Chapter Text
When Dream finally made it to his bed, he collapsed. He— The nightmare— had let L’manberg scum out alive. In his own territory. He would be beheaded for something like that. He would behead someone for that. He was fucked .
But— The boy, Fundy. Fundy was captivating, he looked bitter and confident and like he knew he would die. It was painful, and it was beautiful. It didn’t help that the teen was new , he had a certain charm. A breath of fresh air.
He turned his head to the window out looking at the pouring rain, into the training area. It was dark and empty. He was the only one with a view of it and certainly no one would be their so… He shook his head, grabbing his tools and inventory.
The rain continued on, as it fell into the night. He remained. It was oddly freeing, while also being trapping, being confined to a little courtyard while also being alone, and that boy he saw—
No. L’Manberg is a city hated. One boy would not change that.
A broken little lost boy. That’s all he was, just as much a Dream was a military leader and a cold blooded killer.
It was another day– far too normal
Fundy was tired. Tired of seeing an empty van and a crumpled note. But now? Now he was just sad— frustrated to see an empty van, the note he had left sitting forgotten on the stool, food taken and no thank-you’s in sight.
It had not always been like this. When Fundy had been younger it had been different. Just enough to miss his short lived youth. When Wilbur would read him children's stories at bedtime or recite stories for the man’s own youth. Even if it was just letting Fundy curl up on his couch while he worked through documents and smoked. Even if he never stopped smoking no matter how much it made Fundy cough and heave.
He still had attention, as minimal and patronising as it could be.
He wasn’t wrapped up in a murder or living on his own. Fundy still thought his dad was a hero and his country was home. Nothing was perfect, but it was good, in its own twisted corrupted way. L’manberg used to be nothing but ground to be colonised, a part of the Greater SMP, then it was an uprising. Fundy thought it was a good type of uprising, fighting a corrupt tyrant like in those books about his dad.
Fundy thought his dad was a hero, but he's older now.
He’s still young and dumb. But god knows he can see, he can actually look and understand. You know, a dearly departed friend of his used to say, ‘When we are children we idolise heroes, as adults we understand the villains’. There was always far too much merit to a voice like his, happy and far too wise even as his memory deteriorated.
Oddly, his anger dissipated, turning slowly into disappointment and resignation. Perhaps age had done him some good. He was far too tired to get into a yelling match with a wall anyways. He slowly retreated from the not-quite white van. It really did need a good clean soon, but that wasn’t his responsibility. He knew that he would have to be down to the City square– the only place big enough to fit everyone– for the official war announcements. They might do drafting this time, maybe he would be allowed to join.
Now, Fundy knew it didn't matter how old you were to fight, L’manberg wasn't one for age rules, but Wilbur didn’t think fundy “could handle it”. It made Fundy fill up with hate and rage, he technically wasn't even supposed to go out of the main city, not that Wilbur could ever pay enough attention to things like that.
It was okay. After all, it was always okay.
His attention was now shifted as he made his way into the square, bumping shoulders with a few other kids, they looked at him funny– like it was weird they didn’t know who he was.
“Aye- Mate, ya’ lookin’ to enlist too’?” Fundy turned his head to the girl, her accent was thick with common but she spoke it in straight L’manbergian, probably not even recently learned based on how she held herself. Her hair was up in a tight bun and she had an undercut, she looked like she had pride in her country– she probably hadn’t lived anywhere better.
He realized he had been staring for too long and quickly replied, “Maybe. Just looking to see what's going on recently, I missed the last few public updates”
(Bitterly he knew he would get caught at the public announcements that he technically wasn’t supposed to go to and wanted to know what was going on with the incoming war.)
The boy who was next to the girl looked up, shock colouring his features, “You ain’t heard yet?”
Fundy shrugged, because he really hadn’t.
The girl wheezed, it was a heavy thing, turned into coughing halfway through, “The oh so great ‘cumbags declared war just las’ Tuesday. The President 's been handing out uniforms ta’ anyone who wants ‘em.”
The boy and a few others in the group nodded, one shrugged like he could care less. It hurt. They looked so proud to fight for this country. The one he wasn’t even allowed to leave, they would fight for his personal hell. He knew it wasn’t that personal– he even knew they didn’t know, but these strangers are ready to lay down their lives for what ?
His father who wouldn’t even let anyone own fake swords. The one who preached democracy but never had an election. Or maybe the one who would whisper late at night about how they wouldn’t fight with violence but words, the one that would sit high atop the walls as soldiers without names or faces died. That was his father, and coincidentally their president.
And he wouldn't change that, he wasn’t a hero and he wasn’t the villain. He wasn’t even a side character yet. He was just a guilty boy. He wasn’t someone who could make change; he wasn’t a pawn or a player. He was an observer. It hurt more than he thought was possible. He knew guilt intimately, as well as he understood anger– but this guilt for these people he didn't even know, it was overwhelming, it was pity.
He looked at them for a second longer before muttering, “Mhm, They’ll be starting soon.” and turning and walking away swift and sure, head held low. It’d be better that he stays away.
He didn't look up even as his father started talking, then Eret and Niki, finally being closed by Tommy who managed to rally everyone– probably why he was last he always inspired everyone. Niki was the one handing out uniforms to anyone and everyone, he almost thought about trying to get one, but he knew Wilbur was close by. No use, he decided grimly, tipping his hat to cover his hair.
Rushing through the crowd, bumping shoulders, shoes hitting grimy puddles– it was too much– (silly boy.) Just– too much he needed to get out– out–
Pushing past people eagerly looking at his father. Like he was a good person. Someone to worship or use as a role model. He couldn’t– Eyes frantically looking past children in war uniforms and smokey skies or the dull thudding of rusty machinery and steam. Squinting through cigarette smoke and a group of teens higher than a kite obviously addicted.
His father made that-
Finally, it calmed, still too much but he was alone now far in the forest. Alone– nobody- no teens- not his dad, father.
He was okay. Slipping his eyes open he surveyed the scenery, it was farther than he would normally venture. Honestly, he didn't even recognize where he was… oh, he’s so screwed. Hah. He shifted, he was sitting on a tree stump in an unrecognizable forest after having a minor panic attack, lovely. Oh and it was sundown.
He laughed, like he always does when he's screwed halfway to the nether and back. Maybe if he’s lucky his dad will find his body and get to live with regret. Now that would be a real killer. It started getting darker though, night falling quicker than he expected, he cursed himself for not even thinking to get his wooden practice sword. He quickly sat up searching through his inventory for something - aha! A cooking knife. Weird, yes, uncomfortable? Also yes. But it would do.
Fundy thanked his paranoid tendencies as he quickly took it out of inventory, holding it defensively, it wouldn’t do shit for another player but a zombie, yeah he could take that. Walking in the direction he thought (hoped) he had come, he ran. Dodging arrows from skeletons, running away from creepers and just murdering Zombies. It wasn’t too bad honestly– once he hit his adrenaline he was honestly having more fun than Fundy had had in years.
Then a creeper blew up– debris flew. The sound was loud, not too loud but certainly not quiet. His heart flew into his throat in a silent scream. He’d never seen one blow up– ever. He wasn’t hurt badly, just a scratch and a few bruises but it was scary . He wanted to just stand in shock but a skeleton knocked another arrow and he was running again– adrenaline high and fears almost higher.
Dream heard a boom. Probably a creeper from the sound, but that was still alarming. Creepers didn’t just explode out of the blue and he was on night duty, he should be the only one up. Literally the only one– no other guards get stationed with him anymore. So he crept towards the noise, hearing loud footsteps and following them.
Eventually they got so quick he had to run to keep up as they murdered, and dodged. It was strange, most players didn’t do anything with mobs on this server and were mostly peaceful. So he followed, for hours, the player kept this up.
They had gone quite a ways, starting near the L’manberg guard watch post and ending closer to the Death River bordering the Badlands, L’manberg and DSMP
Finally the sun started to peak up the horizon, allowing a bit of light to see who this mysterious person was. He chanced a look in the still dark lighting catching the end of a paper boy hat and orange-ginger hair. Well, fuck. He almost laughed.
He had been at this for hours, in the dark, with a kitchen knife. Yeah he was done. Oh, Fundy still didn’t know where he was. Just a perk. Laughing slowly as the sun filtered over the horizon, giving him more light to actually see with. He still didn’t know where he was. It could’ve been impulsivity or just pure delusionalism but he laughed hard and cold. It was basically self pity as his adrenaline wore off and his hand became shaky, covered in green guts and blood.
He wanted to pass out. That’s it. He sat down on dewy grass wincy and some particularly prickly weeds hit his butt.
“Shit.” it was spoken so softly he almost thought he was imagining the voice, sweet and oddly attractive.
His brain– finally processing the situation did the first thing he could think of, “Yeah, shit is right.” He spoke, cringing at his shaky tone, his voice hurt his throat and felt scratchy.
“Crap you don’t sound good– one seco–” Everything felt blurry, far to black and shaky as his muscles reduced to what felt like jello and his eyes got heavy. Fundy’s head was spinning in the most miraculous way. His head almost hit the hard root of a tree, a boy, Dream as you would know him catching him.
Dream to put it lightly, was freaking out. He didn’t do the whole, helping people gig or even really have to often. And Fundy had passed out, which cannot be a good sign– Dream can’t do nothing! So, he does what any dumb teenage child soldier would do. He picks up Fundy and sneaks him into his room.
Dream lives relatively isolated from the rest of the guard. Most of them are far older than him and his higher-ups prefer him away from the rest of them for sleep. It's easier for everyone. So naturally nobody would notice him sneaking an unconscious teen into his room. Specifically his enemy's son. It was early morning too which helped him cover his tracks even more, cleaning up any blood that could’ve gotten on the carpets.
Setting Fundy down on his spare chair to assess the damage he noted the grime on the boy. Wincing he decided that he would let him sleep in the chair til he woke up, let him shower and hopefully get him out. It crossed his mind to turn him in, interrogate him for information, but he couldn’t. It didn’t feel fair.
So he waited. He made sure all his weapons were gone from Fundy’s person, just for safety. But even so he couldn’t exactly sleep with an enemy in the room no matter how tired he was. Hopefully he’d be up soon so Dream could kick him out.
Fundy woke up with a gasp. He was still bone dead, tired, and sore. Wordlessly, Dream handed him water. Before even thinking about why his fathers enemy was in the same room as him, or why the hell he didn't know where he was he chugged like a dead man. Then only after he had emptied the glass of water and murmured his thanks did he freak out.
“Where in XD’s name am I?!” Fundy said– voice slightly less hoarse, volumed raised to a whisper shout.
“Don’t worry. You’re in my room. I’m not going to hurt you– just go shower–” Dream responded, calm and collected.
‘No– no what the actual hell, why were you-?”
“Just go shower.” Dream looked at him slightly agitated, pointing towards the bathroom with a no-nonsense tone.
Fundy wanted to argue but the words died on his tongue as he felt the slimy blood of zombies and dirt on his body. So instead he shook his head and murmured quietly, “I'll be back soon.”
Dream noted that Fundy may in fact be back soon, he had been in the shower for half an hour and Dream was honestly starting to worry he was dead.
He had just started considering asking if he was dead when the shower stopped. Thank god. I really don’t wanna barge into some dude showering in my bathroom. Which… yeah sounds really bad in retrospect- he thinks.
Closing his eyes, he falls back on the chair before realizing that it was dirty. Groaning to himself, he makes a promise to take a shower soon.
He allows himself a moment of quiet before remembering that, yes , he does in fact have things to do today.
He slides his eyes to his coat rack, along with his Hornaments. He looks at the one and only clock in the room, 7:00pm , Crap. He rushes into his closet, completely disregarding his… hostage? Rummaging through his drawers he finds a nice, unwrinkled war cloak and puts his hair into a bun, really going for main character energy today, he smirks, throwing on his golden jewelry and rings, fastening the cape across his shoulder in a show of power. His hotbar was pretty clean so it shouldn’t be an issue and he was sure he had these meeting notes… somewhere.Finding his notes on his dresser was a sweet relief, shuffling through them to catalog everything. Then, he realized what he would be doing, a war declaration and meeting with L’manberg. Who also happened to be Fundy’s Dad. Oh.
Fundy honestly shouldn’t have been as relaxed as he was right now. But , he had just had the best shower of his life and felt cleaner than a breath of fresh air. It was like years of grime had been washed off for him with expensive body wash and a plethora of hair care products that he wished his country made. His hair wasn’t short per-se it still covered his nape and draped in his eyes but it wasn’t as long as he wished it could be. Wilbur was always studious about his hair being short and Fundy wanted none of that.
Then he remembered where he was. He slipped into clothes that had been laid out for him, obviously thought about in advance. It almost made him flush with embarrassment about being taken care of. The clothes… They were first class satin, practically silk in his fingers as he slid into a white blouse and a pair of black pants that fit a bit loosely but overall incredibly comfortably. Fundy didn’t know if this was just a perk of the shower or something about rich clothes but, they smelled absolutely heavenly . Like Lady Death herself had blessed them herself.
After a moment of deliberation he even took a piece of jewellery that had been laid out for him, it was a simple silver bracelet, inscribed with words in another language. He squinted examining the characters, quickly deducing it was probably Enderglenn. Looking away he took a look in the mirror, a luxury in itself. He… looked strange. Not like how he usually looked, like a city boy who strayed too far from his sums and got mugged with a hammer, but more just like a guy, he barely even looked like his father, though maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Shying his eyes away from his reflection he looked at the closed door. Unlocking it he peeked outside to see Dream, his enemy dressed in fine clothes staring at some paper. Looking at Dream he realised just how nicey the man was dressed. His cloak pulled with his hair made him look like a war leader. Which was probably the point he realised as he caught some of the vulgar things the man had been muttering under his breath.
“Hey.” Fundy, cursing his social awkwardness just looked at Dream as his head snapped up.
“Ah. Hello, when will you be leaving? Actually no scratch that I’m already late. Stay here til I get back” Dream turned, giving him a strange look before rushing out of the room. Leaving Fundy confused and a bit befuddled.