another word, Quackity turned on his heel and walked away. Sam gave one last glance to Dream before following after silently. The crowd parted for them again, not daring to breathe too loudly as they passed.

Once they were far enough away, Dream exhaled. “Okay,” he muttered, “maybe I went a little too far.”

“You think?” Sapnap scoffed.

“I’m still alive,” Dream remarked.

“Because this is a peace meeting,” Punz raised a brow. “If this wasn’t, then he would’ve killed you on the spot.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Let’s just-”

Another ring echoed out. Punz huffed before turning to the crowd and stepping onto a platform. The other Kings around the arena did the same, each one rising to a slightly elevated board at equal distances around the circle. Silence rippled outward like a wave, washing over the room.

Dream shifted beside Sapnap, lowering his voice. “Are they gonna chant something ominous now or-”

“Dream,” Sapnap warned again, not even looking at him this time.

Dream shut his mouth again.

From their far left, Bad stepped forward first. “As declared, this meeting convenes under truce. All disputes brought forth today will only be voiced. No weapons. No attacking.”

“Unless we want to add a new bloodstain to the dirt,” Hannah added from her own side, her voice echoing across the space.

“Let’s begin then,” Punz nodded. “I have noticed a few Hearts in our territory…”

The meeting dragged on.

Dream had tried- really had tried- to pay attention at first. The talk started with minor border disputes between factions, water rights to a river near the downtown area, something about trade route scheduling, and whose crates were ‘mysteriously’ going missing. There were some accusations, some vague threats masked in smiles, and a lot of nodding from everyone except Dream.

His eyes glazed over by the fifth issue. By the seventh, he was rocking lightly on his heels. At some point, he just crossed his arms and started counting how many people were in the crowd.

Dream yawned. Quietly. Mostly.

Sapnap elbowed him.

“Pay attention.”

“To what?” Dream muttered. “Who gets dibs on a bridge? Why should I care about any of this? I’m not even part of your dumb little Mafia group.”

Sapnap didn’t respond, just gave him a sharp look.

Dream rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall, eyes fluttering half-shut. He tuned out most of what was being said until suddenly-

Quackity’s voice cut through the haze.

“I am announcing a duel.”

All heads snapped toward the King of Hearts as two bulky men emerged from the crowd, dragging a third between them. The man was struggling against them and then he was thrown into the dust-filled arena, all eyes on him.

Quackity didn’t wait for the whispers to settle.

“Ponk,” he said clearly, voice echoing over the arena, “has declared that he no longer wishes to be part of the Mafia.”

Gasps followed, a few cursing under their breath. Sapnap tensed beside Dream.

Quackity’s smile widened. “And we all know what that means.”

From behind him, Sam stepped forward- silent, looming, the Ace of Hearts with the emotionless stare of a man built for nothing but execution.

Dream’s breath caught in his throat.

“S-Sapnap.” Dream tugged on Sapnap’s sleeve. “You have to stop this.”

Sapnap didn’t look at him.

His jaw was tight, eyes locked on the man struggling to push himself upright in the dust. He looked up at Quackity, then acrossed the arena at the rest of the Kings, despair on his face- but no one moved to step in.

“Sapnap,” Dream hissed, more desperate now, pulling at his sleeve again. “Do something!”

“He made his choice,” Sapnap muttered, voice colder than Dream heard before.

“The guy wants to leave! That doesn’t deserve a death sentence!”

“Dream, quiet down,” George shook his head. “You may not like this but this is how the Mafia works.”

Dream’s mouth opened again, but Quackity spoke up.

“Ponk has requested release from the Mafia. As dictated by the rules, this is not permitted without trial by combat. I, the King of Hearts, call upon the duel. If Ponk survives, he may leave… But if my Ace wins, he dies forgotten.”

Dream stared down into the pit, heart hammering in his chest.

Ponk had pushed himself to his feet fully now, his eyes flickering around the warehouse before settling on Sam who stepped into the pit, wielding a trident. In turn, Ponk hastily took out a dagger. Even then, Dream could tell there was no hope.

Quackity raised one hand.

A beat of silence.

Then-

Clang.

A single strike of the bell rang out.

And the duel had begun.

Sam didn’t rush. He didn’t need to. Each step he took toward Ponk was terrifying in its calmness. The dust beneath his boots barely stirred. He moved like someone who had done this one too many times before- someone who already knew the outcome and the exact spot the final blow would land.

Ponk backed up instinctively, his dagger trembling in his grip. “W-Wait! Quackity, please!”

There was no response.

Instead, Sam lunged.

The first strike of the trident missed, but only barely- Ponk had dodged just in time, falling onto one knee. He scrambled to his feet and made a desperate swipe with the dagger, but Sam blocked it with the shaft of the trident like it was nothing.

Dream’s breath caught in his throat. “Sap-”

“There’s nothing we can do for him,” Sapnap said grimly, eyes never leaving the arena.

“That’s bullshit and you know it!”

Another flurry of movement- Sam kicked Ponk backward, the smaller man tumbling hard into the dirt, gasping for air. The blade clattered from his hand and slid across the arena floor.

Dream instinctively stepped forward, but Sapnap’s arm shot out, holding him in place.

“You can’t,” Sapnap said quietly. “You step in, you’ll die next.”

“Fuck off with your stupid rules!”

Dream tried shaking him off but couldn’t. Sapnap never relinquished his hold. The fight continued on.

Ponk crawled toward the dagger. Sam didn’t stop him. He waited.

Waited for him to hope again.

Ponk’s fingers wrapped around the blade- and in that exact moment, Sam surged forward and struck.

The sound of the trident piercing flesh echoed.

Ponk screamed.

The blade of the trident hadn’t gone through his chest or stomach- Sam had driven it straight through Ponk’s arm. The metal skewered through flesh and bone just above the elbow, pinning the limb to the ground like a scrap of paper under a nail.

Dream’s stomach churned at the sight.

Ponk thrashed, his screams high and wet as he tried to pull away. Blood poured freely, staining the dirt red. The dagger had dropped again, forgotten in the pain.

Sam stood over him, calm, unmoved. The gas mask covered most of his expression, but his body language was cold. He stepped back once, then yanked the trident free.

Ponk’s arm didn’t come with it.

It stayed there, limp, useless, and absolutely mangled.

Everyone watched Ponk collapse completely, clutching the bloody stump of what remained of his arm. He wasn’t even trying to fight anymore- he was just sobbing, begging.

“Please- stop- no more- please-”

Sam turned.

And walked away.

No one called the duel off.

Because to everyone- it was already done.

Ponk writhed weakly on the ground, his blood soaking into the dirt, his mouth open in a silent scream. His face was pale, lips trembling, one eye swollen shut. He was losing a lot of blood. Too much at once.

Dream stared, unable to look away.

As soon as Sam stepped out of the arena, two people hopped over the barrier and ran towards Ponk. Dream didn’t recognize them but could see that they’re from different factions.

One was wearing dark green, a female with black hair tied into a bun, definitely from the group of Clubs. The other was a man with light blonde hair who was wearing white and black, which was from the group of Spades.

Dream stared on in confusion but with a slight hope.

“Who are those people?”

“Healers,” Sapnap answered. “When the opponent leaves the arena, healers are finally allowed to go in if their King allows it.”

The woman in green rolled up her sleeves, chanting something under her breath as she hovered her hands over the arm. The man beside her had his hands glowing blue, placed carefully near the chest, magic pulsing from his palms into Ponk’s body.

But then both of them recoiled violently after only thirty seconds.

The light shattered like glass around the man’s hands, sparks fizzing out as he gasped in pain and clutched his wrist. The woman cried out too, flinching back as if she’d been electrocuted.

“What the hell-” Dream whispered.

“Backlash,” George muttered. “Their healers can’t heal major wounds like that without taking damage of their own.”

Dream’s heart dropped.

He watched as the woman staggered backward, clutching her chest with wide, shocked eyes. The blonde man hissed through his teeth, his hands trembling as the magic in his palms burned out completely. Neither of them tried again.

“Are they giving up?” Dream asked, his head looking to Sapnap.

“They have to,” Sapnap replied, his tone quiet and bitter. “That kind of backlash can kill them if they keep pushing. Their Kings can’t afford to lose a healer. They’re already rare enough as it is.”

Hannah and Bad called upon their healers to retreat, which they did so reluctantly. They made it back to their post, and now, everyone was staring at the dying man in the arena. 

But Dream wasn’t going to let it end like this.

Without another word- Dream shoved Sapnap.

Hard.

Sapnap stumbled backward in surprise, catching himself just barely.

“Dream, wait!”

He was already moving. Dream jumped over the stone barrier, narrowly avoiding the hands that were trying to grab him, then began running. Dust kicked up around him, and the slides he had on were slipping slightly as he landed. He didn’t stop.

Gasps echoed across the warehouse.

“What the hell is he doing?”

“He’s asking to get killed-”

Dream ignored them all.

He ran and skidded to a stop beside Ponk and dropped to his knees. He observed the wounds, which looked far worse up close. But the good part was that Ponk was still breathing- his chest falling and rising in small intervals.

Dream didn’t hesitate any longer as he held his hands out and activated his power.

“Dream! Don’t-”

It was already too late.

Warmth flooded his palms, a soft glow rising from his skin like sunlight bleeding through water. The light from his arms pulsed faintly, soft and steady, wrapping around each and every wound and healing them within seconds.

The crowd quieted.

The skin, once torn and shredded, started stitching together so perfectly as if it had never been damaged. The bones bent back into place, and color returned to Ponk’s face, who then blinked awake and sat up immediately.

It hadn’t even been a full minute, and Dream was done.

And just as fast as he finished, multiple voices rang out in confusion and shock.

“Within seconds he…”

“Is that how he earned three tokens?”

“He doesn’t have any backlash? Who is this guy?!”

Dream got up from the ground and dusted himself off.

“He’s not taking any damage,” Bad said, looking completely in shock by this revelation. “Not even a nosebleed.”

“That should be impossible,” Hannah breathed. “Even my healer couldn’t…”

Dream wiped his palms against his pajama pants like it was just another chore, then looked around at the stunned crowd before landing his eyes on Quackity.

“Hey, Hearts- next time you want someone executed, maybe don’t invite me to the party. I have this annoying habit of saving people.”

No response.

Quackity remained frozen, sending a calculating glare to Dream. “Who the hell are you? No backlash and able to heal a man from the brink of death… I’ve never seen that before.”

Dream shrugged, still trying to keep the mood light despite the weight of every pair of eyes digging into him.

“I’m a bartender, but an annoying roommate when I’m home. It depends on the day.”

Still, silence.

Without a word, Quackity moved.

He reached into the inside of his jacket and took something out then proceed to toss it to Dream who caught it cleanly in his hands.

Dream looked down at what Quackity gave him, and his heart stopped. In his hand held the seal of Hearts, glinting back at him on a small, round coin.

It was a token.

The last, final one.

Quackity regained his smirk as Dream looked up to meet his eyes.

“Four tokens,” Quackity chuckled. “You know what that means?”

“...Do I get my free latte now or later?”

“It means you’re a target we all want.”

What little amusement had flickered in Quackity’s voice turned cold and sharp as glass. Dream blinked, taking a step back as his thumb brushed over the surface of the token.

“...Shit,” Dream sighed, muttering to himself. “Wilbur isn’t going to be happy about this.”

“Damn right I’m not.”

Just as that very familiar voice was said, multiple explosions rang throughout the warehouse.

Chapter Text

The sound hit- sharp, thunderous, and shaking. Then came the pressure wave, a blast of heat and dust that knocked several people to the ground. Yells and screams erupted from the crowd as the walls of the warehouse shuddered.

And through the smoke and chaos, a figure emerged from the shadows. Tall with his signature trench coat whipping in the blast.

Wilbur.

Or, in this case, Siren, since he had his villain attire on.

“I sleep for only a couple of hours,” Wilbur snarled, striding straight toward the center of the arena as if the chaos around him didn’t matter, “and you’ve collected four death coins, then showed your powers in front of every Mafia member.”

Dream blinked, still holding the token. “Well, technically, I already had the three before I got here.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“You know, there are better ways to go about this than-”

“I told you to stay put,” Wilbur snapped. “Do you even realize the situation you’re in?”

Dream gestured vaguely around them. “He was going to bleed out, Wil- Siren. You can’t expect me to leave him there.”

“That’s not your problem!”

“It is when no one else was doing anything!”

“You just painted a glowing target on your back in front of every faction in this goddamn building!” Wilbur barked, gesturing around to the Mafia leaders still reeling in the stands. “We’re leaving. Now.”

Wilbur grabbed onto Dream’s wrist and then turned sharply on his heel, practically dragging Dream behind him.

But Dream jerked his arm free.

“Wait. We have to take this guy too.” Dream pointed to Ponk, who was covering his head from the slight debris that was falling from the ceiling. “His name is Ponk. Seems like a cool guy.”

Wilbur froze mid-step.

“What?”

“We have to take him. He was trying to leave the Mafia, and that duel was a punishment. He’ll be killed the moment we’re gone.”

Wilbur rounded on him, eyes wild. “Dream. You just made yourself target number one. And now you want to drag the reason that happened along for the ride?!”

Dream narrowed his eyes, unfazed. “I’m not leaving him.”

Wilbur looked like he wanted to scream. He ran a hand through his hair, teeth gritted. “Unbelievable. Absolutely insufferable- you-” He turned, glaring at Ponk, who stiffened at the sight of Siren. “Fine. But if he slows us down, I swear to Prime-”

Dream strided over to Ponk with a small smile. “Can you walk?”

“I- Yeah- I can walk.”

Ponk stood up from the dust-covered ground as Wilbur pulled out something small and metallic from the inside of his coat- a smoke charge, which he slammed to the ground.

It exploded in a burst of thick fog, swallowing their figures just as gunfire cracked from above.

Dream coughed, guiding Ponk with him through the smoke. “You know, if this is your idea of a dramatic exit, ten out of ten for flair, but I'd rather not die by smoke inhalation-”

“Shut up and move!” Wilbur snapped, already leading them through a side door that had been blasted.

They broke out of the burning building and into the night air, smoke trailing from the warehouse behind them, yells ringing out from the people still inside.

The moment they hit open ground, bullets whizzed past.

“Go!” Wilbur shouted, spinning around and firing two clean shots back toward the door. “Run towards the grey car parked in the clearing- I’ll cover!”

Dream ducked low and pulled Ponk along with him. They were near an open pier- concrete underfoot, metal shipping containers stacked in rows a little ways off, the dark ocean crashing just beyond the railing.

Ahead of them was a sleek grey car- matte finish, tinted windows, engine purring low in wait. Bullets pinged off the ground nearby.

Wilbur shouted more frantically, “To the car!”

Dream flung open the back door and shoved Ponk inside, slamming it shut before trying to get to the passenger’s side, but Wilbur’s yells halted him.

Wilbur fired a few more shots with his pistol. “Dream, get in the front and drive!”

Dream blinked. “Me?”

“Get in the damn car!” Wilbur shouted, causing no room for arguments as Dream threw himself into the driver’s seat.

Wilbur fired a couple more shots before slamming himself into the passenger side.

“Uhm- Wil-”

“Dream. Now is not the time for any of your sarcastic comments or jokes. I’ll cover us while you drive, so hit the gas!”

“Yeah- uhm- about that-”

Behind them, a shot cracked off the car’s bumper. Wilbur flinched at the impact and twisted to shoot another round back toward the warehouse.

“What? What is it?!”

Dream, gripping the wheel tightly, struggled to find the right words. “I- uhm- I- fuck- How do I say this?”

Wilbur paused mid-aim. “What?”

“You know, hypothetically, if someone had never gotten a license, or maybe, I dunno, never even sat in the driver’s seat before-”

“YOU DON’T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE?!”

Another bullet pinged off the trunk. Ponk yelped in the back as he ducked down.

“When would you ever need a car in the city?! We have great systems of transportation! We have taxis, subways, even my own two feet!” Dream defended, flinching as another round cracked off the side mirror of the car.

Wilbur turned to face him fully now. “We are being actively hunted, Dream! By every single Mafia faction! This is not the time to make a public transit argument!”

Dream pointed frantically at the dashboard. “Okay, but I don’t know what any of this means! The wheel, sure. The pedals? That’s a damn guessing game!”

“Fucking-“ Wilbur let out a string of curses. “Switch seats!”

Dream scooted over onto the middle console as Wilbur climbed over, muttering profanities under his breath, just as a few bullets hit the bottom of the back windshield.

Finally, they switched. Wilbur switched the gear and slammed his foot on the gas, tires shrieking as they rocketed down the pier, the steering wheel jerking in his hands as he veered them around a stack of crates.

“And this is why we listen to others when they say to stay home,” Wilbur growled as he checked the rearview mirror, watching as multiple Mafia members got into cars of their own.

Dream, now in the passenger seat, muttered back, “Yeah, well, you never even let me out of my apartment.”

Wilbur slammed the wheel hard left, avoiding a parked forklift. “Yeah, because apparently the second I turn my back, you get invited to a Mafia death meeting!”

Behind them, tires screamed as- holy fuck- NINE dark SUVs chased after them, weaving between crates and slamming loose barriers left on the pier. One of them came to the side in an effort to cut them off.

“I didn’t ask to be invited. They said I had no choice and- ON YOUR LEFT!”

“I see it!” Wilbur shouted, spinning the wheel and flooring the gas. The car jumped the curb, bouncing violently before leveling out as they tore through the chain-link gate and into the city streets.

The tires screeched as they turned onto a main road, buildings looming around them. Neon signs flashed in their windows as they barreled down the city- pedestrians scrambling to get out of the way, horns blaring.

“Don’t hit anyone!” Dream shouted.

“I’m not going to!” Wilbur barked back, glancing at the mirror. “And don’t think I’m done arguing with you- You broke our rule number five!”

“You broke multiple rules already!” Dream retorted. “So what if I break one?”

“You should’ve told me about the invitation!”

Wilbur took a hard right, the tires screeching as they narrowly missed a stack of traffic cones and a blinking construction sign, sparks flying where the edge of the car scraped the curb.

“Why would I tell you?! You would’ve chained me up!”

“I should’ve!” Wilbur shouted, jerking the wheel again as they swerved around a late-night food delivery bike, narrowly avoiding it. “At least then we wouldn’t be in a car chase with nine cars!”

“This is barely Fast and Furious.”

“Do not start referencing movies right now, or I swear-”

“Uhm,” Ponk interrupted from the backseat, voice tentative. “Can I say something real quick?”

“NO!” Both Dream and Wilbur shouted in perfect unison, turning their heads halfway to glare at him.

Ponk held his hands up in surrender and sank lower into the seat. “Okay. Cool. Just checking.”

Wilbur blew out a sharp breath through his nose. “I’m not trying to be controlling. I was trying to fix the mess you got yourself in but then you went ahead and-” he swerved between two lanes as horns blared, “-you reveal an ability nobody’s supposed to have, collect a fourth and final goddamn token, and now you’ve got the whole Mafia fleet after us.”

“Maybe they’re after you because you blew up their warehouse!”

“I needed to make a distraction!”

“Yeah, and you did such a great job distracting them, which is why we’re running from nine unmarked cars.”

“Five cars.” Wilbur corrected. “Four cars down, five to go.”

Dream blinked. “Did you take down four cars?”

“No, I implied very strongly that they should crash.”

“What does that even mean?!”

“It means I’m persuasive with bullets, Dream.”

Dream smacked his palm to his forehead. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to die in pajamas.”

“And that’s another topic I want to bring up,” Wilbur said dryly, swerving around a slow-moving sedan. “Why the hell are you wearing pajamas to a Mafia meetup?”

“They’re comfortable!” Dream shot back. “Can you just focus on driving?”

Wilbur let out a sharp laugh. “I am focusing on driving! But it’s difficult when my passenger is dressed like he rolled out of bed and decided to show off his powers!”

“They were going to kill him! What was I supposed to do?! Sit there and do nothing?”

“Yes!” Wilbur shouted. “You weren’t supposed to show everyone you have impossible powers!”

“Oh my prime, I healed one guy-”

“You healed one guy in thirty seconds with zero backlash, in front of an entire arena full of people who would sell their soul to weaponize what you just did!”

A gunshot cracked against the back window. The glass fractured like a spiderweb, but didn’t shatter.

“Can you yell at me after we get out of this mess?”

Wilbur jerked the wheel again, cutting through a narrow alleyway between two buildings. The tires scraped the edge of a dumpster, and Dream felt the whole car lurch sideways.

“That is if we get out of this mess that you put us in!” Wilbur argued back, watching in the mirror as he finally lost a couple of cars.

“Hey,” Ponk chimed from the back. “Technically, he saved me, so you should back off a bit.”

Both front seats snapped back toward him again.

“Not helping!” Wilbur and Dream snapped.

Ponk crossed his arms, slumping against the backseat. “Right, got it, shutting up again.”

Wilbur gunned the engine, veering hard out of the alleyway and onto another dimly lit street. The remaining cars gave chase, headlights bouncing wildly as they turned.

Dream turned, watching the mirror. “Three cars.”

“Yeah?” Wilbur hissed through his teeth, throwing the gearshift into reverse as he spun the wheel. “Let’s make it to two.”

With a sudden, vicious turn, Wilbur slammed the car backward into a tight spin. The screech of the tires echoed between buildings, and one of the SUVs trying to follow clipped the corner too fast and smashed into a utility pole.

“Holy shit,” Dream whipped his head back toward the front, eyes wide. “When did you learn how to do that?”

“I’m a villain, Dream. I've made plenty of getaways before. Usually it's with the police, though.”

Wilbur slammed the gear back into drive and floored it, the tires screeching again as they tore down the street. Only two SUVs remained, both lagging farther behind.

“Getaways don’t usually come with a lecture,” Dream muttered, fingers white-knuckled around the edge of his seat.

“That’s because you don’t usually bring home a war with you,” Wilbur shot back.

Dream scoffed. “You’re one to talk! You literally brought a dying man onto our couch and the rest of the Syndicate with you!”

“I had no choice!”

“You had every choice!”

“I am rescuing you right now!” Wilbur snapped, swerving hard to avoid a row of trash bins. “You’re welcome, by the way!”

“I didn’t ask-”

Another gunshot cracked from behind- closer this time. Dream’s breath hitched as something hot and sharp tore through the upper part of his arm, just above the elbow.

“FUCK!” He jerked forward, clutching his arm, eyes wide in shock.

Wilbur’s head whipped toward him. “Dream!”

“F-Fucking- I got fucking shot!” Dream winced, blood already soaking through his sleeve.

“Okay-okay, just breathe. Put pressure on it. We’re almost in the clear.”

Dream’s face contorted, his hand hovering uselessly over the bleeding shoulder. “Fuck you!”

“Dream, you need to calm-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Dream shouted, voice cracking as his free hand slammed against the dashboard. “There’s a fucking bullet in my ARM, Wilb- Fucking- Siren!”

“I know!” Wilbur shouted back, eyes flicking between Dream and the road. “Which is why I’m telling you to press on it so you don’t bleed out!”

“I’m trying!” Dream hissed, pressing down and letting out a ragged gasp. “But it hurts like hell , and your stupid car didn’t come with bulletproof glass! What kind of villain doesn’t have bulletproof glass?!”

Ponk’s voice piped up again, cautious. “You know… Just wondering-”

“Not now,” Wilbur huffed.

“I was gonna say that the guy can heal himself, no?”

That question hung for a second.

Wilbur’s eyes landed on Dream. “Now that he mentions it… Why aren’t you healing yourself?”

Dream shifted in his seat. “I felt like being dramatic.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. “Tell the truth.”

“I wanted a cool-looking scar,” Dream said, teeth gritted.

“Dream.”

“Can we focus on getting rid of the last two cars chasing us?”

“Don’t deflect.”

“I’m not deflecting,” Dream said. “I’m prioritizing. Major difference.”

Wilbur glanced at him, frowning. “You healed Ponk in thirty seconds flat. Why can’t you heal yourself?”

“Maybe I just don’t feel like healing it just yet.”

“You were screaming, not even a minute ago, about how much it hurts.”

“Complaining. Not screaming.”

Wilbur slammed the wheel hard left, the tires screeching as they dodged between two parked vans. “Ok. Then do it.”

“Do what?”

“Heal yourself.”

“Wow, thank you so much for the advice. What a groundbreaking idea. Why didn’t I think of that before?”

Wilbur shot him a glare. “Why aren’t you doing it then?”

Dream gave a weak smile, though it was lopsided with pain. “I don’t know, maybe I just love the pain. Adds flavor to my night.”

“Dream,” Wilbur warned, voice dangerously low. “Stop joking. I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Dream said with a shrug that made him wince. “Best night of my life. Definitely going into the top five.”

Wilbur slammed the brakes just long enough to swerve them around a slow car before flooring it again. “Cut the sarcasm already! Why can’t you heal?”

“Maybe I need a moment to build up the suspense-”

“Dream.”

“Or maybe I like having a bullet hole in my arm-”

“Dream- damnit- heal yourself!”

“I CAN’T, ALRIGHT?!” Dream shouted, loud and raw, shattering the car into silence.

The car fell dead quiet except for the hum of the engine and the wheeze of Dream’s breathing.

Wilbur blinked. “You… can’t heal yourself?”

Dream looked away, jaw tight. “No. Because the universe likes irony- Or because it just fucking hates me- It decided that I can only use these powers on others. But myself? Not on the menu.”

Wilbur’s expression twitched, like he was trying to process and fight off several emotions at once.

“That’s…” he started, then gave up and exhaled. “We can get you a healer. I’ll call Zephyrus and-”

“Nope.” Dream shook his head. “Won’t work.”

“What?”

Dream slumped further into the seat, trying to tune out the pain in his arm. “Doesn’t work on me. Fancy hospitals with other healers, local underground clinics, even some shady guy in a sewer- Nada.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Oh, my bad,” Dream snapped, bitterly sarcastic. “Next time I’m stuck with a curse that makes me a glorified first-aid kit with no return policy, I’ll write a whole essay just for you.”

“Dream-”

Wilbur didn’t get the chance to finish.

A black SUV came screaming out of a side street without warning- no headlights, no engine growl until it was right in front of them. Wilbur’s eyes widened.

“Shit!”

He wrenched the wheel to the right, the tires shrieking against the pavement as they swerved hard into another alley, nearly clipping a dumpster. The back of their car slammed into a stack of pallets, splintering wood into the air. Ponk yelped from the backseat, and Dream let out a strangled curse through gritted teeth.

The SUV behind them didn’t stop- it skidded after them, engine roaring like a beast hot on their tail. The second one wasn’t far behind either.

“Damnit!” Wilbur snapped, all focus locked back onto survival mode. “Hold on-”

He jerked the car into a sharp left through a narrow gap between two crumbling buildings, the bumper scraping brick, sparks flying. Dream hissed in pain as the jolt rattled his whole arm.

“Fucking hell-”

“Just hold out a bit longer,” Wilbur muttered.

The alley split. Wilbur slammed the wheel and took the narrower path- tight enough that the side mirrors nearly tore off- but the first SUV didn’t make the same call fast enough. The grinding crunch of metal followed as it scraped the wall and clipped its rear, spinning and smashing into a parked car.

“One down,” Wilbur stated. “One to go.”

The last SUV gunned after them. Dream twisted in his seat, clutching his arm but angling his body to peer behind them.

“Do you have a plan?” Dream asked through a pained voice.

“Maybe,” Wilbur shrugged. 

“Great. Just what I wanted to hear.”

The alley dumped them onto a sloped service road that curved down toward an underpass. Wilbur took the turn hard and then slammed the car straight down the ramp.

“This doesn’t seem like a great plan so far!”

“Oh, I’ve got something,” Wilbur said, voice low and feral. “Let’s see if their car can fly.”

“Our car can’t fly either!” Dream said in a panic.

“I’ll make it work.”

He yanked the emergency brake and cut the wheel, the car skidding sideways into a long, flooded drainage tunnel. The concrete was slick, the surface barely catching traction. The SUV behind them didn’t hesitate.

Up ahead, the tunnel dropped sharply where a portion of the floor had collapsed into a runoff pit. Wilbur didn’t brake. Didn’t even slow down.

Dream’s eyes widened. “No no no no-”

The car fucking lauched. Tires lifted clean off the ground. Dream’s stomach dropped, and Ponk let out a strangled scream from the backseat.

For a second, it felt like they were suspended in midair- then the nose of the car hit the pavement with a slam. The vehicle bounced, hydroplaned for half a heartbeat, then Wilbur yanked the wheel and caught the tires on the slope’s edge. 

Behind them, the SUV tried to follow.

…It didn’t make it.

The front end dipped too fast, and the vehicle slammed nose-first into the broken concrete edge. It flopped forward, twisted midair, and crashed onto its roof with a metal screech. The headlights blinked out in a shower of sparks.

For a moment, everything was quiet.

Only the sound of water running under the tunnel remained… and the frantic beating of Dream’s heartbeat in his ears.

Wilbur finally exhaled, grip loosening just a fraction. “See? Told you I had it.”

Dream let his head thud back against the seat. “That was the dumbest plan I’ve ever seen work.”

“Yeah,” Wilbur muttered, straightening the car out as they rolled back onto a half-abandoned side road. “But it worked.”

Ponk peeked his head up from the back, still breathless. “We’re alive?”

“Shockingly,” Dream replied, eyes starting to close.

“Hey, don’t fall asleep,” Wilbur tapped his shoulder with one hand. “You still bleeding out?”

Dream tilted his head. “That depends. Is blood still red?”

Wilbur huffed. “A simple ‘yes’ would be fine.”

“You almost killed us. I deserve to be a little annoying,” Dream grumbled, adjusting in his seat with a wince. His hand was sticky with blood, and his sleeve had gone from red-stained to soaked. “Oh, this is a disaster.”

“I know,” Wilbur sighed. “We need to hurry and patch you-”

“My kitten pajamas! I can’t believe I got blood on my precious pajama set!”

Wilbur blinked. “I’m sorry- your what?”

“My kitten pajamas,” Dream repeated as if that was the most tragic thing to happen that evening. “I should’ve known better not to wear these out, but they were so comfy!”

Wilbur let out a groan, dragging a hand down his face. “You are actually insane.”

“Rude,” Dream muttered. “Also, how are you doing, Ponk? Forgot to ask that on the drive over here, but y’know- we had a couple of distractions.”

“I’m fine,” Ponk said from the back. “I’ve just accepted death as a concept now. Kind of peaceful, actually.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Great. Now we've got two guys who don’t care whether they live or die.” Wilbur paused, staring at the road as he added more quietly. “You should’ve told me.”

Dream looked over, his smile fading. “We’re not doing this right now.”

“Why not?” Wilbur’s tone stayed level, turning to face Dream.

“Because we just got done surviving whatever the fuck that was and I have a goddamn bullet in my fucking arm so sorry if I don’t feel like having a heart-to-heart conversation while I’m actively bleeding out!”

“You should’ve told me! I- What if I hadn’t been there?”

Dream scoffed, turning his head away. “I forgot I needed to run all my limits of my powers by you.”

Wilbur’s hands clutched the steering wheel. “The fact you can’t heal yourself is literally life-threatening. You should have told me sooner-”

“And then what?” Dream bit back. “I didn’t tell you because it doesn’t change anything.”

“It changes everything!”

Dream blinked, thrown off guard.

“I watch your ass throw yourself into dangerous situations with the most unhinge jokes anyone can think of,” Wilbur continued, voice rising. “And I thought maybe you were reckless because you knew you could survive it. Turns out you’re reckless because you don’t care if you survive it!”

It was quiet for another moment- the words settling underneath everyone’s skin.

“I do care,” Dream muttered.

Wilbur let out a breath, turning back to the road and lightly pressing the gas. “Then start acting like it.”

The silence that followed seemed to be never-ending. It was thick and uncomfortable and even made breathing seem too loud. No one dared to speak.

The tires treaded over the cracked pavement. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of pale yellow through the (very damaged) windshield. Ponk shifted in the backseat, but didn’t say a word. Dream sat stiffly, cradling his injured arm, as he ignored the spare glances that Wilbur gave him.

The city blurred past them in streaks of shadow and streetlights.

Eventually, Dream got tired of the silence, and his voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you know where we’re going?”

Wilbur glanced over for a split second, then focused on the road. “Well, we can’t go back home for now… Why?”

“I know a place.”

“What? Where?”

“Turn left here.”

“What the actual fuck is going on here?”

The cigarette dropped from Schlatt’s mouth.

His eyes dragged over the scene with slow, sharp calculation- Dream, barely upright and bleeding through blood-soaked kitten pajamas; Siren, who looked ten seconds away from going on a murder spree; and another stranger, hovering awkwardly behind them, visibly unsure if he was part of a hostage situation or a team.

“Heyyyy Schlatt,” Dream tried to say cheerfully, but his voice was strained in pain. He cleared his throat. “You still doing walk-ins?”

Schlatt stared.

His gaze flicked to Wilbur, then back to Dream, eyes narrowing. “Is that Siren?”

Wilbur raised both hands in mock surrender. “Not here to cause trouble… Unless you don’t let us in.”

“He’s kidding,” Dream said quickly, giving Wilbur a light shove.

Schlatt’s eyes narrowed to slits.

He took in the blood on Dream’s sleeve again.

“...You’re bleeding near the entrance to my bar,” Schlatt muttered, like that was the thing bothering him most. “In pajamas-”

“They’re cute,” Dream said, a little breathless. “And I’m starting a new fashion trend.”

“With blood?” Schlatt asked flatly.

Dream opened his mouth- probably to fire back some sarcastic remark- but winced too hard to follow through. His knees wobbled slightly.

Schlatt swore under his breath, stepping forward before Dream could fall over further.

“Fuck’s sake,” he said, slinging one of Dream’s arms over his shoulder with a gruffness that almost covered the concern twitching in his brow. “This is a bar, not a damn hospital.”

“Sorry,” Dream mumbled.

Schlatt half-dragged Dream up the short steps, grumbling all the way. “First, it's deadbeats trying to run off on their tab, now it’s half-dead idiots bleeding on the doorsteps of my bar. What’s next? Finding a cat drinking all the wine in the cellar?”

“You should really get a sign for that,” Dream chuckled. “Y’know. No running off on your tabs. No bleeding out in front of the bar.”

“Keep talkin’ and I’ll leave you in the alley,” Schlatt growled, but he didn’t let go. His grip was steady. Careful, even, as he nudged the bar door open with his shoulder and pulled Dream inside.

Wilbur followed without asking, eyes sweeping the darkened bar like he was expecting an ambush. Ponk shuffled in behind them, still looking like he couldn’t decide whether to apologize or pretend he was invisible. Wilbur was the one to shut the door behind everyone, making sure it was locked as well.

The bar was dim, with low lights humming above rows of dusty liquor bottles and empty stools. Chairs were flipped on top of tables. It smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old wood. Dream missed this bar, even down to the subtle scratches on the chairs.

Schlatt led Dream to a booth, practically dumping him into the seat with a muttered “idiot,” before vanishing into the backroom. A minute later, he returned with a dented medical first aid kit and slammed it onto the table, startling all three men.

Dream tried to smile. “I knew you kept the medical kit in the back.”

“Only for assholes like you,” Schlatt snapped, kneeling beside the booth. “Take off your jacket and roll up your sleeve.”

Dream groaned but obeyed, awkwardly shrugging off the blood-stuck green jacket. The fabric peeled away from the wound like tape from a burn, and Dream hissed through his teeth.

“Fuck,” he muttered, blinking spots out of his vision.

He finally managed to do so, with little help from Wilbur, and Schlatt took a look at the wound before humming.

“Gunshot. Luckily, it went through and didn’t hit anything major.”

Wilbur narrowed his eyes at the man. “You can tell?”

Schlatt didn’t look up. He tore open a packet of gauze with his teeth and grabbed the bottle of disinfectant like he’d done this a thousand times before.

“Yeah, genius. Because there’s a hole in his arm.”

Wilbur kept his arms crossed, tense and glaring.

Schlatt ignored the glare, focused entirely on cleaning the wound. His hands were rough but efficient, his movements sharp with the kind of precision that came from practice.

Dream grunted as the disinfectant hit his skin. “Fucking- You could’ve warned me.”

“And miss that reaction?” Schlatt snickered.

“It hurts.”

“Well, I’m not the idiot who got a bullet through his arm,” Schlatt said, pressing the gauze down hard. “So maybe don’t talk like you’ve made good decisions.”

Wilbur took a step forward. “You always this nice to your employees?”

“Only the ones who owe me explanations,” Schlatt said flatly, not missing a beat.

“You’ve done this before.”

It wasn’t a question. Wilbur said it like a fact.

Schlatt ignored him and continued wrapping Dream’s arm in the gauze, the last strip tight around Dream’s bicep.

“There. Try not to overdo it or it’ll rip open again. I’m not doing this twice.”

“Thanks.” Dream nodded, looking at the perfectly bandaged arm.

Wilbur watched Schlatt with a narrowed look, suspicion growing.

Schlatt stood, wiping his hands on a bar rag. “You gonna keep staring at me, or should I strike a pose?”

“I want to speak to Dream,” Wilbur said, tone flat.

“I’m not stopping you,” Schlatt shrugged.

“Alone,” Wilbur clarified, eyes never leaving Schlatt.

There was a beat.

Schlatt snorted. “Yeah, no.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Schlatt said, grabbing a vodka bottle and pouring himself a drink into a small glass. “Last time I checked, Siren wasn’t on the list of people I’d leave alone with a half-conscious, wounded employee of mine.”

“…Okay, fine. We’ll do this the hard way.”

Dream blinked, realization settling in on what that meant.

“Siren, don’t you dare-”

Wilbur’s voice dropped into something smooth and dangerous.

“Everyone except Dream, leave the room,” he said, power threading beneath his tone. “And do not come back until I tell you.”

The words hit like a wave, heavy and soaked with the kind of pressure that made anyone wilt under it. 

Ponk flinched, his eyes glossing over as he started to head to the back, but was ultimately stopped by a hand touching his shoulder.

It was none other than Schlatt who rolled his eyes as he downed his vodka shot in one go and set the glass down on the counter.

“I said no.”

Wilbur froze.

“...What?”

“I’m not repeating myself again.” Schlatt leaned lazily against the bar, entirely unaffected. “I’m not going anywhere. Try again if you want a bruised ego.”

Wilbur stared at him, stunned.

Ponk, who was entranced just a second ago, seemed to have regained his consciousness. “Wha- What just-”

Wilbur ignored him and took a step back, voice tight now. “How-”

“Now here’s what’s going to happen,” Schlatt continued, casually pouring himself a second shot. “You’re going to sit your ass down and start explaining why my employee came in with a bullet in his arm.”

Wilbur didn’t move. His eyes, still sharp with disbelief, cut between Schlatt’s calm posture and the shot glass in his hand like he was waiting for the illusion to shatter.

Dream wasn’t any better. Even he was shocked that that hadn’t worked.

He’d seen Wilbur use that voice before- seen it on the news where crowds of people dropped their weapons, shields, their wills, and beckoned to his command. But Schlatt… just poured another drink.

Wilbur’s expression had gone from stunned to simmering. “That’s your power? Immune to others? And seeing how you were able to stop Ponk- I’m guessing you can share that power.”

“Sure,” Schlatt said, waving a hand. “Or I’m just professionally unbothered in front of arrogant assholes. I can’t afford to be hypnotized every time someone with a tragic backstory walks in- that’s how you lose your wallet.”

Wilbur’s jaw twitched.

“Who the hell are you?” Wilbur asked quietly.

Schlatt raised a brow. “Bar owner. Medic too, apparently.” He lifted his glass. “And someone who doesn’t listen when Siren tries to hiss orders in my bar.”

Wilbur’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not normal. Anybody else would’ve called the cops at the sight of me.”

Schlatt scoffed. “Have you met anyone in the Underground? We don’t ever call the cops unless we’re on death’s door.”

Dream groaned from the booth. “Can you two please stop arguing?”

Schlatt gave him a look. “You’re bleeding in kitten pajamas. You don’t get to critique us right now.”

Wilbur frowned, frustration ticking beneath the surface. “So you’re immune to powers?”

Schlatt shrugged. “Or I just really hate being told what to do.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Wilbur took a step closer. “You’re awfully calm for someone with a villain in their bar.”

“And you’re awfully mouthy for someone whose powers don’t work.” Schlatt shot back.

Wilbur went silent, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “Ok, how about this… Can Dream and I please talk alone?”

Schlatt raised both brows. Slowly, he set his glass back on the bar.

“See, now that was almost polite,” he said, sounding genuinely impressed. “Still no, though.”

Wilbur sighed hard through his nose, clearly trying to hold back. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t trust you,” Schlatt said simply. “And I’m not leaving Dream alone with someone whose first instinct is mind control when things don’t go your way.”

“I didn’t use it on him-”

“You try to override everyone’s willpower because you can’t take no for an answer,” Schlatt said, pointing at him. “So forgive me if I don’t find that reassuring.”

“I wasn’t-” Wilbur stared, but bit the rest off. He turned to Dream instead. “Do you want him to stay for this?”

Dream blinked at him. “Uh, considering he just patched me up, helped hide us, and didn’t shoot you on sight? Yeah, I kinda owe him.”

Wilbur closed his eyes briefly.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Fine. Whatever.” He plopped onto a stool, grumbling under his breath.

Schlatt sat into the booth beside Dream with a sigh, arms spread across the backrest. “Alright. Someone better start explaining.”

Dream leaned back in the booth, wincing slightly as his shoulder pressed against the seat.

“Well,” Dream said, dragging out the word as he tilted his head. “It started with the milk running out.”

Schlatt blinked. “Seriously?”

“No, he’s telling the truth.” Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose like this was the exact kind of nonsense he’d expected and still wasn’t ready for. “Can you speed past that and skip to the part of today?”

“Sure, but you’ll be missing some crucial information,” Dream shrugged. “Well, I was invited to a Mafia meeting-”

“What?” Schlatt’s glass froze halfway to his lips. “You got invited to what?”

“I was invited to a Mafia meeting,” Dream repeated, as casually as if he were announcing what he had for dinner last night. “And then-”

Wilbur scoffed. “He never told me, so I wasn’t able to stop him.”

“Sapnap was there,” Dream said, gesturing vaguely with his injured arm before thinking better of it. “He was protecting me for the most part.”

“Sapnap?” Wilbur questioned. “...You’re not talking about the Ace-Of-Diamonds Sapnap, right?”

“That’s the one,” Dream confirmed.

Wilbur leaned back on his stool, cursing under his breath. “You sneak out in fucking pajamas to a meeting full of criminals?”

“Hey, are you telling the story or am I?” Dream asked. “If you want the mic, you can have it. How did you even find out I-”

“I found the invitation,” Wilbur said.

“...Fuck.”

“Next time you don’t want me finding out, maybe hide the letter.”

Schlatt looked at Dream. “What does this have to do with you getting shot? And it feels like you’re leaving out a lot of details.”

“I would say more but…” He looked to Wilbur, then back to Schlatt. “There are many things I can’t tell you.”

Schlatt looked unimpressed. “Vague answers and dramatic pauses. My favorite combo.”

He waved a dismissive hand toward Ponk, who was still hovering awkwardly around them like he wanted to melt into the wallpaper.

“Go check my storage room and count every single glass there,” Schlatt said. “Take your time.”

Ponk blinked. “Oh- uhm- okay? Sure.” He scurried off toward the backroom and vanished behind the swinging door.

There was a brief moment of silence, waiting.

Then, Dream spoke up in confusion. “Just because you dismissed that guy doesn’t mean-”

“I know Siren is Wilbur.”

Dream froze, looking at Schlatt in shock as the man casually took another sip of his vodka glass.

Wilbur paused, narrowing his eyes. “Well… I guess that makes the storytelling easier, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed,” Schlatt agreed. “So tell me the whole truth.”

Dream’s mouth opened, then closed.

Then-

“Does this mean I have to start with the milk again? Because that’s where the emotional damage really begins.”

Both Schlatt and Wilbur got up to hit Dream on the head.

Chapter Text

Dream, with a mix of jokes and sincerity, had walked Schlatt through what had really happened.

From helping out the Syndicate leader, receiving his first token and the others, then to the Mafia meeting and the getaway with Wilbur. He even admitted to his healing power, although Wilbur looked like he wanted to strangle him for telling Schlatt. 

But now, Wilbur was gone- stormed out halfway through the explanation with clenched fists and a sharp glare, muttering a ‘why’d you tell him everything.’

So it was just Dream and Schlatt, sitting in the same booth across from each other.

“How did you figure out that Wilbur is Siren?” Dream asked, quite curious of how his boss found out.

Schlatt twirled the liquid in his glass. “Dream, you don’t have many friends.”

Dream blinked. “Ok. Wow. Ouch.”

“It’s not an insult, it’s a fact. The only person I have seen you with is your roommate, Wilbur. You don’t hang out with anyone else that I’ve seen. And seeing Siren up close, he has the same stature as him.”

“Well-”

“Point is, it wasn’t hard to narrow it down.”

Dream rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s fair. Still feels like a low blow… And I think Wilbur would get really upset if he heard your master deduction.”

Schlatt raised a brow. “You’d prefer I lie?”

“I’d prefer a little mystery, maybe a Sherlock Holmes deduction- y’know, something with flair,” Dream said, gesturing with his good arm. “Not ‘I’ve seen your roommate and he’s the same height.’ That’s depressing.”

Schlatt snorted. “This isn’t a movie. Nobody can hide their identity with just a pair of glasses.”

“Damn, I could’ve sworn I was the main character there for a second.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes and stood up with a grunt, stretching his arms before wandering behind the bar again.

“Hey,” Dream called after him. “If you’re offering drinks, I could use something strong. Something that’ll make me forget the bullet hole in my arm.”

“You’re not getting any liquor,” Schlatt said flatly, rummaging through the fridge under the bar.

“C’mon,” Dream whined, “just a cup of-”

“You’ve already lost half a pint of blood and look like you’re about two sarcastic comments away from passing out,” Schlatt interrupted. “I’m not letting you bleed out on my new upholstery.”

Dream scoffed. “This is torture. You’re literally torturing me.”

“Oh, shut it,” Schlatt muttered, pulling out a juice box, strolling back over to the booth, and slamming it on the table like it was the finest whiskey in the joint.

Dream stared at it. Then back at Schlatt. 

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Drink it.”

“It has a cartoon dinosaur on it.”

“Drink. It.”

Dream scowled, but after a beat, he snatched the juice box with his uninjured arm and poked the straw in, grumbling the whole time. 

“This is humiliating.”

Schlatt gave a satisfied grunt and slid back into the seat across from him. “It’s apple. You’re welcome.”

Dream took a sip, slouching deep in his seat. 

“...Thanks. For, well, everything.”

Schlatt waved a hand. “Don’t get soft on me now. You’re still paying for the medical supplies I had to waste on you.”

Dream gave a tired smile. “Alright.”

They sat in silence for a beat. 

Then Schlatt spoke up.

“You remember how you got this job?” Schlatt asked, staring at the tinted windows to the outside.

Dream blinked. “Uh… Yeah? Kind of?”

“You walked in with a black eye and asked if I was hiring.”

“Sounds about right.”

“I remember a cocky little shit stumbling into my bar and demanding I hire him because, and I still quote this, ‘I just lost my last job so let me work here instead. You look like you need someone in this dump anyway.’”

Dream let out a groan, slumping lower in the booth. “I forgot I said that.”

“I didn’t,” Schlatt said dryly. “That kind of first impression is hard to forget.”

“And yet,” Dream said, raising the juice box like a toast, “you still hired me.”

Schlatt snorted. “I wasn’t going to at first. Honestly, I thought you were full of shit. Mouthy. Dramatic. Probably more trouble than you were worth.”

“…Where’s the ‘but’?”

“There isn’t any,” Schlatt said, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I was right about all of those things.”

Dream let out a breezy laugh. “Then why did you hire me?”

“Why do you think I hired you?”

Dream paused, straw still in his mouth. “Because you couldn’t resist my bruised, charming face?”

Schlatt snorted. “Prime, no.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Because you pitied me?”

“Worse,” Schlatt said, leaning forward slightly. “Because you reminded me of myself.”

That shut Dream up as he dropped the juice box onto the counter.

Schlatt’s voice went quieter. “You walked in like you had nothing to lose and ran your mouth like you didn’t care if someone knocked your teeth out.”

Dream blinked, picking the juice box back up quietly. “...And?”

“And I thought to myself, ‘Let’s just hire this brat and see what happens.’ I almost regretted hiring you as soon as you picked a fight with a guy twice your size the next day.”

“Okay, well, he was being an asshole.”

“He was six-four and built like a truck.”

“Still an asshole.”

Schlatt huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. You were a pain in my ass… but you lasted longer than anyone else I’ve hired. Most of the employees I had hired quit within the first month.”

“What can I say?” Dream grinned. “I was starting to get attached to the place.”

Schlatt scoffed. “You had a funny way of showing it. But despite how you acted on the outside… You were kind. Which is rare for someone from the Underground.”

“Kind? Me? Are you delusional?”

“You think I didn’t notice?” Schlatt leaned his elbow on the table. “I saw you pick up the shattered glass when another employee broke it so they wouldn’t get yelled at. Then you went ahead and secretly replaced it without anyone knowing. You even walked a few drunks home more times than I can count.”

“...Oh.” Dream looked at the table, suddenly quiet.

Schlatt didn’t stop there.

“I watched you help that old guy with the limp to his car every Thursday. You even brought that stray cat food out back- and- Fucking hell Dream, that was straight out of a damn romance novel.”

“You- uhm- saw all that?”

“I own the place. I notice everything that goes on in my bar,” Schlatt said gruffly. “But I figured if I called it out, you’d break half my bottles out of embarrassment.”

“Yeah… I can see myself doing that. And?”

“After I saw all of that, I knew I made the right call in hiring you.”

Dream wasn’t sure what to do with this kind of praise. Schlatt barely gave him any praise.

“I never thought I would be having a feelings talk with my boss,” Dream smirked. “You’re going to make me tear up.”

“My question is-” Schlatt began before Dream could divert the conversation into jokes. “Why this bar? Out of all the bars around this street, why didn’t you choose something else?”

Dream looked down at his juice box, turning it slowly in his hand. The straw bent sideways.

“I dunno,” he muttered.

Schlatt gave him a look.

Dream sighed. “Fine. Okay. It’s not as heart-warming as your speech. I walked into- like- four other places and did the same shit. I said they should hire me, got turned down, then kept moving.”

“Then landed here?”

Dream nodded. “Yeah. Yours was the last one on this block. I figured if you said no too, I’d just go home and try another street.” There was a beat of silence before he added, “But you didn’t. You shoved a mop in my hands and told me to hit the back.”

Schlatt gave a quiet huff. “What was with the black eye then? You refused to tell me the story behind that.”

“Ah,” he said, drawing out the sound. “That.”

“Yeah. That.”

Dream leaned back, his shoulder bumping the wall of the booth. “It’s not a cool story, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

“I didn’t expect it to be cool.”

Dream was quiet for a second, chewing on the inside of his cheek. With much reluctance, he spoke, “It was from my old boss.”

Schlatt’s fingers stopped drumming on the table.

“He wasn’t the greatest guy,” Dream shrugged. “Honestly, he was a dick. But I wasn’t any better. I mouthed off. He swung.”

“And you stayed there?”

“For a bit,” Dream admitted. “Didn’t really have a choice. I needed the money. But, you know, eventually I got tired of being treated like garbage, so I left. Or, well, thrown out, depending on who you ask. Gave me a black eye as a parting gift.”

Schlatt let out a long, tired exhale. “What a bastard.”

“He still is,” Dream hummed. “I’m just glad I found a better boss.”

Schlatt didn’t respond right away. He just stared at the table, arms crossed, jaw ticking as he seemed lost in thought.

Suddenly, he asked, “Where was it?”

“Huh?”

“The place you worked before this. Where was it? What was the name?”

Dream tilted his head. “Why does that matter?”

“Just answer the question.”

Dream stared at him for a moment, confused by the sudden shift in tone.

“...Red Valevet’s Bar. Over at the east end of the Underground, near the rail station.”

Schlatt's eyes narrowed further, his eyes looking up to meet Dream’s own. “And your old boss?”

“What is this, a background check?” Dream asked. “It was years ago. I barely remember-

“Dream.”

It was the way he said it- firm, final. Not angry, just… serious. More serious than Dream had ever heard him.

Dream sighed. “Craig Vale. He owns the bar.”

Schlatt’s fingers tapped once against the tabletop, then stopped. “Got it.”

Dream squinted. “Okay, seriously, what is going on?”

But Schlatt just shook his head and leaned back in the booth like nothing had changed. “Nothing. Just wanted to know where to avoid if I ever crave a drink.”

“You have a whole stock of alcohol.” Dream pointed out, even gesturing to the wall behind the bar.

Schlatt gave a slow shrug. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like to scope out the competition now and then.”

Dream frowned, leaning forward. “Wait, did you know him or something? Were you friends?”

Schlatt gave him a look of disgust. “What the f- No. Why would I be-” He groaned, exasperated. “Just leave it, Dream.”

“Don’t ‘Dream’ me-”

“Drop it,” Schlatt said, not unkindly, but with a firm edge that left no room for argument.

And just like that, Dream did. Not because he wanted to, but because Schlatt only ever used that voice when something wasn’t up for debate. Instead, Dream leaned back again and took a long sip from the juice box, the straw making an obnoxious slurp as it hit empty.

Schlatt's eyes fell to the table, and he muttered under his breath, “Don’t scare me like that again.” 

“What?”

Schlatt didn’t look up. He busied himself with the condensation on his glass, running his finger through it. 

“I thought sending you on leave for a couple of weeks would be good for you to deal with whatever you need to. It’s barely been two weeks, and you came here with a bullet hole in your arm.”

“...I didn’t plan to get shot,” Dream said, trying for lightness, but it came out quieter than intended.

Schlatt finally looked up, eyes sharp. “I don’t care if you planned it or not. You were almost bleeding out, rambling about your pajamas instead of the literal blood on you. Can you at least start taking things seriously when you’re getting near death?”

Dream let out a breath. “I was taking it seriously,” he said weakly. “I just… process things differently.”

“Oh? By making jokes and showing up at my bar with one foot in the grave?” Schlatt snapped. “That’s not processing, that’s denying reality.”

“But I came to you. Doesn’t that count for something?”

Schlatt was quiet at that.

Finally, he muttered, “Yeah. It counts.”

There was a long moment of silence, and before either could continue talking, the backroom door opened.

Wilbur stepped inside, eyes immediately scanning the bar before settling on Dream. His hands were jammed in the pockets of his coat, and his blindfold to hide his face was now off. Right behind him trailed Ponk, who seemed very much reluctant to enter the room.

“Hey,” Dream called from his seat, sounding more exhausted than smug for once. “Look who’s back. You still angry?”

Wilbur walked over with long strides and stopped at the booth. “You’re an idiot.”

Dream blinked at him. “Uhm- ok? We’ve covered that already.”

Wilbur just stood there, jaw tight and eyes sharp in the way he wasn’t done being mad, but the anger had worn down.

“You were gone for a while.” Dream noted, noticing the blindfold to hide Wilbur’s identity was now loosely hanging around his neck. “I’m guessing you told Ponk some… information?” 

Wilbur paused, then nodded. “It’s not like he can tell anyone. He’s on the run now, too.”

“On the run from what again exactly?” Schlatt asked, looking Ponk up and down. 

“The Mafia,” They all replied in unison.

“...Right.” Schlatt sighed. “What a way to ruin my night.”

“So…” Ponk asked tentatively. “What now?”

Dream glanced over at Ponk, then back to Schlatt, and then slowly raised his hand like a kid asking to speak in class.

“I have an idea-”

“No.” Schlatt huffed.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

Schlatt crossed his arms. “If it starts with ‘can he stay here,’ then yes I do.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream tilted his head towards Ponk, “He’s got nowhere to go.”

Ponk gave a very small, awkward wave. “Hi.”

Schlatt stared at him for a long moment, then turned slowly back to Dream. “Have you ever considered I don’t want an ex-Mafia member in my bar?”

Wilbur spoke up, “If it helps, I’ll vouch for him.”

Schlatt gave him an unamused look. “Oh, great. Siren’s stamp of approval. That just fills me with confidence.”

Ponk tapped his thigh. “Uhm- I can work?”

“And?” Schlatt raised a brow.

“I’m good with my hands.” He offered.

“Yeah, with a gun.”

Ponk winced. “...I’m a fast learner?”

Schlatt looked at him like he was actively getting dumber just listening.

“Look,” Dream interjected quickly, sensing Schlatt’s patience disintegrating. “I’m sure he can make himself useful.”

“You’re asking me to take in a Mafia dropout,” Schlatt muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m asking you to give him a chance.”

Schlatt’s gaze dragged from Ponk to Wilbur, then to Dream- who was giving him that insufferable kicked-puppy look. He dragged a hand down his face, sighing as loudly as he could, then turned to Ponk.

Schlatt stared at him. “If you spill one drink-”

“I- I won’t,” Ponk nodded quickly, straightening up.

“...Fine,” he bit out. “But if he messes up- I’m kicking him out. There’s a spare room he can live in upstairs.”

“There’s a room upstairs?” Wilbur asked, brow raised. “Since when?”

“Since always. It came with the bar,” Schlatt grumbled, standing up. “C’mon. All of you.” He gestured stiffly, already halfway around the bar as he trudged toward the back hallway. “Hurry up before I change my damn mind.”

Dream exchanged a quick glance with Wilbur, then hopped up from the booth with a wince, hand pressed to his wounded arm.

“I only ever slept there once. Schlatt usually uses that apartment as his emergency hangover bunker.”

Schlatt shot him a glare over his shoulder. 

“Keep talking and you’ll be sleeping in the dumpster instead.”

They all followed him through a door that opened up and revealed a creaky staircase. Each step groaned under their weight, the overhead lightbulb flickering like it was seconds away from burning out. Schlatt grumbled ‘damn freeloaders’ as he pushed open a dented door at the top.

The apartment above the bar wasn’t big. There were two rooms with worn hardwood floors, a cracked window with bars that let in a weak sliver of a nearby streetlamp, and a mismatched collection of secondhand furniture. Each room had two beds, each one shoved into a corner to make space for a small dresser. The third door was the bathroom, which barely had its hinges on.

“This sucks,” Wilbur said bluntly.

“Thanks,” Schlatt said flatly. “I’ll be sure to hang onto your opinion for someone who cares.”

Ponk wandered towards a bed. “It’s better than nothing.”

“Exactly,” Dream nodded.

Schlatt exhaled through his nose, already stepping back toward the doorway. “Dream, lie down before you pass out on my floor.”

Dream had already collapsed onto the nearest mattress, arm draped over his eyes. “No promises.”

“You need to rest,” Schlatt said, glancing at him with an irritated look. “And I need to go clean up my bar after it’s been contaminated.”

“You calling me a disease?” Dream raised his brows, a grin forming on his face.

“Yeah. You are,” Schlatt said, rolling his eyes as his gaze flicked to Wilbur. “Hey, Siren. Why don’t you come help me clean up downstairs?”

It was phrased like a question, but his tone made it clear it wasn’t one.

Wilbur narrowed his eyes. 

“...Sure.”

“I can help, too,” Ponk offered, already halfway standing up.

Schlatt didn’t say anything- just shot him a look. A look so sharp and direct that Ponk sat right back down.

“Actually, I’ll just stay here. I’m a little tired anyways.”

Wilbur followed Schlatt out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them. 

Dream gave a long, drawn-out sigh, eyes closed as he laid upon the bed.

“Today was the worse.”

Ponk glanced at him. “You do know he’s probably dragging Siren off to ‘talk’ to him, right?”

“Yeah, but Wilbur will be back,” Dream shrugged. “He always comes back. For now, I think sleep is priority.”

“But you just got shot?”

Dream peeled his arm off his eyes just enough to squint at Ponk. 

“Thank you for that breaking news update, Ponk. I had no idea there was a hole in my arm.”

“I mean- shouldn’t you be- I don’t know… In a hospital or something? Most civilians wouldn’t even be able to sleep after being hunted down like that.”

“Nah, I loved getting into a car chase and getting shot at all in one night.”

“That’s…”

“And I’d rather go out in style. And by style, I mean on a lumpy mattress above a semi-legal bar owned by a guy who calls me a disease.”

Ponk sat on the edge of the bed across from him, eyebrows scrunched like he couldn’t believe the person in front of him was real.

“Do you always joke this much in serious situations?”

“Yes,” Dream said without hesitation. He rolled onto his side and propped his head up with one hand, the other still cradling his arm. “You see, it’s better than crying. Or having a mental breakdown in the middle of the street and getting mistaken for modern art.”

Ponk stared.

“You’re kind of terrifying.”

“What the fuck? What do you mean by that?”

“You seem like someone who has nothing to lose,” Ponk continued. “Like- normal people, even us Mafia members-”

“You’re an ex-Mafia now.”

“Not the point. I’m saying- most people, even the ones in the Mafia, have something. Something they’re afraid of losing. Their life, their status or reputation, their family- whatever it may be. But you?”

Dream blinked, then offered, “I lost my precious kitten pajamas?”

“You don’t seem to have anything.”

Dream didn’t respond right away. He looked away, slow and thoughtful, before letting out a quiet hum. 

“Hmm.”

“What?” Ponk asked, confused and a little unnerved.

“I thought you were going to say I was funny.”

Ponk let out a sound that was half disbelief, half exasperated laugh. “You thought that’s where I was going?”

Dream cracked a grin. “I am hilarious. Would’ve been nice to hear it out loud.”

“You’ve got a bullet wound.”

“And I’m still delivering top-tier comedy,” Dream said, spreading his arms- then immediately flinching with a hiss and grabbing his injured one. “Shit. Okay. That one’s on me.”

“I can’t with you,” Ponk muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “How did you even manage to get four tokens from the Mafia Kings themselves?”

Dream settled back into the mattress, shifting to get comfortable. “I’m still wondering that myself.”

They both fell quiet for a while. A minute passed, and Ponk spoke up again, voice much quieter than before.

“Why did you help me?”

“What?” Dream looked to Ponk, who was fidgeting with the edge of the blanket.

“Back there. In the arena. You didn’t even know who I was…”

Dream blinked, slowly.

Then-

“Prime, you’re one of those. The ‘why me?' types.”

Ponk frowned. “I’m being serious.”

“And I’m being underpaid by you.”

“What? But I’m not even paying you?”

“Exactly.”

Ponk gave him a flat look. “Are you not going to give me a real answer?”

“...Fine. You want a real answer?” Dream turned his body just enough to look at him. “I’m not going to let someone die in front of me when I know there’s something I can do about it.”

Ponk stared, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity, only for Dream to immediately ruin it by adding:

“Also, I figured if I saved you, you’d owe me a drink. Or your soul. Whichever’s cheaper.”

Ponk huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “I believe my soul is worth more than a drink.”

“Depends on what kind,” Dream smirked, wincing as he shifted slightly against the pillow.

“Better than a Margarita I hope.”

“Now that’s too much,” Dream chuckled. “But, well, if you don’t mind me asking- why did you decide to quit the Mafia? Got tired of shooting bullets?”

Before Ponk could reply, the door creaked open. Wilbur stepped back into the apartment, slow, quiet, and visibly drained. His posture was stiff, his eyes tired, and through his mouth pulled into a soft smile at the sight of Dream, it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” Wilbur said.

Dream sat up slightly. “Welcome back. Schlatt give you the ‘clean up your act’ speech or just the ‘clean up the blood’ one?”

Wilbur huffed a short, weak laugh. “Both.”

He walked further into the room until he arrived near the doorway of the bedroom, his gaze flicking to Ponk, who caught the look immediately- subtle, but insistent. A silent request.

Ponk stood up, patting the edge of the bed. “I think I’ll sleep in the other room.”

The blonde raised a brow. “Aw, come on. We were about to have a pillow fight.”

Ponk shook his head. “Have a good night.” He slipped passed Wilbur and headed to the other bedroom, then closed it behind him.

Wilbur hesitated in the doorway for a beat longer before finally walking over and sinking down onto the edge of Dream’s bed. He kept his gaze low, hands clasped loosely in his lap. The weight of whatever conversation had happened downstairs still clung to his shoulders.

Dream watched him carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. It wasn’t like Wilbur to be acting like this unless there was something wrong.

“So… Schlatt trusts you enough to let you talk to me alone now?”

Wilbur offered a faint smile, the kind that barely curved his mouth and didn’t touch his eyes. “Yeah. Something like that… How’s your arm?”

“Oh, you know. Still attached.”

Wilbur let out a breath- maybe a laugh, but it sounded exhausted more than anything. He nodded.

Dream tilted his head. “No reprimanding me for my jokes? Who are you, and what have you done to my roommate Wilbur?”

Wilbur’s faint smile twitched but didn’t grow. “Funny.”

Dream raised a brow at that. “Ah, yes. I love it when people don’t laugh at my jokes but say the word ‘funny’ instead. That really adds to my self-esteem. Next thing you’ll be doing is clapping once and whispering ‘good effort’ to my stand-up comedy.”

Wilbur didn’t answer. He just looked down to his hands again, fingers laced tightly.

Dream shifted upright with a quiet wince, voice growing more pointed. 

“Alright. Spill. What did Schlatt say to you?”

Silence.

Wilbur didn’t move. Just kept his eyes fixed on the floor. Dream grew more irritated by every second the silence grew.

“Wilbur.”

Still nothing.

Instead, Wilbur ignored the question as he asked softly, “Are you really okay?”

Dream blinked. “What?”

“You got shot,” Wilbur said. “And you lost a lot of blood. Is your arm-”

“Don’t pivot the conversation like I’m too dumb to notice,” Dream snapped. “I asked what Schlatt said.”

Wilbut’s mouth opened slightly, like he might try to come up with an excuse- then shut again.

“Wilbur.”

“You need rest,” Wilbur says, resolute. “Get some sleep.”

Dream scoffed, frustrated now. “Not until you tell me what he said.”

“Dream…”

“If you’re not going to tell me, then I’ll just get up and ask him myself.”

Dream immediately threw off the covers around him, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. The movement was sloppy but he was determined and incredibly reckless for someone who’d been shot only hours ago.

Wilbur stood up instantly, eyes wide, and he grabbed Dream’s shoulder to stop him.

“Don’t do that!”

“Then tell me!”

Wilbur finally looked at him. And there was something in his eyes that Dream couldn’t make out- it was distant, unreadable.

And then, quietly but clearly, Wilbur broke another rule.

“Sleep.”

Dream’s vision went hazy, a flicker of betrayal flashing in his eyes as his body went slack. He tried to say something, but it was like gravity itself had thickened around him, and his muscles gave out.

The entire world went black.

Two things went through Dream’s head when he woke up.

First: My arm hurts.

Second: I’m going to beat the fuck out of Wilbur.

Dream practically threw off the blankets that were wrapped around him, hissing slightly as his arm flared with pain. He gritted his teeth, muttered a few choice insults under his breath, then sat up and scanned the room.

Empty.

Wilbur wasn’t in the room.

He stood up, wobbled for a second, and then stumbled toward the door. 

“Wilbur?” he called, pushing it open with his uninjured shoulder.

The other bedroom door was cracked open, and Ponk- still half-asleep, hair sticking up in every direction- poked his head out with a groggy squint. 

“Dude. It’s like- barely sunrise.”

“Where’s Wilbur?” Dream demanded.

“...He wasn’t with you?”

Dream didn’t answer. He just moved, ignoring Ponk’s confused stare, and headed downstairs with his irritation plain to see.

The bar downstairs was dim and quiet. Chairs were still stacked up, the floor half-mopped, and a faint smell of whiskey lingered in the air.

But there was still no sign of Wilbur.

Dream scanned the room once, then again. “Wilbur? You fucking- Come out here right now.”

Nothing.

He cursed under his breath and stormed toward the door, intent on leaving. Dream wanted answers or a punch, whichever came first.

But just as he reached for the handle-

“Dream.”

Dream turned sharply to find Schlatt standing behind the bar, cleaning a singular glass with a rag, eyes sharper than before as the morning light hit them at an angle.

“Calm down,” Schlatt huffed. “I don’t know why you’re acting this way but sit your ass down before you pass out.”

“Where’s Wilbur?”

Schlatt didn’t stop wiping the glass. He just shrugged, slow and uncaring. “Out.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Out? That’s it?”

“Yeah,” Schlatt said casually. “He left.”

Dream’s hands curled into fists at his sides, one of them shaking slightly.

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Where did he go?”

Schlatt finally looked up from the glass, leaning an elbow on the bar. “I run a bar. Not a babysitting business. I don’t know where he went. He just left.”

Dream took a step forward. “What did you say to him?”

Schlatt tilted his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Schlatt, don’t play dumb with me,” Dream groaned, tired and annoyed. “After he came back upstairs after helping you, he was like a totally different person!”

Schlatt tossed the now-clean glass behind the bar with a soft clink. “I told him to be careful next time. That’s all.”

Dream didn’t believe him. Not for a second.

But Schlatt’s expression stayed maddeningly neutral, like he was daring him to challenge it.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. Whatever,” Dream turned the handle of the bar. “I’ll go find him myself.”

“Kid,” Schlatt called, voice sharp but Dream could swear there was a hint of concern in his tone. “You’ve still got a hole in your arm. You think you’re gonna walk outta here and magically track him down with half your blood left in the streets?”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“But I don’t,” Dream bit back, turning on his heel. “He’s my friend. And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t pay his half of rent this month because he wants to be an overthinking, dramatic bitch.”

Schlatt was quiet for a beat, thinking and processing something in his head. Then he leaned over the bar and hummed.

“Alright. Let’s make a bet.”

Dream blinked, caught off guard and very much confused. “A what now?”

“A bet,” Schlatt repeated. “You teach Ponk how to make ten cocktails, and then you can leave.”

Dream stared at him like he’d gone crazy.

“That’s stupid. Why should I-” Dream shook his head. “I can just leave. I don’t even need your permission to do so.”

Dream turned back around, but then Schlatt spoke up again. 

“Ah. I knew it.”

Now that made Dream pause.

“...Knew what?” Dream let go of the door handle as he turned back to the bar where Schlatt was standing.

“Oh, nothing.”

“No. What is it?”

“I mean,” Schlatt said, his tone deliberately smug. “I just knew you couldn’t do it.”

Dream’s brow furrowed further. “Couldn’t do what?” 

“Teach,” Schlatt said simply, shrugging as he picked up another glass. “You’ve got no patience. No filter. You wouldn’t last five minutes trying to get that guy to make a simple Margarita.”

“I could totally teach Ponk.”

“You? No shot.”

Dream scoffed, marching right back toward the bar like he had something to prove- because now he did.

“I think I can handle teaching someone how to squeeze a lime.”

Schlatt gave him an unimpressed look. “I think you’ll give up within an hour.”

Dream jabbed a finger in his direction. “And I think you’re a bitch.”

“You won't be able to teach him at all.”

Dream snatched the lime off the bar, holding it like it were some sort of weapon. 

“I’ll teach him within a day!”

Almost a week had passed.

Dream had never been more frustrated in his life.

At first, it was going well. 

Ponk had been shockingly quick on the uptake. As soon as Dream showed him how to pour with the correct consistency, Ponk followed immediately after. He asked questions, remembered proportions, and even developed a decent shake rhythm.

Within three hours, Ponk had successfully learned four drinks.

And Dream was so close to proving Schlatt wrong.

“Not bad,” Dream admitted.

Ponk smirked. “Not bad? Dude- I’m nailing this shit.”

“Ok, get rid of that nasty language. If you’re going to be serving customers, you can’t say that.”

“Schlatt told me you said worse before.”

“Yeah, but that’s me.”

They laughed, and just as Dream was about to teach him the fifth one- Schlatt walked back in.

“I see that things are going much better than expected.”

Ponk smiled. “Yeah! Dream’s a great teacher!”

Dream looked like he physically had to hold back a smug grin.

“Oh?” Schlatt drawled, stepping further into the room. “Is that so?”

“He is,” Ponk said brightly, completely missing the way Schlatt’s voice sharpened. “I already memorized four drinks, and I was just about to learn the fifth!”

“Four drinks within a few hours,” Schlatt hummed. “That’s impressive. So you are a fast learner.”

“Yep! Told ya'!”

Schlatt clapped Ponk on the shoulder. “Hey, why don’t you come with me for a bit? Just for a quick run. I could use a second pair of hands.”

Ponk blinked, glancing to Dream.

Dream waved him off, still riding the high of success and praise.

“Go ahead, man. I’ll prep the next lesson.”

They were gone for about an hour and a half.

When they returned, Ponk looked a little paler. And he seemed almost distant. But Dream, distracted with organizing the bottles, didn’t notice right away.

“Alright, ready for round five?” he called without turning around.

A beat.

Then Ponk asked, “Uh… which one were we doing again?”

Dream frowned and turned. “The Negroni. Remember? Gin, Campari, Vermouth?”

“Right, right. Uhm- What’s… What’s Campari again?”

Dream paused. “Dude, what? You poured it like six times only an hour ago!”

“I did?”

That was when the first crack of unease split through Dream’s confidence.

The rest of the day only got worse.

Ponk seemed to be second-guessing his measurements. His pours were off. He forgot the difference between bourbon and rye.

Dream decided to call it a day and to try again tomorrow.

It was worse the next time.

Ponk’s movements were slower, more hesitant. He poured vodka into a Mojito. He kept getting the names wrong of each drink he learned. When Dream told him to grab the tall, glass cup, Ponk forgot where they were located.

Dream stared at him. “You grabbed one not even a few minutes ago.”

“Oh. Right,” Ponk scratched the back of his head. “Guess I forgot.”

Dream frowned.

Day three? Horrible. He forgot how to properly shake a drink and nearly launched the entire tin across the room. Day four? He mixed salt into a whiskey sour. Day five? He asked what a whiskey sour was.

Dream lost it by day six.

“How am I supposed to teach you ten different cocktails?! You’re not even trying!”

“I am!” Ponk defended, looking away from Dream’s eyes. “I- I just forget things easily!”

“Bullshit! It’s like you’re doing this on purpose!”

That made Ponk go silent and Dream paused, taking in the form of Ponk’s reluctance to speak.

“...Are you doing this on purpose?”

Ponk’s mouth opened. Closed. His eyes flicked away again.

“No,” he said, but it sounded automatic. Weak.

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Holy shit- you are!"

“No!” Ponk tried snapping back, voice cracking. “I swear I was getting it, but I just- I- I don’t know what happened.”

Dream stared at him for a moment longer, and before he could question the man further- there was an aggressive, almost frantic knocking at the bar’s entrance door.

It was nine in the morning. The bar wasn’t open yet and wouldn’t open until evening hours.

Ponk flinched at the sound, but Dream just rolled his eyes as he stepped forward.

“W-Wait, Dream!” Ponk called after him. “I think we should wait until Schlatt comes back and let him handle this-”

“I can handle one or two drunk people who think banging on a bar’s doors will magically make them open,” Dream said over his shoulder. “Unless they got a batch of Girl Scout cookies, they can fuck off.”

He ignored Ponk’s worried fidgeting and strode to the door, muttering under his breath, “What kind of psycho knocks like they’re trying to break the hinges off?” 

Dream swung the door open with all the attitude of a man who had lost six days of life trying to teach someone the difference between gin and tequila.

But instead of some drunken idiot or confused customer-

Dream froze.

Standing right there, dressed sharply in a dark cloak and a messy tie, was someone Dream hadn’t seen in a long time.

His old boss.

Craig Vale.

The man looked just like the day Dream had quit. Piercing gaze. Gloved hands. No smile ever showed on his face, and his brow always remained furrowed.

And he was staring right back at Dream with equal surprise, like he’d been expecting someone else to open the door.

“...Dream?” the man said after a beat. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Dream’s eyes blinked as his brain stuttered to a complete halt.

“...Hi,” Dream added lamely.

Vale arched an eyebrow.

“Is that how you greet your former employer?”

Dream paused, then cleared his throat. “Sorry. Lemme try again.”

He straightened his back and very clearly…

Flipped him off.

“Better?”

Chapter Text

Vale stepped forward and shoved Dream aside with one hand.

Dream staggered back with a startled grunt, his heel catching the floor. He crashed to the ground, landing on his bad arm with a sharp, involuntary hiss of pain.

“Motherfu-!” he wheezed, curling around the ache as his arm throbbed violently. “...Nice to see you too.”

“Dream!” Ponk scrambled over from near the bar, eyes wide as he crouched beside him. “You okay? Who is that?”

“I’m fine,” Dream gritted out. “And that’s… my old boss.”

“What?” Ponk’s eyes grew slightly wide. “Why is he here?” 

He shrugged. “Beats me.”

Ponk carefully helped him stand up, guiding his weight off the arm.

Meanwhile, Vale didn’t even glance their way. He stepped into the bar area, his eyes sweeping across the interior like he was searching for something… no, someone.

“Who are you looking for? Did someone steal your favorite whiskey bottle?” Dream called out, half-sarcastic and half-pissed. “I doubt that you were looking for me unless you changed your mind on that final paycheck you owe me.”

Vale rolled his eyes. “What are you even doing here, brat?”

“I work here, bitch.”

Vale looked physically appalled. Like the thought had never even occurred to him, even though Dream was literally just inside the bar and was the one to open the door.

“You?” He scoffed. “How can someone like you- wait, wait, wait. Is that why…”

The man in front of him became quiet, seemingly coming to a realization.

“Why what?” Dream asked, confused.

“Nothing.”

“No. Don’t trail off like I’m supposed to guess the plot twist. Just say the thing.”

“Fuck off.”

“No, you fuck off. You barge in here without warning when we haven’t even opened the bar yet,” Dream said, stepping forward. “Unless you’re here to personally apologize for underpaying me, screaming at me in front of customers, and forcing me to scrub mold out of the bathroom at three in the morning, then I’d really love to know what’s so important that it brought you to my new workplace.”

“You’ve always been a problem,” Vale spat. “You talk too much. You push your boundaries too far. You never knew when to shut up.”

“And you never knew how to manage a bar without threatening to break someone’s fingers,” Dream fired back.

Vale’s nostrils flared. His expression twisted with something caught between rage and disbelief, like he couldn’t fathom the fact that Dream was speaking back like this. His eyes darkened, and it looked like all the years of tension between them were about to snap loose.

“I gave you a job when no one else would,” Vale growled, stepping forward, voice becoming venomous.

Dream barked out a laugh that was devoid of any humor. “Oh, am I supposed to thank you? Was that before or after the time you called me a ‘stray dog’ in front of a table of customers?”

Vale’s face flushed red, full of boiling rage. “You ungrateful little-”

He lunged forward, barely a step, but before Dream could react-

Ponk was suddenly in front of him.

He didn’t shout, didn’t push back. He just stood firm, his expression calm but held a silent defiance. It was almost like this wasn’t the Ponk he knew in front of him but a trained professional bodyguard. He was calm, calculated, and just dangerous enough to make Vale stop in his tracks.

Vale sneered. “Move.”

Ponk didn’t budge. “Or what?”

Vale stared him down, trying to intimidate him into backing off, but Ponk didn’t even flinch. He kept his posture relaxed while his eyes were stone.

Dream, still half behind him, raised his brows slightly. “Wow. Didn’t know you had that setting.”

“Shut up,” Ponk muttered without turning around.

“You do care.”

“I will hit you myself if you keep talking.”

“See? Love.”

Vale stepped back just half a foot, scowling. “You really surrounding yourself with little nobodies now? That how low you sunk?”

Dream leaned to the side, peeking past Ponk. “You know, for a guy who always said I wasn’t worth the time, you sure spend a lot of energy showing up where I work and trying to fight me.”

“I’m not here for you!”

“Oh? Then do you care sharing to the class on who you’re here for?”

“Schlatt.”

Dream’s mind came to a halt at the name. “Schlatt?”

Vale didn’t answer. He just folded his arms and stared, clearly expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

Dream tilted his head. “Wait- Schlatt Schlatt? As in my boss? As in the guy who owns this place?”

“Why else would I come here?”

Dream eyes narrowed. “What could you possibly want with him? Did you lose a bet? Owe him money? Did you need someone to teach you how to make a proper fucking drink?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to the likes of you,” Vale snapped.

“Oh, come on,” Dream said, stepping slightly to the side of Ponk so he could get a better look at him. “You are being so sketchy. You storm into the bar like a knockoff mob boss, and now you’re just like ‘I need to see Schlatt’ with no context?”

Vale glared. “I said it wasn’t any of your business.”

“You know what? I bet it’s a love confession.”

“I swear to Prime-” Vale started, taking a step forward.

Dream gasped. “I knew it! It is romantic! I can’t wait to tell him.”

Vale still wasn’t looking at Dream like a person. More like a noisy obstacle. He muttered something under his breath and started toward the upstairs hallway, in which Dream immediately stepped to block him.

“Get out of my way,” Vale growled through gritted teeth.

Dream folded his arms, minding the ache in his shoulder, and didn’t budge.

“Nah. Don’t feel like it.”

Vale stopped just short of him, his frame towering slightly over Dream’s stubborn stance.

“I said move.”

“I heard you,” Dream said. “And I said nah.”

Ponk watched from the side, unsure if he should attack the man just yet.

“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit,” Vale said.

“Well, I wasn’t in the mood to be shoved to the ground,” Dream shrugged. 

Vale stepped closer, and Ponk tensed, watching the standoff in front of him.

“I don’t have time for this.”

“Then I guess you’re gonna be late to wherever you’re not invited,” Dream said with a smile. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

Vale raised a hand- either to push him again or worse- but a voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Touch him and see what happens."

Both of them froze. 

Schlatt stood near the bar’s back entrance, sleeves rolled up, a box of liquor bottles still tucked under one arm, and his voice dangerously even, but there was something hidden.

Vale turned his head towards the man and immediately tensed- his face shifting to pure fear.

“S-Schlatt!” Vale said, immediately putting his hand down and awkwardly smiling. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Funny,” Schlatt replied, setting the box down with a thud. “I wish I could say the same.”

Vale’s fake grin faltered before he quickly recovered.

“I don’t know exactly what I did to piss you off, but whatever it was- I’m here to make it right.”

“Get out.” Schlatt leaned his back against the bar, arms crossed.

“Schlatt, come on,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “You can’t do this to me-”

“What?” Dream echoed, blinking as he looked between two of them. “Do what?”

Schlatt’s expression didn’t budge.

Vale scoffed. “Don’t act like you don’t know! You’re probably the one who told him-”

“Told me what, exactly?” Schlatt interrupted, taking a step closer. “I would love to hear all about what you did to Dream while he was under your care.”

Vale immediately backpedaled, stumbling over his words.

“I mean- I just- I- There’s no way you’d be mad over someone like Dream,” he rushed out, laughing weakly. “Right? I mean, come on, Schlatt! The guy is a brat and it happened ages ago! The kid doesn’t even hold a grudge- Isn’t that right, Dream?” Vale spat out his name like a threat in which Dream raised a brow.

Dream’s face made a slow smile appear that screamed, ‘I’m about to say something and you’re going to hate it.’

“Oh, totally,” Dream nodded, and just before Vale could breathe a sigh of relief, he continued, “No grudge at all. Just because you threw things at me when you were drunk, docked my pay every time you had a hangover, forced me to clean up after hours without pay, and told me I’d never amount to anything above ‘bar trash’? That’s nothing. Water under the bridge, right?”

Schlatt’s jaw twitched, and Dream felt satisfied seeing the color in Vale’s face turn deathly pale.

“Well…” Schlatt hummed. “I didn’t know about all of that. Anything else you want to confess, Vale?”

Vale’s hands were twitching at his sides like he was itching to something to get control of the situation back.

“You were nothing,” he growled, teeth bared. “I took pity on you. And this is how you repay me?”

“I took your best bottle of whiskey on my way out,” Dream said brightly. “Thanks, by the way. It paired wonderfully with not having to see your ugly mug for months.”

Schlatt chuckled- just once- and it sent a visible shiver down Vale’s spine.

Vale tried again, turning to Schlatt with pleading eyes. 

“I didn’t think- I didn’t know- It wasn’t even that serious-”

“Abuse against your employees? You don’t consider that serious?” Schlatt snapped.

Silence fell across the bar.

“Okay, okay- What? Does he-” Vale jabbed at Dream with his thumb, “want an apology? Is that what this is about?”

Dream’s expression twisted. “I don’t want a damn apology from you!”

“Then what do you want?” Vale asked bitterly.

“Wha- Nothing! What I want is for you to leave me alone!”

Vale opened his mouth, maybe to argue, but Schlatt cut him off coldly.

“You don’t get to talk to him anymore,” he said, low and final. “Not after what you pulled back then with him.”

“I didn’t know he was yours!” Vale blurted out, desperation clawing at his throat. “How was I supposed to know he was-”

“You treat every worker like that?” Schlatt scoffed.

“It was just business!”

Schlatt laughed. It was cold and empty and made everyone’s skin crawl just hearing it.

“Just business, huh? Well,” Schlatt’s voice somehow turned twice as threatening. “Here’s my business, Vale. I can own you if I wanted to. You're just lucky I decided to be merciful.”

Vale flinched. “S-Schlatt, please. I- I’ll do anything, but you can’t run me out of business! I’ll- I’ll have no money and-”

“Get out.”

“But-”

“I said,” Schlatt barked, his tone slamming through the room, “get out.”

Vale stood frozen, chest rising and falling fast. He looked between Schlatt and Dream, something boiling just behind his eyes- humiliation, panic, rage- but he swallowed it down. Slowly, he turned and stepped toward the exit.

He muttered as he walked past Dream, only barely audible, "You will regret this."

Dream stayed where he was. He watched Vale leave with a strange mixture of confusion and lingering shock. He didn’t understand it all, not really.

But one thing he did know-

He needed to speak with Schlatt.

Once the door slammed shut, Dream glanced over to Ponk.

“Hey, Ponk, can you grab me an iced latte?”

Ponk blinked, confused by the question, before it immediately clicked. Thankfully, Ponk seemed to be great at reading the room.

“Sure! I’ll be right back then!”

Ponk left the bar, making sure to take his wallet with him. Dream waited until the door shut behind Ponk before stepping closer to the bar, his gaze steady on Schlatt, who wasn’t even bothering to look at him.

The older man was busying himself behind the counter, pulling out bottles, sorting them into rows, checking labels that absolutely did not need to be checked right now.

“So,” Dream started, voice calm but with an edge. “You gonna tell me what that was all about?”

Schlatt hummed like Dream had just asked whether he preferred vanilla or chocolate ice cream.

“What part?”

“What part?” Dream repeated, disbelieving. “How about the part where my old boss comes in begging for you to not run him out of business? What does he even mean by that?”

Schlatt shrugged.

Dream folded his arms. “So you just… How can you run Vale out of business? How does that even make sense?”

“No, correction, I already ran him out of business,” Schlatt said nonchalantly. “He just doesn’t realize it yet.”

“What?”

“I bought him out. Two days ago.”

“Two days ago?!” Dream’s mouth dropped. “How did you even buy it out?!”

“His bar, his inventory, the liquor license, the building lease- it’s all mine now.” Schlatt leaned back and casually reached for a glass, then put it back after inspecting it. “He didn’t even know. Thought the paperwork was just refinancing through his landlord. Poor idiot didn’t read the fine print.”

Dream stared at him. “You’re telling me you bought out my ex-boss’s bar in your spare time?”

“Figured it was a good investment.”

“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all,” Dream said flatly. “And why even buy out Vale’s bar? You already own one.”

“Why not?”

“Schlatt.”

Schlatt paused, then sighed, loud and dramatic. “Fine. You want the truth? I didn’t like hearing about how he treated you.”

Dream stared at him.

“You… So you bought off his whole bar because of that?! Who does that?!”

“Wow. I was expecting you to tear up in gratitude. What kind of bullshit is this?”

“Why would I be thankful that you just blew off your money on my behalf?!”

Schlatt calmly picked up a glass and wiped it, completely unbothered. “I have money to spare. Not like buying out a bar or two will damage that.”

Dream’s confusion only grew further. “But you live in the Underground?”

“Yeah? And?”

Dream blinked. “And… most people down here are scraping coins together for rent, but you’re out here buying out bars like it’s a hobby?”

“I’m not obliged to explain my bank account to you. And I can spend my money how I want.”

Dream’s mouth opened- then closed again. He didn’t really have a retort to that.

“I’m not thanking you.” Dream muttered.

“Never asked you to.”

Another beat.

“What’d you tell Ponk?”

That made Schlatt pause as he set the glass down a little harder than necessary.

“Nothing.”

“You told him to stop learning drinks from me, didn’t you?”

Schlatt didn’t answer right away. He grabbed a bottle, poured himself a glass, and took a deliberate sip. The silence stretched.

“What the hell, Schlatt?”

Schlatt sighed and leaned his elbows on the bar, meeting Dream’s gaze at last.

“The bet. Ponk learns ten cocktails and you’re gone, right?”

“That- I mean- That was the deal, yeah.”

“Well, I didn’t like the idea of you limping off with a bullet hole still in your arm,” Schlatt said. “So I… I told Ponk to stop.”

“You interfered?” Dream’s voice rose. “You actually-”

“I wasn’t expecting Ponk to learn so quickly. So I took him outside and told him to act like a dumbass.”

Dream shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe that you-”

“I didn’t want you leaving when you just got shot. If it takes a stupid little bet to stall you, then so be it.”

Silence.

Dream stared at him.

“Then what did you tell Wilbur?”

Schlatt looked away. “Dream-”

“He came back upstairs that night, looking guilty about something, and then- that motherfucker- he used his powers on me to-”

“He used his powers on you?” Schlatt’s voice was a mixture of anger and shock, betraying the nonchalant facade he had built so far.

“Yeah,” Dream looked him up and down, trying to see if Schlatt was lying about not knowing. “He knocked me out. Not physically, but- like- with his damn mind power.”

Schlatt went still behind the bar. The smugness had finally vanished from his face, replaced by something far more serious.

“I didn’t tell him to do that.”

Dream scoffed, bitter and sharp. “Really? Because he looked pretty damn convinced that keeping me unconscious was the morally correct decision. You must’ve done something.”

Schlatt set down his drink and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Dream, I really didn’t tell him to do that.”

“Then what did you tell him?”

Schlatt didn’t answer at first. He looked off to the side, tongue running over the inside of his cheek. When the silence stretched on, Dream had had enough.

“Schlatt-”

“The truth.”

Dream paused. “...What?”

Schlatt looked at him again, but his voice was quieter now. “I told him the truth.”

“What…” Dream’s brows furrowed, frustration simmering just beneath the confusion. “What the hell does that mean?”

Schlatt leaned back against the shelves behind him, suddenly looking older than he had a second ago. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled ever so slowly.

“I told Siren, or Wilbur, I guess- that if he stayed around you… you were just gonna get hurt worse.”

“You… said what?”

Schlatt didn’t stop. “I told him that if he actually gave a shit about you, he should leave.”

Dream stared at him, the words landing like a punch. Schlatt was utterly convinced that if Dream stayed with Wilbur, he would be in more danger. It was not only he who thought this, but Fundy as well. Two people were now saying the same thing to Dream.

But Dream didn’t give a fuck.

“That wasn’t your call,” Dream said. “You don’t get to decide who stays or goes in my life.”

“You would’ve bled out in front of him and say it was fine.”

“I was fine-”

“Walking to my front door with a bullet hole in your arm is not fine, Dream!” Schlatt yelled, his voice echoing sharply in the silence that followed.

Then it was quiet.

The bar felt heavier than before. Like every bottle on the shelf was listening in.

Still, Dream didn’t respond.

Not immediately.

With zero warning, he finally muttered:

“You know, you sound like a total dad right now?”

Schlatt narrowed his eyes. “...What?”

Dream shrugged, the motion pulling slightly at his shoulder, but he ignored it.

“All that yelling and ‘this is for your own good’ energy? Real dad lecture in the driveway at 2 a.m. vibes.”

Schlatt stared at him, completely thrown.

Dream gave a laugh at Schlatt’s confused state. “Maybe I should get you a grill and a ‘World’s #1 Father Figure’ mug while we’re at it.”

“...Are you done?”

“No, wait. I got some more,” Dream chuckled. “Do I need to start mowing the lawn or something? You going to set a curfew?”

Schlatt’s expression flattened. “Done yet?”

Dream grinned. “Absolutely not. I can definitely imagine you yelling at the TV during sports commercials.” 

“You really are a pain in the ass,” Schlatt grumbled, grabbing his glass again to take a sip.

“And yet,” Dream said, “you still care about me.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

Another wave of silence rolled in, quieter this time but lighter.

Dream leaned forward against the bar, his fingers absently tracing wood lines on the counter. Schlatt stood, slowly spinning his drink in one hand as he watched the ice slightly melt. 

Neither of them looked at the other.

Then-

“I’m going to find Wilbur.”

Schlatt’s grip on the glass didn’t tighten, but he stopped spinning it. The silence stretched again, longer this time, more cautious.

Dream didn’t fill it with any of his jokes or sarcastic remarks.

He waited.

Finally, Schlatt spoke.

“You sure?”

“Yes,” Dream nodded. “Someone has to stop him from doing something stupid.”

Schlatt nodded once, staring at the rest of the bar behind Dream. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked like he wanted to stop him, but the words never came out.

Instead, with a quiet grunt, he bent down behind the bar and dug into a panel near the floor, behind a loose board, where only dust should have lived. But instead, Schlatt pulled out a small, dusty brown box.

He set it on the bar in front of Dream.

Dream eyes it in confusion. “What is that?”

Schlatt opened the box with deliberate care like it was something sacred. Inside, nestled in faded velvet, was a necklace- simple but it held a certain weight, made of a dull type of gold. Its pendant had an intricate symbol: a carefully carved crown. Not a clean, perfect monarchy symbol- no, this one had jagged edges and one crooked point, like it had been through hell and stayed sharp anyway.

“Here,” Schlatt said as he pulled the necklace out and handed it over.

Dream stared at it, taking it into his hands reluctantly.

“A necklace? Why?”

Schlatt shrugged, already turning away like it wasn’t worth lingering on.

“It’s just a necklace. Nothing more.”

Dream turned the pendant over in his hand, eyes narrowing slightly as his thumb brushed the crooked point of the crown. The gold was cold to the fingertips and glinted ever so slightly.

“Uh-huh,” Dream said slowly, eyeing Schlatt’s back. “Just a necklace.”

“Yup,” Schlatt said, reaching for another bottle to pour into his empty glass. “Had it years ago but forgot all about it. Thought you should have it. That’s all.”

Dream didn’t buy that for a second.

A necklace that was hidden underneath the floor? Seriously?

Schlatt was many things but sentimental without reason? Not his style.

“It looks pretty old.” Dream remarked, studying the necklace.

“It probably is,” Schlatt replied. “Consider it a memento from me before you leave to go and hunt Siren down.”

Dream paused, studying the necklace for a little longer before slipping the chain around his neck.

“Thanks,” Dream muttered.

Schlatt hummed in acknowledgment, and his shoulders seemed to drop a bit at seeing the necklace around Dream’s neck.

“Before you go,” Schlatt cleared his throat, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. “How about a meal?”

“What, like a ‘family dinner’ thing?”

“Don’t make it weird,” Schlatt grumbled. “I don’t want you passing out in an alley because you forgot to eat.”

Dream cracked a grin. “You are so close to asking me to come home before dark, Dad.”

Schlatt pointed at him. “I swear I will ground you.”

Just then, the front door creaked open and Ponk stepped inside, holding a plastic cup with a straw and an awkward smile.

“I returned,” he announced. “And I have caffeine!”

He held up the iced latte as if it were a sacred offering of peace.

Dream immediately walked over to grab it. “Caffeine, my beloved!”

Ponk looked at Schlatt, then back at Dream. “So… uhm- is everything good now?”

“Hm? Oh yeah- We’re good. Sorry about that,” Dream said as he took a sip of his drink. “We’re actually about to eat before I go.”

“Go?” Ponk questioned, seemingly worried as he glanced to Schlatt. “But I- well- I haven’t learned ten drinks yet? So I think that you should stay and help me.”

“Ah, right,” Dream took another large sip of his latte. “You can drop the act. Schlatt told me everything.”

Ponk froze like a guilty dog caught raiding the trash. “What?”

Dream raised an eyebrow over the rim of his cup. “Told me that he had you put on a ‘dumbass’ act on purpose.”

Ponk immediately looked over to Schlatt. “You called it a ‘dumbass’ act! I was helping you out!”

Schlatt shrugged. “You put salt into a drink, Ponk. I don’t even know where you got the salt from.”

Ponk looked absolutely betrayed. “I put up an act only to be called a dumbass! Do you know how many drinks I had to mess up?! One hundred and forty-two! I kept count!”

Dream laughed, nearly choking on his latte. “God, you really were trying to stall me.”

Ponk flushed, scuffing his shoe against the floor. “Well, I just- I mean- We didn’t want you leaving when you were still kinda… y’know.”

“I wasn’t dying,” Dream rolled his eyes. “I just had a bullet pass through my arm.”

“Just?” Schlatt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It did hurt like a bitch,” he admitted. “Remind me never to do that again.”

Ponk folded his arms. “So- what’s this I hear about food? What are we having?”

“Noodles?” Schlatt suggested.

“Noodles.” Dream agreed.

The noodle shop wasn’t anything fancy.

Tucked between a pizza restaurant and a beauty salon, it had an old flickering sign and a laminated menu taped near the door’s entrance. The air smelled like soy sauce, garlic, and something fried. Inside, the lighting was warm and dim despite how bright it still was outside.

Dream sat in a booth near the back, his left arm resting carefully on the table while his right held a glass of water. Ponk sat across from him, still sulking mildly. Schlatt hadn’t joined them at the table yet- he’d wandered off to one of the employees, whispering something to them and pointing at Dream…

But Dream ignored it as he scanned over the menu.

“So, what made you wanna drop out of Mafia drama school anyway?” Dream didn’t glance up from his menu to see Ponk’s stunned face.

“Uhm- Don’t you think that’s kinda a private question? I mean- we barely know each other…”

“I feel like you’re going to tell me anyway,” Dream shrugged. “Might as well say it now.”

“Fine,” Ponk huffed, already getting ready for his monologue as he cleared his throat. “I left the Mafia behind because I couldn’t stand it anymore, alright? Not the crime part- I mean- I am really good at crime. Like- crazy good. I can hotwire a car in under thirty seco-”

“Dude,” Dream looked up, quirking a brow. “Can you stop telling me how great you are at doing illegal activities and get to the point?”

“Right. Uhm- It’s the people that made me quit.”

“The people?”

“I was with the Hearts, if you don’t remember, under Quackity.”

“Oh?” Dream hummed. “Did you finally gain a conscience after your tenth kill?”

“No,” Ponk tapped on the table absentmindedly, “I just couldn’t take one more team meeting at a McDonald’s where at least one guy starts saying something about ‘fate’ and ‘shadows’ like we’re in some noir film.”

“...Huh?”

Ponk leaned forward. “I’m serious. Every time we got together, someone would start a whole speech about darkness and betrayal. One guy brought a rose and dropped it dramatically in his McFlurry mid-speech. He called it ‘symbolic’. I just wanted my damn Filet-O-Fish.”

Dream stared at him. “You’re telling me you left one of the most powerful Mafia factions in the city… because they were too dramatic?”

“Yep,” Ponk nodded.

Dream seemed to have short-circuited. “But you almost died in that arena? Surely you knew that if you quit, then you would have to-”

“Face Sam, the Ace of Hearts, yes, I knew. But trust me, facing Sam was still better than sitting through one more monologue about ‘the reality of living in the shadows’ while they lit a cigarette backwards.”

Dream let out a stunned laugh. “I can’t tell if I should admire you or feel deeply concerned for your decision-making skills.”

“Both are valid,” Ponk said. “Look, I can handle guns, betrayal, turf wars- but I draw the line when someone starts reciting Shakespeare while I’m trying to dodge bullets.”

Dream gave a small snort and leaned back in his seat.

“Is that seriously all?”

“Well… That was part of it,” Ponk admitted. He lowered his voice and stared at his water. “The other part… I just wanted a normal life.”

“Normal?”

“Yeah,” Ponk muttered. “Like, I dunno- to wake up without wondering if someone poisoned my breakfast. Or go to a store without calculating any exit routes. I want to get mad about socks going missing in the laundry, to complain about gas prices with my neighbors- Y’know? Normal.”

Dream let that sink in before asking, “You want to lose your socks?”

“You know what I mean!”

Dream let a grin fall upon his face. “You’re such a dork.”

Ponk rolled his eyes. “And you’re an idi-”

“I’m glad I saved you.”

Ponk stopped, clearly caught off guard, as he stared at Dream.

“Really?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Dream continued, the smirk growing wider. “Because if I hadn’t, I would’ve missed out on this opportunity to hear about the guy who rage-quit the Mafia because his coworkers were too into poetry.”

“Hey! I-”

“I bet you tried to play along just for the hell of it. Oh. My. Prime. I can imagine you lighting a rose on fire while whispering something about destiny!”

And right before Ponk could retaliate with whatever insult he was building up in his lungs, Schlatt reappeared beside the table, trailing behind a chipper, upbeat waiter. 

“Time to order,” Schlatt said, sliding into the booth and thumping his hand against the table. “Y’all ready?”

The waiter brought out her notepad and pen, smiling with almost too much enthusiasm.

Dream thought that she must really like her job.

“House ramen,” Dream said. “Extra egg.”

“Same,” Ponk added.

Schlatt waved at the waiter, dismissing her as she quickly filled out the order to rush back to the kitchen.

Dream exhaled. “What took you so long, Schlatt? I feel like you were telling that waiter your life story. No one wants to hear that, old man.”

“Not old,” Schlatt shot back while grabbing a pair of wooden chopsticks out, breaking them in half easily while watching Ponk struggle with his. “And I was telling her my complicated order.”

Dream stared at him with a questioning look, but shrugged it off.

The three had only just settled into a light conversation, muttering about the bar and how they could upgrade it, and the different types of drinks they could switch out from the menu- that’s when it appeared.

The moment Dream lifted his glass for another sip of water, the waitress reappeared, this time with something balanced on a tiny plate.

A cupcake.

A single, vanilla cupcake with way too much frosting and an aggressive amount of rainbow sprinkles.

To top it all off was the candle.

Oh, and- Of fucking course- eleven employees joining in.

Worst part was that they were all making their way towards him.

Dream froze. “No. You didn’t-”

“Oh, but I did,” Schlatt smirked.

The waitress set it down in front of him with the same energy one might use to announce the arrival of royalty.

“Happy Birthday!” she chirped, far too loudly for the size of the noodle shop.

“It’s not-”

Too late.

The staff had already launched into an off-key rendition of some distinct birthday song, clapping and swaying like they’d been trained by a group of overly enthusiastic camp counselors. 

Ponk immediately folded in half, covering his mouth to not let his laughter escape- ultimately failing anyway.

Dream, locked eyes with Schlatt, who didn’t even try to hide the shit-eating grin crawling across his face.

“It’s what 'dads’ do, right?” Schlatt raised his glass slightly like he was giving a toast. “Try to embarrass their kids in public?”

Dream stared at him.

Then blew out the candle.

The employees all cheered, then scrambled back to their work, as if the incident had never happened.

“I hate you so much right now.” Dream grumbled.

Schlatt laughed. “Maybe you should have laid off the ‘dad’ jokes.”

Ponk was still wheezing beside Schlatt, tears in his eyes as he tried to sit upright again. “I wish I had recorded that! Your face was priceless!”

Dream glared at him, flicking a sprinkle off the frosting in his direction.

“If you don’t shut up- I’ll throw this cupcake directly at your face.”

“Happy fake birthday,” Schlatt added cheerfully.

Dream rolled his eyes as he shoved the cupcake to the side, but he did allow himself to chuckle a bit.

Because he swore vengeance later.

The sky outside had turned a deep orange, the kind that made the skyline look like it was on fire. The sidewalks were still warm, and the streetlights hadn’t quite flickered on yet. It was that in-between moment where the day hadn’t fully left, and the night wasn’t beginning just yet. He had left the noodle shop with some quick farewells to the other two.

Dream shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking.

He had no plan. Just a direction.

If he wanted to find Wilbur- or Siren- he had to start where they lived.

Home.

Their apartment was the only place his phone was left at. The one thread connecting him to Wilbur and the only chance Dream has to get hold of him.

He could only hope no one had gotten there first.

The closer he got, the tenser he felt. He half-expected some Mafia member in a nice suit to be waiting by the door, or a laser dot to suddenly dance across his chest. But as soon as neared the street where his apartment complex resided-

Nothing.

No black cars. No strange silhouettes. No broken windows or threatening notes from Mafia Kings or Aces.

Just the building with the lobby light on.

Dream narrowed his eyes.

“...Weird.”

But perfect for Dream.

He jogged up the steps and reached his apartment door, occasionally looking back and around to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

He eased the door open, bracing himself for any sort of ambush-

Nothing again. Just the familiar chaos of his and Wilbur’s shared clutter.

Dream exhaled and let the door click shut behind him.

He kicked off his shoes and beelined for the couch, where he started shuffling through the blankets and cushions left there lazily.

“Come on, come on- there you are.”

He pulled his phone out from between the cushions of the sofa, the screen cracked slightly at the corner. Dream flopped down on the couch, minding his wounded arm, and opened up the messaging app. He didn’t have to scroll as Wilbur’s name was at the top.

“Damn, Schlatt was right. I do need to get more friends.”

Dream hovered over the contact for a second, thumb tapping against the screen without pressing. Finally, he pressed it and typed out a decent message.

DREAM : wherever u are, come back 2 the house. Im gonna beat ur ass 

He added a skull emoji. Then deleted it. Then re-added it.

Sent.

The moment the message went out, Dream let his head drop back against the couch cushion. His body ached in that post-adrenaline way- sore, sluggish, with his shoulder throbbing in sync with his pulse.

The apartment was too quiet.

He closed his eyes, letting the city noise filter through the open window. A siren in the distance. A dog barking. Some young couple shouting at each other across the street.

Classic city ambiance.

His phone buzzed once.

Dream jolted upright, scrambling to check it.

But it wasn’t Wilbur.

It was a spam message: “YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED-”

Dream groaned and flopped back again.

His fingers reached for the jagged crown necklace now resting against his shirt. He rolled it between his fingers before deciding to tuck it in his shirt, away from view.

Dream didn’t know how long he had sat there, phone still in hand, screen still open to the text thread.

Waiting.

His eyes grew heavy.

A quick nap wouldn’t hurt…

The couch wasn’t comfortable, but after the chaos of everything that had happened, it was a luxury. He drifted off into sleep.

Not into a deep sleep, but something hazy. Half-awake. That sleep where sounds warped, dreams slipped in but never reached, and his arm throbbed faintly.

A knock shattered the stillness.

Dream jolted upright, heart picking up its pace.

Another knock. Firm. Three taps.

He blinked, rubbed his face, and stared at the door. 

Wilbur didn’t knock.

Even when the man had lost his keys- somehow, Wilbur had always managed to get in without knocking.

So, in conclusion, this was not Wilbur.

Dream stood up slowly, his shoulder aching as he rolled it. He moved toward the door in silence, his shoes brushing against the floor. Whoever it was hadn’t knocked again. It seems like they were waiting patiently.

Reaching for the doorknob, he hesitated, then opened the door a few centimeters, just enough to peek through.

He was stunned to see who it was.

“...Snapmap?”

“It’s Sapnap!”

Chapter Text

Dream stared at him for a solid five seconds.

“You sure? I could’ve sworn your name was Snapmap.”

Sapnap rolled his eyes. “Last time I checked my own name, it was Sapnap. Let me in before someone decides I’m suspicious and calls the police.”

“I mean,” Dream leaned against the doorway and gestured towards Sapnap’s attire. “You technically are suspicious. You’re a Mafia Ace standing in front of my door.”

“I’m wearing a hoodie and jeans. That’s like the least threatening Mafia outfit.”

“You say that, but that hoodie style definitely screams ‘I’m casual about murder.’ Plus, that white bandana thing you got going on.”

“This hoodie has ketchup stains.”

“It could be blood stains for all I know.”

Sapnap scoffed. “Let me in.”

Dream hummed, giving it another thought. He didn’t want to let Sapnap in, even if the two of them were on somewhat ‘friendlier’ terms. Letting in a Mafia Ace, especially after the incident of Dream showing his powers to the whole Mafia faction, wouldn’t be wise.

For all he knows, it could be a trap of some kind. A setup. A way to get him to lower his guard before he’s ultimately kidnapped or worse.

Still… Sapnap didn’t look armed or ready for a ‘Mafia mission.’ There were no visible weapons, no backup hiding in the hallway, no earpiece whispering orders. Just a guy with messy black hair, a hoodie that genuinely might’ve had ketchup stains, and that stupid puppy-dog look.

Plus, Sapnap could probably help him find Wilbur.

Dream exhaled through his nose and then opened the door wider, stepping to the side.

“Fine. But if you kill me, I swear I will haunt you for eternity.”

Sapnap walked in with a chuckle. “Please. If I wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”

“Wow,” Dream deadpanned, shutting the door behind him. “That’s sooo reassuring. I’m totally not regretting my decision at all.”

Sapnap walked into the living room, immediately glancing around the apartment like he was checking for traps, or just judging the mess. He moved slowly, eyes scanning the scattered clutter- a crumpled hoodie on the floor, questionable leftovers, and a half-finished drink on the coffee table.

Without a word, Sapnap casually turned back around, made his way to the kitchen counter, and set down a plastic bag.

Dream blinked. He hadn’t even noticed Sapnap was carrying anything.

“What’s that?” Dream asked, his tone suspicious as he eyed the plastic bag on the counter warily. “You better not have any tracking devices in there.”

Sapnap looked at him in bewilderment. “What? No! Of course not.”

Dream folded his arms. “Explosives, then?”

“No.”

“Secret Mafia documents?”

“Still no.”

“...Please don’t let it be a severed head.”

Sapnap sighed as he started untying the plastic bag. “You’re overthinking it.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s food.”

Dream was taken aback. “Food?”

Sapnap pulled out a couple of containers and take-out boxes, then opened them all up for display. Dream took a few steps forward to take a peek, and his jaw almost dropped at seeing the exact order that he had told him before. 

In one container, the medium-rare filet mignon was served with rosemary butter on top, accompanied by mashed potatoes with roasted garlic, all placed neatly and whipped. Another container had steamed asparagus topped with parmesan, with a side of bread rolls. In the last container was a chocolate mousse.

Everything was exactly how Dream described it.

“How… did you remember all of that?”

“I work for the Mafia,” he said flatly, giving Dream an unamused look like he couldn’t believe he had to explain it. “Faces, voices, conversations, license plates, aliases, codes, safe houses- We remember stuff and we learn fast. It’s part of the job. If you don’t, it can get you killed one day.”

Dream was half impressed and half horrified. “So you used your Mafia brainpower to remember my order?”

“I remembered because I said I would get it for you.”

There was a single moment of silence.

Then Dream let out a laugh- loud and sudden- catching Sapnap off guard. Dream kept laughing, leaning against the counter for support, grinning widely at the other.

“This is hilarious!” Dream said, still grinning. “You’ve probably memorized like- twenty different escape routes in every building downtown, hundreds of different types of codes- and you still remembered the swirl pattern on the mashed potatoes!”

Sapnap’s mouth fell open, but he couldn’t come up with a dignified response.

“Wait! Hold on- Did you have to tell the chef personally about the order? What did their face look like? Did you get kicked out at first?”

Sapnap’s ears started to turn pink, heat flushing to his face. “I hate you.”

“Admit it! You saw a fancy restaurant, walked in, and demanded they make your complicated order.”

“It was your complicated order! They stared at me like I was insane!”

“So it is true!” Dream almost fell back onto the floor laughing.

Sapnap looked like he was seriously considering throwing a bread roll at Dream’s head.

“Do you want me to take it all back? Because I will walk out that door with every single container.”

Dream wiped at the corner of his eyes, breathless from laughter.

“No, no-” he managed between gasps, grabbing onto the edge of the counter like it might stop him from collapsing. “Sorry, just- I’m picturing you trying to pronounce ‘rosemary-infused butter’ with a straight face is killing me.”

“The chef looked at me like I was a toddler who wandered into a five-star restaurant!”

Dream’s face lit up again. “Thanks, Sapnap.”

“It’s Sap- Oh. Uhm.” Sapnap blinked, surprised. Then he nodded, looking away and shrugging like it didn’t matter. “Yeah. Well, I did say I would get it for you.”

His ears were still pink, but they were gradually fading away. Dream, meanwhile, was still wearing a wide grin. He stood at the counter, picking at the corner of a bread roll, his eyes practically glowing with delight.

“Anyway,” Dream said, “Why are you here, Sappy?”

“Sapnap.”

“Snapmap.”

“You said my name correctly not even a minute ago. You’re doing this on purpose.”

“Oh?” Dream gave a teasing smirk. “What gave it away?”

Sapnap gave him a look- flat, deadpan, then came the dramatic, resigned sigh. “I came here to protect you.”

“Protect me?”

“You displayed your healing power to every single Mafia member there is! Of course there are going to be people after you!”

“Prime forbid I save a guy from bleeding out,” Dream muttered. “Next time, I’ll just hand him a Band-Aid and hope for the best.”

“You healed that guy in under a minute from a wound that should’ve killed him. They’re not going to just forget that.”

Dream shrugged, grabbed the chocolate mousse, and started to rummage through the drawers for a fork. He finally found one and proceeded to stab the dessert.

“Let them come, then,” he said casually, like the entire Mafia wasn’t a threat worth worrying about. “They still owe me my latte for collecting all four tokens.”

Sapnap’s jaw clenched. He stood straighter, watching as Dream plucked a fork out of the drawer. “Can you stop joking and be serious for once?”

Dream just hummed in response, already digging into the mousse with zero urgency.

“I mean it,” Sapnap snapped, stepping forward. “The Hearts are already planning something.”

Dream tilted his head, unbothered. “So?”

Sapnap let out a sharp breath and ran a hand through his hair. “A literal crime lord is going to be hunting you, but you’re standing there eating a damn chocolate mousse like nothing is wrong!”

Dream considered his words, then took a bite.

“This is a delicious chocolate mousse. You want some?”

Sapnap let out a strangled noise. “Why do you not care?!”

“I do care, but I don’t see the point in freaking out.”

“What?”

“I mean I don’t see how screaming, crying, or cowering in fear is going to help me not get kidnapped or murdered or whatever fate is next on my schedule,” Dream said, gesturing vaguely with the fork.

“You have power people would kill for,” Sapnap hissed. “You should at least think of something to prepare yourself.”

Dream looked at him, fork hovering in the air. “And what do you want me to do, huh? Lock myself in a bunker? Beg for help? Run away to a different country?”

“I want you to take this seriously,” Sapnap huffed. “You can’t act like you’re bulletproof.”

“I’m not bulletproof,” Dream said matter-of-factly. “And I found that out when one of your comrades shot me.”

“Wha- One of ours shot you?” Sapnap looked shocked.

“Well, I was being chased down by nine cars that night, so it was hard to tell who was who,” Dream kept eating the mousse like it was the most casual conversation topic. “But yeah, someone shot me. Bullet. In the arm. Hurt like hell.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“But you’re okay now, right? I mean- you have healing powers so…” He gestured vaguely.

Dream raised a brow. “So that means it’s okay for me to get shot?”

“N-No! I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You kinda did.”

“I didn’t!” Sapnap said quickly, looking both guilty and flustered. “I just- you have extraordinary healing powers, so I just assumed you were fine…”

Dream paused, his fork carrying a bite of mousse that he hadn’t eaten yet. The bite hovered mid-air, but his gaze wasn’t on the dessert anymore- it was fixed somewhere distant.

Sapnap went from confused to concerned as the silence dragged on. “Dream?”

Dream blinked once. Then again.

“Right. Yeah... Healing powers.”

He shoved the bite in his mouth and chewed slower than necessary, buying time for himself. Thinking.

Dream could just let Sapnap keep believing the natural assumption everyone seemed to make- that just because Dream could heal others, he could obviously heal himself. That was the power fantasy everyone liked to imagine.

And telling a Mafia Ace that he couldn’t heal himself? That would be disastrous.

He didn’t want to tell Sapnap.

Not because he didn’t trust him- well, okay, partly because he didn’t trust him- but mostly because once you told someone something like that, it would live in their mind forever. It changes the way people look at you, pitiful, and Dream didn’t need any more babysitters breathing down his neck. He liked living a carefree life.

“It does hurt,” Dream adds in after the silence and Sapnap’s awkward stares. “So I would rather not get shot again, thanks.”

“It wasn’t one of ours.”

“Huh?”

“It was the Hearts,” Sapnap said firmly. “The ones that chased you down? None of them were from the Diamonds. Or Spades. Or even the Clubs.”

Dream blinked. “Hannah, Punz, and Spadey didn’t send anyone after me? Even after Siren bombed the place?”

Sapnap nodded. “We didn’t send anyone to chase you. It was King Quackity who called out the order to follow.”

“Huh. Well, I’m glad to hear you weren’t part of that car chase... Anyway, you want to share the bread roll?”

Sapnap paused, narrowing his eyes at the other. Hesitantly, he asked, “What happened to you?”

Dream furrowed his brow in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Sapnap gestured to Dream. “I don’t get why you’re not freaking out or getting angry. You almost died.”

Dream shrugged. “Anyone can technically die at any moment, but I don’t see everyone freaking out about it.”

“Well, yeah, but you actually almost died. And you’re still going to be hunted down.”

“You want me to break down and cry into your arms, then?”

“Wha- No! I just-”

“Look, I get it,” Dream said, setting the empty container of mousse down. “You want me to start caring about literally everything that’s happening. But why should I?”

“What?”

“Why should I care?”

“I- I mean… It’s your life, man! People normally care whether they live or die. That’s a basic survival instinct.”

“And?”

“And I’m saying you should care about your own life!” Sapnap started pacing a bit now.

“I do care. I just don’t advertise it,” Dream said, grabbing the bread roll and leaning against the counter like he was lounging by a pool. “Want me to cry into a throw pillow?”

Sapnap stopped mid-pace to glare at him. “Dream-”

“Oh! I can dim the lights, light a candle, get some sad violin music going, and then sob about my mortality. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“No!” Sapnap growled, throwing his arms up. “I don’t want a show, I want an answer! There has to be something that happened to you to make you this way.”

Dream took a bite of the bread roll like Sapnap wasn’t having a meltdown right in front of him. He chewed thoughtfully, then pointed the half-eaten roll at Sapnap. “Here’s your answer: I’m a great, charming bartender who relies on sarcasm. Case closed.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Sure it is. You’re just refusing to believe it.”

“You weren’t always like this, right?” Sapnap asked, louder now, voice edged with frustration and a hint of genuine concern. “I mean- at some point- you used to have fear.”

Dream paused.

Then a smirk gradually grew on his face.

“Nope. I crawled out of the womb with my sarcastic remarks pre-installed.”

“I’m being serious!” Sapnap snapped.

“So am I,” Dream shot back, raising his hands mock-defensively with one still holding the half-eaten bread. “I was born annoying and it only got worse with age.”

Sapnap looked completely baffled. “You’re telling me that there is no reason why you are like this?”

“Prime- why does everyone keep asking?” Dream rolled his eyes. “I have no tragic past, no villain origin story, and no life-altering betrayal. Sorry to disappoint.”

Sapnap stared. “Then… how are you like this then?”

“Great question! If you find out, let me know. A few others were wondering the same thing.”

Sapnap dragged both hands down his face. With a dramatic groan, he turned and stumbled into the living room and went over to the nearest armchair. He collapsed back into it, limbs flopping over the sides in defeat, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling like he was trying to summon all the patience in the world. Or perhaps reconsider his choices of coming here.

Dream watched him with mild amusement, still munching on the bread roll like it was popcorn and he was viewing a one-man show called ‘Sapnap vs. Sanity.’ He chewed thoughtfully, even gave a soft hum of approval at the crust, and then casually made his way over to the couch.

He flopped down sideways, legs draped over the armrest, the bread still in one hand like a trophy.

“I don’t know what you were expecting, man. A sob story? Flashbacks? A whole monologue about how I lost everything and now trust no one?”

Sapnap didn’t even look at him. He muttered into the air, “There is definitely something. Maybe your mind just forgot-”

“Nope,” Dream cut in. “No repressed childhood trauma. Just a perfectly average guy with a dazzling sense of humour.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“But you’re still here,” Dream said with a mouth full of bread.

“Because I’m trying to protect you!”

Dream shrugged. “I could’ve sworn you were here to kidnap me.”

Sapnap stared at him.

Dream stared back. 

“Oh. So you are here to kidnap me.”

“Wha- No!” Sapnap groaned, slumping further into the armchair. “I’m not here to kidnap you. It’s just- There’s alot going on outside that you don’t know about.”

“Then tell me.” Dream said simply.

Sapnap exhaled through his nose.

“It’s not that simple. Explaining will take a long while.”

“I got time,” Dream said bluntly, licking a crumb from his thumb. “Because so far- all you’ve done is sigh at me like I’m your teenager who won’t clean his room. So start talking. Did Punz send you here? Are you being forced to babysit?”

Sapnap sat up, staring at Dream with one of those ‘serious’ looks.

“King Punz didn’t send me.”

Dream narrowed his eyes. “Then who did?”

“No one,” Sapnap said. “I went to King Punz and I asked if I could protect you.”

That made Dream pause. He sat up too, more slowly this time, the sarcasm simmering down just slightly.

“Why?”

Sapnap looked away. “Because… I don’t know actually.”

Dream stared at him for a beat longer before slumping back into the couch. “Great. That makes total sense. You came here to protect me with the ‘I don’t know’ reason.”

“Prime- you can at least be grateful I even came here,” Sapnap scoffed.

“You’re not even that helpful!” Dream gave him the flattest, most unimpressed look imaginable. “Because, to be perfectly clear, all you’ve ever done so far is point a gun at my head, demand I attend a Mafia meeting, and then show up unannounced at my home.”

Sapnap looked vaguely ashamed at each thing that Dream listed. “Uhm- Okay, yeah. That’s fair… Look, I know I haven’t been the greatest guy-”

“Damn right you haven’t.”

“But I want to help you. Tell me what you want and I’ll see to it.”

Dream paused, his gaze flicking down to the coffee table that still had the half-finished drink on there. Dream didn’t really want anything. He was never the type of person to want jewelry or money, if he was being honest. But since the opportunity presented itself- there was one thing that a Mafia Ace could help with.

“I want you to find someone.”

“Oh- uhm- sure. Who?” Sapnap raised a brow.

“Siren.”

“You mean Wilbur?”

Dream froze.

Everything seemed to freeze- his thoughts, his breath, his movements. The air in the room shifted instantly.

Dream slowly turned his head, staring at Sapnap like he had spoken a language Dream wasn’t supposed to understand. His expression shifted from deadpan to sharp disbelief in an instant.

“What did you say?”

Sapnap blinked, confused. “Wilbur?”

“How do you know that?”

“What?” Sapnap’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, how do I know that?”

“How do you know that Siren is Wilbur?!” Dream snapped, now fully facing him.

Sapnap kept staring at him, looking like he was genuinely unsure if Dream was messing with him again.

“Because… Every Mafia King and Ace knows who The Syndicate members are. It’s basic info.”

Dream’s mouth opened, then shut. He blinked once, twice, then a third time for good measure.

“You knew this whole time?!”

Sapnap was still caught off guard. “You didn’t know that I know Siren’s identity?”

“No! I was trying to keep it secret!” Dream snapped, a bitter edge creeping into his voice. “I can’t believe that you knew.”

“Not all Mafia members know,” Sapnap added, “Only the higher ranks do because they know about the contract.”

“Contract? What contract?”

“Wow. Siren never told you anything, huh?”

Dream scoffed. “Would you just get on with it?!”

“It’s simple,” Sapnap said. “Don’t bother them. Don't reveal their identities. Don’t interfere with their work. In return, they’ll do the same. Unfortunately, Siren broke that rule. Now the Kings are contacting Zephyrus, the Syndicate leader, and demanding reimbursement or whatever.”

Dream leaned back slowly, processing all the information he had gained all at once. That easy-going smile is now replaced with a tired frown. He ran a hand over his face, dragging his fingers through his hair, then let it fall limply back onto his lap.

There was a long pause. 

Then Dream asked-

“Are you going to help me find him or not?”

“Wilbur? Your roommate?”

“Yeah.”

“...Why do you want to find him?”

“Wha- What do you mean why?” Dream was perplexed, confused, and slightly annoyed that Sapnap asked such a thing. “He’s my roommate and, in case you didn’t remember, he is the reason I didn’t get taken in by any of the Mafia yet. So yeah, I’m trying to find him.”

“He’s being targeted for revenge by the Kings, Dream. I don’t think you should be near him at all. In fact, you should worry more about yourself.”

Dream snorted. “I can worry about that later.”

“Why are you trying to find him?”

“So I can beat his ass for ditching me,” Dream said with a serious tone. “And he still owes rent for next month.”

“Is that seriously all?” Sapnap snapped, standing up now. “Don’t you think being hunted by the Mafia is a little more important than that?”

“Nope. Punching him is on my number one to-do list.”

Sapnap turned, hand raised like he was about to argue, but then he dropped it with a resigned sigh.  “Fine, I’ll help.”

“Really?” Dream blinked. “How-”

“Do you have your phone?”

“My… phone?”

Sapnap nodded. “Yeah.”

“Uhm- why-”

“Do you want to see Wilbur or not?” Sapnap asked, already scanning around the room for the phone.

Dream paused, skeptical, before gesturing vaguely toward the arm of the couch. “Under the throw pillow. Or in the void. Honestly, same thing at this point.”

Sapnap found it wedged between the cushion and the armrest. He pressed the power button. There was no code.

“You don’t have a lock screen?”

“I don’t have anything to hide.”

“I… Nevermind,” Sapnap sighed, like he didn’t want to argue about security and safety with a man who clearly didn’t care about either.

Sapnap started to type on the phone, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen. Dream watched in silence, curiously prickling at the back of his mind. He leaned in a little, trying to catch a glimpse of what was being typed, but Sapnap angled the screen away, giving him a sharp look.

“No peeking.”

Dream huffed. “Am I not allowed to see what’s happening on my own phone?”

“You’ll thank me in an hour,” Sapnap muttered, finishing whatever he was doing before turning the phone off and pocketing it.

Dream raised a brow. “I have no idea what you mean, but okay.”

“I mean he’ll be here,” Sapnap said, not looking away. “Wilbur. Siren. Whatever you want to call him.”

“You texted him? But I already did that?” Dream asked, sitting up straighter.

“Something like that.”

“Did you tell him you were here?”

Sapnap’s lips lifted into a smirk. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Dream stared for a long beat, then slowly leaned back into the couch, face going blank.

“Okay,” he said finally. “I don’t feel like questioning you further, so I’ll leave it.”

“Good.”

Dream hummed, then reached down and pulled open the drawer in the coffee table. A mess of half-bent playing cards and random junk clattered inside. He pulled out a used Uno deck.

“We’ve got time to kill,” Dream said, flipping the deck in his hand with a practiced flair. “How about some Uno? Surely a Mafia Ace knows how to play?”

Dream grinned.

Sapnap stared.

“Be prepared to lose,” Sapnap said simply.

“You’re on.”

The door of the apartment slammed open so hard that the frame rattled.

“DREAM?!” a voice shouted- wild, panicked, and sharp with alarm.

Wilbur stood near the entrance to the apartment- half-wild in appearance, breathing hard, one hand still on the doorknob. His coat was torn slightly, his hair disheveled, and his eyes scanned the apartment like he was ready to murder.

Wilbur saw the blonde’s hair and raced over.

“Are you okay?! Are you hurt-”

“UNO!”

Dream called out, raising a hand with a singular card.

Wilbur skidded to a halt in the middle of the living room, chest still heaving, pupils blown wide with panic. 

His eyes darted from Dream’s very much not-bleeding form to the messy pile of cards spread out on the coffee table, then to Sapnap, who was casually picking up a red reverse and muttering under his breath.

There was a single moment of silence.

Wilbur blinked.

“Are… Are you two playing Uno?”

Dream didn’t look up. “Damn. I have to pick up a card.”

“Are you kidding me right now?!” Wilbur questioned frustratingly, throwing his hands up.

Sapnap shrugged, slapping down a skip before placing another card. “Your turn.”

Wilbur gawked. “You’re ignoring me?! I thought you were kidnapped! Or worse!”

Dream grinned as he placed down another card. “Draw two!”

“Damnit!” Sapnap cursed as he picked up two cards. 

“Dream,” Wilbur warned. “Don’t you dare ignore me.”

Dream ignored him.

He placed down another card before saying ‘Uno.’ Then it was Sapnap’s turn, who placed down a blue three.

Dream’s grin widened. “Sorry about this, Mr. Ace. But looks like I won.”

Dream slammed the last card onto the table while Sapnap let out a few curses and tossed the rest of his cards around.

Wilbur stood there on the side, getting angrier and angrier by the second.

“You- Are you serious?!” he blurted out, looking between a winning grin on Dream’s face and the irritated scowl on Sapnap's. “Do you even know the thoughts running through my head as I ran here?”

“It was a little more than an hour, Sapnap,” Dream said, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “That was an hour and a half.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I expected him to be faster, but I guess I was wrong,” Sapnap said flatly, flicking through the scattered cards.

Dream slowly stood from the couch, brushing imaginary dust off his jeans. He stretched one last time, then turned towards Wilbur.

“You know,” Dream said lightly, but there wasn’t a hint of humour in his tone, “You could’ve at least texted me back.”

Wilbur blinked. “Sorry?”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be.” Dream took a step closer.

And then he punched Wilbur, right in the face.

It wasn’t a warning tap- it was a clean, sharp hit to the jaw that sent Wilbur stumbling backward, crashing into the wall beside the hallway with a grunt of pain.

Sapnap let out a low whistle from the armchair, one leg crossed over the other like he was spectating a wrestling match. It was about to be one. “Damn. Didn’t think he had it in him.”

Wilbur groaned, a hand cupping his wounded cheek. “What the hell was that for?!”

Dream started rolling up his sleeves.

“Are you really asking that?” Dream said, his voice calm in a terrifying way. “You used your power on me!”

“...Oh.”

“I can’t believe you,” Dream huffed, stepping forward.

“I- I had to! You were-”

“I trusted you, Wilbur!” Dream’s fists clenched at his sides. 

Wilbur winced. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. But- But we need to separate. I will just put you in more danger, and you’ll get hurt even worse.”

“Is this about what Schlatt said?” Dream crossed his arms, rolling his eyes.

“No,” he said, a little too quickly. “No… Maybe... Y-Yeah, it is… But he’s right, Dream. I’m a villain. And if you keep being near me, worse things are bound to happen.”

Dream gave a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Oh, please spare me the tragic monologue.”

“I have to stay away-”

“Shut up!” Dream snapped. “Don’t give me the ‘it’s for your own good’ speech! We could’ve talked instead of you running off to Prime knows where!”

Wilbur looked like he wanted to crawl into the floor and disappear forever.

Sapnap leaned back further in the chair. “Are you two going to be done arguing soon?”

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur ignored him and looked up at Dream. “But it was for your own go-”

“Alright, that’s it,” Dream cracked his knuckles. “I’m gonna beat your ass.”

Wilbur blinked, shocked, before stepping back, hands held up in surrender. “Wait, wait! Hold on- I thought you wanted to talk?”

“Too late for that now.”

“Dream, don’t-”

Dream lunged.

Wilbur barely had time to dodge.

Dream’s fist flew past his ear, slamming into the wall, which slightly rattled the hanging picture frame. Wilbur stumbled backward, slipping on the tile floor, scrambling to regain his footing as Dream came at him again.

“I said I was sorry!” Wilbur shouted, ducking low and side-stepping to the left. “You don’t have to maim me!”

“Oh, I absolutely do,” Dream snarled, spinning around and swinging again.

Wilbur caught his arm this time and held it in a desperate grip. “Let’s talk about this!”

“I am talking,” Dream growled, wrenching his arm back and planting a kick at Wilbur’s shin. “This is the way I talk now.”

“Violently?!”

“Violently.”

Sapnap, still on the armchair, casually reached over to grab one of the throw pillows and hugged it to his chest as he spectated the fight. “This is way better than the Mafia meetings.”

Meanwhile, Dream managed to grab the front of Wilbur’s shirt and slam him back into the hallway wall- again.

“You drugged me and ran!”

“I didn’t drug you!”

“Same difference! You think using your voice power on me isn’t just as bad?”

Wilbur’s back hit the wall with a grunt. “You would be in more danger!”

“I was already in danger!”

“I’m trying to protect you!”

“You suck at it!”

Wilbur pushed back, breaking Dream’s grip and stumbling forward. “I know!” he shouted, frustrated. “I know I suck at this! But I thought-” he hesitated, teeth gritting. “I thought it would be better if I weren’t there.”

They both stopped, staring at one another.

Then, without hesitation, Dream punched him again, but with much less force.

“Ow- Dream!”

“That one was for being stupid.”

“You already punched me for that!”

“No, that was for making me sleep.”

Wilbur, his face in his hands, groaned. “That fucking hurt.”

“Good,” Dream said.

Wilbur peeked through his fingers. “Are we good?”

“No. But now I feel slightly better,” Dream lowered his fists. “Still angry at you, though.”

Wilbur straightened up and muttered, “Fair.”

Sapnap yawned obnoxiously loudly from the armchair. “You guys are the worst drama show I have watched.”

Silence.

Then, Dream walked over to the kitchen and began making coffee as if the earlier fight hadn’t happened. Wilbur’s eyes followed him until they shifted over to Sapnap.

“Were you the one who sent that message?”

Sapnap didn’t flinch even as Wilbur’s voice changed to a dangerous tone. He casually reached for the Uno cards as he began cleaning them up.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he said, flipping a few cards over to reorganize them. “Had to get your attention somehow. You weren’t answering Dream’s texts.”

Wilbur’s face contorted with disbelief. “So your genius plan was to send me a ransom text message?!”

Dream paused mid-reach as he was about to grab a mug. “A ransom message?”

Wilbur turned to him. “Yes! That’s why I had to rush here!”

“Oh? What did it say?”

“It said, and I quote, ‘I have Dream. Bring me twelve dollars and-” He stopped, eyes narrowing as he glared at Sapnap, “-a strawberry poptart. Or he dies.’”

Dream blinked, then grabbed the mug and began pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Strawberry is a pretty good flavor.”

“Not the point!” Wilbur huffed. “I thought you were kidnapped!”

Sapnap shrugged, unfazed. “It got you here in record time. Although you failed my estimate of within an hour.”

Wilbur looked like he wanted to throw him out the window.

Dream sipped the mug. “You didn’t bring the poptart.”

Wilbur turned back to him. “Why would I bring the poptart?!”

Sapnap raised a hand. “I specifically said ‘or he dies.’ Not bringing it was a bold move.”

“I was going to use my powers!”

“Did you at least bring the twelve dollars?” Dream smirked over his mug. “I feel I’m at least worth that much.”

Wilbur stared at Dream, his eyes flickering over to Sapnap. He was close to having a full psychotic break.

“I want him out.”

Sapnap was halfway through placing the Uno deck back into its box. “What?”

“You heard me.” Wilbur pointed aggressively at the door. “Out. Gone. You’re the Ace of Diamonds- I don’t want you here.”

“Well, too bad,” Sapnap replied, leaning back and folding his arms against his chest. “Dream let me in, so it’s not your call.”

“Yeah,” Dream cut in calmly as he walked back into the living room, coffee in hand. “And I say he stays.”

Wilbur reeled back. “Wha- Dream! He’s a Mafia Ace! He’s probably here to kidnap you!”

Dream took another sip, completely unbothered. “Then he’s doing a really shitty job of it. We played Uno for almost two hours. He also brought food.”

“Filet mignon,” Sapnap added helpfully.

“That doesn’t make it better!” Wilbur shouted. “He fake-kidnapped you for a Poptart!”

Sapnap held up a finger. “And twelve dollars. Don’t forget the financial part of it.”

“You can’t let him stay.” Wilbur looked to Dream, who was still sipping at his coffee. “He’s dangerous.”

“So are you. You used your power on me.”

“That… That was different.”

Dream raised an eyebrow. “Was it?”

Wilbur took a deep breath. “You know what? Fine. Fine. You want him to stay? Let the Mafia Ace stay? Let’s just invite the rest of The Syndicate over too! Maybe host a fucking barbecue!”

“Oh?” Dream chuckled. “Should I prepare a cheese platter? Maybe get some little cocktails going?”

Sapnap nodded. “A Midori Sour sounds great right now.”

Wilbur, eyes twitching with the growing instability of a man clinging to his last shred of sanity, didn’t say a word. Instead, he pulled out his phone with slow, deliberate intent and began aggressively typing.

Dream sipped his coffee again, peeking over the rim of the mug. “What are you doing?”

“I’m texting them,” Wilbur replied without looking up.

Sapnap blinked. “Wait- are you actually?”

“Yup.” Wilbur’s thumbs flew across the screen. “Let’s see how much fun you have when Zephyrus and Crimson show up. Or better yet, Inferno.”