Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Grian sighed and Looked down at the fence post clutched tightly in his hand. The purple that usually coated his Vision was a dark violet as he concentrated on the object.

The fence turned a little fuzzy, blurring before coming into sharp focus. Lines moved up and down the post, speeding past faster than he could make sense of. He tried to concentrate more, to focus, but-

A sharp pain sliced through his head and his eyes stung. Grian winced and closed his eyes tightly, dropping the fence and gripping his head.

Deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

After a few moments, the pain subsided, though he still had a nasty headache. He opened his eyes. The world was normal, no purple, no strings that he couldn't read, nothing that was more in focus than it should be.

Grian glared down at the fence post and gave it a good kick.

Honestly, the disrespect.

Was it really too much to ask to have a new power mastered with minimal practice? Grian didn't think so. In fact, it was pretty rude of his powers to give him headaches.

Well, he supposed it wasn't necessarily a new power. But it felt like something he should be able to do, and so he’d set his mind to doing it.

The front door banged open. “Oh, Grian! I'm back!”

He flinched away from the noise and groaned.

“Big G? What- ah.” Tommy sidestepped the offensive fence post and sat across from Grian at the table. “No luck yet?”

He sighed. “Nothing but a headache.”

“Well, I'd imagine trying to read the code of the world would be hard, even for an all-powerful god.”

Grian lifted his head to deadpan at Tommy. “I’m not a god.”

“That you know of! You can summon weird-as-shit eyeballs, see Techno’s chat, see Ranboo’s little fuzz balls, and the occasional life force of someone. Sounds pretty god-like to me.”

Grian rolled his eyes. “I could just have weird powers.”

“Or, you could be a god. You don't know. You don't remember shit. For all you know, I could be right. And as soon as your memories do come in and confirm how right I am, I want a formal apology.”

Grian huffed a laugh. “Sure, Tommy. If it turns out I'm a god, you’ll be the first to know.”

He grinned. “Poggers. Anyway, wanna hear the latest gossip?”

“Absolutely.”

“So, Karl, Sapnap, and Quackity are engaged now. Like, officially. But Karl keeps ‘mysteriously disappearing.’ Also, Bad was complaining about how Karl made him and a few others create, like, a whole little country just to blow it up days later. Everyone was pretty pissed.”

“I’d bet.” Grian would be devastated if he’d made a whole build just for it to be blown up.

The missile sailed agonizingly slowly toward G̸̻͝r̴͚̯̂u̴͍̔̍m̶̝̟̉b̴̭̈́͒o̷̪͙͂̍t̴̬̅. It felt even slower as Grian screamed for blocks. If he could get high enough, make a quick wall, then-

“Big G?”

He blinked and looked up from the table. “Hmm? Ah, sorry, I'm listening.”

“You sure? Did that fence take a lot outta you?”

Grian rolled his eyes. “I was not bested by a fence.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Anything else?”

Tommy shrugged. “I mean, not much else in the way of big news. Tubbo’s struggling to hold L’Manburg together, but with everyone united against Dream it's made his job a little easier. Since, you know, he only has to worry about one thing.”

“Right.”

“I think he wants to step down, actually,” Tommy said, much quieter. “Maybe get rid of the presidency altogether. Could make it a mayorship.”

Grian smirked. “Yeah, we could have Mumbo run for mayor again.”

“Who?”

He blinked again. Then he sighed, a sudden wave of exhaustion overtaking him. “I don't know.”

Tommy frowned. “Is that someone you knew?”

“I don't know,” he snapped.

“Okay! Okay, I'm sorry.”

Grian sighed, again, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, I shouldn't have snapped at you.”

“You’re exhausted, I get it.”

Grian wanted to protest more, but Tommy’s voice carried a clear dismissal and, if Grian was being honest with himself, he was too tired to argue. Instead, he hung his head in his hands and massaged his temples, trying to lessen his migraine and the cotton filling his head.

“. . . maybe you should take a nap or something, Big G.”

He slowly shakes his head. “No. I . . . I can keep going.”

“Grian, you’re exhausted.”

“I’m fine, Scar. I need- I need to check the perimeter, anyone could wander in-”

“Grian. What are you on about, man? Who’s Scar?”

He snapped out of it and looked up at Tommy. “Huh?”

Tommy frowned deeply and stood, grabbing Grian’s arm. “Yep, you’re going to bed.”

“But the fence-”

“Can wait, G. You’re saying weird shit, you can barely keep your eyes open. You’re not gonna be unlocking any new godpowers like this.” He pulled Grian out of the chair, much stronger now that he was actually eating, and dragged him over to the cot. Jellie immediately curled up by Grian’s legs.

Grian pushed away Tommy’s hands as the teen tried to pull up a blanket. “I’m fine, Tom.”

“If you sleep I’ll bring you a variety of items to experiment with.”

Grian grumbled and laid back. “Fine. But I’m not happy.”

“Builders, the lot of you are just- fucking weird.” Tommy pulled the blanket up over Grian and flicked off the lights.

Jellie purred contentedly at Grian’s side to make him relax, the traitor.

“J̴u̸s̴t̷ ̶l̷o̴o̴k̷ ̶a̷t̸ ̸t̵h̵e̴ ̶J̸e̸l̷l̷i̷e̸ ̷p̴a̵n̶d̵a̶s̴,̸ ̷G̸r̶i̴a̸n̶!”

I miss you.

Grian pushed passed the splitting headache and gripped the golden apple tighter, strings of code flying passed even though his Vision should have slowed it down.

Object----type----made by----

Oh, goody! He managed to make out four words. How impressive.

His migraine grew and he squeezed tighter, black nails sinking into the golden flesh. Made by who. Just tell him, come on.

Made by To-

A sudden stab of pain sliced through his head, whitening his vision and he dropped the apple with a short cry. It rolled across the floor, settling with the rest of the items he'd dropped or thrown.

But it was progress. A start. A line in the code that he could finally See.

He gripped tightly to the table, chuckling as the pain subsided. This was a breakthrough. One step closer. Being able to read the code of an object would be amazing for the search if he could figure out how to narrow down his Eyes to search for a specific code.

Because regular searching was doing nothing for him.

Grian waited for his headache to dull into a slow, heavy thump, and carefully stood to make some tea. He was giddy, even with the headache, though he resisted the urge to hum. It wasn't where he wanted, but it was progress.

He slowly cleaned up as the tea steeped. Just the items he'd already gone through, and shut off a majority of the lights to make it easier on his eyes. He hoped his experiment hadn't woken Ranboo, but he just couldn't get himself to lie down when there was work to be done.

Because, in reality, the manhunt for Dream was . . . not going well.

You’d think being an eldritch deity with literal eyes everywhere would make things easier.

But no.

Cause nothing is ever that easy.

Grian sighed and let his head thump against the table, turning his head to glare accusingly at the map on the wall. He'd spent days on another area of the server, looking it over with a fine-toothed comb, and you know what he found?

A snow fox.

Adorable, but not quite what he was looking for.

He needed direction. He needed code.

He needed his tea before Enderwalk came downstairs and forced him to bed.

Grian sighed and sat up enough to remove the steepener from the cup. The heat of the tea sunk into his cold, void-like hands, and the tension and stress slowly pulled away from his shoulders like the steam from the cup.

It'd been weeks, and no sign. Dream was crafty, too many resources despite having the whole server against him. Maybe he never slept. Maybe he had powers like Grian, to grant him whatever he wanted.

Which would be rude. And cheating. And if it was the case, Grian would have a major bone to pick with him. Even more than he already did.

He carefully drank the tea, letting it warm his chest and spread to his bones.

Grian would find a way. He always did. He's stubborn enough for it, everyone knew that. Dream knew it too. It was only a matter of time.

Grian had his eyes closed as he Looked through his Eyes, flipping through images at a speed that anyone else would call a blur. The Eyes knew what he was looking for, what he wanted, and they were doing their best to find it, sorting through information and only pointing out details they thought important.

“Fuck, he's creepy when he does that.”

“Shh! He's working.”

“It's still weird!”

He allowed himself a short huff of a laugh and lowered his hand. He opened his eyes, his real eyes, and blinked away the purple code of the world, suddenly tired, like always.

Quackity crossed his arms. “Well? Any progress?”

Grian sighed and sat in the chair, his wings puffed up in agitation behind him. “No. I've checked every inch of known areas of the server. And nothing.”

“Except that signpost.” Techno huffed and glanced at the offending wooden sign. A taunt and threat for Tommy. Left in his home. Grian felt guilt for days after they'd found it, angry at himself for not noticing.

“. . . except the signpost. We know of areas he used to go to.” Grian reached out a hand to trace some areas of the map. “Where his base used to be, his old friends, places he frequented. I tried everywhere, even underground.”

“Then maybe it's time we looked on foot.” Quackity looked determined as he leaned against the table to read the map. “Send out search parties.” He tapped a place on the map. “Did you check here?”

“Yeah. Surface only had snow foxes.”

“As much as your creepy eyes are great, I'd like to check on certain things myself.” Quackity glanced around the people in the room, his gaze lingered on Techno a moment, anger flaring, and straightened up. “We should start searching on foot. Even if it's less efficient, we're all getting antsy. Besides, it's possible Dream came back to some of these places after you checked.”

The thought itched the back of his head and he studied the map again. He wanted to send his Eyes out, keep them everywhere so they could catch the slightest movement. But that just wasn't possible. He needed more practice. And going over the server nine chunks at a time already took a lot out of him.

“. . . Dream has to be getting his resources from somewhere. The most rich places I could find were here, here, and here.” He pointed at different places on the map. “It's possible that he would try and replenish some of those resources to hide. If we're going to send out search parties, then make sure to look for underground entrances. He's no redstoner, but that doesn't mean Dream might not have learned a thing or two about hiding doors. And traps.”

“Then we'll check there first.” Techno pointed to a spot by the ocean, his chat buzzing around him. “Phil and I can check here.”

Quackity scanned the other two places. “I'll take this one. I'll bring Sapnap and Fundy with me.”

“Then I guess we'll take the last one?”

Grian paused and slowly turned his head to Tommy, who he . . . hadn't meant to forget was there. “. . . pardon?”

Tommy looked uncomfortable, shifting awkwardly on his feet before he squared his shoulders. “You, me, and Tubbo. Ranboob can come too, if he wants.”

“You're not coming.”

“Why not? It's not like I'm any safer here!” He gestured to the sign, anger carefully covering his fear. “He can get to me anywhere, bitch has proven that. I'd rather be out there, looking, than twiddling my thumbs here to wait for him to decide to stop being a pussy and drag me off to exile again.”

Grian frowned, his exhaustion made it hard for him to force his wings still, so the obvious displeasure he knew they were displaying made him frustrated, despite doing his best to keep it off his face. “I have a panic room.”

“And we don't know if that even works!” Tommy threw up his hands. “If Dream really wanted me, he could just blow up the base and drag me out. I need-” his hands shook and he took a deep breath, clenching them into fists. “I need to be doing something.”

The mood of the room soured. Even Phil looked uncomfortable with the idea of Tommy going out. And Grian could feel Quackity working up an argument against it.

“Fine.”

Tommy paused, his shoulders tense. “. . . really?”

Quackity shot Grian a look. “Are you serious?”

“Really.” Grian stood. “We all know that if we tell Tommy not to go, he'll just go anyway. At least this way I can keep an eye out for him.” He gave Tommy a small smile, and the relieved one he got back was almost worth it. “Can Jack and Niki watch L'Manburg?”

Quackity shrugged, reluctantly and silently agreeing to the plan. “I can ask.” He grabbed the map and rolled it up. “I'm making copies of these to pass out. We'll search for three days and meet back here if we don't find anything. If you do find something, use your comms.”

Techno's chat bounced around his head, whispering excitedly to each other and causing the piglin's ear to flick. “Fine.” He said gruffly. “But we're takin’ Ranboo.”

Grian raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Evens out the teams. Bonding, what's it to you?”

“Well, I don't know if I like the idea of him staying with a terrorist-”

“Want a mark to match your other eye?”

“Okay!” Grian stretched a wing out between them. “Calm down, remember our goals here. Techno, Ranboo will go with you. Quackity, copy the maps, write down the areas I pointed out. We'll all set out tomorrow.”

Quackity and Techno continued to stare each other down for several tense moments. Eventually, Techno huffed and grabbed his axe. “Fine. Tomorrow.” He pushed passed Grian and exited the war room, Phil right behind him.

Grian sighed. “At least try to pretend to not want to kill him.”

“He fucking killed me and escaped his trial and you want me to pretend to be buddy-buddy with him?”

“No, I expect you to be professional.”

Quackity gave him a hard stare, and then his eye slipped over to Tommy and he somewhat deflated. “. . . I've gotta prepare. Sapnap said he was going to look for Karl, so I need to track down at least one of them.”

“. . . do you guys need help with that?”

He hesitated, but clutched the map tighter and shook his head. “It's our problem. Dream comes first, I know Karl can take care of himself.”

Grian nodded. “Good luck.”

Once it was just him and Tommy left, the teen allowed his anxiety to show. The fidgeting hands, eyes fixed to the floor even as he obviously attempted to raise them. The fight to shrink but wanting to stand tall.

Grian held out a wing, a silent invitation, and Tommy hesitated before leaning against his side. He relaxed a bit as the wing wrapped around him.

“. . . it's gonna be okay, Tommy, I swear. I promise. Dream will never touch you again.”

“. . . yeah.” He's silent for a while before sniffing and pulling away. “I've gotta . . . get ready. Make sure I have armor and shit.”

“I'll bring plenty of gapples.”

That pulled a short laugh out of Tommy. “Thanks, Big G. I'll try not to eat all of them.”

“We both know that's a lie.” Grian ruffled his hair. “Get some rest. I'll take care of everything.”

“I can get my own damn armor.”

“Then do that. Tubbo can bring potions.”

“Ohhh, yes.” Tommy got that mischievous glint in his eyes, rarely genuine these days, but still there. He pointed at Grian. “I'm gonna make him bring so much weird shit.”

“Uh huh.” Grian chuckled and stepped out of the war room. “No poison!”

“But Grian, that's half the fun!”

He rolled his eyes and stretched his wings, not flying like he could at his base, but being able to spread them outside of a tiny room did wonders.

He'd bring along some items to experiment with. Traveling didn't mean he couldn't Look. He just needed to be able to read without feeling his skull split in two. Easy.

Easy.

Chapter Text

He watched the two friends playfully push each other and banter along the path in front of him. It was a good sight, something that caused the ache in his chest to settle despite Ranboo not being here.

Tommy laughed at something Tubbo said and started teasing him relentlessly, a grin on his face. And Tubbo held a smile even as he verbally pushed back.

This was how it was meant to be. They were supposed to be allowed to be happy dumb teenagers and do happy dumb things. Like when they both ‘fell’ in a pond a few hours back. They were happy, even if the foreboding reality of the situation hung between them.

They would chuckle and elbow each other and then their eyes would flick to the horizon, would scan the treeline of a distant forest, would critically assess some shrubbery. The paranoia clung to them even as they tried to let loose, and that was the only thing that kept Grian from relaxing fully.

He kept a few Eyes up, moving with them and Looking from multiple angles just in case Dream decided to try to sneak up on them. But it was quiet on that front.

Uncomfortably quiet.

The weeks without action had Grian on edge. It felt like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to snap. Shift. Change the course of the server.

It was the calm before the storm. Similar to the weeks leading up to Tommy's arrival at the temple, and it only grew with each step they took.

Not to mention . . .

“For Pizza!”

“This is all getting very biz-aha-arre!”

“The ship burns, everything burns!”

“It’s a BRIDGE made of BREAD.”

They were back.

Quieter than they were at the temple, but now they have popped up more and more ever since he started tapping into his powers. Since he started growing them.

Dream himself was a great motivator, but now, if it could help him remember, then-

“-camp here for the night? What do you think, Big G?”

Grian rooted his feet to the ground and looked up at Tommy's expectant face. “Huh?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow and waved his hand in front of Grian's face. “You alright, big man? You're all spacey and shit. Again.”

He rolled his eyes and pushed Tommy's hand away. “I'm fine.” He gazed at the horizon, taking in the sun that began to sink low into the sky. “Rest. Right. I'll work on a small cabin, should have enough wood for it.” He started grabbing the materials, even as Tubbo tilted his head.

“Why not a tent?”

Grian tensed, looking from Tubbo's innocent expression to Tommy's pained one.

Those boys seriously needed to talk to one another.

Still, not his place.

Grian put on a smile and shrugged his shoulders. “It's more comfortable. Besides, me? Make something as simple as just a tent? Absurd.” It made Tommy laugh, at least. And earned him being called a drama queen, but he didn't mind. He was in no state to deny his dramatics, after all.

Grian had first watch. Or, well, they think it's only the first watch, but he had no intention of waking either of them up. He had all the time in the world to think. Experiment. Talk with ghosts.

He'd rest tomorrow. He promised. But tonight . . . he just couldn't.

Whispered words of excitement and entertainment, an instinct to fill up on sand and explosives. Set a trap. Make them fall in. Take their time and add it to his own.

He sighed and stared at the fire, letting the odd murmurs drift in and out. He tried to make sense of them, but most were garbled or too quiet to make out.

Grian held out his hand and an Eye appeared above it, floating as it looked at him passively. He lowered his hand and willed the Eye to do whatever it wanted, which ended up just floating around him, almost playfully before coming to hover in front of his face.

He sighed and held out his hand again, the Eye settled onto it, looking at him as if it expected something.

“What are you?”

The Eye didn’t respond. Typical.

“Maybe the better question is, what am I?”

Still no response.

“Do you know who I was? Before? Or how I got here?”

Nothing.

He sighed again and leaned against the tree. He didn’t really expect an answer to his questions. It wasn’t like the Eyes could talk. They were made to Watch, not much else. Although, Techno’s Eyes were different, Grian mused, they could talk to the piglin as they Watched. Why couldn’t Grian’s Eyes do the same?

It was beyond frustrating at times. He guessed the only way he'd get answers would be to continue to nurture his powers.

The Eye stayed with him as he clumsily grabbed Tommy's sword and focused. He strained his Eyes, letting violet coat the world in a thick film. He gripped the sword tighter, almost glaring at it as the strings of code began to flicker onto its surface, speeding passed.

He needed it to slow down. Needed it to move at a pace he could read.

A dull ache began to pulse in his skull and he pushed harder. He's the most stubborn man on the server. When it came down to it. When it came to war, he couldn't give up. He had the deep, innate need to live. To protect his allies. His flock. All the way to the bitter end.

And by the ancients, if this was a skill Grian needed to do so, then nothing would stop him.

Object----type----name----made by----

The ache shifted to a pounding pain. A band that wrapped around his head and squeezed tighter and tighter.

Object: Netherite Sword. Type----Made by: TommyInnit. Enchantments----

Grian bit back a scream as he dropped the sword to clutch his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, cutting off the purple and just seeing out of the singular Eye that continued to float beside him, either oblivious or uncaring to his pain.

He lowered his head between his knees and tried to breathe deeply to dispel the nausea.

It was progress. Progress. That's what he told himself. It was all right there. There was just something about slowing it down that caused his whole brain to fry. If he could just figure out how to slow it down-

Grian paused, an idea popping into his head. If slowing the code was the hard part. Maybe he could speed himself up.

If he could read the code with his Eyes, but speed them up to the rate at which the code moved, then that would minimize the amount of pressure he was expending to slow it down.

The breakthrough almost washed away the pounding of his migraine. It made him giddy. Eager to try again. But as he reached out for the sword his head pulsed in protest and he winced. Ah. Yeah. Still had to deal with that, first.

Grian closed his eyes again, and just let himself See through the one floating by him, even as it'd drifted near the cabin.

Manipulating the code itself was hard, that much was becoming obvious to him. But his Eyes? Those had always been easier to control.

The sun rose, the migraine settled into a dull ache, and they were off once again.

“So, what exactly is the plan if we find Dream? I know I was a bit busy during the war plans and shit, but, like. What do we do? How do we fight him?” Tubbo waved his spoon around, narrowly avoiding splashing Tommy with his soup.

Tommy grumbled at nearly having soup thrown at him and mumbled a small: “Watch it,” as he kept eating. Tubbo just gave him a cheeky grin in response.

“Figure out where he's based, and attack him as a group.” Grian downed the soup broth and set the bowl aside. “He's got the whole server against him. Sure, he's strong, but not against twenty-odd sum people.”

Tubbo mulled that over and shrugged, eating the rest of his soup.

“How's the god training? Any luck?”

Grian rolled his eyes at Tommy as he gathered up the dishes, he'd somewhat given up on denying the god thing. “A little luck. I've come up with a workaround for the migraine, but I'm having some trouble putting it together.”

“Which is??”

“Speed reading.” Grian shrugged at the double dubious looks he got. “I've been trying to slow down the code, but maybe if I could speed up, then I wouldn't have to slow it down.”

Tubbo exchanged a look with Tommy and withdrew a swirling potion, holding it out to Grian. “Speed pot! I've only got five, though.”

He took it and studied the shimmering liquid. “Huh . . . that . . . might work. Thanks, Tubbo!”

Tubbo gave him a little salute. “What I'm here for, bossman.”

Grian ruffled his hair and earned a small grin.

He rolled the potion between his hands, careful not to drop it despite the fidgeting. It’s the third night, they’ll be traveling back tomorrow, having found nothing in their wandering.

It irritated him.

Grian popped the cork and drank a good third of the potion, letting it flow through him. His nerves began to hum, thoughts swirled faster and faster as the world itself almost seemed to zoom into focus.

He took a deep breath, studying a gapple, the purple coated his Vision. Code began to dance across it as he focused. Speeding by. He almost began to slow it down, used to the routine, but stopped. He closed his eyes and opened a different one instead.

The Eye floated in front of him, surveying the campground, the rising moon, the gapple, the code that sped passed.

But the Eye was just a bit faster.

Item ID: 322. Object: Golden Apple. Type: Edible. Made by: Grian. Effects: Absorption, regeneration-

Grain’s breath caught, and his real eyes instinctively popped open, still coated in purple even as he lost the grip of concentration and the code flew quickly again.

He . . .

He did it.

Grian leapt to his feet. He did it! He could read- could it tell him when an object was made? Maybe as far as where? What were the limitations?

Glancing around, code ran through everything, the trees, the ground, the very air. The potion buzzed in his veins, making it all so much sharper.

A triumphant grin stretched across his face. How much could he read before morning?

“The spectators want a fight.”

Grian groaned and rolled onto his side. His eyes moved rapidly under his lids. Colors moved together like a child’s watercolor.

"Is this where we show our true allegiance? To each other, and no one else? We turn on everyone?"

“I will murder them.”

“Grian, get the bucket.”

“Can we still be friends?”

“I owe you my first life.”

“Traitor! Traitor Scar!”

“They said blood, they want blood!”

“There’s only one life left.”

Blood on his knuckles. He can feel it, even if he can’t see it. Green, gray, and a light yellow spin like tops before him, the haze of the sun doing no favors. His back itches, and he longs to sit down and clean his wings. They weigh so heavy. Everything feels heavy. And then he’s light. Lighter than he’s ever been-

“You can kill me. For everything you’ve done, for keeping me alive. You may slay me and take the enchanter.”

“Grian!”

He gasped, sitting upright and knocking the blankets off. It felt wrong. Everything was wrong. It’s night, it should be colder. Freezing to make up for the sweltering heat of the day. His wings itch so bad, scarred hands unbind the appendages, letting them stretch out and shake off the sand- but, no, isn’t he up high? A colder elevation, tri-colored wood- no, in a cave? Both under and above ground? The slime bounces on the floor, excited to see him despite the circumstances- or- was it a tower?

Where was he?

A desert, dark oak forest, mountainside, mansion, cave, tower-

Grain gripped his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew more than felt the added wings, the Eyes that whirled around him and he desperately tried not to Look, to reign them in. He didn’t want to see what he looked like. Didn’t want to see the effects of them.

“Stop-” he choked out. “Stop- stop it!!”

TNT in his hands, a pushed minecart, crazed laughter as a boom echoes from below.

The image blurred, mixing together as explosions erupt from the hillside, a wither spawned behind him, watching as his brother grinned wide in victory. He felt the remnant of the same joy pulling at his cheeks from his own working traps.

He pulled at his hair, more Eyes joined the others as the voices merged, as incoherent as the distorted pictures. Pain shot through his skull-

A sword in his back- an axe in his side- ears splitting- firework underwater-

Who are you?

Open your Eyes.

What are you?

You seem different.

Are you hiding?

You’re not meant to be here.

“You're a monster.”

He held his head tighter as a scream erupted from his throat. “I'm ME!!”

A distant bang reached his ears, he didn't know if the whirlwind around him was real or imagined. Was it all in his head?

Where are you?

Glass broke against his skin, particles flooded his lungs - poison in his veins- an explosion- who's the boogeyman? - and he felt heavy, an exhaustion that managed to undercut the tidal wave of pressure in his head, but not enough to end it.

A thousand Eyes look up, spreading and stretching across every surface of the makeshift cabin.

He Saw Tommy, face pale despite the determined set to his shoulders. The teen’s hands shook as he grabbed another swirling gray potion from Tubbo, who seemed more obviously terrified.

He Saw himself. Sat on the bed, code glitching around him, several more sets of wings stretched behind him, all-encompassing as they puffed up to ward off an unseen threat. Gray mixed with purple as every Eye saw another and another. The glitching code sometimes made a mask appear over his face, white with a symbol embedded in amethyst. The symbol split, struggling to form in the midst of a tearing reality.

His hair whirled around his head, caught up in the unseen force, adding to the strange etherealness. The power that radiated from him corrupted the blocks surrounding him, brown logs leaked into a petrified gray.

The divine image was nearly ruined by the sight of him gripping his head. The picture of a tormented god.

Tommy launched another potion. The glass broke against his wings, sending another shockwave of agony and indecipherable memories.

But it worked. Drowsiness filled him, even as the flood increased to a crescendo. Grian was drowning in two different ways now, neither he could control and both in a panic.

As the potions took root, the power given to his form subsided. It fought against the intrusion, almost burning through it, but the wings shifted, falling away to one set, his normal colors. And then the Eyes glitched out of existence in waves, until only one remained above his head.

The pressure in his mind threatened to burst again, but it was blessedly silent. The flow of memories and voices cut off.

Grian could hear his breathing, heavy, strained. Two more sets joined the sound, short, uneven.

The Eye snapped to Tommy as the teen gulped. “What. The fuck. Was that?”

He kept his eyes closed. Almost afraid that the mask would be there even though it'd been the first to go with the glitching. It hurt to swallow, he suspected it'd hurt worse to speak.

Limbs shaking, Grian lifted a hand to his face, relieved to only touch flesh. He finally opened his eyes, taking in the ruined cabin and the two teens. “. . . sorry.” He rasped.

Tubbo's posture shifted and he visibly compartmentalized the situation, taking out a bottle of water which he carefully passed to Grian.

He almost dropped the bottle several times before he finally managed a sip.

Tubbo's nerves seemed mostly swallowed by Crisis Mode. Even though there wasn't a crisis anymore. Just . . . evidence of one.

Tommy snatched the bottle the moment Grian emptied it and replaced it with a regen potion. He stared at Grian, unimpressed, when the man raised an eyebrow.

“It's for your throat, dumbass.”

Ah. That . . . made sense.

Almost self-consciously, Grian uncorked the bottle and drank it, slower than the water.

With Grian seemingly out of potential crisis, Tubbo began to fidget. Something between awe and caution flickerd on his face.

He finished the bottle and sighed, speaking before they could. “No, I don't know what that was. No, it hasn't happened before. No, I don't know if it'll happen again.”

Tommy studied him before deflating. “Are you okay?”

That . . . hadn't been a question he was expecting. People tended to want to know the why and how and what of things, not . . . well-being questions.

“I'm . . . fine. Just exhausted. Was that a slowness potion?”

“And weakness.” Tubbo confirmed, a bit quiet. “Tommy wasn't sure it'd work.”

“Oh. Well . . . it did. Thank you.” He tried to give them an appreciative smile and hoped it didn't fall flat.

“What did you remember?”

Grian paused at Tommy's blunt question, shifting his attention. “How do you-?”

“If you went all godly and shit without getting anything out of it, I’d be disappointed.” He said it almost like a joke, injecting a levity none of them felt.

He sighed. “Not much, really . . . it was all . . . pictures. A strange collage. I saw things, but I can't quite put them together.”

But it's a start, at least. Tommy seemed to agree, judging by the way he seemed to relax.

Grian closed his eyes and fidgeted with the bottle. “I remember . . . poppies and lilacs.”

“Can we still be friends?

He felt the smile before he realized it was there. “And bread.”

“Bad Boys Bread Bridge.”

“But . . . I can't connect them with much.”

Tommy sighed and sat on the bed with him and Tubbo. “Your powers are fucking weird, man. And kinda shit, now that I'm learning more about them.”

Tubbo elbowed him. “He looked like a god, how is that shit?”

“Well, I wouldn't want migraines and loss of control just to remember shit.”

Grian’s smile faded. “It’s not even clear memories either.”

Tommy waved his hand at Grian, as if that settled his point to Tubbo, who just stuck his tongue out in response.

Grian barely managed to slip off the bed before they descended into a playful fight. It brought some of that levity back, though he wasn’t sure it was enough. His whole body ached, he should be bedridden from all the potions they gave him, but his other form seemed to have burned through most of it. He glanced up at the eye, still following him, and squinted at it.

It squinted back.

He tried to dismiss it, but it stayed stubbornly put, almost mocking his attempts despite doing nothing.

Grian grumbled and turned back to the rest of the cabin, taking in the petrified wood and glitched blocks. Grays and purples infected most of them, the contrast between the two colors lit up that part of himself that nearly drowned him just moments ago.

He huffed and took out a pickaxe to cut down the blocks.

Chapter Text

“We split up and still found nothing.”

Item ID: 373:8258. Object: Long_Swiftness. Type: Consumable.

“We may just need to look longer.”

“Or do something to draw him out?”

“I refuse to try and set up another festival after the last disasters.”

Brewed by: Tubbo_ Effects: Swiftness (8:00). 38% remaining.

“Agreed. Besides, it’d be a ridiculously obvious trap since he knows we’re fightin’ him.”

“I’m just not sure what else we could do to draw him out.”

“Could dangle Tommy with a stick.”

“Haha. No.”

Username: Tubbo_. Player ID: 100789. Online: Twelve Years. Active Status Effects: None.

“Well, I don’t hear you coming up with any better ideas.”

“You’re joking.”

“Maybe Dream’s just homeless.”

Health: 20/20. Hunger: 81% full.

“Grian? Any ideas?”

“G? You’ve been staring at Tubbo for a while.”

“Finally, someone noticed! It’s been freaking me out.”

Exhaustion Status: Moderate. Pets owned-

Username: TommyInnit. Player ID-

“G!”

Hands shook his shoulders, more and more aggressive until reality came back into sharp focus. Grian tried to wave Tommy off, a headache forming. “Sorry, I’m alright.”

Zoning out in the war room while discussing the failure of their expedition may not have been the wisest idea. Especially given the various looks of concern he got from the occupants in the room. It was fine. He’s fine. He had a handle on it.

Grian quickly put the potion of swiftness back in his inventory. After the incident in the cabin, being able to Read with a potion was easier and easier to the point that, like now, it could make him zone out and get completely lost in the code. But the potion would wear off soon, he could focus until then.

Tubbo crossed his arms. “You were staring at me.”

“Like a right creep,” Tommy tacked on.

“Right. . . sorry. What were we talking about?”

Quackity glanced between the three of them, something akin to suspicion on his face, before he shrugged it off. “A way to lure out Dream, or figure out another way to find him.”

Ah. The same question as the last few months, then. Nothing new.

Grian sighed and leaned back in his seat. “It’s like Dream is a ghost. Either he’s just that good at hiding and moving around, or someone is helping him.”

Techno huffed. “Who would be helpin’ him at this point?”

“Maybe a mercenary?” Grian rubbed his chin, thinking. “Punz and Purpled are mercenaries, right?”

“Even as a mercenary, surely they have to know they can’t win against the whole server.” Phil mused.

“True, but money can be an incredible motivator, even against bad odds. And there are some loyalties that withstand armies.”

“I want to enact the sword!”

“For everything you’ve done, for keeping me alive.”

“He needs me.”

Quackity nodded. “I’ll talk with Purpled. I wanted to ask him about something anyway.”

“Phil and I can have a chat with Punz, if Dream is really paying him, we might be able to give him more.”

Tommy raised his hand and waved it slightly. “What do we do, then? If the three of you are doing that, then what do Tubbo and I do?”

“You’ll be with me.” Grian said. “We need to stock up more, and see if we can come up with any extra plans.” Training too. If Grain can master this power, then they could find Dream much easier.

Tommy seemed to understand some version of what Grian was thinking, as he agreed with only a sigh of protest. “Fine.”

Quackity stood and adjusted his eyepatch, the wound on his face now a pink scar. “Let’s get moving, then. I want this bastard found. If Punz and Purpled can’t help, I’m not above tearing apart the whole damn server.”

Tubbo huffed. “You act like you’re the president.”

Tommy elbowed him. “We’re phasing out the presidency, remember?” He glanced meaningfully at Techno, causing the piglin to narrow his eyes slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tubbo sighed. “Let’s just go, I need to grind for more potions. Come on, you and Boo are coming with me.”

He let out an indignant noise as Tubbo grabbed him by the arm to drag him away. “You want me to hang out with Boob Boy??”

Grian snorted and moved to stand as everyone began to file out. Techno grabbed his arm before he could pass by.

“Remember our agreement. If I get to Dream first, I can’t guarantee you how much of him will be left.”

He pat Techno’s hand and moved his arm away. “And I promise to blast parts of him all across the server. He’ll get no mercy from me, Techno.”

Even though he’d heard it before, the repeated promise seemed to relax Techno, a few of his more bloodthirsty Eyes settling down.

They exchanged a nod, and Grian left for his crooked tower. He never lost a bet. And he wouldn’t lose one as important as this, either.

Those instincts purred. The lingering Eye that hid in his wings buzzed to the point that he had to coax it out of the feathers and let it hover in the corner of the room. It was like last time, just before Tommy showed up at his jungle temple. Grian had to prepare.

The instincts weren’t kind enough to specify what he was preparing for, if he needed to pack a bag to leave, or set up fortifications to stay, so he resigned himself to both. To some people’s confusion, Grian disappeared for long periods of time during the day. He gathered materials in the nether, set up a secret - and technically illegal - creeper farm, shored up the fortifications around his tower, and brewed potions with Tubbo, Tommy, and Ranboo - the only people he really saw during his preparations.. It had a strange sort of comfort. Something that felt practiced in a way he struggled to place. Something right.

Defenses were necessary, no matter the game.

Grian found himself staring off into the depths of his half-packed bag. Food, potions, spare materials for weapons and armor. He was preparing for war. Emergency items stuffed into a bag in case he needed to set up new roots at a moment’s notice.

He was on his second life, the reds would be coming soon.

His fingers twitched and tightened around the pack, crinkling the leather. He . . . he’s not alone. He didn’t need to move. He had allies friends. Loyalty on this server could change, sure, but the people that he chose did not so easily abandon one another.

He pushed the memory of Wilbur aside.

A small murrp caught his attention and Grian’s eyes shifted to Jellie. The cat brushed against the bag, getting close enough to rub her head against his charred hand. Tension bled from his shoulders as he scratched her head with a fond smile.

“And here is the infamous Queen Jellie herself!”

“Look at the Jellie pandas, G!”

Nostalgia swelled, threatening to choke him. His breath froze as a name clogged his throat, desperate to get out. Deserts stained with blood, scarred hands offering flowers, giving cookies. A hand in his. Acceptance, rejection, avoidance.

Green eyes, vibrant and alive, piercing into his soul. And then red. Red, but no less lovely.

Jellie murped and headbutted his hand, offended by his divided attention.

Grian sighed and sat down to pull her onto his lap, which she allowed, and focused on just petting her. Repetitive. Soothing. Grounding.

The remnants were getting stronger. Triggered by the most random and familiar things that it made his head hurt. Voices were clearer, and some images were that much sharper. Items with no name, large as his wings, but with purple-gray leather instead of feathers. Other players soaring beside him, faces fuzzy despite their familiarity. Whispering of conquered kingdoms and rushed alliances. Falling out of the sky again and again.

He leaned down and buried his face in Jellie’s fur. He felt like he was going crazy. Always on the edge of remembering but never quite able to grasp it. Sensations blurred together like sand slipping through his fingers.

Sand beneath his feet. Sand in his wings. Sand scooped up and stolen.

“Everything the light touches is our kingdom.”

Ugh.

Every little thing caused a spark now. Even his own thoughts weren’t safe. He needed his memories to make up its mind. Either remember or don’t. Not whatever this was.

Grian took his time, nearly suffocating himself in her fur, before he finally allowed himself to finish his preparations.

Their little group hardly needed to do anything.

Both mercenaries had claimed ignorance, with varying degrees of believability. Techno said that although Punz seemed to be telling him the truth, the piglin claimed the vibes were off, and wouldn’t trust the man as far as he could throw him. Though, it hardly mattered now.

In the end, it was an accident.

It was hilarious, in hindsight, that a random creeper explosion of all things revealed the underground bunker. Who knew those creatures could be so useful for setting things in motion?

“It was just a prank!”

“I owe you my first life.”

Quackity had been the one to find it and promptly called the rest of them.

It was a surprisingly small bunker near the shore of a far coast. Big enough for a bed, bookcase, and storage. A temporary set-up. A place to spawn in case of a premature death.

Another spark.

Grian pushed it down before it could distract him and tore the bunker apart, leaving the bed intact while he searched for something he could use. Enchanting books, extra netherite - which he nabbed - some food, nothing inherently useful.

“What the hell-?” Quackity’s whisper made Grian drop the useless items and turn around. The man held a book, leafing through the pages with furrowed eyebrows.

The Eye slipped from Grian’s wing before he could stop it and settled invisibly over Quackity’s shoulder, scanning each page as fast as it could. Enough to make Grian a bit dizzy, and he mentally shooed it away. “What is it?”

“A fucked up journal. Dream is insane.”

Grian made grabby hands and Quackity reluctantly handed it over.

Most of it was as expected. Complaints against Tommy, complaints against Grian, complaints against the server as a whole. Blah blah blah. It read more like a place to vent than an actual diary. It wasn’t until halfway through that Grian’s blood began to boil.

Dream wrote about Tommy’s exile as if it was a cute project rather than horrific abuse. He tried not to focus on those details. He was sure Tommy would appreciate it. Even if the teen had aired out most of the details in court, rehashing everything would just hurt him more.

And then, Grian finally got to the part Quackity called insane.

Control the server. By controlling and holding hostage what people love the most.

Objects, pets, people. Idea after idea of what he could take. What attachments people seemed to have. Grian gripped the journal tightly as he kept reading. No object was as small or insignificant as most people thought. That’s something Grian understood about Tommy. About the discs. About attachments themselves. It’s not about the object, but the meaning and power behind it.

“Oh, I’d do anything for a clock.”

“Just give us the banner and we’ll be on our way.”

“They stole my horse, so I burned their ranch.”

“Why do you always steal the enchanter?”

“I have the Red Winter axe!”

Some objects could be replaced, but the power behind them were never easily transferred. Grian understood that better than most. And it seemed Dream did now as well. Some entries made Grian sick, especially the ideas for Bad.

And then . . . Grian read his own entry.

Jellie.

The Eye behind Quackity buzzed into visibility, and it took every ounce of will Grian had to recall it. “How dare he- how dare he??”

“Grian?”

He dropped the book like it burned him, and Quackity was quick to snatch it up.

An unexplainable fire spread through his veins. He spoke through gritted teeth. “I’ll be back.”

He passed Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo on the way out. It seemed they finally caught up. Techno and Phil shouldn’t be too far behind. They might’ve tried to talk to him, he’s not sure. He needed to be alone. To process-

A tiny gray and white cat in his pocket, adorable to match the outfit.

Searching villages to find the elusive Jellie.

A theme park dedicated to her.

He kept walking, gray instead of the usual colors in his peripheral, though he didn't linger on it as he marched away, following the tree line. How dare Dream plan to take S̶c̸a̶r̶'̸s̶ his cat? What gave him the right to do any of this? Taking what matters most to someone to, what, use it against them? Control them? That’s despicable.

“Pizza was stolen!”

“I want my axolotl back-”

He felt more Eyes open between his feathers. Felt them buzz, vibrating with anticipation. Their analysis of the world around them was sharper, more crisp and clear, details he wouldn’t have noticed before stood out with utmost clarity. Every grove in wood grain, the tiniest of bugs that crawled over leaves and twigs.

Purple crept into the edges of his vision as he stopped just inside the forest. He allowed the Eyes to fan out, working off the excess energy. He needed- he needed to breathe- no, he needed to move, get things done. Track down Dream and swing his sword again and again until the man turned to powder-

“Breathe, Grian. With me, alright? One, two, three, four-”

He leaned against a tree and forced himself to suck in a breath. He couldn’t go back to the bunker until his wings were normal, at least. Tommy had already seen them, and that alone had sent panic despite how little the boy seemed to care. Something deep, almost primal, screamed in fear of anyone else seeing. No one can know what he is-

“You’re doing great, G.” An echo of familiar and strong hands keeping him steady in contrast to the synthesized voice from before. Both were soothing. “Hold, four, three, two, one-”

Grian forced a breath out, a bit faster than the remnant instructed, but the memory didn’t seem to mind.

A different voice again. Feminine, familiar in a much more painful way. “Come on, they aren’t around anymore. We survived. We’re safe. Breathe. Out, one, two, three, four-”

He wasn’t sure how long it went, some voices repeated, others would occasionally take their place. At least the remnants were helpful this time.

Eventually, he calmed enough that the purple receded, Eyes winked out of existence until the most stubborn remained and happily nestled back between his feathers. He sighed and drew back from the tree, filled with a more controlled anger now.

He glanced back at his wings, relieved to see them back to normal, and marched back to the bunker. His blood simmered as the world kept its sharp focus. It sang in his ears, a game calling for war.

The group stood outside the small bunker, everyone had finally arrived, and they whispered in harsh voices. Quackity spoke as calmly as possible, Tommy waved his hands wildly as he spoke, and Techno stood off to the side, quietly reading through the journal with Phil.

Ranboo was the one to notice him. They broke off from the group and bent down further to speak to him. “Everything okay?”

His forced smile was likely more predatory than the easy one he tried for, if Ranboo’s unease was anything to go by, but he carried on anyway. “I’m alright, just needed a break. What’s going on here?”

Ranboo seemed reluctant to change the subject, but allowed it with a quick glance toward the group. “Quackity wouldn’t let Tommy read Dream’s journal, so he’s mad that you and Technoblade get to read it but not him.”

For the better, honestly.

He nodded instead. “Makes sense.” His tone was almost bland, still attempting to keep his anger in check despite the breathing exercises before. He moved around Ranboo and quickly ducked back into the bunker before the enderian hybrid could stop him.

The noise of the argument outside faded as he focused on the room. He released the tight grip on his powers, letting the purple coat his vision as he studied the room with calculated Eyes. The world came into an even sharper focus, every line clear and pronounced to the point that he could almost See the strings of code between them. The stench of Dream’s code, his presence, lingered in the air and clung to every surface. If there was ever a doubt that Dream set this up, it was now cleared from his mind.

Grian reached into his inventory and pulled out a potion. He uncorked and chugged the whole thing. He closed his eyes, letting himself adjust before opening them again.

Code raced across his Vision. Far more prominent and readable than before. Different objects and blocks screamed for his attention, but there was only one he focused on.

Beds had a special quality, as an anchor point. Setting spawn in a bed created a string between the player and object. A line that could be followed if the player died. No matter where they died. That special link meant that, no matter who made or placed the bed, it could locate and call back anyone anchored to it.

That is what he needed.

Grian placed his hands on the bed and focused. He allowed his Eyes to speed up even as he also exerted control to make the code slow down, just a bit, and skimmed the information.

Item ID: 355:14. Object: Red bed. Type: Diggable-

Not what he needed, come on.

Players Respawn Set: Dream. Spawn Set Duration-

He pushed passed the mounting headache, his powers protested this kind of use, not used to acquiring this type of information. But he needed it.

Username: Dream. Player ID: 000535-

Almost there-

Anchored player coordinates: -1,202, 20, 180,386. Biome Type: De-

Grian stumbled back as soon as he registered the last digit, and repeated it to himself over and over to memorize it as he fumbled for a book and quill to write it down. His nose itched, and he wiped at it absently, more focused on the coords than anything else.

He snapped his book shut as footsteps descended into the bunker and tried to act normal.

“What did you find?” Quackity. Unamused and on a shorter fuse from the sound of it.

Grian still didn’t turn around. “I have an idea on how to find Dream.”

“Oh yeah? Care to share with the group?”

A dangerous plan formed in his mind. It thrived off his anger and sparked the curiosity of his instincts. Grian was stubborn, prideful, and occasionally reckless. He finally turned back to Quackity with a smile. “I used my spooky mind powers.” He wiggled his smokey fingers at the man for effect, making him draw back a little. “I will bring him here.”

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “I thought you could only sense a presence if you knew where to look.”

A very, very watered down explanation that he gave months ago. And only to their little group. He had to tell them something if he planned to access some of his powers to find Dream.

“I wouldn’t question it. Give me two days.”

“What if he shows up before then?”

Grian rocked back on his heels and tucked his hands behind his back with an easy smile. “He won’t.”

Quackity scanned him critically and opened his mouth to say something else, but paused. “Shit- you’re bleeding.”

He tilted his head slightly. “What?”

“You’re bleeding,” he said again, as if Grian didn’t hear the first time, and waved vaguely at his nose.

Hesitantly, Grian wiped at his nose again and glanced at his fingers.

Blood. Bright red and shining on his knuckles. Grian shook his head to repress the spark that suddenly pulsed in his mind in favor of wiping his nose again. Now was not the time, nor the place. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not sure that bleeding out of your nose counts as fine-”

He huffed and wiped his nose until the bleeding stopped. “Leave it. Just be ready, I’ll send you the signal.” He tried to step passed Quackity and groaned in frustration when he was stopped.

“I can’t let you go alone.”

“You can’t exactly stop me either. Let me go, Quackity. Watch over Tommy. I can do this.”

Quackity regarded him closely, searching his eyes. Whatever he found made him sigh and he held out a shining pink potion. “Take this, at least. If you take longer than two days I’m tracking your ass down and killing you myself.”

Grian took the potion with a soft chuckle. “Thanks . . . I swear I’ll be back. I'll set up a stasis chamber and everything.”

Quackity sighed and shook his head. He watched Grian set up the small chamber, scrutinizing him to make sure he launched the pearl.

He slipped away after that, managing to get passed the group outside with minor fanfare. Only Techno and Ranboo noticed his leaving, but whatever fire they may have seen kept them from calling out. And that was fine by him.

Far enough away, Grian spread his wings and took to the skies. If he was planning on killing the admin of the server anyway, did it really matter if he broke a rule or two?

He kept a close eye on his little compass as he flew. Dream’s coordinates truly memorized, especially once he sent out a little Eye to Watch the admin. He was mining underground gathering obsidian from the look of it.

Should take him a while.

Perfect.

Grian flew over biome after biome, the sun traveled with him until it reached the horizon, and Grian eventually settled down as the moon rose, roughly a hundred blocks from Dream’s location.

A desert.

Because of course it was.

The thought sparked in his mind, causing another and another. Of course he’d be in the desert. He could never leave that place. He could feel cactus prickling into his back, smell iron in the air, taste the dry heat.

It’s cold at night. Cold alone.

Grian closed his eyes, forced a few breaths, and got to work with the shovel. The familiar motion was soothing, even as he felt half sure that the plan might fail. But this time, just this once, the trap could work. He would make it work.

It really was quite simple when you could look at the code itself. Connections and lines presented themselves easily under his Gaze, directed him on placement, predictability, and some backup plans.

“I call this the danger zone.”

The echo of his own voice rang in his ears as he replaced the last sand to cover everything and sat down against a nearby mound. The sun was rising now. He could take a moment to rest before luring Dream to him.

Grian settled back and let the sand grind harshly between his feathers. He stared at the sky, watching the clouds pass, and felt a longing for a poncho and straw hat. Something to keep the heat at bay.

The hot breeze pricked at his skin. He could almost hear the bubbling of lava. A voice on the wind that called out to him. It made him almost annoyed, like he was meant to be doing something, be productive, reinforce a barrier or gather gunpowder. The fine powder that’d settle in his wings even more aggressively than sand whenever something went off.

“Come back here, you filthy desert hippies!”

He found himself snorting at the voice. Hippies implied peace, love, and plants. This was anything but.

Hours of time passed, peaceful in a way that he didn’t deserve. It was as the Eye alerted him to Dream approaching the surface did he finally stand and brush himself off. He had the sudden, nagging urge to play a goat horn, though he had none. Oh well.

Grian cupped his hands around his mouth and called as loud as he could. “Dream!!”

Dream paused as he breached the surface, and turned to the source of the noise despite being at least twenty blocks away after his climb. The flats of the desert did wonders for sound carrying, apparently.

Grian recalled his Eye and shouted again. “It’s just me, Dream! I want to talk!”

He waited. Letting a minute pass, then two. He almost sent the Eye back out despite his exhaustion when the white porcelain mask and green hood emerged from the crest of a small hill. The sight of the man made Grian’s blood boil and his wings puff out. Soon. Soon, just stay calm.

Dream stared down from the top, likely reveling in having the high ground. “What do you want, Grian.” Perfectly controlled, almost monotone. The lack of expression made Grian try to read more of his body language since his voice wasn’t giving much away.

Grian shrugged. He pulled out his sword and leaned against it with a cheeky grin. “I want to fight you.”

The admin tilted his head. “You want to fight me.”

“Am I stuttering?”

He scoffed and walked down the hill, carefully controlled with every step. “You can’t fight me, Grian. You’ll lose. I almost killed you twice during the war.”

Grian shrugged again. “What do you care? I want to fight.”

Dream stopped several feet away. “Why.”

He let his carefree attitude drop. “You hurt Tommy. And then, you planned to hurt everyone on the server, steal what we hold dear.”

The other man tensed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t play dumb, Dream. It’s a good look on you, though unbecoming.” Grian straightened his back and glared so intense he hoped the man dropped dead. “I found your little back-up bunker. Read through your plans. I know everything.” I See everything.

He tensed further and then scoffed. “So you, what, followed me all the way out here to kill me? Had nothing better to do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, too bad.” Dream rolled his shoulders. “I don’t want to fight you. Of course, I could kill you easily, but do you really want to sacrifice your life just to prove a point?”

He’d done it before.

Grian tightened his grip on the sword. “I really do.”

Dream sighed. “No. Just go home.” He tried to move around Grian as if he were only a pest, uncaring of the sword.

“I’ll owe you my final life.” Grian clicked his mouth shut, surprised at his blurted words.

The masked man froze and turned to glance at him. “Excuse me?”

He schooled his expression and doubled down. “We’ll dual. No armor. Wood swords. If you win and kill me, I will owe my final life to you. I will be your loyal servant until my end. And you know I don’t break my promises.”

“I owe you my first life. Until I die, I am yours, your servant to do whatever you say.”

Dream tilted his head, seemingly studying him. “And if you win?”

Grian shrugged. “I get to kill you. And, if I can, hunt you down and throw you in Sam’s prison. But you shouldn’t have to worry about that.”

Dream shook his head. “You’re so desperate to fight me, that you’d offer your life?”

He hesitated. His mind screamed out that this was a bad idea. A horrific one, actually. But he was sure his plan would work. And while he could just set it off now . . . he kind of did want to fight Dream. See if he could do it without the back-up.

Triple down it is. “Yep.”

“Anything? Even if I asked you to bring me Tommy?”

He gripped the sword tighter as a quiet ringing began in his ears. “I would have to.”

A moment of silence passed between them, lingering uncomfortably until Grian could feel the itch in his wings and the piercing ring grow.

Dream laughed. A loud, bellowing thing that grated on Grian’s nerves more than the sand. “Alright. A dual. You set aside your armor first.”

Grian huffed. “At the same time.”

“Fine.”

Carefully, they both took off and stored their armor while crafting themselves wooden weapons, distrust rife between them while they prepped.

The ghosts want a fight.

He almost suggested a cactus ring to fight in, but as he choked on the words he decided against it.

In an imaginary ring, the two approached. The breeze swirled around them while the sun baked their skin.

Waiting. Wait-

Dream lunged, he swept his sword out in an arch that Grian deflected with his own sword. He used the extra weight of his wings to duck down and slice at Dream’s legs, causing the man to jump back with a small laugh.

The one on one fight felt like a game. Swinging, dodging. He felt alive.

Even as Dream drew first blood and Grian retaliated with a slice on his shoulder. He felt alive. A blow for a blow. It didn't matter that his hearts were dropping. No matter what happened here, Dream would die. He just had to keep in mind where they were. If they were closer to this or that mound of sand.

He pushed an advantage, attacked to the side, fell back as he needed to. All to get Dream to move as he wanted. It's not about the victory of the duel. It's about falling down in the right place.

The wooden sword pierces Grian's gut and out the other side, nicking part of his wing.

He gasped, the sword slipped from his hand as he fell to his knees. He didn't expect Dream to catch him.

The man held him up, one hand still twisting the sword in his gut, making a noise of pain tumble out of Grian along with blood. It stained his already red sweater a dark maroon.

“Just like your claimed brother, hmm?” The glee in Dream's voice was palpable, nearly giddy. “Oh, I know all about that. Flock, right? Ironic for you to die like this.”

Grian glared at the mask, he grit his teeth through the pain. “Don't you dare-”

“I own you now, Grian.” He was giddy now, speaking like a child opening presents. “I can say whatever the fuck I want.”

Dream ripped out the sword and dropped Grian unceremoniously to the ground. He switched the wooden sword out for a netherite one and held it to Grian's throat. “Any last words before I collect my debt?”

Grian prayed to any god that may be listening that he fell right. That he hadn't miscalculated as he brushed his fingers through the sand.

And touched wood.

He grinned up at the masked man with bloodied teeth, smile stretched unnaturally wide.

“The Red Desert sends its regards.”

Grian pressed the button.

A minecart rolled, a trap finally successful. Victory sang like blood rushing through his ears as sand erupted into the air-

Dream blew up.

Grian blew up.

Chapter Text

Ready? Begin.

“Renchanting. Don’t be a dog, be a god!”

“I’m told I’m supposed to love you.”

“Whoever picks up this paper, I won’t kill.”

“No matter what happens, we agree this is a double victory, right?”

Purple flashed in his mind, whirling around like a hurricane.

“Right, he took the fish, he accepted it, he’s in!”

“There’s a way we can still be friends.”

“We want to make a deal.”

“I think my soulmate is desperately trying to kill me.”

“I made them. They’re for your secret soulmate.”

“She might as well be a red name.”

Images filtered through, people without faces. Names on the tip of his tongue.

“Yunno why? Cause I’m a Bad Boy.”

“You don’t go against The Family!”

“Do you want to enact the sword?”

“Then you cannot reroll.”

“Fail, FAIL, FAIL.”

“I demand you give me your heart.”

“She’s dead, S̸̱͑c̷͎̽ă̷͍r̴̡͋. You won.”

“B̴̫̊i̵̧͝g̸̛͙B̶̫̈ treated me right.”

“I'm not going out like that. Not like S̵̰̏k̷̮͝i̴͈͝z̴̪̾z̶̹͛, not like M̴̝̃u̷̬̕m̸̦̆b̵̳̄o̸̥̊, not on that tower.”

“The ending is yours. Make it wild.”

“It was always gonna be like this, J̷̘͑ĩ̶͖m̶̰̋.”

He was drowning, buried deep in the mess of tangled memories, voices speaking all at once. Pain, death. Again and again.

Green, yellow, red.

Loyalty, peace, resources, safety.

Green, yellow, red.

Loyalties tested, fear, anger, fortifications.

Green, yellow, red.

Loyalties withered, hatred, determination, loneliness.

He must kill to survive. There could only be one winner. Suffering and anguish provide nourishment. And he hated it. Hated Them. Why couldn’t everyone just be left alone? Kill or be killed. Fight. How great was his will to survive?

Green.

Crashed over him in a wave. Promises, alliances.

Yellow.

A hand outstretched. Lives crumbling around him. They will die and he'll be alone.

Our will be done.

Red.

The trapdoor closed and Grian was ripped from the dark. He gasped for breath as the drowning became a tangible thing, the water soaked him to bone as he scrambled to get out of the stasis chamber.

Hands were on him. No one familiar. Where was Scar? Jimmy? Mumbo? Where's the enemy? What's the strategy?

Grian jerked away from the hands, pushing them away with all his might until he could pull himself out of the water hole and take stock.

He took in a tiny bunker. Chests. A man with a scar over his eye. A piglin dressed for royalty. A creeper hybrid in a gas mask. A teen with ram horns. . .

Where was. . ?

Oh.

Grian quickly scrambled to his feet, forcing himself to reorient faster than should be allowed. He was on the Dream SMP. He's a red life- no, just on his final. He killed Dream-

He whirled around just as Dream finished respawning, pixels and lines of code pulled themselves together and the man was quick to leap up to keep the bed between him and the group. He breathed heavily, the mask hiding any expression.

Grian’s fingers itched, nails like talons dripping the black smoke. He wanted to leap across, tear Dream’s throat out and rip through his organs. Red on red violence was nothing new. He just needed a sword, some kind of weapon-

Dream’s mask shifted just slightly with his head as he scanned the room, and his eyes landed on one teen in particular. “Tommy.”

Tommy shrunk initially, halfway between freezing and curling in on himself, as if his body couldn’t make up its mind. And then Tubbo stepped beside Tommy, subtly placing himself between the other teen and Dream. Ranboo did the same, though with far less confidence.

Tommy took a shaky breath, relaxing slightly. He managed to get his voice level. “Dream.”

He straightened out, body language carefully controlled. “This is quite the mess you’ve caused.”

Grian snarled and clenched his fists so hard they bled. The noise drew Techno’s eyes to him, a fact he ignored.

“No, Dream. This is your mess, your actions, that led you here.” Tommy spoke with a confidence that Grian wasn’t sure he felt.

The masked man scoffed. “And now what? You can’t kill me.”

Quackity shrugged and took out a sword. “Not a bad idea.”

The shwing of several weapons being drawn filled the air and, finally, someone tossed Grian a diamond sword. His veins purred as he held the weapon up, whispers of blood in his ears.

Dream, ever the control freak, shook his head. He didn’t step back or raise his hands. Just spoke in that same leveled tone. “You can’t kill me, I know that’s not really something you want to do, right, Tommy? Aren’t we friends?”

Before Tommy could take a step forward, Techno placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him back and getting his attention all at once. “What-?”

The piglin held out his axe and dropped it into Tommy’s hands. “Use this. It’ll be more poetic.”

Tommy looked over the axe with unconcealed awe. “The Axe of Peace. . .” He tightened his grip and turned to Dream. “You deserve to die.”

Dream rocked back on his heels, still seeming relaxed. “You won’t. I know you, Tommy. We’re friends, you wouldn’t kill your friend.”

Tommy took a step forward, his face hardened. “After everything you’ve done, everything you planned to do?” He shook his head. “This is how it ends. With the Axe of Peace.”

He raised the axe to swing down and, finally, Dream’s demeanor shifted. He raised his arms in a pathetic attempt to block the swing, the axe cleaved deep wounds into the flesh. “Tommy- Tommy!” Desperation leaked into his voice. “Tommy, stop-” he swung again, taking more hearts. “Stop- Tommy! Tommy- I can bring people back to life!”

Grian narrowed his eyes as Tommy faltered. That’s obvious bait. An obvious lie. Tommy is within his rights to kill Dream and be done with it. Done with everything.

Tommy lowered the axe, just slightly. “What?”

“I can revive people.” The desperation bled back into confidence as he felt like he was regaining control.

Tommy blinked as if in a daze and shook his head. “No,” with a scowl, he raised the axe again and pointed it at Dream. “No, you’re lying. You just lie-”

“No, no, listen-”

“All you do is lie!” Tommy took a step forward, matching Dream’s step back.

“Listen! Listen, it’s from Schlatt. Schlatt gave me a book. Okay? And it has how to bring people back to life.” Dream placed a hand on his chest, tone earnest. A cockroach desperate to live. “But only I have the book. He died. He's the only other person that knew. I have the book. That's why- if- he said if I fought on his side he'd give it to me. That’s why I fought alongside him during the war.”

Revulsion suddenly struck Grian. The power to raise the dead? That couldn’t be real. Control over someone’s life was disgusting. Forcing them to come back over and over. Kill them and bring them back for entertainment. The dead should stay that way.

Dream kept talking. “If I die, death is permanent. Your brother is dead forever. If Tubbo dies, he’s gone. If you die, that’s it. If Grian dies, he’s dead forever.

Grian watched Tommy’s resolve crumble, watched everyone exchange a glance, Watched Dream latch onto the hesitation.

“Tommy, you have to let me go. It’s not worth- look, I’ll stop! I’ll stop and be out of your hair- I won’t do anything, okay? You can exile me-”

Tommy flinched and raised the axe again with a sharp glare. “No, you’ll just come back! You-” he cut Dream off, “listen to me! This is your last chance, Dream. Can you really bring people back?”

“Yes.” Dream didn’t hesitate to answer. “I can. I’m the only one who knows. If I die, everyone is gone forever. Not just before, but in the future, too. If anyone dies, they’re gone. Permanently.” He waited for that to sink in and tacked on. “You have to let me go.”

For a moment, Tommy stared at Dream silently, a white-knuckled grip on the axe. “I hate you.” He sighed and took a step back. “Sam?”

Grian’s head buzzed at the name, a server much more advanced tried to push itself to the forefront of his memory, a name that’s not his whispered in his ears, and then the masked creeper hybrid stepped forward and the half-formed image died.

Dream’s mask stared blankly at the handcuffs that Sam presented. He deadpanned. “You can’t be serious.”

Tommy grinned and handed the axe back to Techno. “Prison on your own server. Sam volunteered.”

. . . he forgot about that part.

The bloodlust, confusion, and revulsion had clouded his mind, demanded Dream be struck down a final time and turned to dust. Let his soul be scattered across the void.

Not . . . this.

He tuned back into reality just as Dream began to complain about the handcuffs. The masked man nearly growled at Sam as the creeper tightened the cuffs. “So, what was all that? An intimidation tactic? That's low.”

Tommy huffed and crossed his arms. “I did want to kill you, Dream. You're not worth keeping alive. We're supposed to lock you up, and I almost forgot that. Because of you.”

“I’ll escape,” he said, determined. “I made Sam build it. I know the prison-”

“Then you know it’s impossible to escape once you’re inside.” Sam’s voice was cold. “You’re never getting out, Dream.”

Sam tightened his grip as Dream tried to pull away. Everyone parted for Sam to drag him out. Grian Watched as Dream decided fighting wasn’t worth it, he felt the man’s eyes on him, and knew a plan must have been forming in his head.

Grian’s hands were numb from gripping the sword. Blood rushed in his ears. The need to strike. To kill. Destroy his enemies. Finish the war. End it all and win.

Dream tilted his head, silent, and Sam dragged him from view, Quackity followed close behind.

The tension in the room dropped, Tommy let out a shaky breath that made Tubbo pull him into a hug. He reached out and quietly yanked Ranboo into the hug as well, and the enderian hybrid wrapped their tail around the two boys, as if to offer extra protection.

A haze remained settled around Grian’s mind. He shook his head and forced himself to relax his grip enough to slide the sword into his inventory. He wanted to celebrate with them. To wrap his wings around them and shelter them from the world. Reassure them that it’s over. That they’re safe.

He couldn’t think. The threat was gone, but he wanted to seek it out, destroy it. His team, his flock, needed to be safe. The threat needed to be dead. Dead, with no chance of return. Whatever else could wait until after. He needed to protect them. He would not die last again.

Grian forced one foot forward, intent on comfort despite the ringing. He could get over it. He’d push through. A few more steps-

A hand wrapped around his arm and tugged him to the side. His wings rose in agitation as he turned, ready to snap at whoever stopped him. He stopped short as Techno’s red eyes bore into his, mouth clicking shut as he tensed.

Without a word, Techno dragged Grian outside. He held up a hand to make Phil wait inside while they exited the bunker, the noon sun bathing them in warmth. Cooler than the desert.

He missed it.

Grian yanked his arm free and snapped. “What.”

For an agitating moment, Techno didn't speak. He just eyed Grian, scanning him from head to toe and back in a way that made him want to scream. He was just fine, thank you very much.

Just as murder was looking more and more like the better option, the piglin spoke gruffly. “Your eyes are more red.”

That made him pause. A feeling of horror mixed with indignation fought inside him. The reveal made him cold.

Whatever expression he must have had made Techno wave his hand dismissively. “It's not that noticeable. A slight maroon to already dark eyes won't do much. Unless someone is looking.” He crossed his arms, scanning Grian again. “What happened?”

“. . . we died. End of story.”

“You blew up. And Quackity flipped the trapdoor to bring you here.”

“People blow up sometimes-”

“At the same time? Together? Is that why your wings are singed?”

Grian’s mouth went dry and he turned his head, desperate to check. To See. The stubborn Eye flew from between his feathers, allowing him to Look-

The base of his wings were black. Feathers charred and broken. Scattered all up and down the appendages. A choked down chirp slipped passed his lips as he gave the wings a cautious and experimental flap. It hurt. Because of course it would. The wind seemed to catch on them fine. But what if he was wrong? What if he just threw away the best part of him because of his stupid, selfish-

Techno snapped his fingers in front of Grian’s face, bringing him back. Concern managed to work through the piglin’s gruffness. “Focus. What happened?”

“I . . .” he swallowed and glanced to the side, trying to think. “I went out to the desert.” Scarred hands and arms, a bee on a lead. “I set a trap. To blow him up.” TNT, sand, TNT, sand. “And then I challenged him to a duel.” By Pizza’s grave, overlooking the destroyed landscape. “And I activated the trap.” Sand in the air, in his eyes. Lava enveloped him as his flesh burned. “We died.”

Techno huffed, unimpressed. “Doesn’t explain your eyes. Or why Chat is so upset.”

That gave him more pause. “Chat?”

“They’ve been yelling at me ever since the explosion. Givin’ me a headache.”

Without asking, Grian opened his Eyes, taking in the wash of purple and the hundreds of thousands of tiny Eyes around Techno. Much smaller than the ones Grian could make.

VIOLENCE

E

BLOOD

RED LIFE BABYYYYYYYYYY

REDREDRED

DREAMSLAYER HE DID IT

I STAY STUCK IN THE DESERT

Grian winced, a headache forming for him as well now. “What-?”

GRIANNNNNN

Question, how is the final life? Any bloodlust? Who am I kidding. Of course there is bloodlust

GG

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

CHAT DID YOU SEE THAT

We love a good technicality

Grian shook his head. “No- slow down- what?”

“The Red Desert sends it’s regards” OKAY POP OFF KING

EEEEE

I BELIEVE IN GRIAN DREAMSLAYER SUPREMACY

ONE OF US. ONE OF US-

Techno swiped at some of the Eyes and snapped his fingers again to try and regain Grian’s attention, which made him instinctively drop the Vision. “Focus, I have questions.”

He crossed his arms. “I might not have answers.”

The piglin waited and scanned Grian again. He really wished Techno would cut that out. Grian had things to do. And getting assessed like this was, in fact, very low on his list of priorities, so-

“What is 3rd Life?”

Everything ground to a halt.

He wasn’t even sure he could breathe.

The ringing came back, increased tenfold.

It was all underwater, distant.

Memories pushed and his powers pushed back. No give on either side, though both had equal, unrestrained, effort. Pressure that built and built, threatening to burst as his vision went fuzzy and all he could feel was falling, falling, falling. The smells of sand, gunpowder, and blood overwhelmed his senses.

A grainy image filled his vision, a tower atop a mountain of sand. A man popped into the picture, skin ashen and dead, but with a lively smile on his face, red eyes full of mischief, deadly to everyone but him. Even as his blood coated Grian’s knuckles. Even as he fell and those eyes became unseeing. Still full of joy and care because it’s a sacrifice for him and no one else.

A name slipped passed his lips-

Hands shook his shoulders and the image shattered.

Techno stood in front of him, rare concern on his face. “What happened? What’s 3rd Life?”

Grian sucked in a breath and stepped back, away from Techno, away from the memory. “I don't-” his voice came out thick and pained. He swallowed and tried again. “I don't know.”

“Right.” The piglin crossed his arms, concern fading to an unimpressed stare as he drawled. “Cause that's a normal reaction to have when you don't know somethin’.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Grian took several steps back and gripped his hair. “I don’t know anything. I just have images and voices and nothing makes sense.” His wings flared and he started to curl in on himself. “It’s bad. I don’t remember much but I know it was awful. And I can- I can feel myself dying over and over and it just doesn’t stop.”

Green, yellow, red.

“I feel like- like I’m different. That this is my final life, and that means something more. More than just being so close to death. More than just the need to be careful. I feel . . . dangerous. Like I am meant to . . .”

“Kill.”

Grian shuddered and nodded. “Yeah.”

Techno was silent. It stretched long enough that Grian could make his breathing even out. His wings relaxed, his hands slowly slipped from his hair. He started to feel a bit embarrassed, really. Like he'd freaked out over nothing.

He hesitantly glanced up.

Techno looked thoughtful, almost calculating. Once Grian began to fidget, he reached out and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You're not gonna kill anyone.”

Grian grimaced. “How do you know? I can feel it. Just beneath the surface-”

“You won't.” He said it with so much determination that Grian almost felt silly for doubting him. “You're strong. If I can hold off my need for blood, you can control yours.”

But it was different. Right? Grian felt like his very code was changed. Something built into him. Not a craving, but an impulse. A need.

He slumped. “I don't know if I can.”

Techno squeezed his shoulder. “You won't. I'll show you the ropes. Teach you how to deal with it.”

“What- why?”

“I owe you a favor.” Techno took back his hand. “You pulled me from chat before. I can show you how I deal with it alone.”

“Us reds gotta stick together.”

Grian let out a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. “. . . alright. That's- thanks.”

“Don't mention it.” Techno turned away. “I'm gonna find Phil, Steve is gettin’ lonely.”

“Right.” Grian quirked a smile. “I'll visit.”

The piglin nodded and disappeared back into the bunker, leaving Grian alone.

He should . . . head back inside too, right? Be with his flock. Celebrate a job well done.

But the red crept into his vision again. The urge to fight. Protect his team. Make it to the end.

Grian needed- he had to calm down. Had to think. He'd dealt with this before, right? Somewhere in a life he didn't remember. But it was still there. Just under the surface.

He took a deep breath and sat down, letting the breeze blow passed him and ruffle the grass. Grian closed his eyes and imagined a field. It stretched out for miles and miles, the grass up to his hips and he could run his hands over the top as if he were wading in water.

Breathe. Calm.

The green stretched as an ocean beneath the clear blue sky. Uninterrupted as it stretched far into the horizon. Just him in the field.

Grian let himself drift. The imagined scene brought more peace than he thought it would. It almost felt real.

He brushed his hands over the blades of grass.

Soft petals greeted him.

Pulling back, he glanced at the flowers with furrowed brows. The colors stood out against the green, a pop against the monotony.

Red and purple.

Poppies and lilacs.

“Can we still be friends?”

The words echoed across the field. He reached out to cup his hands around the delicate petals.

“Of course we can.”

Grian smiled softly and closed his eyes in the vision. A piece clicked into place as he breathed out.

“Scar.”