Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Cover art by SC14_Weirdo. No reposting without specific permission from the creator.

Let us begin.

The tws for the entire fic are listed below, and several are in the tags. Some are more specific to certain chapters, but everything is generally very mild. Do proceed with caution if you are extra sensitive. I will update the list when and if I need to. If you notice anything I may have missed, please let me know.

Blood, gore, panic attacks, anxiety, past trauma, kidnapping, fear, death, fear of dying, fear of losing everything, dehumanization (especially of hybrid peoples), slavery, trafficking, broken bones, malnutrition, abuse and its affects, manipulation, brief mentions of *that* kind of content

Panic attacks are a bit of a given throughout almost every chapter.

Disclaimers are below:

I do not ship anybody except for Phil and Kristin because I love them very much. Outside of that one, extremely strict exception, I do not ship. I'm solely platonic. I can't write romance, and have very little wish to do so. Everything and anything I have written (with that one exception) is under no circumstances to be taken as romantic.

These are not the real creators, or even the characters they play. These are my characters that I made, loosely using the real creators' personalities and names for basic inspiration. These characters are actually more little pieces of my personality than the creators themselves.

I do not wish to receive any disgruntled comments about Schlatt, Dream, or any of the more controversial creators. I do not care. I mind my own business. I am not responsible for any of their actions. It is none of your concern whether I support them or not. I am here to provide entertainment and a safe place for those having rough days and just need to unwind, not to debate whether or not certain creators are this or that. Disgruntled comments do not add to that safe place, and have no place here.

I myself do not agree with the creators on a lot of touchy subjects and while I'd rather we not discuss all those - as again, safe space - I do reserve the right to write my fanfiction as I see fit as this is my safe space as well. If anything seems a bit off about some of the characters (for example, the lack of curse words all around) this reason is probably why.

I tried to beta-read and edit, but sometimes I just didn't have the time. If you see errors, I have no idea what you're talking about.

The Minecrafts do move house a lot throughout the series - the only problem is I don't know where or when because I did not put a lot of thought into this fic when I first started and now it consumes all my time so we're running into issues there. If the house descriptions in various chapters are a bit off, that's why.

I have absolutely no idea of anybody's age at any given time. A list of oldest to youngest is in Volume IV: The Traveler's Guide to the Five Kingdoms of this series.

If you would like to recommend this fic to one of the creators, I don't mind. Don't be pushy though, and while I'm not aware of who, exactly, some of the creators have asked not to be asked to read anything. Be mindful of those please. I have stated in the original fic itself not to ask the creators to read this, but I finally have something I find representable, so I'm okay with it now. Again, please don't be pushy or rude.

Comments are the highlight of my day. I smile for literal hours after and I often re-read them when I'm sad. It's only thanks to commenters and all the tremendous support from the original that we ever made it past Chapter 6 min Volume I. I may have given you guys the story, but you guys were the ones that got it off the ground.

Be sure to check the other two parts of this series out for the rest of the story!!

Be safe my darlings, keep your head up!

EDIT DUE TO PEOPLE STEALING WORK AND SELLING IT ONLINE WITHOUT PERMISSION:

I own this work. It is mine. Certain parts are written by ghost writers, and if need be I will be most happy to say who wrote what. Otherwise, this is mine. You do not get to take it, bind it, and sell it without my permission. You do not get to sell it at all. My ghost writers intended it to be free for the public to enjoy. I intended it to be free for the public to enjoy.

Fanfiction is free. This website provides a beautiful safe space to post that fanfiction. Not everyone can afford to be published, and not everyone can afford to purchase books. Do not ruin this safe space with your abominable, despicable greed. This safe space keeps people alive, keeps people away from the depression and the pain of their real lives. It helps them sleep, eat, and live. I have helped people sleep, eat, and live with this fic and nobody gets to take credit for my hard work. And before you mouth off, yes it was hard. Try and tell me it wasn't.

I repeat, and will repeat as many times as necessary, this is my story. My series. My characters, all original and hand-crafted and named in honor of people who kept me going through a hard time. I cried over this work. I laughed over it. It took me years to finish it. Nobody, and I mean nobody, has permission to repost it, in any manner or medium, anywhere.

Do not repost.

Do not sell.

Do not ruin this for everyone who needs this.

Sincerely,

TheWritersHeir

Chapter Text

Phil noticed the changes in Techno’s and Wilbur’s sleeping habits around when the boys turned five.

A storm had blown in over the fishing village, swamping everything in freezing wind and icy sleet. Nobody had been able to leave their homes for several days—the streets flooded in mud and frozen slop.

Techno had never been a fan of Overworld weather, hating everything from snow to tornadoes. Wilbur hated water in any form. It soaked his feathers and made it hard to move, and they took forever to dry.

Phil had woken in the middle of the night with a jolt from the crash of thunder and immediately thought about his kids. His wife was safe next to him, sleeping peacefully.

The two boys shared a room down the hall from his and Kristin’s in the dingy house, the only room that didn’t leak in the rain. Phil swept his lamp towards Techno’s bed first, and his heart nearly jumped out of his ribcage when he saw the empty sheets.

He glanced at Wilbur’s bed and his heart immediately settled.

Both his boys were fast asleep in Wilbur’s bed. Wilbur’s tiny wings were a patch of fuzz under the blanket, the avian tucked against the piglin’s side as Techno snored on his back.

Phil relaxed as another crack of lightning struck, but neither boy moved.

He grabbed Techno’s blanket and draped it over his sons, warmth filling his heart.

…

Techno stirred when the blanket dropped over him. He blinked one sticky eye open to see Phil’s back, wings mantled, as the man left the room and closed the door.

Techno yawned and rolled onto his side away from Wilbur, feeling his brother adjust his grip and rub his face onto Techno’s back, nose digging into his ribcage.

Techno didn’t mind.

Chapter Text

“Why are you sending so many letters?” Dream asked.

Phil hefted the kid a bit higher onto his hip and slipped the handful of letters into the rusted mailbox, ignoring the spiderweb in the corner and wiping his hand on his cloak.

“Reasons,” he said slyly, reaching down to grab Techno’s hand as they turned to head back to the market. The little piglin had fhinally gained a semblance of control over his shifting and was ecstatic he got to go out without his heavy cloak.

“What reasons?” Techno asked, looking up at Phil with bright, shining brown eyes instead of his murky piglin eyes.

Phil chuckled. “What, a man can’t have his secrets?”

“No,” Dream deadpanned with a straight face.

Phil sighed dramatically. “Finnnee. Just getting in contact with some old friends.”

“You don’t have friends,” Techno stated gravely.

Phil gasped. “Yes I do, thank you kindly!”

The lady walking behind them on the street laughed at Techno’s offended face.

Phil gave her a cheeky smile and picked Techno up with his free arm. “Now where do you think your momma and that pesky brother of yours went?”

Dream and Techno began to chatter, and Phil let himself zone out.

It was his first day off in three weeks, and he was feeling it. His magic had gone almost dormant with lack of use in the past few months, leaving Phil to rely on his old bones that had seen far too much war to be healthy.

Even now, holding his sons, his lower back, knees, and shoulders pulsed with a dull agony.

Made Phil want to destroy something just so his magic would wake up.

He could just put the kids down, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They’d be too big soon, too old to hold. He was going to hang onto this stage of their lives for as long as possible.

Unfortunately for Phil, the kids had others plan.

Techno squirmed after a while, wanting to be put down, and where Techno went, Dream followed. Phil trailed after them all the way to the market, keeping a very close eye on his children.

This town wasn’t all that bad, not too unfriendly to hybrids since the mayor’s daughter was a hummingbird, but a bird was a big difference from a piglin.

Dream found their mother first, chatting with a traveling vendor that sold books and maps from the farthest corners of the kingdom.

Dream attacked his mum’s leg, latching around her knee and calf, and sighed contently.

Kristin barely paused, giving Dream a pat on his head and playing with his hair.

They were trying to teach the boys basic manners, like not interrupting rudely, but it was more or a less an uphill battle.

Dream had been ignored most of his life, and it was very hard for him not to take things personal. Techno must have gone through some things when he was in the Nether, and he reacted negatively to being pushed aside.

Wilbur simply demanded attention.

Like now.

“Dad!” Phil grunted as something tackled him from above from one of the roofs of the vendor huts.

Wilbur laughed as Phil stumbled, then screeched as Phil’s hands closed around his waist and yanked him off his head. Phil held him at an arm’s length, giving his son a faux glare. Wilbur flapped his baby wings excitedly, and Phil quickly pulled the kid to his chest.

Just because nobody could see a baby avian’s wings doesn’t mean they couldn’t feel them.

The last thing Phil needed was the crotchety old fruit seller to get wacked in the face by an invisible force.

“ ‘Ello Miss Sadie,” Phil tipped an invisible hat to the book vendor, taking one of the grocery bags from his wife.

“Philza,” Sadie dipped her head politely. She smiled at Wilbur, the little boy whipping his head around wildly to look around at the market, bracing himself on his father’s chest.

“How’re the roads?” Phil asked, pulling Techno off the street as he tried to make a run for blacksmiths.

“Not bad,” Sadie shrugged. “There’s rumors the Syndicate’s on the move. The popular theory is they’re headed for the capital.”

Phil frowned. The Syndicate was a rebel cell that were bent on taking out the government of the Second Kingdom. At first, Phil had thought the idea wasn’t so bad—but then he discovered the Syndicate’s methods.

Pure, unbridled slaughter.

They killed anyone and everyone; man, woman, or child; human, hybrid, and mage.

They didn’t want a better government or a fair kingship—they wanted anarchy.

Phil had decided long ago to stay away from them.

He tuned out, keeping his sons in check as his wife chattered away, thinking.

…

Phil should’ve kept a closer watch on Techno’s shifting. He should’ve known the child’s magic would be unpredictable—should’ve kept a better eye on his rambunctious children.

Needless to say, when Techno shifted in the marketplace a week later, in front of everyone—

Phil learned a few lessons that day.

One was to never trust piglin magic.

Another was how to get out of Dodge real fast.

“I wanna go baaacckk—” Wilbur whined from the back of the wagon, flopped over the sacks of beans. “I hate thiisss—”

“Shuddup,” Techno muttered, squished between a barrel of fresh water and the chest with all their clothes. “I said I was sorry, okay?”

Wilbur gave him a worried look. Techno was shifting back and forth, features changing sporadically.

“I didn't like it there anyway,” Dream yawned, stretching out his arms above his head. “Mrs. Rue was mean. And Mr. Carter called me annoying.”

“That’s ‘cuz you are,” Wilbur pointed out, pulling one of his wings around so he could preen the feathers he could reach.

“Both of you are,” Techno mumbled, and his brothers relaxed a bit. Techno was making jokes—so he was relaxing a bit.

Maybe things were going to be okay.

…

Phil tried to find a village small enough to avoid detection, far enough from other civilization so the news wouldn’t travel well and probably be changed to rumors by the time it got there.

He tried to keep his kids inside, tried to find work dull enough nobody would ever look twice.

He didn’t do enough.

The Syndicate still came, struck like lightning.

How they found out about Phil’s little piglin, Phil never really knew, or found out.

All he knew was that they knew.

And now they were in his kitchen, holding his child with a knife to his throat.

“What’d you want?” Phil asked, keeping himself calm even though Techno was paler than a sheet of paper with a knife at his throat.

He had been in the bedroom, he had been preoccupied—the kids should have been fine, playing in the kitchen while Kristin unpacked some stuff for the living room.

They were not fine, they had not been safe.

The leader chuckled, revealed ground-down nubs of teeth. “Just wanted to gloat a bit. It’s not every day you find a hybrid-lover hiding a little piglin.”

Techno let out a tiny whimper as the blade nicked him.

Kristin tried to shove past Phil, Phil felt her magic wake, but he held her back. She was fast, she was powerful—but the knife was right there.

She’d never make it before Techno was either killed or fatally injured.

Dream and Wilbur huddled between their parents, too scared to make a sound. Phil could feel Dream clinging to his pant leg, trembling slightly.

“He’s a child,” Phil said, still forcing himself to speak calmly. “Not a monster.”

“No—” the man chuckled. “But he will be.”

Phil didn’t like the sound of that. “What’d you mean?”

The man shifted, adjusting his grip on the knife. “Name’s Valdis. Heard of me?”

Phil had, but not in the way this man was thinking. It still made his stomach plummet. “You’re with the Syndicate. You train super-soldiers.”

Kristin inhaled sharply, and she pushed against Phil again. Phil didn’t let her move. The other soldiers in the house chuckled—Phil felt something akin to dread crawl under his skin.

“I couldn’t help but be interested in this little guy. Just had to chase you lot down after you got out of town so rudely,” Valdis said, tapping Techno on the nose. “Half-breeds are said to have a heavier lust for blood. I’ll let you know how it works out.”

“I will find you,” Phil said, now forcefully having to hold his wife behind him. “There is nowhere you can hide from me.”

Valdis chuckled, the knife never moving from Techno’s throat. “Poetic. But if I see you again, I’ll kill the kid in a blink. This is a venture, an experiment. He’ll be no real loss. Keep that in mind.”

Phil’s dark eyes never left Valdis’s face. “I am going to kill every one of you. I hope you’re ready to deal with that loss.”

Valdis didn’t offer a parting comment, but passed Techno off to a waiting soldier.

Kristin nearly tore herself from Phil’s grip when Techno started screaming for first her, then for Phil—twisted, high shrieks for his parents that echoed long after the horsemen galloped away.

Phil would never forget those sounds, would never forget the hole that was forcefully carved into his chest.

…

He secured the house first.

Kristin wouldn’t look at him, and had yet to stop crying, her face perpetually damp as she helped lock everything down.

Dream and Wilbur, in no way, understood what was going on, but didn’t dare ask questions. They clung to each other, scared and trembling, regarding everything with wide, terrified eyes.

“I’m going after them,” Phil deadpanned, as soon as he was sure there was enough food and water in the cupboards to last a few days. “Don’t leave the house.”

Kristin fixed him with a glare that was somehow classified as mournful as well, and Phil left.

He spread his wings and took to the skies, opening the dam within that he had built to close off his magic.

It roared to life with ridiculously little effort on Phil’s part, ready for a slaughter.

Phil was more than happy to oblige.

…

Techno had to breathe through his mouth, breaths stuttering and shaky. The knife, the knife that had been held to his own throat, was heavy in his hand, but he didn’t dare drop it again. Not with the pounding headache pulsing in his temple from the first time he had thrown it.

“Kill him,” Valdis hissed into his ear, breath hot against his skin. “End his suffering. It’s the right thing to do.”

Techno forced the sob down his throat and tried to look at the damp walls, the pathetic lightbulb dangling from a string, the bloodstained floors—anywhere but the man forced to kneel before him with a sack over his head and rope around his wrists. There was a fresh, gaping hole in the man’s thigh, spewing and gushing blood all over the floor.

He would bleed out soon, a painful way to go.

Techno had the power to end it early—the knife in his hand was sharp enough. He would know with the little paper-thin cuts on his neck.

“No—” Techno gritted out, blinking past tears. The smell of blood was making him think things he didn’t want to. He knew piglins were blood-thirsty, and his human side was beginning to cave to his other half.

“Just do it, or I’ll do it,” Valdis hissed, hand on Techno’s neck becoming painful. “And you don’t want that. You could be so much kinder than I, make his end peaceful.”

But Techno didn’t want to be a murderer. He didn’t want blood on his hands. The piglin in him demanded blood, demanded to see red flood the room and drip from the ceiling—begged for mangled flesh in his jaws—

“No—”

Valdis scoffed and shoved Techno a bit, grabbed the knife himself, and buried it in the man’s head.

Techno managed to snap his eyes shut in enough time to avoid seeing most of it, but the sound of a knife shattering a skull-cap and the squelch of a lifeless body thumping in a pool of blood would haunt him till his dying day.

“It’s that simple, child,” Valdis snapped, waving a hand at a soldier to drag the body out. “We’re going to sit here till you learn to listen.”

It’s okay, child.

Techno jolted, eyes snapping up and around. That voice—it had come—

I am here now.

It was coming from inside his head.

Another prisoner was dragged in, face covered so Techno couldn’t see, and made to kneel before him. A terrified whimper came from under the sack, and it made Techno’s skin crawl.

The hand curled around the base of Techno’s neck again, and the hot breath fanned across his face once more.

“Kill him.”

Not the innocent. Never the innocent.

Techno didn’t know what was happening, who was talking, who was inside in his head. “No!!”

But the guilty—they must fall.

Hands, warm and strong and somehow not actually there, around Techno’s shoulder. A shove, a little push—Techno’s will caved against something he could never have hoped to withstand and he slashed with the knife—it went through something, and a terrible cry rang out.

Yes—justice.

Blood, warm and fresh and spilled by his own hand filled his nose and Techno lost control.

When he came back, blinking through the red haze and desire for war and massacre, there was a dead man on the floor.

One of the soldiers that had been guarding the door was dead, lying in the center of the room in a pool of blood.

He deserved it—he has taken many. It was his turn to fall.

Techno fixated on the limp body, haggard breaths rattling his chest. His throat was raw—had he been screaming? There was a taste of metal on his lips, his teeth felt coated in something thick—he felt sick to his stomach.

You will get used to it. For now—rest, little one. We shall meet when you are ready.

“Not the result we were looking for—” Valdis, on the other side of the room, staring at him with a look of surprise. The remaining guard was plastered to the wall, quite obviously terrified.

“—but one we can work with.”

Techno swallowed shakily, not really hearing him.

What had he done?

…

Phil couldn’t remember the last time he slept.

He didn’t rightly care.

His magic thrummed through his body, chasing away aches and pains and needs, leaving only one burning desire.

Find his child.

Phil had muted Techno’s magic long ago, hid it away so they didn’t have any unwanted visitors, dulled it so Techno didn’t do anything he would regret for the rest of his life.

That left Phil literally tracking himself.

They must’ve used Pearls—they were much too far along in their travels for them to have traveled on horseback.

He flew through the day, and the night, and the next day. He didn’t land, but soared and glided on the wind gusts that happened to come his way.

The cold, the oxygen deprivation, the hunger—Phil ignored it all.

And when he found the rebel headquarters, tucked cleverly against the sand dunes and rocky terrain—

Phil’s sword hung heavy with the blood he reaped.

…

The compound shook. Dust shifted from the ceiling—the walls creaked.

Valdis looked up, frowning. “What was that?”

A wave of magic ripped through the room, the light shuddering and another layer of dust. Techno stiffened, breath catching as he felt it.

Valdis noticed. “Kid—”

The wave came again, stronger. Screams echoed from somewhere in the building, quickly cut off by something unknown. Another wave, another rounds of silenced screams.

Techno swallowed hard. “He’s coming—”

Valdis’s eyes narrowed, and the door slammed open so hard it flew off its hinges and hit the wall, cracking the brickwork.

Philza Minecraft entered the room.

“Valdis—” Phil hissed, voice so layered over with power it echoed. Magic so raw the walls were beginning to evaporate poured off his body, choking out those present.

Valdis backed up, eyes widening with recognition. His hand fell away from Techno, heart shuddering in his ribcage with fear and the effects of the magic. “You—”

“Dad!” Techno took his opportunity and ran, arms outstretched.

Phil’s rage-filled eyes snapped off Valdis to his son.

Even with how terrifying Phil was right now, wings pitch-black with power, barely holding in a writhing magic that threatened to level a country, Techno didn’t even hesitate.

He jumped, and Phil caught him.

Immediately, the magic calmed. Phil’s had what he had come for, and his magic had a new purpose.

“I wanna go home,” Techno muttered, holding so tightly to his father his knuckles were turning white. “I want Momma—please, Dad—” He hid his face entirely, the rest of his sentence muffled.

Phil looked back over at Valdis, the man plastered against the wall. The other guards, those Phil hadn’t slaughtered on his way in, had long since made a run for it.

“You took my child,” Phil said. It was a statement, and a damning one at that.

Valdis stared, face blank. “How did you—we were miles ahead—no man could have caught up—”

“And yet here I am, in the flesh,” Phil said, stepping forward, eyes holding a lethal light.

Techno whimpered, sounding lost and confused and scared. “Dad—"

And Phil—

Phil hesitated.

Techno was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a windstorm. “Dad please—I wanna go home.”

Phil closed his eyes and exhaled. His magic roared for vengeance, screamed and scrabbled for justice—but Techno was hurting.

Techno was hurting and wanted his dad, wanted to go home to his mother and probably wanted to feel safe right now.

Techno didn’t need another monster to rear its ugly head.

He needed his father.

Phil opened his eyes, forcing the magic to fizzle down.

Later.

There would be time later.

Phil knelt, picking up the knife Techno had been clutching, the knife that Valdis had used to take his child away from him.

“You’re lucky,” Phil spit, shifting Techno up higher to get a better hold, “beyond any comprehension. If I ever see you again—”

He held the knife out, pointed at Valdis. “I will slit your throat and watch you drown.”

The father swept out of the room, taking his child with him.

Valdis slid down the wall, heart pounding so loudly he could feel it on his tongue. The magic in the room bit at him, burning his eyes and lungs and singeing his hair and eyebrows.

Slowly, he began to laugh, maniacal and exhausted at the same time.

Till we meet again.

…

Kristin didn’t stop crying for a while. Not the loud, dramatic sobs of grief, but silent tears of regret the flowed down her face as she held her child.

She hummed softly, rubbing Techno’s back to try and get him to go back to sleep. The child had screamed himself awake at two in the morning, waking up everyone in the house. Techno was holding out, eyes glassy and wide open as he rested his head on her shoulder, stoically refusing to go back to sleep.

“Is Techie okay?” Wilbur asked, very quietly. The little boy stood with his father, watching Kristin pace around the kitchen.

Phil made a noncommittal noise and picked Wilbur up, the boy’s wings flapping instinctively on the way up. He noted how his back didn’t hurt anymore, even as Wilbur squirmed around to get comfortable in his father’s arms.

“He will be,” Phil said, with just a bit of determination, beginning to copy the same swaying motion Kristin was doing. “He just needs time.”

He knew what Techno had done. Magic that had killed had a different aura to it, dark and tainted—Techno’s was no longer the pure baby magic it had once been.

Phil knew Techno was in for a rough ride—piglins themselves didn’t mind killing, relished in it really, but humans usually carried the burden with them till they themselves died.

Phil felt a tug on his pants and saw Dream, clearly only a quarter of the way awake, reaching up for his dad.

Phil picked him up too and just held his children, rocking them back and forth.

…

It was a long time before Techno could sleep out of his parents’ bed, and it was even longer before he could sleep by himself without one of his brothers.

The night terrors never really went away, and the horrific images never truly faded away in Techno’s mind. The knowledge of what he’d done forever haunted him, and there were days he swore he could still smell blood on his hands and taste the copper on his tongue.

He forgot some of it. He couldn’t quite remember why Valdis had feared his father, why he had been in such fear. He forgot the feel of the knife in his hand, and the voice that had guided him so kindly.

But he remembered one thing from Valdis—one thing was permanently embedded into his brain from his time with the monster that thought raising a child soldier would be a good idea.

He would never, ever, be that helpless again.

Chapter Text

“Daaadddzaaaaa!”

Phil sighed and set down the toy he had been trying to fix for Ant. The child in question was sitting next to him, not close enough for Phil to touch him, but close enough to watch worriedly.

“In here!” Phil called, trying to figure out why the wheel wouldn’t turn on the toy cat Ant had taken to dragging around behind him. It was kind of childish, but Phil figured Ant never really had gotten a chance to be a little kid, so he didn’t mind. Ant would grow out of it on his own time.

Skeppy came stomping down the stairs, obviously annoyed. Phil chuckled a bit. What had set the kid off this time?

He nearly flew out of his seat when he saw why.

Skeppy was shirtless, gems twinkling a bit in the lamplight. Bad was hanging off Skeppy’s arm, face pressed into the gems on Skeppy’s shoulder, marbly-dark eyes hazy and cloudy, clearly out of it. Bad’s face was slack, smiling languidly. He had a hard time keeping his feet under him, and his grip on Skeppy was the only reason he was still standing.

Phil knew quite clearly—having had to spend months with demons on the battlefield—what a demon attack looked like before it actually happened.

“Skeppy—” Phil stood slowly, handing the toy to Ant. “I need you to hold very still.”

“But he’s being annoying!” Skeppy whined, drawing it out and trying to pry the half-demon off of him.

Bad hissed.

Skeppy, having never heard that sound come from any of his brothers, froze and flashed Phil a frightened look.

“Ant, mate—” Phil said, waving his hand at his newest son. “Can you go play with George? Maybe find Sapnap?”

Ant didn’t say anything, eyes wide at Bad’s behavior, but he obeyed. For one, tiny, flickering moment, Phil was glad Ant stilled obeyed without question. Ant hadn’t yet experienced one of Bad’s attacks yet, and Phil really didn’t want to explain what was gonna happen if Skeppy kept trying to get Bad off him.

“Skeppy, can you bring him over to the couch?” Phil asked gently.

Skeppy looked apprehensive, but inched his way over to the couch. He sat on the very edge, but Bad pulled him back so they were both flopped into the couches.

“Dad, he’s scaring me—” Skeppy said quietly.

“I know, mate,” Phil said, gingerly setting down next to Bad. Bad didn’t react, even when Phil ran his hand through his patchy hair (Wilbur had attacked his brothers with scissors. Techno had body-slammed him into the recliner before any real harm had been done, but Bad had still lost some of his hair).

“Bad, can you hear me?” Phil asked, but Bad only murmured and turned his face into Skeppy’s arm.

Phil sighed. “He’s Imprinted.”

“He can Umprint,” Skeppy said, looking as though he wanted to try and kick Bad off him, but was too scared to. He hesitated. “He’s what?”

“Imprinted,” Phil sighed. “You know how Bad sometimes gets those attacks and tries to bite everyone?”

Skeppy nodded, absentmindedly rubbing Bad’s arm.

“That happens because demons, especially babies, aren’t supposed to be in the Overworld. Our thinner, colder atmosphere doesn’t quite support Bad’s magical makeup the same way the Nether does. It messes with his magic, makes him sick.”

“But he’ll be okay?” Skeppy asked, and Phil noted how he was starting to possessively curl around Bad.

“He’ll grow out of it,” Phil said. “His magic just needs to realign to this atmosphere.”

“Great,” Skeppy nodded like he knew what he was saying. “So what’s that Imprinting stuff?”

“Demons, in both worlds, sometimes Imprint on things or people growing up. Like a security blanket, almost. He’ll grow out of that too. In the Overworld, it prevents the attacks from beings so horrible. But uh—” Phil hesitated, but he didn't want to hide things from his kids. “They’re more attracted to shiny things—”

Skeppy wrinkled his nose, and Phil was suddenly scared Skeppy was hurt. He was still very sensitive about the chunky gems that were embedded in his arms up around his collarbone and chest and up his neck. It had only been a few months since Kristin had rescued him after all.

Skeppy didn’t say anything, but turned more to face Bad and petted his hair. Bad actually purred and sighed contently, curling up as tightly to Skeppy as he could get.

“So as long as I’m around before one of his attacks happens, he’ll get all cuddly instead of murdery?” he asked.

Phil shrugged. “Should work.”

Skeppy huffed, but Phil caught how it was almost good-natured.

Skeppy peeled Bad off—Bad whined and let out a whimper this time. “Shush, you big baby.” Skeppy laid on his back and pulled Bad on top of him. Bad went back to purring like a the most contented feline Phil had ever heard and Skeppy sighed deeply, running his hand through Bad’s hair.

“How long do these things last?” he asked.

“A few hours,” Phil said, hiding his proud smile as he threw one of Kristin’s crocheted blankets over his two sons.

“Sweet,” Skeppy yawned. “I can take a nap and get out of chores.”

Before Phil could say anything, he tipped his head to the side and closed his eyes. Bad’s light purrs turned into deep rumbles and he rubbed his face on the diamond above Skeppy’s heart one more time before his own eyes slipped shut.

Phil chuckled, heart so very, very proud, and went upstairs to finish the Toy from Hell.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” George hung his head, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at his folded hands glumly.

“Not your fault,” Sapnap sighed from his own bed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m just so cold—”

“I know.”

George ran his icy fingers over his numb arms. It had been quite the discovery when the icy magic in George’s veins wouldn’t let him sleep, keeping his body temperature so frigidly cold he was in a constant state of ‘freezing.’

It had taken him two days to notice, and two more for him to tell Sapnap, under muttered breath and spoken with nothing but shame.

It had been a week since the two had been rescued by Phil from the Nether.

George had slept a grand total of five hours.

Neither wanted to tell Phil or his other three sons—they were scared of them too. George was more willing to trust the older avian, seeing as he had rescued them after all, and gotten a nasty wound in the calf for it too—but Sapnap seemed more wary.

But that left the two boys with a conundrum.

Sapnap couldn’t let George sleep with him anymore—his newly-discovered blaze magic was too hot. George didn’t care—he felt like the artic had replaced his soul—but Sapnap didn’t want to boil his best friend. They figured if they had a third person, someone else for Sapnap’s heat to focus on, then perhaps—

Phil and Kristin were out of the question.

George didn’t want to bother them, and Sapnap didn’t trust them.

Techno was a blunt no.

Wilbur had feathers that Sapnap’s magic would melt.

That left Dream.

The two knew little about the third brother. He was quiet, and fully human. He wore a strange mask around other people, but took it off for the family. He loved pranks, and had thrown a mudpie at Sapnap the first chance he had gotten.

He had one thing going for him—George had gotten himself cornered in the marketplace by not paying attention to his surroundings; Dream had scared the bullies off, throwing rocks and screaming the whole while, before hauling George home over his shoulder.

“Can’t hurt to ask, right?” George played with his fingers, winding them together and yanking them till they popped.

Sapnap groaned, but got to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

He left, and George crossed his legs, listening to Sapnap’s faint footsteps as he walked across the hall to Dream’s, Wilbur’s, and Techno’s room. He heard faint rustling, then two sets of footsteps came back a short moment later.

Dream looked tired, and apprehensive, blond hair sticking straight up and out in several places.

“Sorry,” George said automatically.

Dream tilted his head.

“He’s too cold,” Sapnap sighed. “His magic—he’s freezing.”

Dream blinked.

“My own magic is too powerful—it’ll overrun his and kill him,” Sapnap finished.

“What’d you need me for?” the question wasn’t hurtful, or spiting. It was just curious.

“To help balance it out,” Sapnap explained. “If there’s two of you, my magic will disperse through both of you and not kill you.”

“How do you know?”

Sapnap shrugged.

“Great.”

“Please—” George was close to crying. His head had turned into a fog a few days ago—he could barely think. Every muscle felt like lead—all he wanted to do was sleep.

And he was so cold—

He didn’t even care he was begging a complete stranger at this point.

Dream sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it even more. “Move over.” He shooed George away and climbed into the bed, back to the wall, and pulled the covers to the side.

“C’mon idiots.”

George turned around and laid down, Sapnap shoving him over good-naturedly and wrapping his arm around George’s middle, like they used to before—

Before?

Dream threw the blanket over the top of them and George let out a sigh of relief as he felt the joined warmth from his brothers wash over him almost immediately.

It took a while for that bone-deep ache to go away, almost two hours, but by then George was lulled asleep by the drowsy warmth that came from two other bodies.

It was the greatest feeling in the world.

…

Phil nearly panicked when he found Dream’s bed empty in his and the twins’ room. That panic quickly turned to relief when he saw the abnormally large lump on George’s bed in the other kids’ room.

Looking closer, Phil felt his heart melt a little at the sight.

Dream’s back was to the wall, George neatly tucked against his chest, head slotted right beneath Dream’s chin. Sapnap was on George’s other side, chest pressed to George’s back. Sapnap and Dream reached over George, arms wound together and quite effectively trapping George between them.

Phil didn’t think George minded.

In fact—

Phil eased closer, careful not to wake his boys. George was dead asleep, face relaxed and calm. His arms were curled up by his chest, and he rested his head easily against Dream’s chest. His breaths were soft and breathy—peaceful.

Phil’s heart swelled as he readjusted the blanket.

My sweet boys.

…

George woke up like he normally did at one in the morning.

But this time, it wasn’t because of a nightmare or because his joints ached so badly he couldn’t sleep.

He felt a hand brush his hair, heard a small hum, then someone moved from the room. He just barely caught the sound of Phil’s feathers rustling as he left and relaxed.

He snuggled deeper into the blankets, tangling his legs with Sapnap’s and feeling Dream throw his over the both of them. Everything was so deliciously warm and he sighed in contentment.

Sapnap shifted behind him, arm snaking tighter around his middle and Dream muttered something in his sleep before pulling both George and Sapnap closer, face leaning into George’s hair before exhaling into the dark curls.

Smiling to himself in sheer relief when he realized he wasn’t in pain and could go back to sleep worry-free, George pressed his face into Dream’s chest and exhaled.

Sleep didn’t evade him this time.

Chapter Text

Schlatt decided that Sam was defenseless.

He shouldn’t have been—he was a creeper hybrid for crying out loud, and almost as tall as Techno—but he was.

“Do you ever stick up for yourself?” Schlatt asked, glaring at Sam across the table. Sam, staring tiredly back—distinctly lacking the dessert he had four seconds early, courtesy of Skeppy—just blinked. The fork was listless in his hand, tapping at the ceramic plate dully.

“He can have it.” Sam shrugged, picking at the oversized hoodie that dwarfed his bony frame.

Schlatt glowered, stabbing at the steak and potatoes and resting his head on his hand. He had only been with the family a few weeks, and already a few of his new “brothers” annoyed him.

Dream was loud.

Ant was quiet.

George was a whiner.

Sapnap and Skeppy bullied the others to get their way.

Wilbur wasn’t so bad, for a guy that was currently shedding everywhere. Techno was obviously the head-honcho, keeping things decently in line.

For the most part. Techno was also extremely passive, and expected his brothers to handle their own problems and arguments.

So that meant Sam, the newest besides Schlatt, was targeted. He took everything in stride, keeping to himself, and never complaining. Never a word about how some things annoyed him and other things were just rude.

And it annoyed Schlatt to absolutely no end.

He had gotten into more than his fair share of fights before, both before the Pit and after, and he couldn’t understand just—taking it.

He didn’t know the meaning of just rolling over and accepting his fate.

It seemed that that was all Sam knew how to do.

…

“Sammmm! We’re borrowing your mattress!”

Schlatt looked up over his schoolwork, Sam opposite him at the dining table once again.

Chairs had to be assigned in this house, apparently, since these people fought over everything. Mid-afternoon sun came through the window, begging to be played in, but Kristin insisted her boys have some form of education.

Sam’s face pinched into a depressed frown, tapping his pencil on his history homework over the Death Ancients. “I am… gonna get that back, am I?”

Schlatt ticked up an eyebrow, choosing to ignore his own schooling (economic history of the Fourth Kingdom). “You could, oh, I don’t know, tell ‘em to put it back.”

Sam blinked as if he had never thought of that before. “Huh?”

Schlatt groaned, slamming his book shut and stomping upstairs.

Sure enough, Sapnap and Skeppy were trying to wrestle Sam’s twin mattress out of the bedroom Sam and Schlatt shared.

“Put it back,” Schlatt deadpanned, rolling up his sleeves.

“We wanna sled it down the stairs,” Sapnap said, eyes too bright and too mischievous for Schlatt’s already annoyed nerves.

“Use your own.” Schlatt set his stance and crossed his arms, standing obstinately in front of said stairs.

“Can’t,” Skeppy said nonchalantly. “Theirs is a king and mine and Bad’s is a queen.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, remembering that, yes, half of these people slept in the same bed. Because that wasn’t Sweet Home Alabama at all.

“Ant’s.” Schlatt suggested with more bite than helpfulness.

“Ant will and has clawed me in the face before,” Sapnap said, pointing to a mild scar just on his jaw. Skeppy nodded enthusiastically to support this particular new fact.

“And why do you think that was, candlehead?”

Sapnap blinked at the insult. Schlatt could practically see the clock ticking in Sapnap’s forehead.

“Ant just doesn’t like people touching his stuff.” Skeppy shrugged.

“And what makes you think Sam does?” Schlatt glared.

Deer in the headlights. Schlatt just shook his head. “Look. You either put the bed back, or I beat your—”

“Language!”

“—and then make you put it back. What’s it gonna be?”

Sapnap narrowed his eyes. “You think you can take both of us, ram boy?”

Schlatt’s horns curled around his ears, eyes narrowing to golden slit, and he grinned. “I fought to stay alive, matchstick. You and the walking jewelry box ain’t got nothing on me.”

Sapnap dropped the mattress, rolling his shoulders. He cracked his knuckles, a small smirk appearing on his face at the statement. “Then let’s see what you got, little lamb.”

…

Sam jerked as Schlatt plopped back down in his chair, whistling softly.

“All taken care of.” Schlatt picked up his pencil and turned back to his page. “Bed’s right where it’s supposed to be.”

Sam blinked, then blinked again. “What?” Schlatt’s hair was all messed up, and his jaw looked kinda swollen.

Schlatt rolled his eyes. “Just do your homework.”

~~~

“Leaving the house” was not something Schlatt rather enjoyed.

He had found safety in Phil’s home, with Kristin always around, cooking and cleaning and offering forehead kisses and offering fairytales of long dead warriors and kings.

“Outside” meant “other people” and “other people” could mean anything.

Schlatt hung close to Wilbur, keeping one eye on Sam’s lanky frame out of the corner of his eye. The crowd wasn’t actually too bad today, many of the villagers out in the fields and gardens, readying the harvest to be brought in.

“You can relax.” Wilbur didn’t seem nearly as concerned about things as he should be. “There hasn’t been any trouble in this district for a few years.”

“Don’t care about the district. Care about me,” Schlatt mumbled, glaring at the bar across the street.

“You’re in the district,” Sam pointed out.

“Shut up.”

Wilbur yawned at the bickering, wings puffing up under his cloak. The fabric poofed up, and Schlatt panicked, smacking at it frantically, trying to get them to poof back down.

“That hurts, I hope you know,” Wilbur said dryly, flinching mildly. “I’m molting.”

“Then knock it off!” Schlatt hissed.

“I can’t control that!”

“Then why’d we bring you!?”

“Stop arguing.”

Schlatt just about jumped out of his skin at Techno’s voice, their older brother coming up behind them and handing Wilbur a bag of groceries.

“Take these two home,” Techno said to Wilbur, nodding his head at Sam and Schlatt. “Dream’s posse is off doing Fate knows what and Dad’s gonna be longer than he thought at the blacksmith’s.”

“Ant?” Wilbur asked, hefting the bag.

“Went home with Skeppy and Bad an hour ago. Had a panic attack at a crest or something he saw on the cover of a book in the library window.”

Wilbur shook his head sympathetically. “What’re you gonna do?”

“I’m gonna hunt down Dream, Sapnap, and George and hopefully herd them home. That’s if I can catch Dream. Might have to bait him out with George.”

Schlatt snorted and Sam giggled quietly.

Techno gestured in the direction of home. “Shoo. Before your cloak slips and you get feathers everywhere.”

Wilbur punched Techno in the shoulder, then immediately started shaking his wrist and whining, Techno just raising an eyebrow. Schlatt rolled his eyes and grabbed Wilbur’s shoulder, stalking off and half-dragging Wilbur, Sam following listlessly.

…

“Hey, Minecraft!”

Wilbur turned at the rude yell, brows furrowing. Schlatt felt his stomach roll the way it used to when he was called out to fight.

There was no friendliness in that yell.

Six or seven boys, all older and bigger than Schlatt and his brothers, were following them down the wooded path home. The soft sun coming through the leaves and the cool breeze of early fall didn’t help Schlatt’s nerves at all, or the rising tension of the situation.

“Sup.” Wilbur nodded.

“Forget something?”

Schlatt’s stomach turned itself inside out at the long gray feather in the leader’s hand.

Wilbur merely frowned. “Been pulling on Mr. Frow’s chicken’s tails again?”

“Chickens don’t have gray feathers,” one of the smaller kids sneered, looking quite proud of himself for knowing such a fact.

Schlatt would have scoffed if he wasn’t so nervous. Yes, because the fact the feather is gray is the problem here. Not that it’s as long as my arm.

“There’s always been something off about you Minecrafts,” another boy said, cracking his knuckles. “Ten kids, none lookin’ the same. What, your momma sleep around with everyone she met?”

Sam growled. Schlatt grabbed at his arm, hearing the tell-tale hiss-pop of Sam’s gunpowder in the back of his throat. He had almost forgotten the kid was here, and now that Sam was deciding now of all days was a good day to be brave, he was kinda wishing they had left him at home.

“What, big guy?” the leader said, coming forward a few more steps, waving the feather around like a sword. “Don’t like the fact your momma got screwed by a half-dozen more men outside your daddy?”

“Look—” Wilbur said, Schlatt now actively holding Sam in place. “We don’t want trouble. We haven’t done anything to you.”

“But you will,” the smallish one pointed out obnoxiously. “You’re hybrids.”

Schlatt hissed in through his teeth as Sam went rigid.

“Prove it.” Wilbur crossed his arms, much calmer than Schlatt felt.

The leader waved around the feather.

“That ain’t ours.”

“Well then take off your cloak,” another kid toward the back of the pack demanded.

Wilbur rolled his eyes, but Schlatt could see the tremble of his fingers.

“We’re done here,” Schlatt said, turning on his heel and grabbing Wilbur’s elbow, praying to the Ancients that Sam had the sense to follow.

“Oh no you’re not—” the leader crossed the short distance between them, Schlatt saw him reach for his shoulder out of the corner of his eye—

Sam grabbed the wrist.

Schlatt pivoted at the waist just in time to see Sam nail the guy in the face with everything he had.

The bully dropped, unconscious.

“Hey!” The rest, upon witnessing the event, immediately charged, furious for their friend.

Schlatt leaned back, ready to fight, ready to get a broken nose and a black eye—

Sam raised his hand, his eyes going soulless black—hiss-pop-BOOM.

The ground at the boys’ feet exploded, throwing them wide. A few hit their head on the ground and didn’t get back up—the rest lay dazed.

Sam grabbed the closest one by the collar and lifted him clear of the ground, muscles not even straining to hold him up to his eye level. “If you tell anyone what you’ve seen today, I’ll do the same thing to the Santa’s Village you call home.” Sam said. “Got it?”

The kid forgot how to nod for a second, until Sam gave him a little shake.

“Good.” Sam dropped him like a sack of potatoes. “Grab your friends and leave us alone.”

They did as they were told, shaking so hard they looked like a gentle breeze would knock them down. A few actually did stumble and bite the dirt in their haste to run, but they scrambled back up as quick as they could and kept going.

Sam took a deep breath as soon as they were out of sight, hands flexing clenching. “Overkill?”

Wilbur stared at the crater with a wry eye. “Maybe?”

“Probably should fill it in?”

“Yeah—”

…

Techno walked up on them stomping the dirt down, trying to make it look well-traveled again. It might have been pointless, with the grass on the side of the road torn up as well, but they had to do something.

“Do I want to know?” Techno asked. George hung limply over his shoulder, Dream and Sapnap following after like sullen, stray puppies.

“Sam lost his temper,” Wilbur said, smashing a dirt clod with his heel, a handful of molted feathers in his hand. The nerves had finally pushed him over the edge, the feathers falling freely with almost every movement.

“Sam?” George picked himself up a little to see around Techno. “I didn’t think he knew how to do that.”

“You don’t wanna find out what it looks like,” Schlatt said nonchalantly, kicking uselessly at air to pretend like he was actually working.

Techno raised both his eyebrows in a show of the most emotion Sam had yet to see out of him. “Impressive.”

Sam wrapped his arms around his elbows, smiling nervously, unsure of himself.

“C’mon, ya big lug—” Schlatt grabbed Sam’s shoulder and turning him around toward home

“So does this mean we can’t steal his stuff anymore?”

Chapter Text

“He’s a baby.” Schlatt picked his nose, staring at the little kid currently playing with the colored blocks that, so far, had been played with by every Minecraft kid to date. He seemed pretty involved in his task of using all the blocks to build a precarious tower, and didn’t seem interested in the conversation that focused on him.

“He is not!” Ponk snapped, brushing past and scooping the kid up in his bristling mother-hen hold, glaring at Schlatt. So far, in the few months the twins and their little brother had been a part of the family, Schlatt seemed to be the biggest thorn in their side.

“He’s chewing on a block,” Wilbur pointed out, leaning on the back of the couch.

Ponk’s head snapped down and he snatched the chunk of wood away while scolding under his breath.

“He didn’t get a lot to time to be a baby,” Punz defended, crossing his arms as he watched Ponk give the block back before Purpled threw a tantrum. “He’s probably catching up.”

“So what do we do with him?” Skeppy asked, offering up a stuffed bear he had stolen from Bad.

“Babysit?” Techno offered, looking up from his book. “Why don’t you start there?”

“How do we babysit?”

…

“GET HIM OFF THE ROOF!”

Phil didn’t like yelling, but the sight of his newest youngest son sitting on the porch roof was enough to instantly turn fifty more hairs on his temple grayer than ash.

“Okay!” Sapnap said, all smiles, and Phil had half a second to straight panic as Sapnap threw the little boy. Ponk shrieked so loudly the window on the back door rattled and Punz screamed a profane word so vile Bad actually fainted on top of Minx.

As it happened, Techno walked out the back door, nose in a book, and caught a laughing Purpled in one arm without looking, handing him off to a trembling Punz before heading off to his favorite tree.

“Sapnap—” Phil said, looking up at the Dream Team, disbelief mixed with ‘you are in so much trouble the Ancients aren’t even laughing.’

Dream and George pointed without a second’s hesitation, panic on their faces.

~~~

“You shush,” Ant said, bouncing the kid on his hip. Purpled glared at him, obviously too old for the motion, but didn’t complain. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, something he had taken to doing in recent weeks. Punz and Ponk had explained that their parents had yelled at Purpled for doing it, so he had stopped, but now that he was safe the little boy obviously deemed it necessary to make up for lost time.

Now he didn’t necessarily enjoy being carted out of the house and told to shush in a dirty alley, but he didn’t know the way home by himself so he decided just to be quiet for now.

“What we’re going to do is pay that nice lady that owns the bakery down the street a visit,” Wilbur said, ruffling Purpled’s hair and booping his nose.

“You’re using me,” Purpled said, pouting and wiping his thumb on Wilbur’s shirt.

“Get used to it,” Ant said, peeking down the street. “Or stop being so cute.”

A wrinkled brow and stuck-out lip. “I’m not cute.”

“Tell that to the old ladies.”

Purpled crossed his arms, sticking his lip out farther.

“What’re you doing?”

Ant practically threw Purpled at Wilbur, whipping around and plastering on the fakest grin Purpled had ever seen while Wilbur scrabbled not to drop the kid on the broken glass they had been carefully avoiding.  

“Hi!”

Punz and Ponk glared with twin looks of absolute disgust, arms crossed and shoulders hunched and everything. Wilbur and Ant hadn’t even heard them approach.

“What’re you doing.” Punz demanded, holding his arms out for Purpled.

“See the nice lady down the street likes to give Purpled free stuff and we were going to take full advantage of it,” Wilbur explained nonchalantly, handing the kid over, deciding spilling the beans now was easier before the twins went and tattled to Phil. See, now, they still had a chance of convincing the twins in joining them.

“Did you agree to this?” Ponk asked Purpled, glaring at Wilbur and Ant with one eye.

Purpled shrugged. “They told me I’d get sweets.”

“Before dinner?” Ponk adjusted the glare to be head-on.

“Okay, look Mom—” Wilbur said. “Ant needs to learn how to have fun and so does Purple Pants here. Now either you’re in on Operation Munchkin or not, but I’m gonna teach the little lord here some fun.”

Ant looked abashed at being called a ‘little lord’ and kicked at the dirt and glass chunks. 

Ponk and Punz exchanged glances, then sighed heavily simultaneously. “So who’s carrying the munchkin?”

~~~

“I don’t want to!”

Ponk panickily clapped a hand over Purpled’s mouth, Punz’s face pulled tight with worry as he hefted his bag higher on his shoulder. The kitchen was quiet—for now. If anyone heard them—Punz didn’t think he could bare to see the look of disappointment on Phil’s face when he saw their packed belongings.

“We have to, buddy,” Ponk said, skillfully wrapping his baby brother up in a snug hold the kid wouldn’t get out of. “We don’t belong here.”

Purpled squirmed valiantly, slapping his arms around to try and worm free, even using his blunt little-kid nails.

“Purpled, please—” Punz pled, dropping to one knee.

“You’ll never make it.”

The twins jumped, Ponk tightening his hold as Schlatt leaned against the doorway to outside.

To freedom.

“We’ve made it through worse,” Punz pressed, spine stiffening. They could still make it out of the front door if they were quick—

“Really?” Schlatt’s eyebrow ticked up. “I came from a fighting ring. Before that I was trafficked. Before that I lived on the streets. Before that I lived in an abusive home with an alcoholic dad that used my mom as a punching bag. I’ve seen it all. You and Ponkie here might stand a chance if you keep your heads down—”

Ponk’s face screwed up.

“—but that little bundle of joy ya’ll call a brother won’t.”

Ponk held Purpled tighter, and Punz moved to stand in front of him more.

Schlatt snorted. “I’m not the threat here. It’s out there. He’s a cute little kid—he’s a target. You’ll last a week before he’s snatched.” His eyes were hard, but there was no lie. “You bring him out there, and you’re signing his death warrant.”

“We’ll protect him!” Punz hissed out, stance bristling.

“Like you protected him from your parents? From the End raid? From the strange man that picked you up from the side of the road?” Schlatt’s weren’t unkind, but they were damning. “If I wanted, I could incapacitate the both of you blindfolded, and I’m almost your age. A soldier would have no trouble ripping him away from you.”

Purpled was trembling lightly, like a leaf in a summer breeze. His once-grey eyes were wide as he huddled as close as he get to Ponk.

“You’re trying to scare us,” Punz gritted out through tight teeth, eyes darting now for the window.

“I’m trying to save you,” Schlatt said, letting his crossed arms drop as he headed for the door that led to the stairs. “Go ahead and run, and sign his name on the dotted line.”

He took the stairs two at a time, and the twins listened to his door open and shut in an otherwise silent house.

“He’s right,” Ponk said quietly, staring straight ahead. “We almost died—”

Punz’s head was hung so his brothers couldn’t see his face, and his shoulders were shaking lightly.

“We can’t protect him,” Ponk continued, as if talking to himself. “We never could.”

“You don’t have to,” Purpled whispered, so confused as to why his older brothers were so scared. “Phil’s here now.

The twins looked up at him, and Purpled had to pretend like the tears on Punz’s face didn’t cut him to his core.

“Phil’s here,” Purpled repeated. “He can take care of us.”

“We don’t know that—” Punz sighed, choking a bit on snot.

“You don’t know that,” Purpled said, worming his way out of Ponk’s hold. “I do, and everyone here does too. He stood there, arms crossed like the biggest man, chin jutted out. “You two can run, if you’re scared. But I’m staying here.”

Ponk chuckled, and it sounded just a little broken. “When did you get all grown up?”

“When you two started acting like idiots,” Purpled stated. “Now can we go to bed?”

Punz wiped his face, snorting a bit. “Yeah, bud. We can go to bed.”

The three never told Phil how close they came.

As far as they knew, neither did Schlatt.

The instance was never spoken of again.

~~~

“Is Puffy ever going to put him down?” Ponk whispered from the kitchen table, stirring his bowl of soup. Puffy was pacing in a circle in the living room, Purpled asleep in her arms. She had a far away look on her face as she rubbed up and down his back, humming a soft song Ponk recognized as a sea shanty from the east.

“Let her,” Techno said, stirring his tea. He looked up at her, eyes soft. “She’s hurting. Purpled’s helping.”

Ponk and Punz exchanged glances before going back to their soup. Puffy had shown up a week ago and put on the bravest face the twins had ever seen in meshing in with the family. They knew Puffy’s mom had died, her father having all but abandoned her. She had yet to cry in front of them, but now—

They could see the mist in her eyes as she rocked the little boy to sleep.

Part of them wondered if she had ever been rocked that way, and longed for what she would never again receive.

~~~

Nightmares were nothing new for Purpled. Especially not with his old parents. Now though—

Purpled blinked up blearily, confused at the figure standing over him.

Sam ignored his baffled look, yawning himself as he scooped the kid up and held him close, grabbing Purpled’s favorite stuffed toy (a spaceship, of all things) before shuffling out of the room into the hall. “You’re okay, buddy,” Sam whispered, patting Purpled’s back and taking him to Sam’s own room that he shared with the new kid, Eret, and Schlatt. “You’re okay.”

Purpled knew that, of course, but he didn’t protest as Sam set him down on his own bed and curled up around him, sloppily throwing the blanket over the both of them and making sure Purpled had at least a sliver of the pillow.

“You can go back to sleep,” Sam soothed, rubbing his hand up and down Purpled’s bony spine. A long yawn displacing the air over Purpled’s head. “I’ll keep watch.”

This was strange. Purpled never had anyone come get him when he woke up from a nightmare—he wondered how Sam had even managed to hear him. Purpled had gotten good at crying quietly. Ponk and Punz were always so tired—they never woke up even though Purpled slept next to them.

Sam thumbed Purpled’s shoulder. “Sleep.”

Purpled smiled like a gremlin, but let his eyes drift shut.

This was nice.

~~~

“Don’t make me break your face,” Techno drawled, Skeppy cracking his knuckles by his side. Purpled grinned from the wooden spike his collar was hung on a few feet in the air, feet kicking lightly as he mildly struggled to keep himself from choking.

The bullies were not impressed. “The shrimp started it,” the leader said, nose in the air as if he was anything better than the grease-stain on the ground Techno was going to turn him into.

“And I’m finishing it,” Techno said, bored, eyes half-lidded. “Give me the kid, and I won’t give you a broken leg.”

Purpled opened his mouth, probably to make some retort, but the look Skeppy gave him shut him right up.

What followed was what could only be described as a massacre. Techno didn't kill anyone, but most, if not all, of the rowdy boys limped away with broken noses and fingers and quickly blackening eyes. In the thick of it, Skeppy had waltzed through the middle of the tussle to retrieve their dangling brother, and had proceeded to scold him for the rest of the beatdown.

“Kid learn his lesson?” Techno said, wringing his wrists and wiping the blood off his knuckles.

“I don’t know,” Skeppy said, nudging Purpled’s back. “You gonna be that dumb again?”

Purpled grinned. “Is Techno gonna beat them up for me again?”

Techno tweaked his nose. “Maybe I’ll make you do it.”

Purpled made an affronted noise, only for Techno to swing him up to his shoulders so they could go home.

~~~

Kristin hummed to herself, mentally tallying out slices of bread for grilled cheese. A massive pot of tomato soup bubbled on the stove, and she was already planning on the next canning session to put up enough food to last them through the winter.

Quick footsteps caught her ear and her brain mentally said Punz before the blond ever made it around the corner.“Where’s—” he was panicked, eyes wide and sweat on his brow.

Kristin, not turning around, pointed down.

Purpled was koalaed to her leg, cheek pressed against her calf, asleep.

“He wore himself out,” Kristin said simply, spreading butter with a quick hand. “Played in the mud all day while you lot all practiced with Dad.”

Punz’s whole body relaxed and he shuffled forward. Kristin paused long enough to give him a side hug and hand him a knife to cut the bread with.

Purpled slept on, a little bubble of snot on his nose.

Chapter Text

“How’d they even find Puffy?” Purpled glared down the stairs, practically seething.

“Dream said we’d looped around this Kingdom back to where we were, like, seven months ago,” Ponk said.

“But that’s the question isn’t it?” Eret said, sitting a few stairs down with a lankly leg taking up the whole step. “She walked forever to find Dream in the first place, and then walked a whole extra week with him.”

Ant shrugged, looking mildly nervous at the quiet conversation happening the dining room he couldn’t quite make out. Skeppy was picking at the gems on his right arm, and Bad was popping his fingers nervously.

“They won’t let them take her, right?” Niki asked quietly, pressed up Quackity’s side, hiding under his wing and playing with the golden feathers.

Quackity didn’t answer.

Nobody did.

…

Puffy kept silent and still at the dinner table, blank face fixed carefully on the worn wood in front of her. Kristin was on her right at the head of the table, a hand laid on Puffy’s folded ones.

Phil was standing next to Kristin, arms folded tight over his chest and jaw set in way that had Puffy wondering if someone was going to die today.

Techno was leaning against the door that led to the kitchen, and Sam and Schlatt were on the window sill. Dream and Wilbur and had been in the room originally, but Phil had to force them out after they jumped as soon as the demand had first been given.

“I’m going to have to have you repeat what I clearly just heard,” Phil said, teeth grinding as he spoke, eyes alight with magic, watching out of the corner of his eye to make sure the boys didn’t come charging back in. “And through in a ‘why’ while you’re at it.”

The great lump of a woman that was about halfway down the great table, surrounded by members of her council, was all smiles, all too eager to repeat what she had said in greater definition.

Puffy had recognized her immediately as the human swine (no offense, Techno) that had been head of the council of her hometown, Sogah since she was a little girl. If it was humanly possible, the woman had gotten impossibly larger. Already she was soaked through with sweat from the walk from the carriage to the chair, her fine shirt patched through in several places.

“According to our records,” the obese woman said, running a hand over her moist forehead before rearranging to the documents in front of her, “Joseph Virium and his wife, Angelina, or Cara, Virium passed away several months ago. Their house was filed under a tax extension with the village and their property rightfully returned to the township’s ownership once news of the husband’s death reached us.” She gave Puffy a polite nod. “Our condolences.”

Puffy snorted quietly, not looking at her. “You’re a bit late.”

The woman’s mouth tightened and what was probably the oldest man alive shook a finger at Puffy, face pinched at the disrespectful tone. “Now see here—”

“Do not address my daughter,” Phil said quietly, firmly, in a tone that had the adults looking to him. “You will speak to me or my wife. No one else.”

The woman cleared her throat, a dribble of sweat peeling off her cheek and dripping into a growing puddle on the table. “We have come to discuss the return of Joseph and Angelina Virium’s daughter, Cara Virium, to her rightful custody.”

“And with who—” Phil’s voice was dead still, “—would that be?”

“With us.” The woman folded her sweaty palms neatly. “With the passing of her parents, according to the Child Protection Law of the Fourth Kingdom, clause three, subpage four, Miss Cara is the property of the village of Sogah until she has reached rightful age.”

Puffy’s jaw was clenched so tightly she was sure one of her molars was going to crack.

“Unfortunately,” Phil said in a way that told everyone he didn’t think it was so ‘unfortunate’ after all, “Mr. Virium wrote a will before he passed, naming me as only child’s godfather. I’m afraid the Kingdom has no right to dictate over wills written by the deceased.”

“Actually—” a very prim, snotty girl who over-exaggerated her constants and spoke as if she were speaking to a child, tapped a pile of paper with her dirt-encrusted fingernail, her greasy pigtails wiggling. “The Viriums were severely in debt. Their house and the land didn’t even scratch the surface of the moneys owed.” Her dull-eyed gaze raked over Puffy through inch-thick glasses, a slight grin pulling at her chapped lip to reveal yellowed teeth. “As stated by the law,” she gave her fellow council members on either side of her a smug, knowing look, dandruff fluttering down to her shoulders, “the child is to work off her parents’ debt.”

“So ya’ll went from ‘having proper custody of the child’ to ‘working the child to pay for a dead man’s debts,’ ” Kristin pointed out, patting her daughter’s hands. “What exactly are your true intentions with my child?”

The fat woman sent a sharp glare to the snotty girl. “Our intentions are to take care of the child and raise her in a way that would make her parents proud. Nothing more.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with the village lord, now does it?” Puffy’s question was quiet, but even Sam and Schlatt felt the damning honestly in her tone. Puffy’s golden eyes were fixed on the fat woman. “You know, the one that asked my father and mother to buy me in front of everyone at my tenth birthday since I was ‘of age’?”

The fat woman stuttered, the skinny priss busied herself with her precious papers, and the rest couldn’t look Puffy in the eye.

Puffy’s stomach boiled, a deep, wretched fury burning in her very bones. Her mother had been looked down upon for years in Sogah, and her father openly mocked for being a sailor and leaving his wife and child. Puffy and her mother had been outcasts and forced to live in a hovel by the village-people, and treated like common livestock when they went to town for food and supplies.

Puffy may have held her mother responsible for addictions, but she blamed some of it on the townspeople for pushing her mother that far.

“Young lady,” the old man said, standing up and jutting his chin. “You have a duty to fulfill for your parents. Good people are owed a lot of money by your parents, and they deserve payment for their goods and services. Be a good girl now and come with us.”

Puffy’s eye twitched as she met his gaze head-on. “No.”

The man’s face turned red, and the woman looked like a great bowl of cherry jello as she turned to listen to something one of her other council members were whispering.

“She does not get to speak on her own behalf anyways!” the prissy girl practically whined as loudly as she could in her fake Capitol accent, thrusting her lip out like she was five and pounding on her papers with her dirty finger. “She is property of our township!”

The old man turned to Phil, disregarding Puffy and Kristin entirely. “She belongs to us whether or not you want to accept the fact, now turn her over to us and we’ll be on our way.”

“Yes,” the fat woman said, setting her palms down the great puddle of sweat and heaving her massive body up. “Don’t make us bring the authorities in on this—we have the full side of the law.”

“You’re delusional if you think you’re walking of this house with my child,” Kristin said, getting to her feet as well to stand with her husband. Sam and Schlatt took her cue, easing forward into mildly threatening stances.

“She isn’t your anything,” the priss said snootily, flouncing up and hugging her stack of papers to her chest, pushing her thick glasses up her nose. “Technically she doesn’t even qualify as a person yet in the eyes of the township! That she still belongs to, by the way!” She shared another self-satisfied look with the council-member next to her, proud of her little speech.

“She belongs us, and we will be taking her with us tonight!” the old man smacked his fist on the table.

Techno started forward, ax in hand—Schlatt and Sam weren’t far behind—Phil raised his hand to prevent them from starting a slaughter—

They never had to act.

Puffy shot to her feet, slamming both hands on the table, eyes blazing a dark fury Phil had only ever seen in a full-grown demon’s soul.

“I belong to no one but myself!!

The council members actually took a step back, faces going slack with shock, the fat woman opening her mouth, probably to tell Phil to control the girl, but Puffy wasn’t anywhere near done.

“You have no right to dictate my life,” Puffy snapped, rage lining every angle of her body. “Not after you let me and my mother rot in that cage you called a home. Not after you let us starve season in and season out because we ‘weren’t worth the trouble.’ Weren’t those your exact words?”

She fixed her gaze on the fat woman. “The only reason you’re doing this is because the village lord offered you a reward to come get me, isn’t it? You don’t care about me, you never did. You care about what you can make off my hide selling me as a slave, you fat sad sack of lard.”

The woman actually took a step back, face turning a deep maroon red she was so offended.

“And you, you dirty little filthy snitch—” Puffy sneered at the priss. “Is it worth it? Is it? Is it really? Because I gotta know. How’s your revenge taste on the little kid the village lord had a thing for instead of your disgusting, bug-eyed, buck-toothed self. Take a shower once a week and maybe then your acne and all that dandruff wouldn’t be so bad.”

The girl hugged her papers tighter, crumbling most of them, mouth gaping as tears formed in the corner of her eyes.

“You little—” the old man started, but Puffy started on him next.

“Yeah, yeah,” Puffy said, rolling her eyes and making a gabbing motion with her hand. “ ‘Respect’ this and ‘respect’ that. Coming from the man that has slept with every single married and unmarried woman in Sogah for the past thirty years, while he was married, that’s rich. Where’s the respect for your wife? Not to mention you touching every little girl up and down like the vile piece of rotten flesh you are. Seriously man, just give up and die already. The world would be a better place of it. I can name twenty girls of the top of my head that would be happier at the bare minimum. How’s that child support working, by the way? Oh wait, that’s right, you don’t pay it because you’re a ‘married man.’ ”

Puffy wasn’t even out of breath. She locked eyes with each and every council member, letting them feel the weight of her righteous anger. “You go back and tell the town lord that you failed in dragging back a compliant little miss to slave her life away for him. Tell him to come back and get me himself, if he’s any inch a man. And tell him this—”

She leaned forward, biting off each word and dropping it like pieces of steal on a frozen floor, letting her hybrid magic glow in her golden eyes.

“If he wants so desperately to tame me and own me like the piece of livestock he thinks I am—” her horns curled around ears, eyes thinning to slits. Magic rippled in the air, tangible and thick enough to feel on the lips and burn the nose.

“I’ll rip his throat out with my bare hands and gut him with my horns.”

Phil laid a hand on Puffy’s shoulder, giving the council a look. “You should leave. I would suggest not coming back here because if she doesn’t fill out her threats—”

“We will.” Sam’s two quiet words might as well been a gavel’s pounding.

The council couldn’t leave the house fast enough, the fat woman actually falling and making a squishing sound as she rolled on the ground, a few of her members trampling her in their haste to get to the door before the priss helped her up and they scrambled away.

The carriage took off, leaving dust in its wake.

Puffy held still for a long time, drawing in shuddering breaths that shook her entire body. She didn’t really look at anything, her magic receding back into her body. it wasn’t until Phil laid a gentle hand on her shoulder did she break like so many pieces of a shattered mirror, turning into him and letting it all out.

Like she had months ago when she had crawled to him in the first place.

She didn’t see her siblings that had snuck into the foyer long before her tirade had begun, them having heard every word, eyes now wide and faces pale.

She didn’t hear them scamper away upstairs.

All she knew and felt was the splintering pain that was her own soul. She cried for her mom and dad that had died, one to a greater love than he had ever held for her and the other to a fake love when her mother’s love for her child hadn’t been enough. One that hadn’t tried at all to provide and had failed and one that had tried to so hard only to meet the same fate. She cried for the life she had had, and the life she never got with Joseph and Angelina.

She cried till there was nothing left, and she was a husk of herself.

Phil held her all the while, feeling the tears roll down his own face.

He said nothing.

He just held his baby girl.

…

“C’mon, honey—”

Puffy listened to her mother, peeling herself off her father and rubbing at her face. Kristin guided her to the stairs, an arm around her shoulders. Phil followed close behind, a faint smile pulling on his lips, knowing what was happening.

“What—?” Puffy paused with a knuckle in her eye, seeing the rose petals lining the hallway, little candle lit to light the dark hall.

Her siblings poked their heads out of their respective bedrooms, most wearing sheepish grins.

“We made you a surprise!” Niki said shyly, twisting in place.

Puffy hiccupped, letting Kristin push her towards the girls’ bathroom.

A tub had been set up, overflowing with bubbles and smelling like every flower that ever bloomed. The biggest, fluffiest towels the family owned (that Schlatt liked to hide for his own use) were set out for her, and music was playing softly. A stack of her favorite books was set up, all of Minx’s very best facial and hair products were lined neatly up.

“That’s not all of it!” Purpled pulled at her hand, yanking her away from Kristin and whipping her around to her bedroom.

They had decorated it.

Puffy’s bed had been done up like a queen’s throne, blankets hung from the ceiling around her bed. Everyone else had moved their beds to her room. Mattresses were sprawled all over the floor—she couldn’t actually see the floor anymore. Blankets and pillowed were cast over and around haphazardly, and the curtains had been drawn. Small glowing orbs of magic, probably Kristin’s doing, hung in the air, drifting around.

It was beautiful.

Puffy started crying again.

…

“He’s not going to come get her, is he?” Kristin asked, leaning against her husband with his hand resting on her hip as they watched the children sleep.

Puffy was on her throne, sharing with at least four kids, though Phil suspected there was two more in there somewhere. The rest of the kids were scattered where-ever they wished, though a fight had clearly broken out at some point at who got to guard the door.

As it happened, Techno was dozing peacefully and Ant had a scratch on his face.

“Sogah?” Phil shifted his weight to his other foot. “That’s east of here—pretty sure I had business that way anyway. Might wanna stop by and see what kinda man put a hit out on our little girl, don’t you think?”

Kristin’s teeth gleamed in the dim light. “Oh absolutely. Give him my regards as well, won’t you?”

Phil kissed her forehead before moving in for one on the lips. “Of course, my love.”

Kristin’s grin was all the answer he needed.

Chapter Text

Jack was unaware how cold it could be being a blaze in the overworld.

He shivered under his covers, the old chill from his street days knitting a sweater around his spine. Morning peaked over the mountains of the current town Phil decided to nest in with his brood, poking at Jack’s face through the curtains. Jack had watched the cursed ball of hot fire rise, wishing he could sleep on its surface instead of in this weird closet thing Kristin had explained was for new children who needed space from the others while they adjusted to such a large family. 

He crawled out of the blankets, flinching at the cold air and rubbing his shoulders, curling his toes against the hardwood floor. He couldn’t even feel how cold the floor was, his feet were so numb. He rubbed his arms, trying to get some blood to his fingertips and practically crawled his way into a hoodie he was pretty sure belonged to Techno. Or was it Bad? He honestly had no idea, but it was his now till he lost it to one of his new siblings. 

He inched down the stairs, noting the quietness. Apparently nobody here was an early riser. Jack had always had to be, to get moving before the town soldiers went through the streets and cleared the homeless to make room for the daily workers. 

The smell of food made his stomach rumble the closer he got to the kitchen. Bacon and eggs. Oatmeal. 

He ghosted his way to the kitchen, following the smell of literal heaven. Kristin had her back to him, cooking on the stove, humming a soft song. It was warmer here, and Jack felt the frost start to melt as he inched closer and closer to the stove. 

“Don’t touch that, honey.” A hand on the top of his head, stopping him just before he touched the open flame. He whimpered and laid his head on her side. She ruffled his hair before going back to chopping onions and peppers for omelets. “What’re you doing up so early?” 

“Cold,” Jack muttered, reveling in the heat from the stove. Maybe she wouldn’t notice if he only touched one finger—

She snatched his hand with expert practice and chuckled. “There’s nothing you can try that Purpled hasn’t already made a grand effort.” 

Jack pouted, yawning and settling for standing two inches from the fire. 

The door to the outside opened and he flinched at the icy air rushing in as Phil stepped in and stomped his boots off. “Cows nearly froze to death,” Phil said, not seeing Jack right away. “Gonna have Sapnap sleep out there one of these nights, I swear. Make the kid earn his keep.” 

Jack’s eyes widened. Phil wouldn’t dare—

“Shush, love,” Kristin said, putting some dirty bowls in the sink and turning on the water. “You’ll scare Jack.” 

Phil saw Jack for the first time, hiding behind Kristin as much as he could. “Hey mate. I don’t mean it.” He chuckled, falling into a chair tiredly. “Can’t take him away from George anyway.” 

“What do you want more, the cows or George?” Kristin asked with a smile, pushing Jack towards a chair and setting a plate of hot food in front of him. 

Phil sighed. “If I answer that truthfully, I’ll go to jail.” 

“I knew you didn’t love me.” 

George appeared at the bottom of the stairs, hair defying gravity every which way, and draped himself over Phil’s shoulder. Jack knew for a fact that wasn’t his shirt either, and wondering if this whole family just had a giant communal clothes pile.

“ Two early birds,” Kristin remarked, filling a plate for Phil. “Fate herself is rewriting history.” 

“Three,” George said at the stomping down the stairs, flopping into his own chair. Sam appeared, bleary-eyed and clearly not awake by any definition. 

“What are all three of you doing up at this hour?” Phil asked, sipping his coffee. His wings visibly relaxed with the hot liquid, snow drifting off the dark feathers. 

Sam blinked, processing the question at the speed of a half-dead snail. “Schlatt snores.” He finally settled on before dropping his head on the table and yawning so hard his gunpowder clicked in the back of his throat.

“Dream kicked me in the kidneys trying to get Sapnap in the middle,” George whined through a mouthful of eggs. “Thought he needed the glorified space heater even though I’m the one with the disability.” 

Jack looked up at. “Sapnap’s a hot sleeper?” 

“He’s a blaze,” Kristin explained. “Blazes sleep hotter at night because they’re relaxed and less in control of their fire.” 

Then why am I freezing to death? Jack didn’t say anything though. He didn’t want to put Sapnap out, considering the Dream Team already had three to a bed. 

Techno came down then, fully dressed and hair done and the only one besides Kristin looking like he was alive. Even Phil had the ‘I got out of bed because I had to’ look to him. Techno stopped in the doorway, squinting his eyes suspiciously at the three siblings at the table. 

“You make a better door than you do a doorway. Move.” 

He kept going, Minx and Puffy filing down behind him, both put together and dressed. The girls raised their eyebrows while Techno just looked incredulous. 

“I know,” Phil said, raising his coffee cup in a half-cheer. “George got up before noon. It’s a miracle.” 

“Fate herself probably intervened,” Puffy snorted, grabbing her cloak off of what Jack assumed was her chair at the table. “Me and Techno are gonna go spar.” 

“I’m going hunting with Ant,” Minx said, rolling her shoulders. “His Royal Highness thinks it’s better to do it at the butt-crack of dawn when the littles are still asleep and can’t bother us.”

“Where is Ant?” Kristin peered around her kids, looking up the stairs. 

“Skeps shoved him out a window.” 

Kristin stared and Minx smiled wide, running for the door before her mother could say anything. 

Jack went back to his bacon sighed as his stomach stretched comfortably. Maybe if he just ate more he wouldn’t be so cold.

…

Jack’s theory was proven terribly wrong. He ate and ate and ate at dinner, but all that got him was a stomachache added to his shivers. 

He whined, flopping on his back and wishing there was a nether portal somewhere in the house he could just dive into and go sleep there for a while. Lava sounded like such a wonderful alternative to a shower—

He didn’t realize he was standing at the Dream Team’s door before his knuckles were just brushing the wood and he closed his eyes, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

He couldn’t . 

Everyone had already been so nice to him. He couldn’t ask for more than what they had already given him. 

…

“Are you okay, Jack?”

Ponk tossed a glance over his shoulder. Niki was riding with Techno, giving Jack a worried glance. The newest addition was paler than new milk in the cold light of the noon winter day, but he still smiled and nodded at Niki, looking for the world perfectly fine. 

“Is mini-Sapnap gonna make it?” he asked Eret, the taller boy leading today’s expedition of ‘get these kids out of my house before I lose my mind’ from Kristin. 

Eret could only shrug. “I don’t know. He’s a blaze—he might be a little cold since it’s winter.” 

“But Sapnap’s never complained about it being too cold. If anything he complains about being hot all year around.” 

“Sapnap complains about everything.” 

“—good point.” 

…

The floor was so cold . It had been a whole week of staring at a door he knew he would never knock on and Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He curled up next to it in the hallway, hugging his knees to his chest and crying into his sweatpants he had stolen at some point from Purpled. He thought living with a family would be different than on the streets, but here he sat, alone and shivering and so very, very cold. 

He didn’t know how long he was there before someone tapped their knuckles on his head. 

“Oi. Niki’s pet. What’re you doing?” 

Jack looked up through teary eyes and sniffled at Punz. “What’s it to you?” He couldn’t hide the resentment in his voice, even though Punz had nothing to do with his cold. 

“You’re crying in my hallway at two am.” 

Jack sniffled again, not having it. “I don’t see your name on it. Free country, man. I can sleep where I want.” 

Punz rolled his eyes. “I have things to do, like sleep. .Are you okay or not?” 

“Yeah. Go ‘way.” 

“If I didn’t believe Purpled the last time this happened, I’m not believing you.” 

Jack yelped as Punz reached for him, hauling him up before stopping abruptly. Punz frowned, Jack trying to wiggle out of his grip before setting a palm on his forehead. Jack went still, reveling in the light heat from Punz’s human hand. 

“Sheesh, kid, why didn’t you say something?”

Jack made a questioning sound, Punz checking his pulse with calloused fingers. Punz cursed out some Ancient, shoving Jack under his arm like an unruly cat so he couldn’t run away and shoving the door open Jack had been staring at for a week. 

Dream, George, and Sapnap’s room was bigger than Jack thought it was, and so was the bed. Punz hauled Jack over to the far side of the mattress, the side facing the window, grabbing a forgotten pillow from the floor and smacking someone in the head with it. 

Sapnap groaned, but didn’t do much else. 

“Stupid corpse,” Punz grumbled under his breath. He let Jack go, but not before hissing ‘stay’ in his face before pushing and yanking at the blankets. “You’re lucky he’s sleeping on this side.” Jack squeaked again as Punz shoved him into the bed and two very hot arms wrapped around his chest. 

“There,” Punz sighed, exasperated. “How do I know baby blazes need to sleep with their parents and Phil doesn't?”

Baby blazes need to do what? 

“Punz.” Jack flinched at Dream’s annoyed voice. “If that’s Purpled again —” 

“Jack’s colder than the north pole, grouchy. Shut up.” 

A long pause. “Get out. It’s, like, three am.” 

“It’s actually two.” 

“Out, or I tell Minx you stole her conditioner.” 

Punz put his hands up in surrender, leaving the room without a sound and closing the door quietly behind him. 

Jack stared off into dead space for a long time, basking in the warmth of another blaze. No wonder Dream and George insisted on sharing a bed—this was great. It felt like he was tucked up against a fireplace, feeling the heat on all sides and seeping into his bones. 

He fell asleep like that, exhausted, but warm . 

…

“How did you not know?” 

Jack stirred, unwilling to wake up. He wanted to sleep , for crying out loud. 

“Blazes need to imprint on their own.” That sounded like Phil. “Interfering in the process can mess with their psyche.” 

“He was freezing. ”

“He thought he was. It’s almost physically impossible for blazes to freeze to death, not with a rod of molten metal in their chest.” 

“You knew all this?”

“I knew Jack had to do this on his own.” 

"What about Sapnap?

"Sapnap's--special."

A snort. "You could say that again."

"Best I can figure, Sapnap's blaze side knew George needed him. Jack didn't have that and was supposed to do this part by himself." 

“Yeah, and Punz screwed it up at three am.” A different voice, still as grouchy as he was when Punzy woke him up. 

“Two.” 

“Three.” 

“Shut up.” Jack gave Phil the stink-eye. “I wanna sleep.” 

“Sapnap has training, mate.” 

“Don’t care.” 

“So I can use him to get out of training for the next month?” Sapnap was awake. 

Jack looked over his shoulder to see Sapnap partially sitting up, resting against the bed board, a hot hand on Jack’s shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere.” 

Sapnap grinned at Phil. “This is great.” 

Phil sighed, but ruffled Jack’s hair. “Fine. Catch up on some sleep, mate.” 

Jack did just that, throwing a hissy fit if Sapnap left at any point, even to use the restroom. It took almost a full month for the cold in his chest to dissipate. 

It never came back. 

Chapter Text

“Hold still, Tubbo—”

Tommy yawned, watching Kristin, who was apparently Phil’s wife, as she worked through Tubbo’s wings with a gentleness Tommy had forgotten existed.

He wanted to do it himself, but Kristin had insisted he rest, and he could watch if he wanted. Tommy had pouted, but seeing as he could barely hold himself upright, he really couldn’t protest.

Tubbo didn’t really seem to mind.

Tommy sat on a chair cross-legged, freshly cleaned up from a bath and stomach full for the first time in much too long. Tubbo was clean too, hair fluffier than Tommy remembered. Tubbo had gotten a healing potion, watered down and flavored with cherry syrup, and now both were heavily drowsily.

Kristin began to hum, and Tommy felt his whole body relax. Phil had said something about phoenixes being sensitive to music, and he had to agree. The soft tune thrummed into his very bones, even though Kristin’s tone was barely above a whisper.

“You can lay down, Tommy,” Kristin said kindly, grabbing a brush.

“No,” Tommy said stubbornly. “Not until Tubbo’s done.”

“I’m okay, Big Man,” Tubbo said, knowing deep-down in his birdy bones that Kristin wasn’t going to hurt him. He sat cross-legged at the edge of the bed, leaning slightly forward on his elbows on his knees. “I’m not gonna go nowhere.”

Tommy snorted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought last time. You’re not leaving my sight.”

Tubbo huffed, but didn’t complain. He had missed Tommy’s brashness, but having him follow him literally everywhere around the house had been frustrating at the least.

But he could understand.

Tommy had been helpless for too long, watching his best friend and brother be beaten and starved and unable to do anything about it.

“You’re sure you two aren’t twins?” Kristin asked playfully, petting Tubbo’s wings as she finished up.

“Nope!” Tubbo said. “I don’t think the world could have handled that.”

Kristin laughed, and Tommy decided that was his new favorite sound, outside of Tubbo’s own goofy giggles.

“I think you’re all done, sweet,” Kristin said, and Tubbo stretched, flaring his wings.

Tommy eyed them critically. Tubbo had never once, in his life, had his wings properly taken care of. His parents were of no help, and Tommy’s instincts were only good for so much. It would take a long time before they were anywhere close to Wilbur or Phil’s glory. Tommy’s own feathers had gotten to cheat, having been reborn in fire.

But Tubbo’s wings already looked a hundred times better and Tubbo looked beyond relieved. He flapped them a few times, slapping Tommy in the face with a gust of air, and sighed contentedly. He didn’t fold them after that, but let them flop right there.

Tubbo had told Tommy about the box, about how he had been unable to even uncross his arms, how his whole body had been folded in on itself.

Tommy figured it would be a long time before Tubbo willingly folded his wings.

“Ready for bed then?” Kristin asked, running a comb through Tubbo’s fluffy mop a few times for good measure.

Tubbo yawned in answer, and Tommy followed suit. “Now you got me doing it,” he grumped, but Tubbo rolled his eyes.

“You’re exhausted too, dingus.”

Kristin shook her head at their antics and scooted Tubbo off the bed so she could lift the covers. “C’mon, sleepyheads. In you go.”

Tommy saw the way Tubbo hesitated at the dark cave made by the blankets, saw the way his wings twitched ever so slightly and his arms tensed.

“Me first,” he shoved Tubbo, not hard, but enough to get him out of the way so he could get jump in the bed. He curled up on his side, wings neatly folded, and looked up at Tubbo expectantly.

Tubbo, hesitantly, followed gingerly. He still didn’t close his wings, left them splayed out behind them as Kristin gently laid the comforter down on them.

“There we go,” she said softly, smoothing their bangs away from their faces and cupping their cheeks. “Everything okay?”

Tommy nodded, wrapped his arms around Tubbo. Tubbo didn’t respond, and Tommy knew he couldn’t wait till she left.

They hadn’t been alone, just the two of them, for months.

Months too long.

Kristin finished fluffing the blankets up, hit the light, and gave them a small smile before she left, leaving the door open a crack to send a sliver of light into the room so they weren’t completely submerged into the dark.

Tubbo went limp, letting out a stuttering breath.

“Doing okay?” Tommy asked, kicking the blanket a bit so it settled the way he wanted it to.

“Yeah—now,” Tubbo exhaled, snuggling closer. “My wings itch.”

“That’s cuz they’re finally clean,” Tommy pointed out.

Tubbo wrinkled up his nose. “I don’t like it. Is there a puddle outside or something?”

“I don’t think Kristin would like that very much,” Tommy said.

Tubbo shrugged and hummed.

They sat like that for a while, listening to the other breathe, feeling the beat of the other’s heart.

Tubbo was the one who finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do nothin’,” Tommy said, knowing immediately what he was talking about.

“That’s the thing though,” Tubbo said, voice just a bit damp. “I didn’t do anything. I sat there, useless—”

“Hey—” Tommy pushed Tubbo back a bit so he could look him in the eye. “It wasn’t your fault. None of that was your fault.”

“But—” and here Tubbo felt the tears form.

“No.” Tommy pulled Tubbo back to him, wrapping his arms tight around him and letting his heat flare up a bit to warm up the cool sheets. “No buts or anything dumb like that. It happened, and it’s done. We’re gonna grow up and move on. We’re gonna be big men, and nobody’s ever gonna mess with us again. We’ll never have to be scared.”

Tubbo fell asleep to Tommy’s words, wrapped up safe in his best friend’s arms, listening him spin tales of how they were going to be princes and presidents and important people. How they were gonna rule the world and be more powerful than the Ancients, and how they were going to have the biggest house ever and nobody was going to tell them how to live.

How they would be safe.

Little did the two avians know how safe they truly were.

Chapter Text

Eret smiled at the little ginger-haired baby in his arms, rocking him carefully in the old rocking chair Kristin had bought a few years back. The little hybrid was all wrapped up in Wilbur’s old baby blanket, snug and warm and asleep. His face was slightly flushed, but at least he was finally asleep.

Eret leaned his head back against the rickety chair and let his thoughts drift.

Wilbur didn’t like sharing the tiny baby he saw as ‘his,’ but the avian was out on a camping trip with Ranboo, T-Squared, Techno and Phil.

The colicky baby needed someone to watch him and Kristin was busy with Alyssa. Eret had volunteered.

Eret let himself slip into the Sight and Looked at Fundy’s Light. It was just as small as the baby himself, but healthy and bright. It flickered and responded to Eret’s magic, but it seemed distracted.

It’s looking for Wilbur.

Eret knew that immediately. It made him smile how quickly Wilbur had imprinted on the baby. How quickly the baby had come to rely on him and love him unconditionally.

Eret had found the young hybrid adorable, and was drawn to him as quickly as Wilbur—but Wilbur didn’t want to share. Wilbur was doing a wonderful job of raising the baby—Phil and Kristin hardly ever had to help with him with feedings and changings and they were talking about seeing if Fundy’s crib could be moved to Wilbur and Techno’s room.

Eret just wished Wilbur would let him help more.

Phil defended Wilbur, calling it “mother-hen” instincts from his hybrid side. He was always patient and kind about it, telling Eret that it wasn’t him and that Wilbur was just being defensive and there wasn’t much the avian teen could do about it. He had made Wilbur share a bit, and Eret appreciated it.

Eret understood—he really did. He knew what it was like to have something that he didn’t want to share, something that he wanted to protect from everyone and everything.

But for now, Eret didn’t have to share—he could have his turn holding the small bundle.

Just for tonight.

Chapter Text

Wilbur groaned as Tubbo yanked on his shirt for the hundredth time.

“But you promised,” the baby avian whined, tugging harder and pulling Wilbur’s collar tight around his throat. “You promised to take us to the petting zoo!”

And Wilbur had promised—earlier that week when he didn’t have a growing sinus infection from all the pollen in the air. His inhaler and allergy meds had run out two days ago and their parents hadn’t had time to get new ones yet. His face was puffy and swelled up, and everything in general from the neck up hurt.

Wilbur rubbed a finger between his eyes, the idea of breathing in all the hay and animal fur making him want to cry. He just wanted to take a fork to his eyeballs and pass out in the dark.

“Tubbo—”

“You’ve put this off for a whole week!” Purpled chimed in, Tommy nodding furiously.

Wilbur grit his teeth, trying to be nice. Tommy and Tubbo had only been here a few months—he didn’t want to snap at them so soon. Well, he didn’t want to snap at all, but it was bound to happen at one point.

“And one more day isn’t going to hurt,” Wilbur tried to placate, only for Tommy to tilt his head back and whine. The sound grated on Wilbur’s ears and rippled down his spine.

“Tommy—”

Tommy ignored him, running from the room with the other two close behind.

Wilbur’s stomach sank a bit, knowing they were going to go tattle on him to Phil or Kristin.

He tried to understand—he did. Tommy and Tubbo were acting out like normal kids who weren’t raised in a proper home where they would have been taught to regulate their emotions. They knew they were safe here, so they acted out in the exact opposite way they would have back at their orphanage or the Count’s.

They threw the loudest tantrums ever.

Purpled latched onto their chaotic energy and copied it, much to the chagrin of the older kids in the house.

Wilbur sank onto the couch, hiding his face in a pillow and willing the growing headache away. Of course Puffy would have decided the day was the day to open all the windows and clean the downstairs, flinging dust up everywhere and letting the humid air in.

He kept the groan quieter this time when he heard his mother come into the room. Kristin didn’t do well in the heat, and it tended to make her temper just a little bit shorter. Being disrespectful would get him nothing in this situation.

“Wilbur—”

He slowly opened his eyes, giving his mother a tired look. She gave him a just as equally tired, but more disappointed, look. “Did you promise?”

“Yeah he did—!” Tommy started.

“I didn’t ask you, Tommy,” Kristin said gently, and Tommy snapped his mouth shut.

“I did promise,” Wilbur said, pacing his words. “But they’re gonna have to wait until my head doesn’t feel like my brain was replaced with a cactus.”

“Did you take any medicine for it?”

Wilbur screwed up his nose. Kristin’s homemade medicine tasted like bitter raspberries and honestly, while it worked, Wilbur would rather wait out his headache. “No—”

“Then go take some, and get ready. You promised, Wilbur,” Kristin said, attempting to run her hand through Wilbur’s curls.

Wilbur tilted his head out of the way and stood just a bit roughly to his feet. “No Mum. I’m not going today. Waiting isn’t going to kill them.”

Tubbo let out a screech, and Purpled pouted, crossing his arms. Tommy let a stream of offended curses, and Kristin shot him a look.

“Watch your language, young man,” she warned, before giving her attention back to Wilbur. “We don’t make flippant promises in this house, especially to those we love,” she said in a tone Wilbur all-too-well recognized as her stern, ‘don’t argue with me’ voice. “Take your medicine and, if you have to, go a bit later once it’s kicked in. But you are going today.”

Tommy’s smug face made Wilbur want to drop-kick the kid. Resentment burned in his stomach. “No, I’m not.”

“Wilbur—”

“Mummmm—”

“It’s not fair!”

“He’s being mean—”

Wilbur refused to budge an inch, despite the look of his mother’s face while the three children battered both of them with whining and complaining.

Kristin attempted to quiet the kids, but they were too far set in their fits to just give up now.

“He does this all the time and gets away with it!”

“Why does he just get to decide we’re not worth it?!”

“He did this last week too!”

Wilbur’s head pounded, and his heart contracted at the look Kristin was giving him. The ‘you’re grounded,’ ‘I’m so tired,’ and ‘I’m disappointed’ look all mushed into one. She didn’t need his stubbornness today. Not with Ranboo upstairs sleeping off a really bad Ender fit, George sick again, and Ant having growing pains in his legs.

Not to mention their landlord was coming tomorrow, and Phil was uptown getting Bad, Techno, and Charlie new glasses after Niki’s practice Singing had shattered both the lenses and the windows in the living room.

But why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t Dream do it? Dream was off messing with Schlatt somewhere he probably wasn’t supposed to be. Even Sapnap was reasonably responsible when it came to the little kids. Sam! Sam loved babysitting. Why couldn’t Wilbur just be left alone for once?!

He snapped. “Just shut up!”

The kids froze at Wilbur’s yell, and Kristin’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Can you lot not be annoying for once?!” Wilbur kept going, not caring he was digging his grave. “Everything’s not all about you!”

He ignored Tommy’s wings puffing up to hide Tubbo behind him, Purpled’s anxious pulling at his hoodie sleeves, the growing horror on Kristin’s face with what he was saying.

“You’re not even my real family!”

Wilbur inhaled sharply as soon as the words left him.

Purpled’s hands were clamped over his mouth, tears forming in his eyes. Tommy’s eyes widened with shock, then hardened as he pushed Tubbo out the door, snagging Purpled’s sleeve as they ran.

Wilbur panted through his nose, refusing to meet his mother’s eyes.

“Go to your room.” Quiet words, spoken with the weight of the moon.

Wilbur didn’t need to be told twice.

He ran up the stairs, brushing past Puffy and almost toppling Jack. He slammed the door to his and Techno’s room, collapsing on his bed face-first and feeling the blessed darkness and cool sheets swallow his aching head.

He had gotten what he wanted, but at what cost?

…

Wilbur woke with a start, heart pounding and sweat on his forehead. Everything rushed back to him in an instant—the yelling, the headache, the damning words leaving his lips and his little brothers running from the room.

Shouting, outside his and Techno’s door.

“Dad, don’t—!”

“Tommy—”

“He didn’t mean it!”

“Tubbo, I’m only—”

“Please!”

Wilbur got off his bed, more and more confused, and stumbled to the door. His dad opened it before he even took two steps, and Wilbur was left to stand awkwardly in the middle of his own room.

Phil gave him a confused, yet still rather stern, look.

It would have been more intimidating if Tommy and Tubbo weren’t clinging to his pants. Purpled was there too, hiding behind Kristin.

“Uh, hi dad—” Wilbur said, kinda sheepishly, avoiding looking at the avians.

“Tommy, Tubbo—I need you to go with Mum,” Phil said, adverting his attention to the burs. “I just need to talk with Wilbur.”

“Don’t hurt him!” Tommy shrieked, not letting go.

Phil went rigid with that, and Wilbur went stock-still.

“What?” Phil asked, kneeling down so he could be eye-level. Tubbo dove into his embrace, and Tommy struggled to speak, spluttering over words and getting only nonsense out.

“They think you’re going to hit Wilbur,” Purpled said quietly. “For being mean to us.”

Realization flickered on Phil’s face before he turned back to the avians. “Hey—” he put a hand on Tommy’s cheek, rubbing Tubbo’s back. “I’m not going to hit Wilbur.”

“You can’t take dinner away either!” Tommy said, as if expecting Phil’s answer. “He didn’t mean it!”

“I’m not gonna take his food away,” Phil said kindly, patiently. “I was just gonna have a talk about how we do our best not to say mean things, even when we’re hurting on the inside.”

Wilbur caught Phil’s side-eye, and decided it was best to keep his mouth shut this time around.

“But—” Tubbo sniffled and sat up, Phil still keeping a hand around his back as the baby braced himself off his dad’s chest. “We were yelling too and being insensi—insesi—insestave—mean. It just wasn’t Wilbur!”

“I know,” Phil said, patting Tubbo’s back. “I was gonna talk with you three after too. I thought I’d start with Wilbur first since he’s older and should know better.”

“No!” Tommy said, breathless with bright cheeks. “You talk with us here!”

“Okay,” Phil said, and Wilbur could see the surprise on the kids’ faces that Phil agreed so easily. Phil adjusted so he was sitting on the ground, letting Tubbo curl up against him and waving a hand for Purpled to come join him.

“Wilbur—” Phil said, and Wilbur took that as his cue to sit down too, back against the dresser. “What do you do when you’ve got one of your headaches?”

“Take medicine, even if it’s the homemade stuff,” Wilbur said, grimacing inwardly at just the thought of the nasty potion.

“You take care of yourself,” Phil corrected, but nicely. “And do we ever mouth off or yell at Mum?”

“No,” Wilbur said immediately, sending an apologizing look to his mother.

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t deserve disrespect.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my mom and only wants me to be safe and happy and protected. She doesn’t do things or make me do things to be mean or spiteful. She has my best interest at heart.”

“Exactly,” Phil said, smiling softly. “Now apologize for yelling at her.”

“I’m sorry for yelling, Mum,” Wilbur said it, and he meant it.

“Now boys—” Phil adjusted so he could see his other three sons easier. “Are we allowed to yell in the house?”

“No,” Tubbo said instantly, sending a blamey look Tommy’s way.

“Why?”

“Because it’s rude to the neighbors and sometimes our brothers and sisters get headaches or don’t sleep and we need to be nice to them,” Purpled said, flicking a glance at Wilbur.

“That’s right,” Phil said. “You lot woke Ranboo up with your screaming and he had a panic attack that Mum couldn’t deal with because she was busy trying to get you guys under control. Dream and Sam had to hold him down on the bed because he tried to claw at them when they caught him trying to jump out a window.”

Tommy turned white as a sheet, and Tubbo made a worried noise and tried to get up, but Phil held him down. “He’s fine now,” Phil said. “But all four of you are going to apologize to him later and make up to him for it.”

Purpled swallowed and nodded, and Tommy looked horrified. Tubbo looked like he wanted to cry.

“And do we throw temper tantrums when we don’t get our way?” Phil continued, looking to all four of them.

“No,” Wilbur answered first.

“Why?”

“Because it doesn’t accomplish anything,” Purpled said. “It just makes the other person mad, and now everyone’s mad, and nothing gets done.”

“Because temper tantrums never solve anything,” Phil added on. “Yelling and screaming and throwing fits over something that’s ‘not fair’ or not our own way doesn’t do anything but make everything worse. Instead, we try to fix it politely and logically instead of letting our emotions control what we say and do. We control our emotions, not the other way around. It’s hard sometimes, and takes a lot of practice, but it’s still something we have to do.”

Wilbur felt sick to his stomach as he fiddled with the hem of his shirt, knowing Phil wasn’t done. He knew Phil would never hurt him, or deny food or clothing or anything like that, but the disappointment that would be directed his way—Wilbur would almost rather take a switch to the back.

“Wilbur—”

Wilbur flinched automatically at the tone. He looked up through his bangs, knowing Phil would wait till he was looking at him.

“I’m not even going to repeat what you said,” Phil said, very, very serious. “But I need you to tell me why we don’t say those words.”

Wilbur swallowed. “Because family isn’t decided by blood or names. It’s decided by love and choice.”

Phil nodded, and Wilbur kept going.

“It doesn’t matter if someone was born into a family, or if they were picked off the side of the road,” he said, finally actually looking at his brothers. His baby brothers. “They’re family because we love them, and no matter what else, that is enough.”

Tommy shot forward, lurching into Wilbur’s lap and latching onto his chest. Tubbo and Purpled piled on, and Wilbur wrapped his arms around them, bringing his wings up and around. He could feel Purpled’s heartbeat on his arm, and Tommy was getting snot on his sweater. Tubbo’s feathers were digging into his legs, and their weight was a little too much to take all at once.

But Wilbur didn’t care.

He held them tight, willing every little bit of love he could into that hold.

They were willing to get in Phil’s way to stop him from hurting me.

Wilbur buried his nose in Tommy’s hair, thanking the Ancients above that they hadn’t run away or done anything stupid because of what he had said. He willed within himself to never say those words again, to anyone.

Family isn’t blood or names, but love and choice.

Chapter Text

Fundy skipping along, clinging to Wilbur’s hand. Wilbur hummed softly, singing a few lines every now and then to the sea shanty Puffy liked to sing the other kids to bed with.

Fundy hummed along too, not knowing a single note, just happy to have some along time with his favorite sibling. The woods around their new house were thick, with plenty of berry bushes and deer trails.

Kristin had let some of the older kids take the babies out for some fresh air, and Wilbur could hear Tommy’s distant chattering with Sam. If he focused really hard with his avian hearing, he could hear Ranboo’s nervous Ender chitters as Techno led him along.

“He has grown.”

Fundy yelped loudly as Wilbur scooped him up and whipped around, squeezing the toddler tight to his chest, wings roaring out behind him.

“You need to know no fear from us.”

Two girls, standing side by side on the trail. One had white hair to her waist left loose to waft in the wind, white dress pooling at her bare feet. The other had cropped black hair that curled around her ears, purple dress that coming to her knees with gold embroidery.

“Who are you?” Wilbur said, backing up a step, eyes darting back down the trail towards the house. He’d never make it. He could scream, but Techno wasn’t faster than an Ancient, and Fundy was right here.

“We are the students of Fate,” the one in white said.

“Destiny and Prophecy?” Wilbur said, inching back some more as Fundy clung to his collar, wide-eyed. Even the toddler knew these two beings were not to trifled with. Nobody knew much about the twins taken in by Fate—not the priests of Fate’s temples, or the textbooks that claimed to be experts on the Ancients. They were a mystery, a shadowed page among the pages of Ancient history.

“We are.” Spoken in eerie tandem, knowing eyes unblinking.

Wilbur swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Why are you here?”

Both pointed their left hands at Fundy. “That child was spared, and he has been marked. By whom, we cannot know. Why, we do not understand. We offer this warning.”

Their irises lit up, soft power seeping from the corners of their eyes. “A great magic is over his head—magic long thought dead. When the time comes—do not fight this magic.”

“I’m not giving him up,” Wilbur said, squeezing the toddler a little tighter, trying to keep his heart from pounding so wildly so Fundy wouldn’t hear. “Not now, not ever.”

“You must. You will, or the child will die.”

Wilbur’s stomach turned to lead—his tongue felt too big for his mouth.

“When the time comes, give the child up.”

Between one thought and the next, the Ancients vanished.

Wilbur clung to Fundy, hands shaking and knees trembling in fear. He yelled for Techno and Sam, and his brothers came crashing through the underbrush, their charges close behind. Neither one knew what to make of the warning, and even Phil was left shaking his head.

Wilbur slept with Fundy’s cradle next to his bed for a month after that, worriedly watching the toddler that had no idea what was coming.

Chapter Text

Foolish didn’t get sick often, but when he did, he really did. 

“He’s got enough snot down his shirt to make a candle,” Purpled pointed out helpfully, perched on the back of one of the couches, a safe distance away. 

“Thank you for the mental image.” Punz picked the kid up, not wanting him to get sick with whatever mutated disease Foolish was currently sneezing all over the living room. 

Foolish breathed heavily once, then rolled over onto his stomach and moaned a soft cry that sounded like Puffy’s name, but no one could really tell. 

“Who wants to tell the drama-baby Puffy’s not here?” Ponk whispered from the stairs that led up to the bedrooms, staring at Foolish with the uttermost look of disgust. 

“You guys are so mean,” Tubbo nearly kicked Ponk in the head as he charged down the stairs. He knelt next to the couch, patting Foolish’s head. “He’s sick, for crying out loud.”

“If you get sick, you’re not sleeping—-ack!” Tommy actually did kick Ponk in the head as he tripped down the stairs chasing after Tubbo. 

Ponk started chasing Tommy with a vengeance and a curse, and Tubbo rolled his eyes. 

Punz hefted Purpled into a fire-fighter carry. “I’m not getting sick again. The last time Foolish shared , I couldn’t move.” 

Tubbo stuck his tongue out and patted Foolish’s head again. Foolish didn’t even know it was him, mumbling at least six of Tubbo’s brothers and two of his sisters, Wilbur twice for some reason in a haze of delirium. 

Tubbo curled up under the blanket with him, letting the sweaty kid rest on his chest. Foolish was soaked through, and so was Tubbo’s shirt in under a second. 

“Oh honey—” 

Tubbo blinked up confusedly. “Mumza?”

Kristin smiled down at him. “You’re gonna get sick, kiddo.” 

Tubbo felt the couch lines on his face, and his arm was asleep past the point of pins and needles. He must’ve fallen asleep. 

“He needed cuddles though,” Tubbo said. “And the twins wouldn’t help him and you guys were gone and Puffy was gone—” 

“It’s okay, Tubbo,” Kristin said, tilting Foolish’s head to get a better look at his still-flushed face. “You did the right thing.”

Tubbo yawned and nestled back into the blanket, feeling Foolish mutter something about sand and a statue. 

…

Yes, Tubbo was sick within three days. 

No, he didn’t regret his decision. 

Chapter Text

Wilbur growled under his breath and slapped his pillow.

It, shockingly, did not magically help him fall asleep.

Outside, the stars and moon twinkled at him, almost teasing him. It had to be close to two in the morning. Wilbur had been tossing and turning for hours, unable to even fall asleep for a little bit before the insomnia had kept him awake.

Already knowing where the night was going, Wilbur groaned and got to his feet, wings folding tightly to his back so he didn’t hit anything in the dark.

He quietly slipped out of his and Techno’s room and glided down the hallway to Tommy and Tubbo’s beds.

The baby avians were bundled together in Tommy’s mass of blankets that constituted as a rough-shod nest, clung together as though they’d die without the other. Tommy’s face was slack, and Tubbo had little string of drool working it’s way down his chin.

Wilbur scooped them both up with practiced ease. Tubbo didn’t wake up, but Tommy did. He stiffened against Wilbur, a small whimper making its way out of his sleep-clogged throat.

“Easy,” Wilbur soothed, holding both close.

At the sound of his older brother’s voice, Tommy went right back to sleep, cream-colored wings fluttering for half a second before stilling.

Tubbo might as well of been a dead body.

Wilbur got the two back to his and Techno’s room and promptly dropped Tommy on Techno’s bed.

“Really?” Techno, who had been awake this whole time, snorted as the kid immediately latched onto his arm with the clear intention of not letting go anytime soon.

“You have insomnia too and you know it,” Wilbur whispered, taking Tubbo back to his own bed.

“And having a kicking brat is gonna fix it?” Techno asked, even as he rearranged himself and his blanket to make room for the little avian.

“Yes.”

Wilbur already felt the drowsiness trying to swallow him as Tubbo curled so tightly against him he might as well have been trying to claw into Wilbur’s ribcage.

He pulled the blanket up over both of them and arranged his and Tubbo’s wings so they wouldn’t get stuck or stiff by morning.

He was only slightly aware of Techno doing the same thing for Tommy.

He sighed in relief into Tubbo’s fluffy coconut-smelling hair, wrapping his arms tightly around his little brother.

Sleep finally, finally, came.

Chapter Text

Skeppy woke to the bed shaking.

This was, unfortunately, nothing new. Bad’s nightmares were to blame, leaving him a trembling, shivering mess.

Sometime in the night, Skeppy had rolled away from Bad and was now facing away from his brother. Skeppy, still half-asleep, rolled back over.

He was fully awake an instant later at the look on Bad’s sleeping face.

Bad’s unseeing eyes were wide open, pupils vibrating in fear. His hands were locked into bent, claw-like angles, reaching for Skeppy, and his mouth was slightly parted for ragged breaths to make their way in and out.

Anyone else would’ve jump-scared into next week.

Skeppy only felt a pit in his stomach.

It was a bad one.

He gently touched Bad’s forehead, whispering his brother’s name.

Bad didn’t respond at first, and Skeppy got a little more scared. It took a few minutes of gentle coaxing, but Bad finally woke up.

He gasped as if punched in the stomach and began to full-body shake. “S-Skeppy?” Bad whispered, eyes darting around, as if whatever had been hurting him in his nightmare had made its way out of his head.

“ ‘M right here,” Skeppy said, hand running through Bad’s slightly damp curls. “Had a nightmare, didn’t you?”

Bad nodded, one hand in Skeppy’s and the other tightly fisted with Skeppy’s nightshirt.

“It was awf-f-ful,” Bad breathed, a shudder running over him. “I-I was that-t-t mon-monster—”

“Shh,” Skeppy said, rubbing a hand on Bad’s arm. “It’s all over, it was all in your head—”

“Skeppy?”

Dream had woken up. Sapnap was still snoring, but Skeppy could hear George stirring too as Dream sat up.

“Bad had a nightmare,” Skeppy said as Bad clung to him, eyes still looking for a danger that wasn’t there. “A really nasty one.”

A pause, then rustling. Dream was suddenly there, hair defying gravity in fifty-three ways and eyes slightly disoriented.

He ran a hand over Bad’s forehead, frowning as Bad flinched away. “Think we’ll need to make the Fort?”

Skeppy nodded without hesitation. “There’s no way he’s going back to sleep without it.”

Dream nodded, still half-asleep, and made his way back to his bed where he thumped the corpse upside the head.

Both Sapnap and George woke with a start, scared for half a second before they realized it was just Dream.

“Operation Fort is a go,” Dream hissed, yanking the blanket off them. “Move it.”

Dream came back to help Skeppy lift Bad into a sitting position so Dream could pick the slight boy up into a bridal carry.

The action disoriented Bad and he immediately called out. “S-Skeppy?”

“Right here,” Skeppy answered, grabbing the pillows from his and Dream’s beds. “We’re gonna go sleep in the living room. You like that, remember?”

Dream waited for Skeppy to wrangle an armful of bedding before heading downstairs to the living room. It was dark, and Bad only relaxed when Skeppy lit a lamp.

Dream held a shivering Bad steady, humming a foreign lullaby Minx sung to the babies, while Skeppy made a rather sizeable nest in the center of the living room floor, in the middle of all the couches and chairs. Skeppy flopped down, opening his arms for Bad, and Dream gently set him down on what was more blanket than floor.

By then, George and Sapnap had done their jobs.

One by twos, the rest of the Minecraft kids wandered in, carrying their younger siblings or piles of bedding in a sleepy, drowsy state.

Puffy was the first, her light footsteps pattering down the steps in a worried panic. She took one look at Bad’s shattered state before claiming the open space on his other side, running a hand through his hair and starting a soft sea shanty as she adjusted the blanket over his legs.

Wilbur, having snuck Fundy, Alyssa, and Drista out of their parents’ room, made it to one of the couches before passing right back out with Fundy on his chest. Niki worked his way under his arm, snuggling in as Wilbur instinctively wrapped it around her. Charlie making himself comfortable at the foot of the couch on Wilbur’s legs, ignoring how Wilbur tried half-heartedly to kick him off.

Techno plopped down in front of the door, playing sentry, where Tommy and Jack eventually found him, much to Techno’s feigned chagrin. As it happened, he only gave an uninterested grunt as Tommy wrapped around his knee and Jack cuddled into Tommy’s feathers.

Quackity and Karl sought Sapnap out like moths to light, seeking his heat. They all piled on each other in a corner by the stairs—Quackity’s wings twitching as he slept and Karl gripping Sapnap’s arm like a vice.

Tubbo and Ranboo ran into each other on their way down the stairs and promptly stumbled into a heap that Schlatt (grumbling under his breath) took upon himself to scoop up and tuck against his chest on the second couch under what was probably more than his fair share of blankets and pillows.

Ant shifted into his snow leopard before flopping down next to Wilbur’s couch with Alyssa curled up in his side.

Dream took Skeppy’s free side on the floor with George at the foot of Schlatt’s couch, Drista snuggly tucked between the two, Eret taking Sapnap’s traditional spot to help keep George warm.

Minx took Puffy’s free side, curling up in a tight ball under a blanket that she refused to share.

Sam took the floor above Bad’s head, and fell asleep in twenty seconds flat on his back, immediately starting to snore. No pillow or blanket—not that he seemed to need one.

Ponk, Punz, and Purpled all collapsed in a big pile at Bad’s feet, one massive blanket thrown over all three. Purpled never even woke up.

Operation Fort was in full effect.

Bad, having calmed more and more with every brother and sister that wandered in, was finally able to fall back asleep, hands wrapped in Skeppy’s nightshirt and Puffy’s soothing warmth on his back.

The rhythmic snores, huffs, breathing, and what he was fairly sure was soft sleep-singing, was like a lullaby.

He was surrounded by family, family that could keep him safe. Family that cared enough to get up at two in the morning and sleep on the cold floor or with roughhousing siblings.

Just for him.

Skeppy waited till Bad’s breathing relaxed and his fingers released their tension from his shirt before letting himself fall asleep.

…

Phil had woken the second he heard one of the boys’ bedrooms doors open.

He held still, analyzing the situation. There was some slight movement, some rustling, then thumping down the stairs.

More movement, and hushed whispers.

Then his and Kristin’s bedroom door was being opened.

Phil pretended to lie asleep as the light-walking figure lifted the three babies from their cribs one by one. Phil recognized Wilbur’s feather-rustles as he picked Fundy up. Alyssa made a small sleep-coo, which Wilbur calmly shushed before slipped back out the door.

Phil waited close to half an hour before slipping downstairs to observe Operation Fort. It didn’t happen much—Bad had come so far from the little boy Phil had bartered for.

But trauma lingers, and triggers don’t always go away.

Phil stood at the top of the stairs, smiling fondly to himself at the array of scattered hybrids and humans. He wouldn’t be able to be with all of them forever, protect them forever, but he could be their haven now.

Chapter Text

“How long we givin’ ‘em?” Wilbur asked, peering down the cliffside at the small camp the kidnappers had set up.

“I bet an hour,” Techno said, leaning against a tree with his one leg splayed out and the other drawn up, inspecting his whittling piece with a calculating eye.

“This probably isn’t the safest way to test Tommy’s resilience—” Phil said, biting his lip as he watched the crooks mill about their fire, readying dinner.

“He’s fine, Dad,” Techno rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get your feathers in a mess, old man,” Wilbur tacked on.

“These are c-class, amateur goons that someone forgot to tell they were supposed to be in a comic,” Techno said, blowing on his piece. “An hour tops, and Tommy’s scrambling up this cliff.”

“Probably without a scratch,” Wilbur said, flopping down on his stomach with his head craned over the edge to watch.

Phil smiled fondly at his two eldest, who seemed so at peace with the knowledge that their little brother was in the hands of kidnappers.

He himself wasn’t too terribly worried—but he was a father first and he couldn’t help but be a little concerned.

“Oh—” Wilbur perked up. “He got out of whatever rope they tied him up in.”

His father and brother joined in on peering downwards, watching a familiar tow-headed kid screeching to high heaven as he dashed around the camp, his cloak thankfully still intact and flying out behind him.

Techno snorted as the kid tripped one of his pursuers and stuck his tongue out at the fallen body. “No wonder. Kid can shimmy outa just ‘bout everything.”

“We should know,” Wilbur mentioned offhandedly, snickering as Tommy danced over the groaning kidnapper before taking off again from the rest of the cursing men.

“You’ve tied your brother up before??” Phil asked, wondering how he hadn’t known this.

“ ‘Brothers,’ Father Dearest—” Wilbur didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. “Me and Schlatt made a bet on who of the youngers could worm their way out of a kidnapping situation first. So we tied ‘em all up and promised cookies to whoever won.”

Phil looked appalled, but he had to know. “Who won?”

“Ranboo and Purpled tied,” Techno said. “Teleported right out of the rope.”

“Jack burned his way out and Charlie dissolved his with slime,” Wilbur said.

“Tommy got out ‘bout a half minute after Charlie.”

“Fundy chewed his way out. Kid’s gotten some sharp teeth.”

“Foolish just sat there and stared till we untied him. Creepy little bugger.”

“What about Tubbo?” Phil looked scandalized that this had happened behind his back—and none of the little kids had snitched.

“He faked tears until Schlatt felt sorry for him,” Techno chuckled. “Then once he was untied, he kicked Schlatt in the shin with all his little-kid might and took off running. I think Schlatt is still finding feathers in his bed as payback.”

Wilbur snickered evilly as Tommy grabbed a burning stick out of the fire and chucked it at one of his pursuer’s heads. “I think the time got dropped to half an hour, Tech.”

Techno shrugged. “Probably.”

The game continued for a little bit—Tommy running away, deliberately in circles, till he found something he could hurl at his kidnappers. He actually managed to knock one out (lucky shot, according to Techno), gave a few a black eye, and tripped one face-first into the fire.

Finally, almost exactly a half an hour later, one of the kidnappers made a luck snag and caught the child around his middle.

Tommy shrieks could’ve been heard by the thousand-year-dead as the boy thrashed and kicked, his captor forced to hold him at an arm’s length or get his face clawed off.

“Uh oh—” Wilbur got to his feet, and Phil saw the exact moment the ‘humor setting’ was replaced with ‘kill mode’ in Wilbur’s brown eyes.

“I got it, Wil.” Phil put his hand on Wilbur’s shoulder before spreading his wings and stepping off the cliff. The weightlessness consumed him, and he unfurled his great wings a second before he hit the ground. The wind dramatically flung up the dirt around him, his wings pumping the air as he set down with a flourish.

“Dad!!” Tommy was all smiles, arms outstretched towards his father.

“Oh thank whatever Ancients are out there—” Tommy’s captor rushed forward, the kid making grabby hands for Phil. “Please take him back, I can’t take it anymore—”

Phil quite willingly scooped Tommy up, glaring at the kidnapper. He wanted to feel anger as his little boy buried his face in Phil’s neck, trembling just the bare slightest—but he could only feel pity for the poor man.

The guy looked as though he had seen the gates of the Afterlife.

“Touch my kid again, and I’ll rip your spine out and use it as a pogo stick,” Phil growled, puffing his wings up just a bit before letting them out and letting out a powerful gust that took him right back where he came from.

He smiled, heart full, as Wilbur and even the ever-stoic Techno were all over their little brother, listening to him brag and boast about how he had the bad guys on the run and just in general holding him and fussing over him.

What did I do to deserve these boys?

Chapter Text

“We have made a poor decision.” Tubbo made the announcement sagely, as if he was the wisest prophet to ever grace the earth.

“I second that motion,” Purpled said uneasily, eyeing the surrounding bush with nervous apprehension.

“You’re all just babies,” Tommy scoffed, slashing at foliage with glee.

“You know Dadza’s gonna sic Techno and Dream on us,” Ranboo pointed out, the night’s clammy chill itching at his skin.

“So?”

“I’m scared.”

Tommy made the scoffing noise again, but his brothers caught the slight tremor this time.

The four boys had decided (okay, Tommy had decided, then dragged the rest along) to go camping in the woods.

At night.

Without Dadza’s permission.

“Why didn’t we just ask?” Purpled wrung his fingers, trying to ignore the ache in his shoulders from his backpack.

“Because he would’ve made Wilbur or Puffy or one of them come along and they’d ruin it,” Tommy said.

“There’s monsters out here,” Tubbo whined. His wings fluttered with irritation.

“That’s what this is for.” Tommy waved the sword he had swiped from Techno’s room.

“We’re going to die,” Ranboo muttered, ducking as Tommy took a wide swing.

“We will if you all keep complaining,” Tommy said.

The other three rolled their eyes, but shut up as they followed Tommy deeper and deeper into the forest.

…
Ranboo exhaled shakily, trying to ignore the nerves that were clawing at his Pearl. Anxiety wasn’t exactly a good healing factor for the damaged organ, and he was trying to keep his stress down.

Phil had been helping him, looking into healing charms and special potions to try to gently heal the Pearl, and Kristin’s powerful magic helped sooth the nerves and magical surges that came from a malformed Pearl.

Now, it was its brilliant green, and almost all the cracks were mended. Even his memory was improving.

But he still had trouble when under stress, flashbacks and nightmares that sometimes clawed out of his subconscious into the daylight.

This was stressing, hearing zombies and skeletons so close—and just knowing that they were practically defenseless from the diseased claws and poisoned arrows that could so easily tear and rip and melt their flesh—
Ranboo had been ready to die when the Minecrafts had found him—but he didn’t want to die anymore.

…

Purpled, unaware to everyone else, was slowly losing it.

He rarely went anywhere without Punz or Ponk, and though he trusted his family, he felt safest with the twins.

He didn’t remember, at all, what happened in the three days before Phil found them wandering down that abandoned road. They had been walking for so long, with his brothers’ broken limbs (while he himself didn’t have a scratch) and no food or water.

Before that—there was nothing. He didn’t remember their parents, where they lived, who they had been—it was all gone. He had asked Ponk once, but the older boy had simply pulled him into a hug and told him he was better off not knowing.

“There’s nothing back there worth remembering,” Ponk had said as he held Purpled tight. “This is our home, Phil and Kristin are our parents, and these are our siblings. Trust me bud, you’re lucky you don’t remember.”

Purpled had trusted his brother and moved on, working on creating new memories.

But the nightmares still came.

There were flashes, mostly containing bloody gore, bright purple light like the sun, and a screaming, hellish pain in his chest.

Purpled never woke up screaming, or with a lurch. He always woke up slowly, sluggishly, usually walking through the house or outside.

He was usually found within minutes; Techno was an extremely light sleeper due to his hybrid abilities and had insomnia to boot. Often enough, it was Techno that found him, staring off into space, and brought him back to the big bed the three brothers shared.

What Purpled never told anybody was that he was fully awake, but in no control of his body, when he went sleep-walking.

He also never told anybody about the eyes that lured him outside toward the woods—blank, soulless, colorless, everything-less eyes that sneered and mocked but still beckoned him closer. Two blank orbs that hovered in front of him, void of every emotion except for hate and mockery.

He could never fight hard enough to break free—always following the leering eyes till he was jolted out of his terror-reverie by Techno, or on the occasion, Dream.

Still he didn’t tell.

Phil had enough to deal with without another problem child.

Purpled was slightly regretting his decision.

The anxiety of being outside, away from his family, with only Tommy to protect
him, was making the phantom ache in his chest throb.

He wanted to go home.

…

“Anybody seen T-squared?” Sapnap clambered down the stairs, half-launching over the back of the couch, looking annoyed. “I can’t find my flint and steel.”

“What’d you need a flint and steal for?” George pointed out sleepily. “You’re a blaze.”

“Mind your business, Gogy,” Sapnap said offhandedly. “Where’s the gremlins? They’re the only ones stupid enough to touch my stuff.”

“Forget your stuff,” Dream looked up from his map over the couch towards upstairs. “It’s been kinda quiet up there—”

“Now that you mention it—” Bad looked up from the kid’s book he was reading to Connor, the avian leaning against his side and slowly falling asleep.

Punz suddenly shot into the room from the kitchen, looking murderous. “Where’s Karl?”

“Got him!” Ponk came stomping down the stairs, hauling a protesting Karl.

“I didn’t do anything, I swear—!”

“Alright, you little rat—” Punz grabbed Karl by the collar of his t-shirt and forcing him up on his tiptoes. “Where’s Purpled?”

“I didn’t touch him!”

“Liar.”

“You’re the one that nicked him last time.”

“Anyone seen Ran—” Eret froze when he saw Punz practically holding Karl by his throat. “What’s going on?”

“Purpled’s missing,” Sapnap rolled his eyes. “You happen to know where T-Squared is?”

“I was about to ask you if you knew where Ranboo was—”

Dream sighed, throwing his head back. “I did not want to go gremlin hunting tonight.”

George grumbled and got to his feet. “I’ll go tell Dadza.”

“You can put him down now,” Bad said to Punz.

Punz squinted his eyes, then tucked Karl securely under his arm. “After we find out if he wasn’t responsible.”

“If he was—” Ponk glared, Karl squeaking as Punz took after George.

“It’s going to be a long night,” Dream muttered, going go find his dad.

…

Tommy decided he wasn’t having fun anymore.

The other three never were.

“I hate you,” Tubbo hissed as the four brothers huddled in the very top of a tree, mobs scrambling at the bottom to get to the young, sweet flesh.

“No you don’t,” Tommy hissed back.

“I’m starting to.” Purpled’s voice had no bite to it, but it didn’t have his usual cheer either.

“I’m never listening to any of your ideas again,” Tubbo said.

“That’s what you said last time, and yet here you are.”

“Guys—” Ranboo peered down, grip tightening on his branch. “They’re starting to climb—”

Raw fear raked up the kids’ spines and Tubbo nearly fell out of the tree.

“They’re not supposed to be able to climb!” Tommy shrieked as they struggled to get even higher.

“Well they are now!”

“Can we reach the next tree?”

“No!”

“Can’t you guys fly?!”

“Can’t you teleport?!”

“Do you like your spleen where it is?!”

Despite the banter, the brothers were becoming increasingly more scared, if it was even possible. The zombies, already so close the boys could smell the rotting flesh and hear the joints grinding against each other. One zombie had its entire skull caved in and was only a body with a neck with a lob of bone and brain for a head.

Ranboo was starting to let out small Ender warbles, the high-pitched noise grating on Purpled’s ears.

The sound was forcing his nightmares to come back, bringing them to the waking world.

Tubbo yelped as one of the zombies got close enough to swipe at his leg and he nearly clambered over Tommy.

But they were out of tree.

And both Purpled and Ranboo were out of whatever was holding them back.

With a blinding, purple light that was unsettling familiar, the two boys disappeared.

…

“Found them!” Dream hollered back, charging at the tree where he heard the all-too-familiar screams emanating from. Several zombies were gathered at the base, even more already climbing the tree after the boys.

I didn’t know zombies could climb—

Suddenly, without warning, there was a bright purple flash from the very top of the tree and screams.

Dream’s stomach lurched and he grabbed his dual axes, beginning the massacre. Techno and Sapnap joined in a minute later, laying waste to the mobs.

“Boys?” Techno called, wiping his blade off in the grass. “You can come down now.”

There was no answer. The three exchanged glances as Dream scaled the tree, finding only Tommy and Tubbo, latched on so tightly to each other their knuckles were white.

“Tommy? Tubbo?”

Neither boy responded, seemingly frozen in pure terror.

“Dream?”

Dream peered down to see Phil, the twins, and Skeppy joining Techno and Sapnap.

“I got Tommy and Tubbo,” he called down, “but they’re not moving. It’s like they’ve seen a ghost.”

Phil unfurled his great wings and soon joined Dream, mindful of the branches. The boys jolted, as if shocked, when Phil touched them, then launched themselves at him.

“Where’s Ranboo and Purpled?” Phil asked, trying to be stern, though it was hard with both boys shaking like a leaf.

“They went all glowy—” Tommy stuttered, Tubbo unable to pry himself from his dad’s side “—then they just vanished.”

Phil furrowed his brow in worry, then nodded to the ground.

He beat Dream down, handing Tommy off to Sapnap so he could get a better hold on Tubbo.

“What were you boys thinking?” Phil asked. “You know there’s monsters—”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Tommy muttered, curling into the human heater. “It’s all my fault. I made them do it.”

“You stupid child!” Ponk suddenly snapped, words harsh and filled with icy venom. “You know Purpled and Ranboo have issues!! Why’d you drag them out here in the middle of the night!?”

“How dense do you have to be—” Punz joined in, hands fisted into his hair and face pale.

“Do you ever think—”

“One of these days you’re going to get somebody killed—”

“Boys.”

Phil’s voice had an edge to it, one that shut the twins up immediately. Tommy looked ready to cry, wings pulled tightly to his back as he turned to hide his face in Sapnap’s nightshirt.

“Ranboo couldn’t have teleported them far,” Phil sighed as Dream reached for Tubbo, the smaller boy whimpering at the twins’ outburst.

“Ranboo didn’t teleport both of them,” Tubbo said quietly. “He went first, but Purpled was gone half a second later.”

Phil felt a weight in his stomach. He had had his suspicions—

“Okay.” he nodded. “Dream, Sapnap—get those home and to bed, then start looking again. If you run into anybody, tell them we found T-Squared. The rest of you keep looking. Except you, Ponk and Punz.”

The twins paused, looking guilty, as the rest of their siblings hurried away, wanting no part of the following scolding.

Phil sighed and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “I need you to tell me what happened before I found you on that road. I know there’s something up with Purpled. You think Kristin and I wouldn’t be able to sense the End magic?”

The boys looked shocked.

“Come on.”

Punz swallowed hard, then ran a hand through his hair. “We lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere—there weren’t any towns for miles.”

“A whole End tribe attacked,” Ponk picked up, looking unsure. “Nobody heard us yelling for help.”

“We ran away from the house—it was overwhelmed—Purpled was still too little to know what was going to on.”

“One of ‘em grabbed Purpled—ripped into his chest. There was so much blood—” the boy’s voice was trembling now.

“I got angry—swung the ax we had grabbed before running from the house—” Punz rubbed his temples, as if having trouble remembering.

“He killed it—split it wide open—” Punz said.

“We thought he died—”

“We cried all night—”

“We must’ve passed out, cause when we woke up, it was daylight.”

“Purpled was—alive—unconscious but alive.” Punz shook his head. “We don’t know how. His chest was glowing, his eyes were purple—”

“Then he woke up. The glowing stopped, and we’ve never seen it since.”

“He’s got no memory before what happened that night. We think his kid’s brain just blocked it out because of trauma.”

Phil motioned for them to stop, pulling them in for a hug as he pondered what they told him, though he was fairly sure he already had it worked out. Ender blood was known for its healing properties, but nobody ever got close enough to get any. For Punz to get so close—and for the blood to drip into a gaping wound while Purpled’s heart was still beating—

Purpled had Ender blood in his veins.

Purpled was part Ender.

He must have gotten some of the magic as well.

It explained a few little quirks about the boy. How he hated the feeling of water and how getting the kid to take a bath was next to impossible. How he would move seemingly random objects for nor reason. Even his sleeping walking—

Phil groaned. Of course, the kid’s sleepwalking—I bet he sees the eyes too—

Phil took a deep breath. He had been dealing with Ranboo for a while now—Purpled wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

If he could find them.

“Alright then.” Phil pulled them away from the hug. “Let’s go find our little Enders.”

…

Schlatt was the one to eventually found them—shivering and huddled together, staring off into the dead of space. They were covered in little cuts, twigs in their hair, and Ranboo had a black eye.

Even after Schlatt raised Nether calling the rest of his siblings over, they didn’t move.

“Thank the Ancients,” Phil sighed as Ponk and Punz darted forward, Ranboo already in Techno’s lap.

The boys seemed to snap out of it, the glowy affect in their eyes fading before they fixed on what was it front of them.

Simultaneously, they burst into tears. Techno, looking slightly uncomfortable with the situation, rubbed small circles on the Ender’s back while Punz pulled Purpled close.

“Th-the eyes,” Purpled sobbed. “Th-hey won’t-t stop—”

“I know mate,” Phil scooping him up from his brothers.

Purpled snapped his head up to his dad, tear-stains making him look pathetic and helpless. “You know about them?”

Phil, crouched, rubbed a thumb across the boy’s face, rubbing the tears away. “Ranboo sees a pair of eyes that lure him out of the house.”

“B-but R-Ranboo’s an Ender.”

Phil smiled softly. “I’ll explain in the morning, mate. Let’s get you home.”

…

Explaining took a long time.

Accepting took about ten seconds.

“You’re completely okay with this?” Punz looked flabbergasted.

Purpled shrugged from his place across the table, stirring his porridge. “I’ve always known something was a bit off with me. This just makes it a lot easier. Now I know I’m not going crazy.”

“And you got a blood brother now!” Ranboo grabbed Purpled from behind in a hug.

“And this—” Kristin came back from her hunt in her bedroom, holding a small silver necklace with a purple charm “—is going to make that pesky Ender magic of yours calm down.”

She pushed Ranboo off good-naturally, then fastened it around Purpled’s neck.

The boy immediately relaxed as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “That
feels really good—”

“It should,” Kristin laughed, ruffling his hair. “It’s called a Quell. I bought a whole box from someone a few years ago who didn’t know what they had. Works on avians, blazes, Enders—just about every hybrid. Regulates and ‘quells’ hyperactive magic with no side effects. Sapnap had to wear one for about a year before he would stop setting stuff on fire every time he sneezed.”

“STOP TELLING THE BRATS PRIVATE STUFF!!” Sapnap’s yell came from upstairs, angry with no heat behind it.

“Then Dream chased him with a pepper-shaker for an hour once he found out,” Bad, wearing a tierra and waving a plastic scepter with Alyssa following close behind wearing a princess dress, pointed out as he walked past the dining room.
Dream’s signature wheeze came from somewhere in the house.

“I got one too,” Ranboo said, pulling out a matching chain, only this one was green. “Helps my memories.”

“Who else wears one?” Purpled asked, going back to his breakfast.

“Minx and Bad, because they both got problems with their shifting—Fundy because he’s a baby and a hybrid but we don’t know what—” Kristin sighed and sipped her tea. “There’s probably more but I can’t quiet remember with all of you.”

“How have you not lost your mind yet?” Punz asked.

“Can’t lose what you never had to begin with,” Kristin said nonchalantly, rubbing at a chip in the table.

Purpled smiled to himself as Karl and Charlie barreled in, arguing and demanding a disinterest third party. He rubbed his hoodie sleeves over his wrists, feeling the soft fabric soothing his nerves at the loud noise.

Exhaling deeply, he let himself relax. He was safe, he was with his family, and he was home.

Chapter Text

Michael sighed, watching Connor sniffle and wipe his nose, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. The avian’s wings were rumpled and a few were missing, his face was all dirty, he had bruises forming on his arms and shoulders, his clothes were all ripped up—the kid looked, in general, a hot mess.

Honestly the kid had every right.

Being abducted would do that to you.

“C’mon,” Michael hauled the kid into a piggy-back, getting a firm grip on the skinny kid and boosting him up into as comfortable a position for both of them as he could make it. “Let’s get you home.”

…

Earlier

“Get off of mmh—!!”

Connor gagged as the cloth was shoved up against his mouth and nose, smelling the sickly-sweet smell and immediately numbing at his brain. His heart jackrabbited and he pushed back fruitlessly against the guy that had a death-grip on him.

He lashed out with his feet, the only limbs he had left, kicking at the slavers that thought he was easy pickings. Really, they weren’t wrong. Not with most of Connor’s family scattered halfway over town.

Connor bit back tears as the fumes finally started to make his thoughts hazy and sluggish, and his swings and clawing slowed and became much less coordinated. He slipped into darkness, the last thing he felt was his body hitting the ground.

…

Michael cursed every Ancient he could name, making a few up as he went along as well, as he ran through town.

He had had one job. One.

Keep an eye on Connor. Don’t let the kid buy something stupid with his allowance (that rule was made after Jack bought a Nether slime and promptly lost only for it to be found, hours later, eating Eret’s collection of fake crowns), don’t let the kid wander off, and keep his cloak on.

The kid was gone.

Connor had been so excited to go with Michael, the two street kids having formed a sort-of bond in the few months Michael had been with the family. They had traded stories on Michael’s first day with the family about their biggest steal, and Michael had relaxed significantly with the family after that.

Michael had gone and lost the little rat.

He ducked around a group of worshipers for what he guessed were Death, shuddering and slipping around a pair of city guards that would be of no help if he asked.

He breathed in deeply, letting his wolf blood wake up a little bit. His nose twitched, and immediately he was overwhelmed with scents.

Popcorn and frying meat and sweat and horses and hay and fresh linen and damp clothes. Hundreds of different smells, all mingling and swapping and mixing till normal noses would have simply blocked them out.

To Michael, they were a goldmine.

Connor smelled like a little kid that had been playing all day outside. Fresh and ‘outside’ and recently mowed grass. Alive.

The magic in his blood made it easier too—avian magic smelled like blackberries and summer air and a harsh storm rolling in on a cold front.

Michael followed his nose, keeping his head low and ducked. This wasn’t his town—Phil had moved the family again within a week of getting Michael, but old habits die hard.

Kids were to be neither seen or heard. Street-rats were to keep out of the way.

They weren’t to even exist.

Slavers were often praised for ‘cleaning up the streets’ of the unfortunate kids that had been shoved out of home or abandoned. Michael had had a few close calls himself, and the seriousness of this situation was eating at him.

Connor could disappear from the city within a matter of hours, heading out on a caravan and while Michael new Phil would be able to find one of his own, it would take a while.

The less time Connor spent in the wrong hands the better. Michael had a decent idea how messed-up the inside of Connor’s head was—having been kicked out in the middle of winter by a drunk dad after being beaten by a high older sister to starve or freeze, whatever came first—and Michael had no desire to make it any worse.

Finally, after what seemed like forever of wandering in circles, he smelled something promising. Michael frowned, noting the scent headed down a road that was leaving town. The road was a trampled mess of other hoof and footprints and wagons marks from the hundreds of other folks leaving and entering town.

Michael only had a hunch and half-scent he thought was Connor.

Fine.

Michael rolled his shoulders walking as quickly as he could to the woods that surrounded town without drawing attention to himself.

He would do this the hard way.

…

Connor woke up on his side. The familiar rumbling of the wagon made his stomach churn, and he closed his eyes, wondering if he could just pretend it was all a nightmare and wake up back home.

This was the fourth time.

Four times he’d been in the back of a slaver wagon! He’d never had this problem when he was by himself. Sure, his village had been a lot quieter and a few of the townspeople actually tried to take care of the homeless population and the guards didn’t rough up the kids for merely existing, but still.

Connor was tired of this.

A loud growl outside made him pick his heavy head up.

That sounded like—

…

Michael charged at the nearest wagon, wolf nose telling him exactly where Connor was. He took full advantage of that, sinking his sharp teeth into the ox that was pulling the wagon. His powerful jaws snapped the legbone and the ox bellowed, Michael darting out of the way to avoid a hoof to the head only to charge at the nearest rider. He grabbed the horse by the throat, hanging on for dear life and using every ounce of his strength to swing the animal down.

The next horse went down similarly, and by then the slavers were charging at him with weapons drawn. Michael snarled, baring wicked-long teeth, readying himself—

“No!”

Michael stopped dead in his tracks, a woman with flaming red hair appearing in front of him and flinging her hands out.

The men dropped like flies, bodies hitting the ground with thumps that told Michael they were dead.

Silence settled so quickly Michael’s hackles rose even farther than they already were. The girl turned, and Michael felt his blood freeze at her eyes.

Shining like the center of an ice block, so crystal clear Michael wondered if they had any color at all.

“Shed no blood till it is time,” she said, voice hollow, hand outstretched toward him. “Your hands must be clean for all to end.”

She vanished, leaving Michael confused out of his mind.

…

Present

“Hey kid.”

Connor looked up, Michael leaning on the door. The wolf looked apprehensive, glancing down the hall as if expecting someone to tell him to leave Connor alone. “Can I come in?”

Connor shrugged, still feeling too out of it to argue. Michael came in, plopping down on the edge of the avian’s bed. “What’s up?”

He phrased it like a question, but Connor knew better.

“I was kidnapped and almost sold,” Connor muttered, pulling his knees up and his wings tight to his back. The blanket wasn’t enough—he still felt cold.

“You were kidnapped, but there was no way you were almost sold.” Michael tugged on Connor’s foot good-naturedly. “I was right there behind you. And even they had gotten you on an auction block, guess who would have been in the crowd?” He grinned, showing off the wolf teeth that his Hidden form didn’t quite hide all the way.

Connor huffed a little, feeling the corners of his mouth pull up involuntarily. “I’m just—tired.”

“Of what.”

Connor should’ve known. Michael was a street kid. They were smart, often too smart for their own good, and they saw through any type of lie in half a second.

“I—” Connor pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and curled forward onto his knees, feeling his chest warm uncomfortably as the tears threatened to come back. “I’m sick of being—of being kidnapped.”

Michael ticked up an eyebrow. “Aren’t we all?”

Connor glared at him, noting that yes, in fact, all of his siblings had been kidnapped at some point or another. Some several times. George boasted the most, with Wilbur and his smart mouth a close second. Karl was on the leaderboard somewhere, and some of the other kids had a few to their name. Honestly it was a game at this point, and Puffy actually made a cake the first time Hannah was kidnapped.

“I just—never had this problem when I was by myself,” Connor said, hugging himself and trying to draw himself into a ball.

Michael hummed. “Your wings came in early, didn’t they?”

Connor nodded miserably. Some avians ‘showed’ a few years earlier than others. It had taken the family a while to realize it, but when Drista had reached for Connor’s wings with wide eyes and gurgled happily—when there was no way she could’ve comprehended that Connor was a hybrid—the family knew.

“But before that,” Connor pressed, trying to explain himself. “When I was just some street-rat, I wasn’t wanted. People see me now and see someone that they could make a quick buck off of because I’m clean and well-fed and got nice clothes.” He picked at the hem of his oversized shirt he was pretty sure he had stolen from Eret that time their laundry had gotten all mixed up.

“You—want to go back to being a street-kid?” Michael said, and Connor winced at how he tried to hide the flabbergasted tone to his voice.

“No!” Connor explained, chest all tight and confused with something he couldn’t name.

Something clicked on Michael’s face. “You want to go back to being unwanted.”

Connor couldn’t look him in the face. He knew it sounded dumb, but he had no other way to say it. He wanted to go back to being faceless, unknown. He wanted that anonymity, that safety in the uselessness. When he was too skinny to be taken for manual labor and too timid to be hired by the brothel.

He chirped in surprise as hands closed around his arms and pulls him forward into a warm lap, a blanket coming up and around his shoulders as strong arms closed around him.

“Listen up, bird brain.”

Connor gulped at the closeness of the voice, hearing the wolf-rumble in Michael’s chest that was pressed to his ear.

“There are things in this world that are worth it. Freedom is one. Family is another.”

A hand, rubbing up and down Connor’s back as the avian held deathly still, struggling to control his hitching breaths.

“It is worth it to have a warm bed and a full stomach and loving parents,” Michael continued. “It’s worth it for sisters that make us do makeovers and brothers that steal our stuff when they think we’re not looking. It’s worth it for the pranks and sleepovers and plays the babies put on. It’s worth the feathers in our sheets and the slime in our drinks and the exploding cookies and the being chased at two in the morning.”

A breath, and a tight squeeze. “It’s worth every torture imaginable to have what we have. That safety. The love.”

He secured his hold a little more, willing as much strength as he could into the hug. “You are worth that love, Connor. You are worth giving safety, security, food. You’re not faceless anymore, and you’re never going to be again.”

Connor squeezed his eyes shut against the tears and smushed his face in Michael’s chest, feeling his heart pounding against Michael’s slow, steady beat.

“The world will fall apart before I or Techno or Schlatt or anyone else tell you otherwise,” Michael said. He laid his cheek on Connor’s head. “You are worth it, Connor. The slavers know that, and we know that. Let them come and try to hurt you. Let them try.”

Connor shivered and snuggled closer. “ ‘M sorry.”

Michael chuckled, smoothing the feathers. “You don’t have to apologize for being wanted, feather-ball.”

“ ‘M apologize anyway.”

Michael ignored him, and held him tighter.

Eret smiled when he came into his room to find an overgrown wolf curled around Connor that night. Schlatt snorted, Callahan made an ‘aw’ sound, and Quackity groaned out loud and went to sleep with someone else, claiming ‘snoring’ as his excuse to go bother Wilbur.

Michael ignored them all, and slept with Connor till the nightmares stopped coming.

Chapter Text

It was no secret Puffy had become the kids’ second mother. When Kristin was busy or sick, they came to her with their cut knees and split lips, crying and tattling and asking for cookies.

It also helped Kristin get some sleep when the bad nights came.

The kids had long-since made a pact not to bother their parents unless absolutely necessary when it came to nightmares.

Phil and Kristin helped them so much, saved them and raised them in safety and protection—so they collectively agreed to try and let them sleep as much as possible.

The bad nights still came, sometimes every day for weeks, but someone was always ready to share their bed or rub a shaking back as the sobbing ceased.

Puffy had been discovered to be Dream, Foolish, and Tubbo’s favorite.

Dream staggered up the stairs, Tubbo hanging off his back and Foolish clinging to him like a bur, still shaking slightly at the plink plink plink that had come to haunt him at two in the morning.

It had been a bad night for pretty much everyone tonight.

Skeppy had woken from a trauma-soaked nightmare, screaming and clawing at his skin. Bad had been right there, taking his turn in making sure the tremors went away and Skeppy could go back to Dreamland safely.

Minx had gone to Schlatt’s early in the night and wouldn’t tell anyone why—not that Schlatt cared. He just tossed her a pillow, rolled over, and made sure she had bare minimum a quarter of the bed before going back to sleep.

Hannah was camping with Callahan along with Alyssa for reasons they weren’t sharing and Callahan wasn’t asking.

Charlie had made his way to Wilbur, which honestly was a good thing because he had already stolen Fundy and still had insomnia.

Niki had found Ranboo Ender-walking into a wall repeatedly on her way to get water. She hadn’t been able to actually wake him up, but just dragged him up to her room and made a nest under her bed for the both of them. It must have worked, since Ranboo’s steady Ender purrs were now reverberating throughout the room.

Tommy had gone, of course, to Techno, Drista trailing behind him like a lost puppy to find what was considered the literal safest place on earth by most, if not all, of the siblings.

Purpled had teleported his way to Eret’s bed and never left, and the twins had gone to find Sam unashamedly.

George had quite literally kicked Dream out of the bed, shivering and shaking, clinging to Sapnap as though he’d die. He had woken up crying about palaces dripping in blood and silver emblems looming in the night. Sapnap had to physically lay entirely on top of him to get him to stop crying.

Dream had left, fresh bruises blooming on his ribcage, only to find Foolish, Tubbo, and Jack all snuggled together in a pile in the middle of the hallway for no reason.

He had sighed, deposited Jack with George and Sapnap, then made his way to the girls’ room with Foolish and Tubbo playing barnacles.

Puffy opened the door before Dream could even knock. Her fuzzy hair was up in messy bun, but sticky out in five hundred places.

“Hey, duckling,” she smiled, almost laughing. Dream’s hair was defying gravity, one eye was half-closed, and he had Sapnap’s hoodie on instead of his own. Tubbo was a corpse, head on Dream’s one shoulder, remaining on Dream’s back solely because Dream had an arm behind him bracing him up. Foolish was resting his head on Dream’s other shoulder, Dream’s free arm holding him.

“Hey,” Dream yawned. “I can’t sleep.”

Puffy chuckled, opening the door the rest of the way. Dream lumbered in, flopping both of his brothers down before climbing after them.

Puffy joined him a second later, making sure her little ducklings were all under the blanket and safe and held.

She began to hum, swirling her fingers through Dream’s hair, some old sea shanty her mother used to sing to her, back when she had been a good mom.

Foolish heard it, at least subconsciously, and snuggled closer to his second mom. Tubbo, on Puffy’s free side, stretched out a hand and tapped it on her face, almost as if searching for the source of the calming sound, before settling against her and going back to sleep.

Puffy laid there for a while, listening to the kids’ soft breathing.

It was relaxing, hearing the quietness of the house when it was usually filled with such noise and chaos.

Slowly, she closed her eyes and let herself ease towards sleep, safe and warm.

Chapter Text

Karl yawned deeply as he sat criss-cross in the empty flower field, waiting for Phil to come back. Phil had decided now would be a good time to run some tests on Karl’s unidentified magic, then promptly forgot the book they needed back at the house.

Phil had left fifteen minutes ago, and it had taken twenty to get out here in the first place.

And it was nighttime.

Karl was supposed to asleep, probably curled up with Quackity or maybe Niki if she didn’t mind.

Instead, he was up to his waist in long, damp grass, the night sky clear overhead. Stars twinkled down at him, all bright and happy. Karl swallowed nervously and fiddled with the sleeves of his multi-colored hoodie.

They were fine out here, under their sky, where they belonged. It was when they peeked through his curtains or windows, watching him, that Karl had a problem.

They belonged outside. Not with him in his room.

“The stars still bother you, don’t they?”

Karl never got to his feet faster. He lurched up and whirled, heart pounding in his mouth and breaking into a cold sweat.

A young man, probably a few years younger than Phil, was standing behind him, hands clasped behind his back. He wore a plain hoodie and jeans, but Karl got the feeling this man was a lot more powerful that his appearance suggested.

“And you still have my hoodie—” the man sounded surprised and shocked, with a gentle smile on his face.

Karl’s head snapped from side to side, looking for Phil even though he knew there was no way his father would be back by now.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the man said quietly, hands open complacently.

Karl started panting, struggling to breathe. Dad—

“Just came to visit.” The man took a step forward, and Karl instinctively took a step back. Hurt flickered on the man’s face, leaving Karl confused. “Please, kiddo—I won’t hurt you. I would never hurt you—”

He tried to step forward again, only for Karl to take another step back. He stumbled, his gaze darting down to catch his footing.

In the second he looked away, the man was right there.

Karl jumped, a strangled shriek working its way out of his throat as large hands closed around his upper arms. He fought, scared to death. “Pl-please mister,” he sputtered, hands pressing against the man’s chest. “M-my dad will be here s-soon—"

“Karl.”

Karl’s head snapped up at the order, terrified bicolored eyes meeting kind electric-blue ones.

“I won’t hurt you. I’m just here to visit.”

Karl huffed through a few more nerve-wracked breaths, then froze as the man pulled him into a hug. The man was tall, and Karl was rather short, so his face only came up to his sternum. The shock wore off, leaving Karl more scared than he had been before. He struggled, whimpering.

“Shh—” the man’s hand carded through his hair. “Remember.”

Karl’s eyes widened—flashes of colors, smells, and memories pouring open—and he buried his face in the man’s chest, hugging back fiercely. The man chuckled, the sound reverberating in Karl’s body. Karl forgot how much he missed that sound.

“I missed you too.” The man—Jimmy—tightened his hold.

“Don’t leave again,” Karl whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “Please don’t leave me again.”

“I have to, bud,” Jimmy answered softly. “Your magic isn’t ready.”

“I can be ready—” Karl pulled away, looking up with desperate eyes. “I can—I promise—”

Jimmy shushed him kindly, hand cradling Karl’s face and caressing his cheek. “You don’t have to be. Not yet. Trust me—trust Phil. When you’re ready, we’ll know.”

Karl clicked his jaw shut at that, feeling disappointment and shame settle in his chest.

He didn’t react when Jimmy wrapped him in another hug.

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

The words shocked him, but he held still.

“Phil sends letters when he can. You’re growing up so fast—”

Karl swallowed hard.

Jimmy chuckled again, fondly smoothing Karl’s fluffy hair. “I totally lied to Phil. Told him I would be in hybrid form—that you wouldn’t know what was happening.”

Karl finally returned the hug, scared now to let go. Logically, he knew this would have to end, and he wouldn’t remember it for however long it took till next time.

“You’re happy here, right?”

Karl nodded without hesitation. He loved his brothers and sisters, his mum and dad. He loved their house and their crazy adventures and their animals and the magic that flowed through them all.

“Phil’s a good dad, isn’t he?” Jimmy sighed fondly.

Karl hummed, just enjoying this.

“Chris and Chandler miss you too.” Jimmy continued, his hand still running in a soothing pattern down the boy’s back. “Home isn’t near as fun without you.”

Karl blinked, remembering Chris and Chandler, the twin Ancients that served under Jimmy as his apprentices. Both had loved Karl so much, spoiled him and teased him, but made sure he was protected and safe in the dangerous world of the Ancients.

“Oh bud—” Jimmy sighed as though he was about to start crying, going back to a bone-crushing hold.

“You have to go?” Karl’s throat clogged, cracking on the last syllable, attention immediately drawn to the fact that Jimmy was leaving.

Again.

Jimmy’s smile turned sad, and he nodded. “I’ve stayed too long as it is.”

His palm settled at the base of Karl’s neck and Karl was reminded of the last time this had happened. He had been younger, drowsier, but the seconds before losing Jimmy had hurt just as much.

“No—” he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the zip of magic and fading of his memories. Everything felt as though it was being crushed—his heart, his lungs—he wanted Jimmy to stay. He wanted things to go back the way they were—

“I love you.”

Karl swallowed hard, feeling the tingle already in his skull. “I love you—too—”

He blinked, and he was alone. Karl looked around—shouldn’t Phil be back by now? When had he stood up?

He shrugged, plopping down in the grass, picking at some of the stems. He really just wanted to go to sleep—

The stars twinkled down at him, smiling from their thrones.

Chapter Text

Wilbur woke up.

This was by no means rare, but the reason why?

It took him a moment to remember that Tommy had come to find him after Ranboo had sleep-walking-stole Tubbo.

It took him another moment longer to realize he was crying.

“Toms—”

Tommy’s shaking frame froze and there were a few hitched hiccups. “I’m sorry Wil—”

“Hey now, nothing to be sorry for,” Wilbur said, pulling Tommy up to his chest and smoothing the boy’s creamy feathers down. “Nightmare?”

Tommy hesitated, but his head nodded against Wilbur’s chest. “You died. I dreamt you died in some explosion—TNT—”

“Oh Toms,” Wilbur sighed again, wrapping his other arm around his brother as well. “I’m not dead. I’m right here.”

“I kn-know,” Tommy whispered. “I’m just scared.”

“Scared of what?” Wilbur asked gently.

He had to be careful here.

Tommy and Tubbo both saw Wilbur as their second dad, and he had to make sure he didn’t hurt them anymore than their pasts already had.

They were so different in so many ways—Tubbo loved green, Tommy loved red; Tommy couldn’t wait to fly; Tubbo was much more patient; Tubbo loved stuffed toys, Tommy wanted to play with swords—and yet so painstakingly similar. Both needed touch and words to know they were loved, both needed to be reassured a hundred times that they didn’t do anything wrong, both were chaos incarnate.

Wilbur knew that while Tubbo was okay just letting something like a nightmare go as long as he got a hug; Tommy needed to talk—get it out of his system so it didn’t fester.

“Losing you. Losing Dad and Mumza and Tech and Tubbo and everyone,” Tommy answered quietly, as though he were ashamed to admit it.

“You aren’t going to lose us,” Wilbur reassured, carding his fingers through Tommy’s fluffy golden hair. “You know Dad will never let that happen. Ever.”

Tommy nodded, sniffling, already falling back to Dreamland.

“Sleep, little bird,” Wilbur whispered, though Tommy was already gone. “Sleep.”

Chapter Text

Antfrost closed his eyes against the yelling, wishing he didn’t have such sensitive ears. A hand brushed his arm, and he peeked one open to see Velvet craning his head to look at him. Soft ruby eyes flickered with concern.

“I’m fine,” Antfrost gritted out, though he most certainly was not—not with who was downstairs yelling at Phil and Kristin.

The screaming rose to another notch and Techno growled under his breath from his post by the door. Phil had given him strict orders—nobody entered the room but him and Mumza. Techno had wanted to stay and exchange words out for weapons, but Phil had pressed, leaving no room for argument.

“This is ridiculous,” Puffy paced out of nerves, stepping over several siblings’ worth of legs and limbs and bodies. “Dadza’s got the paperwork—we’ve got the manpower—what’d they got?”

“The King’s permission,” Techno deadpanned and Wilbur snorted, bouncing a growing Fundy on his hip. The little baby was now a toddler and had just started walking and talking. He was blissfully unaware of the conflict that was currently occurring in their living room, happily chewing on a salmon teething toy.

Another voice joined in on the shouting match and Antfrost cringed, a whimper making it out of his throat without his permission. Niki, on his free side, latched onto his free arm and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. She didn’t know how to offer any other comfort, but was trying anyway.

“This is stupid,” Tommy snorted brusquely and Tubbo, Charlie, Jack, Ranboo, Hannah, Foolish, and Purpled all nodded simultaneously in agreement. “I say we march down there and stab ‘em through the—”

He finished his sentence with a rather crude description and colorful choice of words, and Bad couldn’t even ‘language’ him—he was too busy crying quietly in the corner with Skeppy and Sapnap trying to get him to calm down.

The entirety of Minecraft kids, from Alyssa to Dream to Callahan were all piled into the L’manburg boy’s bedroom. There was in no way shape or form enough room for all of them, but they made it work—insisting on being support to their brother.

“We can’t, or Mum and Dadza go to jail,” Ponk said, leaning against the window. A silver knife flipped over in his hand expertly, a nervous tic of his.

“They don’t have to know it was us,” Dream said evilly. Alyssa, in his arms, giggled. He cooed and wiggled his fingers under her chin. “Do they? We’ll just commit murder and never know, huh? Doesn’t that sound like fun?” His baby talk sounded ridiculous, but Alyssa thought it was funny as she made a grab for his fingers to chew on.

“No,” Techno said. “We have two jobs. Don’t leave this room, and don’t let anyone in. That’s what we’re doing.”

“Oh sure, Mister Anarchy,” Minx rolled her eyes, Drista on her lap playing with her thick hair. “And you haven’t done nothing that Dadza doesn’t know about.”

“True, but we’re gonna keep it that way,” Techno warned.

Schlatt opened his mouth, but the shouting downstairs pitched as Mumza joined in.

Everyone in the room either flinched, widened their eyes, or jumped. Even Techno raised an eyebrow.

They were scared enough when Phil yelled (though it was never at any of them).

Kristin had never, once, in all of their lives, raised her voice.

If she was now—

“You know what?” Tommy said, hiding behind Punz. “I say we just stay in here.”

“Forever,” Tubbo added, hiding under the bed.

“Plus an eternity,” Ranboo confirmed, going after Tubbo only for Tommy to join another second later.

A few more minutes of yelling occurred, and the siblings settled into uneasy silence. When the yelling subsided downstairs, Ant’s breath clenched. Niki’s hand found his and Velvet rubbed his back, the sound of a few doors slamming.

“We won’t let you go, Ant,” Dream said quietly, waving Alyssa’s toy for her. “You know that.”

There footsteps on the stairs, then a knock on the door. Three quick and one short.

Phil.

Techno opened the door.

Phil was standing there, quite red in the face, but he was smiling. Kristin was next to him, looking tired but relieved. “Where’s Ant?”

Velvet shoved Ant up and forward, the boy too numb to move on his own. Kristin caught him and grabbed him in a crushing hug, Phil coming up next to him and resting a hand on his shoulders.

Ponk peered out the window and saw the thirty-some fancy carriages that had practically destroyed their lawn leaving—and in quite a hurry too.

“What’d they want?” Tommy crawled out from under the bed, Jack taking his place.

“Ant,” Phil sighed. “They wanted their ‘beloved son’ back. Wanted to marry him off to make a pretty lucrative deal.”

Ant grip tightened on Mumza, his true mom. She may not have born him, but she was the one that put band-aids on his knees and cooked him soup when he was sick and mended his shirts when he ripped them roughhousing. She was the one that kissed his forehead at night and made sure his favorite meal got a turn being made and stocked up on honey to help with his anxiety attacks.

“How’d you get them to go away?” Ranboo asked, still under the bed, now with Tubbo latched onto his right arm, Jack to his left, and Charlie somehow on his back—all three squishing him down.

“I had the paperwork from when they sold Ant to me in the first place,” Phil sighed deeply. “The authorities couldn’t do anything about it. He stays here.”

Ant’s body relaxed. The tension drained from his shoulders and he slumped forward onto Kristin. Slowly, the tears started to come, but when they did, they didn’t stop.

He sobbed his heart out—he had no idea how long for.

He had faced this before, countless times.

When Phil had offered to take him, after Phil had signed the papers, his first night in the new house, and every few months after when he let himself think about it.

He had cried so much then, and he had finally just started not feeling the pinch in his heart when he thought about his birth parents.

Now it had come back to slap him in the face.

Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?

Slowly, he came back to the real world. Kristin’s arms were around him, as were Phil’s. There was weight on both his legs, hands all over his arms and shoulders, and three more weights around his waist.

Subconsciously, he was aware of his brothers and sisters plastered to him, touching him in anyway they could, letting him know they were there.

And they would never let go.

Chapter Text

“That’s a baby pig,” Tommy said, looking both amused and disgusted at the same time.

Tubbo nodded enthusiastically, a squirming little piglet in his arms. His jumper was filthy, covered in rips and what Tommy hoped was just mud. Ranboo hovered nearby over Tubbo’s shoulder, looking quite fascinated at the small creature.

“What’re you doing with a baby pig?”

“We’re gonna raise it!” the little avian said excitedly, wings fluttering. A beaming grin stretched across his face, looking for all the world the happiest being alive.

Purpled scrunched up his face, hiding behind Tommy’s wings so mud and who-knows-what didn’t get on his hoodie. “Why a pig though? Patches literally just had kittens—”

“They’re mine,” Hannah hissed from one of Kristen’s prized rose bushes, two of the said kittens in her arms and the other three attacking her ankles. Foolish was on his stomach next to her, letting one of the kitten’s chew on his hair. The mild boy seemed rather interested the soap opera he was currently witnessing, but appeared to have no desire to join in.

“Where, exactly, do you plan on raising that thing?” Jack asked, raising a hand as though they were in school. He was quite interested in this particular fact, as he, Charlie, Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy shared a bedroom.

“Under Ranboo’s bed!” Tubbo announced, all smiles and innocence.

“I think the Nether not,” Charlie shook his head vehemently, pushing his glasses up his nose. “That thing stinks.”

“So do you!”

“I do not!”

“Do too!”

Ranboo snatched the baby pig as Tubbo dove at Charlie, steamrolling the slime hybrid into the dirt. Purpled and Jack immediately took sides and bets (a nasty habit they had picked up from Schlatt), Tommy started cheering and calling pointers, and Ranboo tried to calm the squealing pig down.

Charlie had just gotten one of Tubbo’s wings pinned when Kristen came running from the house, Drista and Fundy toddling after her much slower.

“Boys!” she hauled Charlie up by the scruff of his shirt, and Tubbo up by his wrist. “What’re you doing?!”

Tubbo sniffled and wiped his nose. “He said Michael stinks!”

“It does!”

Kristen shushed them exasperatedly. “Who’s Michael?”

Ranboo held up the still-trying-to-escape pig as Tommy and Purpled both pointed.

Kristen visibly relaxed and she sighed. “Okay, I see. Ranboo, sweetie, go put the pig back with its mum, okay?”

“But we want to raise it!” Tubbo protested and Ranboo looked as though he might cry.

“I know and you can,” Kristen reassured, shooing Ranboo towards the pigpen, “but that little piggie’s got a mommy. Wouldn’t you be upset if someone took you away from me?”

Tubbo’s eyes immediately went wide and he latched onto Kristen’s leg.

“That’s what I thought,” Kristen said, scooping the avian up and tickling his stomach to make him laugh. “You can visit every day and make him toys and things, but he’s got to stay with his mum.”

Tubbo nodded, not one to argue with his own mum, and snuggled up to her.

“Not ah,” she scolded, snagging Charlie by his sleeve as he tried to sneak off with the rest of siblings, who had quickly lost interest and went to torment one of their older siblings. “Don’t think this get’s you out of fighting.”

“But Muuuummmmm,” both boys whined simultaneously.

She chuckled. “C’mon. Let’s go clean the attic. See if we can find any fun stuff.”

“What is it with mums and wanting the clean the most obscure places?” Tubbo asked, peering down at Charlie.

“You shush, or we’ll clean the basement next,” Kristin scolded, and Charlie swatted at Tubbo to get him to shut up.

On the other side of the house, while Kristin was busy in the attic, Ranboo snuck the pig in through the window.

Chaos ensued.

Chapter Text

“So let me get this straight—” Eret tipped back in his seat, waving a thin, delicate knife around while propping his ankles up. “You thought it would be a good idea to kidnap a kid from a wealthy-looking group of travelers, force the kid to give you an address, then send a ransom letter, correct?”

The guy on the ground, tied up hand and foot, didn’t look up from his lap.

Said kid in question named Foolish, snickered. Ranboo leaned on one shoulder, and Tubbo on the other. All three were grinning wickedly as Eret interrogated their hostage while Phil went to get the authorities. Puffy was at the door, a shiny throwing knife flicking over her knuckles expertly.

“And how did that work out for you?” Eret gave his own toothy grin and tilted his head, dark curls falling onto his forehead.

The would-be-kidnapper swallowed hard.

“Just be glad Dream wasn’t here,” Puffy said with a bit of pride for her ‘son.’ “He’s quite fond of that kid.”

Foolish beamed, looking for all the world the smug little gremlin Tommy and Tubbo had turned him into.

There was a knock at the door and Puffy opened it, revealing their father and a member of the domestic security. Phil nodded to the man on the floor, exchanged a few words with the marshal, then the prisoner and the cop left.

Phil sighed then turned to Foolish.

“You’ve been a member of this family for two weeks,” he deadpanned. “You broke the kidnap record by a month.”

Foolish’s smile stretched from ear to ear, proud of himself for something he had no business being proud of.

Phil rolled his eyes and scooped the kid up into a hug. “You kids are gonna be the death of me.”

“Sweet!” Eret tipped back farther in the chair, almost falling. “We get that insurance money!”

“Eret!”

Phil just shook his head, listening to the laughter.

Chapter Text

“So if I have comprehended this correctly—” Kristin Minecraft leaned back in her chair, delicately propping one hand up on the arm of the chair and crossing her legs. “You dragged me all the way down here to tell me that my children acted in self-defense and you want me—” here she paused gracefully, waving one perfectly manicured fingernail in the air “—to punish them?”

Standing next to her, looking quite dutifully subdued and repentant, were Ranboo, Purpled, Drista, Hannah, and Charlie. Ranboo had dirty tear-streaks on his face, Drista had a devil-may-care glint in her eye, Hannah had a split lip, Charlie had a bloody cut on his nose, and Purpled had torn his hoodie.

The uppity store owner sniffed distastefully from behind her overly-expensive desk, hands playing nervously with a paperweight and some invoices with pale, wrinkled hands that had obviously not worked a day in their life. “Yes, as a matter of fact—”

“Cuz that’s not gonna happen,” Kristin interrupted.

The owner screwed down her mouth and nose, looking quite like a shriveled-up prune, oversized purple glasses sliding down her long nose. “I have on first-hand account from several witnesses—”

“Did you bother asking my children what happened?” Kristin interrupted again, tilting her head to the side, face blank but eyes wicked.

The owner’s thin lips pursed shut, probably smearing her tacky red lipstick on her fake teeth.

Kristin sighed. “Drista, hon—” Drista stepped forward as her mother waved her over “—please tell the lady what happened.”

Drista tilted her head defiantly. “Some kids were picking on Ranboo cuz of his skin and hair. Said he looked ugly and to go back to whatever hole he crawled out of it. So me, Charlie, Purpled, and Hannah sent em home crying to their mommas.”

Kristin nodded, then turned to the store owner. “I’m assuming the children she’s talking about were your children?”

The owner sputtered, revealing her indeed red-smeared teeth.

Kristin hummed, getting to her feet. “I’d suggest you start raising your children better.”

The owner’s face turned red (matching the lipstick quite nicely) and she jumped to her feet as well, pointing at Charlie accusatorily. “That one broke an extremely expensive vase worth three week’s pay!”

Kristin carelessly reached into her purse and pulled out a handful of gold, clunking it on the desk (probably scratching the fine finish) with a careless air, distinctly ignoring the fact that Charlie stuck his tongue out.

“We’re finished here. Come alone dears.” Kristin shooed her babies out the door, hand carefully finding Ranboo’s shoulder and pulling him close.

“Way to go, Mumza!” Hannah cheered much too loudly for a Thursday evening in town, but Kristin didn’t have the heart to scold her, instead handing out pointed looks that the town-folk shot her way.

“Yeah! You told that overweight selfish sow!” Purpled grinned toothily, only slightly worried about his hoodie.

Kristin smiled and shook her head, letting Ranboo lean on her as much as needed. “Don’t think you lot are out of trouble for fighting—”

“But Muuuummm—”

“Not ah—” she said. “You should’ve told me or Dad. You’re too little to be dealing with this stuff on your own.”

“I’m not little, I’m seven!” Drista said confidently, head tilted defiantly.

Kristin rolled her eyes, listening to her kids’ chattering as they meandered home.

Her heart was just a little bit heavy, knowing what was to come.

Chapter Text

“FUNDY!”

Fundy chittered under his breath, ducking around the corner and slid down the railing to the downstairs. Wilbur’s beanie was in his clutched fist, and he intended to keep it that way.

Served Wilbur right for forcing him to have ‘father-son cuddle time’ last night.

Fundy made it outside and flew off the porch and into the grass of the front lawn, shifting into his full hybrid form, Wilbur’s hat in his mouth, and took off for the woods.

He didn’t make it very far—logically, he knew he wouldn’t—but he still exhaled out a sharp breath as Wilbur slammed into him from the skies.

“Get offfff—” Fundy whined, shifting back to human form and spitting out Wilbur’s beanie.

“You are not getting out of this scot-free,” Wilbur said, plopping his hat back on while keeping on hand on Fundy’s chest to hold him down.

“I didn’t do anythinngg,” Fundy groused, still trying to squirm away.

“Uh huh—” Wilbur said, though he clearly didn’t believe so. “You know what Dadza says about lying.”

“Grandza’s not gonna know,” Fundy said, getting one leg up high enough to knee Wilbur in the stomach. His grip loosened for half a second and Fundy took advantage of it to wiggle away.

Not for long, as Wilbur snagged his ankle and yanked him back, pinning him down on his stomach.

“Wilbuuurrr—”

“You touched my stuff, you pay the price.”

Fundy snorted, but it was immediately followed by a yelp as Wilbur’s fingers dug into his ribs. Fundy immediately thrashed in Wilbur’s light grip and got himself free, but Wilbur followed after him, laughing himself.

Fundy shot off back towards the house, but staying in human form.

Wilbur chased, lanky legs definitely giving him the advantage, but he let Fundy almost get to safety before snagging him.

“Wilbur—”

Wilbur looked up from giving Fundy a noogie and blinked owlishly at his dad. “Yeah?”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“I know.”

“Tell that to Ranboo and his bruised ribs.”

“Not my fault I hug hard.”

Phil hummed and Fundy settled against Wilbur’s back. He was tired—nightmares again—and the sun was warm and Wilbur was warm and there was a gentle breeze and he was sleepy.

He burrowed against Wilbur’s chest and let his older brother cradle him to his chest. He was dimly aware of his dad talking and Wilbur cooing, the sound rumbling in his ear, but he didn’t care.

He was already asleep.

Chapter Text

Niki felt empty.

Like her soul had been sucked out of her body, leaving an empty shell that barely knew how to function.

She gasped in raspy breaths, arms wrapped tightly to her body as she walked home.

It was late, moon high in the sky and offering her a ray of solace. All around her, nature bent towards her, protecting her. Niki was a mer—she had a connection to the water in nature that she could call upon when desperate.

That connection was the only reason she was alive and whole right now.

She hiccupped weakly, trying to pull her ripped dress tighter around herself. She was cold and tired, body aching and bleeding from more than a few places. The bruises around her wrists and throat hurt, and she was pretty sure her left hand was sprained.

But all her physical pain couldn’t compare to the emptiness she felt within.

She could barely piece the memories together—there had been a birthday party for a friend of hers in town—one she got to go to all by herself, something she didn’t have to share with the rest of her siblings. Some guy had been there, some guy had thought she was pretty, some guy had touched her—

And then it went black.

All that was there was a rush of sea magic, and running. Lots of running that had eventually turned into a staggered walk.

She limped along, running out of the will to keep moving.

I’ll just rest here—it’ll be okay—

No!! Keep moving! They could have followed you—!!

“Niki!”

“Sweetheart! Where are you!”

“Please answer!!”

Niki scrunched her eyes shut at the male voices.

“No,” she whispered, going stock-still, her arms gripping at her shoulders, trying to hug herself. “Please no more—”

She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to reach for her magic a second time.

“Niki!”

“I found her!”

“Over here!”

Niki whimpered as the voices grew closer. She bowed her head, eyes screwed shut, waiting for them to reach for her—dirty fingernails digging into her skin, too-strong hands closing on her thin limbs—

“Niki?”

Powerful footsteps stopped right before her. She felt the displacement of air, heard the ragged breathing as the person tried to catch their breath after running for what must have been a long time.

“Niki—” Two more sets of footsteps, and a voice of relief.

“Don’t touch her.”

“Techno—?”

“Look at her, moron.”

Niki peaked her eyes open. A large man was standing in front of her, out of arm’s reach, eyes soft and kind and understanding. Behind him, a boy with large grey wings and another boy with glowing eyes were staring.

“Her magic is almost completely depleted,” the boy with white eyes said. Then his eyes were no longer white, and he was normal, though his gaze was firmly on the dirt.

“Why is her dress all ripped up like that?” the boy with the wings said hesitantly, eyes on the young man, as if he knew the answer but needed to hear it.

Niki whimpered and stepped back at the mention of her shredded clothing, arms crossed over her partially exposed chest, wishing to run but too tired to do so. She knew she wouldn’t make it far, and it would only hurt worse if she resisted.

The young man’s jaw was set as he whipped off his cloak. Niki let out a little shriek that scraped at her raw throat and stepped back, only for the cloth to settle on her shoulders, pooling at her feet and covering her in soft warmth, the body heat from the young man still clinging to the fabric.

There was a smell there, horsey and grassy, like a summer’s ride on that trail she would take with Dream and Techno—

Techno?

“Princess?”

Niki’s heart jumped at the nickname, the nickname only ever used by one person, used with love and never taunting, spoken with strength and power but meaning gentleness and love.

Her eyes opened.

Techno was kneeling in front of her, pink hair and all. She fixated on the pink that was mirrored in her own soft locks and reached a trembling hand out.

“Yeah,” Techno smiled, gentle and encouraging. “Remember? You helped me last time. Kristin had to do yours after, you threw such a little hissy fit.”

Niki screwed up her nose, hand playing with the braid. “Did not.”

Techno visibly relaxed when she answered. He let out a deep sigh and looked to the two boys behind him. “Go get everyone else. Send ‘em back home and get ‘em to bed.”

“You gonna be okay?” the boy with wings asked, looking worriedly as Niki began to undo the braid and redo it better, more intricately, eyes glassy and spaced out.

“Yeah,” Techno said, experimentally resting a large hand on Niki’s shoulder. The girl didn’t flinch.

If anything, she leaned into it.

“We’ll be fine.”

The two boys nodded and the one with wings took off into the air while the other’s eyes glowed white for a second before picking a direction and running off.

“Niki, can you hear me?” Techno asked once Wilbur and Eret had gone.

Niki nodded, but she still seemed pretty spacey.

“Can I pick you up? Your feet have to be cold.”

Niki shuffled her feet, feeling the cold ground for the first time on her bare feet. She pulled the cloak tighter and nodded.

It was Techno, after all.

She was safe with Techno.

Strong arms picked her up and propped her up against a large chest, adjusted the cloak so she was completely blocked off from the night’s chill and held her securely.

Not restraining.

Not cruelly.

Protecting.

Safe.

…

“What happened?” Puffy hissed as she and Techno stood in the doorway of the living room, watching the younger siblings as they slept around and on Niki, the little girl all curled up in the center of a giant pile of pillows, blankets, and bodies. Her older siblings were stationed all around the room—sleeping under windows and doors and around the couch she was sleeping on.

Nobody was touching her ever again.

After they got back home, it had taken her a solid twenty minutes to recognize her siblings, and even then was hesitant around the boys for another thirty.

Puffy and Minx had given her a bath, and now she was fast asleep on Wilbur’s chest, breathing easy with a sleeping draught to help her forget the bad night long enough to get some rest.

“Found her wandering around in circles three miles from town,” Techno whispered back. “And you saw the bruises, how her dress was ripped. Where it was ripped—”

Puffy nodded and chewed on her lip, arms crossed against the torrent of anger. “Who would do that to a little girl—?”

Techno grunted and left the peaceful scene, heading toward his room.

“Techno?” Puffy followed, sounding worried. “What’re you doing?”

“Take a guess.” Techno didn’t bother sugarcoating it. He strapped on his netherite chest-plate, and sheathed his sword.

“Techno—”

“Try and stop me, Puffy,” Techno deadpanned, getting more and more agitated the longer he was here instead of doing something.

“Techno, we should wait for Dadza and Mum—”

“So they can do what?” Techno said evenly. “Dad can’t do anything because he’d have to do it the ‘legal’ way and he have no proof that guy even touched Niki.”

Puffy froze. “You know him—?”

Techno stiffened, then started yanking on his gloves. “Everyone knows the guy, and everyone knows he’s a slime-bag. Nobody ever does anything about it. Well, he finally messed with the wrong family.”

Puffy knew who he was talking about the second he said ‘slime-bag.’ They had to stop calling him that after adopting Charlie, but she knew.

“How’d you know it was him?” she asked softy as Techno slipped potions into his belt.

“I smelled him on her,” Techno said. “Remember when he was hitting on Minx and me and Schlatt chased him off?”

“Yeah—”

“I remember what he smelled like.”

Puffy didn’t bother to ask how Techno remembered that, but waited in silence as Techno finished putting on his armor and grabbing a selection of smaller weapons.

“I’ll be back before dawn,” he said, tightening the straps on his boots. “Nobody leaves the house. Don’t answer the door, and keep everyone in the living room. I already locked all the doors and windows.”

She nodded, feeling numb.

He stopped in the doorway, as if debating something, then gave her a half hug that was more awkward than sweet.

“I know you’re worried. I’ll be fine.”

With that, he left.

…

Techno started his search at the house where he and Dream had dropped the little girl off for the party. She had been so excited, so bright and cheerful at the prospect of doing something with other girls her age and not her twenty-some, obnoxious brothers.

Someone had taken that happiness away.

Techno’s hybrid senses easily picked up on the smell he was looking for.

Cheap, crappy cologne, cruddy homemade booze, some form of weed, and peppermint.

There was also Niki’s scent—bubblegum and cotton candy, sugary and sweet mixed with the sour smell of the filth that had done the unspeakable to her.

Techno let his anger boil in his stomach as he followed the mixed scents, trailing them down the almost empty streets to an alley near the edge of town.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what happened there.

The alleyway’s grimy ground was cracked, and the fence that protected the village from the Undead was blasted open.

From there, Niki’s scent changed—Techno could smell the leftover magic, salty like the sea Niki had been born in.

The man’s scent went the other way, and was much sharper.

Fresher.

Niki must’ve knocked him out and he had only just woken up a few hours ago.

Techno followed the trail with growing impatience, though he kept his gate even and his face even, though nobody could see it behind his mask.

The mask was crucial.

If anyone saw him, nobody would be able to pin what was about to happen on him and Phil.

…

Techno found him roughly half an hour later.

In the slums of the town, under the eaves of a shoddy building, drinking from a cracked bottle.

Techno, from across the street, inhaled deeply.

Niki’s perfume was still there—undetectable by anyone but Techno.

Techno growled, chest rattling, his grip tightening on his sword’s handle.

His jaw elongated, fangs poking from his gums. His nose flattened, and his ears grew.

It had been a while since he had taken on his piglin form—but oh, how he loved it.

Without a warning or the slightest of sounds, he pounced.

A scream was never heard.

The body was never found.

…

“Techno.”

“Yeah Dad?”

“I know you did it.”

“So?”

A sigh. “I could’ve taken care of it.”

“Who would’ve believed you?”

An empty pause.

“Exactly. He’s gone now, he paid for what he did.”

Another sigh, deeper than the past, and a heavy hand landed on Techno’s shoulder. Phil’s gaze wandered to his daughter, the little girl chasing after Purpled in the front yard, laughing and screeching as Ranboo tackled her out of thin air, not a clue what had happened two days and a night earlier.

Her child’s mind had blocked it out, refusing to accept it had ever happened.

“I’m proud of you.”

Techno’s eyes widened at the phrase, but he kept his face mostly neutral.

“I’m sorry you had to take someone’s life,” Phil said softly. “You’ll have their blood on your hands for the rest of your life—”

“I’ll manage.”

“But I’m still proud of you.”

Techno let himself smile as Niki wrestled her ball away from Tommy and took off in a dead sprint, easily outpacing the small avian, the boy’s wings weighing him down.

Did the fact he had killed someone bother him?

Of course.

He had taken a life, taken the breath from someone’s chest and emptied their soul.

He’d live with that for a very long time, possibly feel guilt for it.

Niki’s laugh rang out, clear as a bell, as Jack dove for her and missed gloriously, earning himself a face-full of grass and Tommy’s curses.

Techno sighed, settling on the steps to supervise his little siblings, eyes fixed on the little pinkette that was blissfully ignorant.

It was worth it.

Chapter Text

Tubbo sniffled, wiping his nose for the hundredth time. The skin was red and irritated and it burned—honestly it was probably bleeding—but Tubbo didn’t care.

Small price to pay for his stupidity.

He deserved it really.

His wings panged, being smushed against the tree for so long, but he ignored them.

Stupid wings.

Stupid feathers.

Stupid molt that had come so late and messed with his head and meant he had another year before he’d be even close to flying.

He knew, he knew Tommy would get to fly first, especially after his wings’ rebirth. The muscles had been reborn as anew, and Tommy had gotten to start learning how to fly right away.

Tubbo?

His wings wouldn’t even let him glide yet. They couldn’t even fold properly yet, what with Tubbo’s mental block.

Worthless.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo’s breath hitched through his sobs and he snapped his head up.

Dream was perched in the branch above him, mask pushed to the side to reveal his worried face. Tubbo hadn’t even heard him approach.

“Hey, bud. What’re you doing out here?”

Tubbo glowered and smushed his face into his knees.

Stupid brothers that could track an ant through a cornfield. Stupid family that cared if he was okay. Stupid Tubbo for making them look for him instead of eating dinner.

Tubbo heard Dream drop gracefully, barely a leaf disturbed.

“You hurt?”

Tubbo shook his head.

“Tubbo, your wings—”

“Leave them,” Tubbo snapped. They deserved to be cramped and itchy and hurt.

“Tubbo—”

“No.”

Tubbo heard Dream huff, then his large hands were closing around Tubbo’s arms and pulling him up and forward.

“Leave off—!!” Tubbo immediately kicked and screamed and cursed, voice angry and brittle and wet.

Dream smushed him to his chest, holding him tight even though Tubbo kicked and hit him. He took a step back into a tree, then slid down it while keeping a hold of his little brother.

Said little brother was cursing Dream and every one of his ancestors out.

Dream let him, and simply held him till the tears started to prick Tubbo’s eyes and his chest grew hot and tight. His wings twanged as he flapped them instinctively, blood flowing into the cramped muscles.

“Why?” Tubbo finally asked, tears starting to spill. “Why am I so useless.”

Dream didn’t say anything, and Tubbo’s breath hitched a bit when he felt a hand in his wings.

“Easy,” Dream said gently, not letting up and pinning Tubbo’s arms to his chest with his free hand in an almost-restraining hug. His fingers continued to pull through the feathers, soothing and detangling. “It’s just me.”

Tubbo knew that. He knew it was his brother, he knew he was safe, he knew Dream would never, ever hurt him.

But he still scrunched his face and hid in Dream’s hoodie.

Dream patiently worked through Tubbo’s wings, cleaning them up a bit and straightening his feathers and pulling out the clumps.

Little bit by little bit, Tubbo relaxed.

Preening was naturally a relaxing activity for avians, and Dream, having been raised with Wilbur with Phil for a father, knew what he was doing.

Even with the terrible memories and trauma that still made Tubbo anxious with people touching his feathers, Tubbo found himself relaxing.

“You calmed down yet?” Dream asked once Tubbo had himself under a bit of control.

Tubbo opened his mouth to curse at him some more, but Dream rubbed around the joint where the wing connected to Tubbo’s shoulder-blades and Tubbo went boneless.

Dream—the rat he was—chuckled, adjusting his grip so Tubbo could sit up a bit without escaping.

“Knock it off.” Tubbo struggled to get himself to sit up on his own volition, but Dream simply laughed at him and kept massaging the joint.

“You need to chill,” he said, and Tubbo knew he was right. Getting himself worked up would only make the molting worse. His back was cramping, the shoulder and neck muscles inflamed and irritated.

Didn’t mean he was happy about it.

“Why’d you run off?” Dream asked.

Not mean, not accusing.

Just curious.

Dream was like that. It made him a favorite among the younger kids.

“I’m worthless,” Tubbo whispered, feeling vulnerable with Dream’s hand carding through his feathers and the molting hormones screwing up his head.

“Why?”

“I can’t fly.”

“Not yet.”

“It’s not fair.”

“It’s not.”

“Why—” Tubbo’s voice cracked, and his fingers twined around Dream’s hoodie.

“Because you were abused and traumatized,” Dream said simply. “You were starved and beaten and locked away like a toy. You were played with and tortured and hurt. Your body couldn’t produce the proper hormones for molting under such stress without proper nutrition. Now that you’re safe and happy and your brain knows it, it’s getting your wings ready.”

Tubbo sniffled. He knew Dream was right.

He knew it.

But his head was all screwy, so it decided to find another way to make Tubbo feel crummy.

Everyone else in the family was special.

Everyone else had fire and magic and martial arts skills and capabilities beyond anything Tubbo could ever hope to have.

Even Fundy could already Full shift.

Alyssa was showing signs of having powerful magic.

Ponk and Punz, though fully human, were lethal enough with their bare hands they could take Phil and Techno in a fight and come out without a scratch. They couldn’t win, not even close, but they could land a few hits.

Schlatt could crack a skull with his bare hands.

Ant could take the flesh off a bone in Full and Hidden form with his claws or fingernails.

Wilbur could dust people with a touch.

Minx could move so quietly even Techno’s specialized senses couldn’t hear.

Eret could sense—

“Tubbo.” Dream’s voice was quiet, only slightly scolding. “Stop comparing yourself.”

Tubbo whimpered. “But—”

“No.”

“Everyone else—”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It’s—”

“No.”

Tubbo shut up.

“You’re not worthless because you can’t breathe fire or spin illusions,” Dream said gently. “You’re not useless just because you can’t See or swim really fast.”

“I can’t even fly—I’m supposed to be able to fly!”

“You can’t fly yet,” Dream pointed out. Tubbo was starting to get sleepy, what with Dream’s gentle massaging the tender joints.

Tubbo swallowed.

Dream was right, as usual.

“C’mon, featherball,” Dream stood easily, as if he wasn’t holding an extra hundred-or-so pounds. “You need to eat.”

Tubbo groaned, fussed, but let Dream take him home.

He was, of course, immediately swarmed by Tommy and Ranboo and Jack and Niki when he got back, and the four kidnapped him ‘to take care of him’, but Wilbur had to supervise so Tommy didn’t accidentally shove the antibiotic cream up Tubbo’s nose instead of on it.

Niki made him eat—Tubbo was too scared of the mer to say no.

Jack used his magic as a heatpack for Tubbo’s shoulders, chasing away the ache in his muscles, and Ranboo and Tommy preened his wings while Niki sang a story.

Tubbo fell asleep that way, on his stomach, warm and full and tired and worn-out and relaxed.

And as he slept, long after everyone else went to bed, his dreams happy and light and blissfully free from nightmares—

His wings folded neatly to his back.

Chapter Text

“You sure they’re here?” Sapnap tried to keep his nerves down, tried to keep the anxiety from prickling across his skin. He’d be of no use to anyone if he was a nervous wreck.

“Yeah.” Dream sounded eons calmer, this stalking-around stuff more up his alley than Sapnap’s. “There’s no other trail. It leads right there.”

“Then let’s burn this popsicle stand.” Quackity moved to dart forward, but Dream caught him by the ankle, oomphing the avian onto his stomach.

“Not yet, feather-brain,” Dream’s head tilted, the boy probably rolling his eyes from behind his pearly white mask. “Let’s wait for them to settle down.”

“Every second we’re out here, George and Karl are in there with those guys doing who knows what to them!” Quackity protested, just a hint of panic edging into his voice.

“They’re fine,” Dream said quietly. “We were right on the ball to follow. If something had happened, we would have heard the screams.” He sounded so at peace, voice soothing and at ease—his brothers inadvertently relaxed.

“Just settle down, and we’ll wait for the kidnappers to go to sleep. We’ll sneak in, grab ‘em, and get back out.”

“Then burn it to the ground,” Sapnap said, Quackity nodding his head vigorously.

Dream smiled behind his mask, but nodded. Burning the house, and everything around it for five miles, sounded quite relaxing.

Silence settled over the trio as they tried to relax on soft, slightly-damp grass. The moon was quite bright overhead, and while it was beautiful, the boys would have preferred the cover of darkness to rescue their brothers.

Dream laid his head down, closing his eyes and letting himself rest, even though every muscle was slightly tense and his ears mind was on high alert. He let himself think, thoughts drifting to how they got into this mess in the first place.

…

It had been a very nice day, rather late spring. Callahan, Hannah, and Foolish had fit into the family perfectly, rather like missing pieces to a puzzle.

Dream, Karl, George, Sapnap, and Quackity were on small trip to a nearby town (not their village, but one a bit farther) with a list of oils (for the avians, Niki, and the horned hybrids), blaze powders (for Sapnap, Jack, Techno, and Bad), some toys (surprises for the little kids), and a few other ingredients for the mages in the family.

“Dream, I know we’re being followed,” Karl ansted in his saddle, fingers jittery. The day was warm, gently so, but Karl was an odd shade of pale.

“You gotta relax, man,” Quackity teased, stretching out one wing to flop Karl upside the head.

“Q, put those things away before someone comes down the trail,” George scolded, his accent crisping and curling the words.

“Not smart, Big Q,” Sapnap rolled his eyes as his avian brother tucked the golden butter-yellow appendages under his navy-blue cloak.

“Coming from the guy who decided it would be fun to juggle fire-balls—” Dream rolled his eyes, mask off to the side of his head, ready to pushed over his eyes and nose if need be.

“Guys—” Karl pled again, looking back the way they came, the dappled-sunlit path looking quite docile for the emphasis Karl was putting on it.

“Just take it easy, Karl,” Dream said. “Could just be someone else on the trail following up behind us.”

“Yeah, and we can take anyone that tries to mess with us!” Quackity grinned, crossing his arms behind his head and stretched his back, George wincing at the obnoxious pops the other’s spine made.

Karl didn’t look convinced, and continued to nervously play with his reigns, looking back behind them every few minutes.

…

I should’ve listened to him, Dream thought, squeezing his hands into fists at his stupidity. The three of them—Quackity, Sapnap, and himself—had woken up to their brothers missing.

Someone had managed to sneak into their camp in the dead of night without alerting Dream’s over-sensitive ears or tripping George’s magic.

That thought alone had made Dream’s skin crawl, and set him on an edge he didn’t like being on.

It had been too easy to track these guys too—obvious signs left behind that were quite clearly made up, but the Minecraft boys had had no choice but to follow.

Now, they waited outside a two-story, abandoned house that suspiciously quiet and unguarded on a small hill protected by trees and bush.

Dream was willing to outwait these guys for as long as it took—as long as they’re wasn’t any screams. He sat up, trying to get a better look at the house.

“You okay?” Quackity looked over at him, concern in his flat blue eyes.

Dream didn’t answer, and let his sharp eyes rake over the house. It had been silent for almost four hours now—no lights flickering and no shadows moving on the inside.

Either whoever was waiting for them was really good at sitting still or they had all fallen asleep.

Dream really hoped it was the latter.

“We’re moving. Second window, top left corner, east side. It’s been quiet the longest.”

Sapnap and Quackity didn’t argue, simply nodded. Sapnap pulled his hood up and Quackity tightened the straps of his cloak around his waist. He had been taught how to fight with his wings, but he didn’t want them getting caught on anything in a dark house—and there might still be time to salvage their little hybrid secret.

The three made their way silently down the hill, approaching the house as shadows moving on a breeze. To any unknowing eye, they would have appeared as the pass of a bird overhead, or figment of the imagination.

They made it to the house, plastering themselves up against the side. The wooden siding was cold against their fingers, any warmth from the day long gone.

They were about to start the climb when something growled directly behind them.

Sapnap grabbed Quackity and slapped a hand over his mouth right before he screamed and Dream whirled in place, heart in his mouth and hand on his ax.

A massive blue tiger was sitting there, just around the corner of the house. His tail swished patiently against the night-damp grass, and the scar from his eye to his flank stood out against the midnight blue fur.

Dream swallowed hard. What was this thing? A hybrid? Mage? He could feel the magic roiling off the beast, but he couldn’t tell what it was.

For the first time since he could remember, Dream couldn’t tell.

The animal growled again, not harshly, but softly. He nodded his head towards the forest, an oddly human gesture, and got to his feet gracefully. His tail flicked back and forth as he paused and turned around, looking at them, obviously waiting.

Dream drew in a shaky breath and started after the tiger.

“Dream—!!” Sapnap’s hiss was so low and quiet Dream almost missed it.

“He wants us to follow,” Dream answered back. “We follow.”

He didn’t know why he felt the indescribable urge to chase after the creature, but he did. Behind him, he heard Quackity and Sapnap whisper through an argue rapid-fire before following after him.

The tiger didn’t offer any conversation as to what he was, who he was, or where they were going. He led them through the dark forest, large paws not disturbing so much as a pebble.

For some reason, following the beast from behind, feeling the insane amount of magic contained in the creature, Dream got the indescribable feeling that he was safe.

The creature stopped at the edge of a clearing, a dirty little cabin taking up the middle. It was quite the atrocious-looking thing, all splinters and mold. The front leaned heavily, and the side looked as though it was about to crumble.

Dream turned to the tiger, but the beast was gone. Quackity and Sapnap both drew in sharp breaths, but Dream had already turned back to the matter at hand.

The house had been a trap, Dream thought grimly, issuing new orders to his brothers.

There was a busted window on the left side of the cabin, leading into a dismal, sad interior. The floorboards were rotted through with foul mold, the single chair and table looking as though they survived the Crusades, and the cupboards were crumpled shreds on the ground. A ratted, slightly-caving-in-on-itself doorway led into a dark side-room—one Dream guessed was either a bedroom or a storage closet.

But Dream and his brothers couldn’t care less about the furniture.

It was the person tied to the chair and the other asleep in the cot that interested them the most.

The guy in the cot was obviously the guard—and he was doing a wonderful job.

Not that the prisoner in the chair was offering any trouble.

Karl was out cold, hands tied behind his back and ankles lashed to the legs of the chair, a gag in his mouth and a few bruises littering his neck and jaw.

Sapnap growled, but Dream shushed him, looking for booby traps, though he was pretty sure he and his brothers weren’t supposed to know this was here.

Once he deemed it was safe, he nodded to Karl and his two brothers darted forward, Quackity ignoring the fact that Karl was tied down and engulfing him in a hug.

Karl’s confused whimper tore at Dream’s heart as he moved to the storeroom, looking for George. To his utter relief (mixed with horror), the skinny Brit was curled up on his side, tied up like Karl, on a ratted excuse of a moth-eaten mattress. Dream could just see how George was shivering lightly, probably freezing without someone to keep him warm.

Dream carefully laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, trying not to scare him. George yelped himself awake anyway, the noise muffled at the rag in his mouth.

“Hey, hey, hey—” Dream whispered as George fought him blindly, trying to twist away. The panicking teen stopped dead at Dream’s voice and his eyes blinked blearily, adjusting to the dark.

Dream saw the exact moment George recognized him, saw the exact second George realized he was safe.

The frail boy lurched forward, crashing into Dream, arms straining at their bonds to try and wrap around his older brother.

“Easy, easy—” Dream soothed, though he wrapped his arms tightly around his little brother. He let himself have one second, screwing his eyes shut and letting out one shaky breath. George was icy cold against him, trembling slightly as the boy shivered against Dream’s warmth.

Steeling himself, he pulled away and took out his knife, slicing away George’s bindings. The dark bruises left behind, ugly blue and black splotches that patched the Brit’s pale skin, made Dream’s stomach churn as he helped George stand.

Quackity and Sapnap had already smuggled Karl out of the cabin and were waiting as Dream helped George out through the window.

“Swap,” Dream ordered, one arm supported George and the other reaching for Karl. “He’s freezing.”

Sapnap, Karl cradled in his arms, nodded and let Dream take the smaller boy before hauling George into a bridal carry. The Brit let out an audible sigh of relief as he leaned against Sapnap’s chest, the heat from the blaze rod flooding into him.

Dream let himself have a second with Karl as well, squeezing the boy in a hug, letting him know he was safe. Karl clung to him, hands digging into Dream’s cloak and face snuggling into Dream’s shirt.

“Now?” Quackity asked eagerly, eyes glinting with a maniacal glint.

Dream nodded, and Sapnap snapped his fingers awkwardly, letting a small spark fall. Quackity caught it, bounced it back and forth between his palms as he underestimated the heat, and chucked it at the cabin.

It took a bit, but the mold and mildew were no match for Sapnap’s magic.

When they were positive the cabin would burn with nothing left behind, the five disappeared into the shadows, ready to return home.

…

Phil face was grim as he inspected George’s wrists, the Brit sitting on the counter in the infirmary as Phil checked him over. “And you have no idea who did this?” his words were chips of ice dropping onto a steel floor, though his rough hands were gentle on George’s damaged skin as the limb was turned this way and that.

“No,” Karl said quietly from his place on the infirmary chair. Kristin smiled kindly, pausing her wrapping of his wrists to rest a hand on his cheek.

“They blindfolded us before they did anything, then the one guard we had wore a mask. They didn’t say anything at all to each other, and kept us separate most of the time,” George said, flinching as Phil touched a particularly bad spot accidentally.

Phil apologized, then sighed deeply. He pulled George forward into a hug, resting his chin on top of the boy’s fluffy curls. George stiffened for only a moment before relaxing into his father’s familiar grasp.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” he whispered, the sound muffled by Phil’s shirt.

“You did nothing wrong,” Phil reassured, letting one hand slide up and down George’s bony spine in soothing motions.

“But I coulda done something—” George’s arms tightened. “I coulda used my magic or something or—”

“George,” Phil’s voice was firm but loving at the same time. “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but those that dared touch you.”

He leaned back and tilted George’s head by his chin so the boy would look at him. “I love you, okay?”

George’s already-watery, bi-colored eyes filled with tears and he nodded, sniffling loudly before diving back into Phil’s embrace.

Phil heard snuffles behind him and turned to see Karl crying lightly into Kristin’s shoulder, Kristin smiling weakly against her own tears.

“Oh, come on—” Phil smiled teasingly. “All of you are gonna cry and make me look bad for not?”

Kristin rolled her eyes and stood, moving to her husband’s side and letting him tuck her and his other son under his arm with George. Karl latched onto Phil’s shirt with one hand while keeping the other firmly around his mother’s neck.

Phil sighed and started rocking back and forth, feeling the three hearts beat in a pattern with his own.

They were home, and they were safe.

And when this was all over, they always would be.

Chapter Text

“Tubbo, run!”

Tubbo did, wings pressed tight to his back to prevent whoever was chasing him from snagging him. His shoes dug into the soft forest earth, stirring up leaves. He would take off, but he had just learned how to fly, and he had no trust in his newly-molted wings.

His pursuer took the final leap and tackled him, Tubbo screaming as he went down. Last second, he twisted and landed on his back, just in time for his chaser to pin him down.

“Gothcha!” Bad announced, smiling widely.

“Lay off!” Tubbo squirmed, but couldn’t help but giggle. His wings half-flapped and twitched, but they were no help. Bad was practically sitting on his legs, so they were useless, and Bad had his arms pinned.

“Never!” Bad cheered, wiggling his fingers on Tubbo’s stomach, tickling his little brother. Tubbo squealed, thrashing and laughing.

“You must join the Eggpire,” Bad made his voice all echoey with his magic for dramatic effect, though he didn’t think Tubbo was listening with how hard he was laughing. “Become one of us!”

“One. Of. Us.” Skeppy chanted, joining the two, Ant not too far behind. Ant had his arms full of Tommy, the avian shrieking and announcing his annoyance to the world.

“Oi!” said avian kicked out, but Ant had him picked up and held to his chest, so Tommy’s kicks were pointless. “Stop torturing Tubbo!”

Tubbo got out a jerky nod, tears now streaming down his face. Bad let up and Tubbo went limp against the dirt, hiccupping through a few more giggles as Bad rubbed his arms to help him to settle.

“You’ve killed him!” Tommy squawked, though he very well knew different.

“Fear not, young one!” Bad said in his silly acting voice, picking Tubbo up so they were pressed chest to chest, the avian’s chin resting on Bad’s shoulder. “He shall serve the Egg just as well dead than alive!”

“Noooo,” Tubbo whined as his and Tommy’s ‘captors’ began to take them farther into the woods, back the way Tubbo had ran. “Don’ wanna serve no Egg—”

“You heard him!” Tommy tried to work one of his arms free. “Let us loose!”

“But the Egg!” Skeppy grinned, tugging on one of Tommy’s feathers. “The Egg must see you! The Egg needs you!”

Tommy squawked indignantly as he was thrown over Ant’s shoulder, Tubbo snorting a laugh at him.

Tommy muttered a curse at his brother, giving up on trying to worm himself free. Ant patted Tommy’s lower back with the arm he was using to hold Tommy on his shoulder, checking in. Tommy tapped Ant’s shoulder in return, letting him know he was okay.

“Where are we going?” Tubbo asked, sitting up and looking around as the trees slowly changed from birches and maples to pines and oaks. It was muddier here, and smelled like pine needles instead of underbrush. “I don’t recognize this part of the forest.”

“Shouldn’t,” Tommy muttered. “The Three Stooges chased us for a year and a half.”

“We found this place during one of our Manhunts,” Skeppy said. “It’s actually kinda nice when he isn’t torturing us.”

Ant snorted. “Yeah, Dream used it to screw us over with a moss trap.”

“How do you get screwed over with moss?” Tubbo asked innocently, Tommy guffawing a laugh out his nose.

“Some kidnappers you are,” he poked Ant’s back. “Getting defeated by moss.”

“And getting beat by Dream, really?” Tubbo added. “The guy’s a literal marshmallow. How do you lose to a marshmallow?”

“I’m taking this one with us next time,” Bad announced, hefting Tubbo up a bit. “He can be our hostage.”

“I’m already your hostage,” Tubbo pointed out tactfully, looking around at the unfamiliar forest.

“And we’re not happy about it!” Tommy shrieked, kicking his legs and flapping his wings, smacking Ant in the head.

“Bad why couldn’t we snag Fundy or Drista or something?” Ant whined, stepping over a log. “Why’d we have to grab the Terror Twins?”

“Because you’re stupid!”

Bad sighed as Tubbo heartily agreed. “Because Fundy’s in the house and would’ve cried for Wil and Drista would’ve cried for Dream.”

“I can cry!” Tubbo offered.

“No—!”

Tubbo, despite the ‘no’, tipped his head back and sobbed on immediate command. Great, big, dramatic tears that rolled down his face and heaving, stuttering breaths that shook his chest.

Tommy, automatically, began to wrestle and fight and squirm to get his brother (though he knew Tubbo was in no danger).

Ant cursed, Bad yelled at him, Skeppy yelled at Bad, Tubbo cried harder, Tommy kicked Ant in the chest, Ant cursed again—

Round and round they went, till finally Ant plunked Tommy down on the forest floor. Tubbo was set next to him, and immediately Tubbo’s tears vanished.

“Where are we?” he asked brightly, face still wet.

Skeppy gave him a look. “You two really are little sh—”

“Language, you muffinhead!” Bad swatted at him.

Tommy elbowed Tubbo and stage-whispered, “Our kidnappers are incompetent.”

Tubbo nodded sagely. “Should we make a run for it?”

“No!” Bad whirled on them, and the avians leaned back a bit at his excitement. “Not until you meet the Egg!”

“You will serve the Egg, and be enlightened, same as us!” Ant crowed, smiling crazily and clapping his hands.

“I changed my mind,” Tommy stage-whispered again. “Our kidnappers are nuts.”

Tubbo nodded, crossing his legs and letting his wings settle. “We really should have tried to run faster.”

“Skeppy!” Bad ordered. “Bring the Egg!”

Skeppy messed with a box at the base of a massive oak tree. Red ribbon decorated the branches and trunks, and the grass had somehow been painted red to look like a spreading disease.

“So that’s why you wanted red paint,” Tubbo remarked, craning his neck to see what Skeppy was doing.

Skeppy dramatically turned, holding a pillow with an ornately painted rock roughly the size of a baseball on it.

“All hail the Egg!” Skeppy announced and Bad and Ant bowed at the waist, chanting something T-Squared couldn’t hear.

Tubbo leaned over to Tommy, suddenly a lot more serious. “We need to run.”

Tommy nodded, eyes wide. “We need holy water. Lots of holy water. Maybe a priest or two.”

“Toby Underscore Minecraft,” Skeppy said gravely, holding out the stupid rock towards Tubbo. “Touch the Egg, and be enlightened.”

Tubbo looked at the Egg, looked at Tommy, looked at Skeppy, looked at Ant and Bad, and then looked back at Skeppy. “I don’t want to.”

Skeppy’s eye twitched. “Place your hand on the Egg.”

Tubbo blinked, then sighed and put his palm on the rock. It was rough and bumpy like literally every other rock Tubbo had ever hurled at someone’s head.

But Tubbo was a Tubbo and in typical Tubbo fashion he began to cry again. Skeppy looked panicked and Tommy took this opportunity to launch himself at Bad, knocking the older teen down and punching probably a bit harder than was necessary.

Tubbo just sat there and ‘sobbed’ while Ant and Skeppy tried to haul Tommy off Bad.

Pure, utter, chaos for a solid fifteen seconds.

Tubbo jumped as Sam suddenly exploded from the brush, face panicked and red from running. He had his sword in his hand, and looked quite distressed.

“Oh hey, Awesamdude,” Tubbo smiled through the tears, using Sam’s nickname. “What’re you doing here?”

Sam looked at the four-sibling scuffle-pile and quickly snatched Tubbo up. “What’s going on?” he asked, clearly trying to calm himself down from the panic he worked himself into hearing his little siblings screaming.

“Bad, Skeps, and Ant kidnapped us,” Tubbo said, watching as Tommy’s screaming turned to desperate laughter as Skeppy and Ant held him down and Bad tickled him. “They wanted us to worship some rock.”

“The Egg!” Skeppy looked up, face crinkling in offense. “The Egg isn’t some paltry, pathetic rock—it is the most powerful force on earth!”

Tubbo ignored him. “It’s a rock.”

Sam’s face was blank. “A rock.”

“A right ugly one too.”

Sam blinked. “My siblings are worshiping a rock.”

“Yes,” Tubbo nodded, simply watching as Tommy’s face slowly grew redder with every passing minute.

“My siblings kidnapped my siblings.”

“Yep.”

“To force them to worship said rock.”

“You’re four for four, boss man.”

Sam heaved a sigh and shoved forward, pushing Bad good-naturedly to the side before grabbing Tommy by the scruff of his neck and hauling him up.

“Tommy!” Tubbo reached for his brother, Tommy having a hard time catching his breath. “You saved us Sam!”

Sam rolled his eyes and started heading back towards the house, carrying along his little brothers. Both half-flopped on him, exhausted from laughing and crying and running.

“C’mon!” he called behind him. “You three too!”

Bad grumbled and Skeppy stuck his tongue out (Ant got real brave and flipped Sam off behind his back), but they followed.

It was dinner time, after all.

Dinner was spent with family.

Chapter Text

Everything was a haze, blurry and foggy. Velvet felt his thoughts move sluggishly, as though they were glue in his mind. Sticky and slow, like molasses.

He heard a scream, but it didn’t quite mean anything to him. He could feel his body moving, but didn’t know why.

There was an instinct bubbling under his skin, controlling him.

What’s going on?

…

“Tubbo move!” Phil yelled, catching Ant around the waist as the boy tried to rush forward.

“Ant—” Phil grunted under his breath as the wiry teen tried to shake him off to get to his brother, watching as Velvet chased Tubbo around in a blood-crazed state. “Let me handle this—”

Ant wasn’t listening.

Neither was Velvet.

Tubbo certainly was.

Tubbo was keeping a steady distance between him and Velvet quite nicely, despite the fact that vampires had an increased speed.

“Ant, I need you to calm down!” Phil snapped, nearly taking Ant’s claws to the face.

“He’s hurting!” Ant yelled back.

“Then stop and let me help him!” Phil hated raising his voice, but Ant wasn’t listening to reason anymore.

Ant froze when Phil yelled, and Phil took his opportunity.

Tubbo shrieked as Velvet caught one of his wings and starting flinging curse words left and right. Velvet yanked and just as he was going to catch Tubbo around the neck, Phil tackled him.

The wiry boy had no chance against a full-grown man—one who knew what he was doing no less.

Velvet whimpered as he went down, scared and trembling, but hissing and spitting in rage. Phil immediately relaxed his hold, keeping it just firm enough that Velvet couldn’t squirm out.

“Easy, mate, easy—” Phil said softly, soothingly. “I know you’re scared, I know—”

A pitiful sound escaped Velvet’s throat, and it took everything Ant had not to rush forward and do something to keep Velvet from hurting anymore.

“Ant, Tubbo—go back to the house,” Phil ordered. His voice was gentle, but firm.

No room for argument.

Ant swallowed hard, but knew putting up a fuss wasn’t going to change Phil’s mind. He let Tubbo cling to his side and the two turned away, heading back home.

…

The fog was clearing, the dizziness was lifting.

“That’s it, just breathe.”

The voice was comforting, safe.

He blinked his eyes open, the blurry, gluey feeling finally easing out of his brain as he comprehended what he was seeing.

Phil was leaning over him, holding him down in such a way that he couldn’t hurt himself. His face was lined with concern, but it broke into a relieved smile as Velvet blinked a few times.

“There we are—” Phil eased off of him and helped him sit up, arm around his shoulders. “You gave me quite a scare there, mate.”

Velvet swallowed, mouth dry and throat thick. “What happened?”

“You lost yourself for a little bit,” Phil said, rubbing a hand on Velvet’s shoulder. “Scared the life out of Tubbo, but you didn’t hurt anybody.”

“Wh-what?” Velvet stuttered, heart flipping. Panic lanced through his veins and he started shaking.

“No, no—” Phil said easily, “Stay with me, mate. It’s not your fault.”

“But-but—”

“No.” Phil’s voice was firm, but not angry. “Not your fault. This kinda thing happens to blood-folk all the time. Ask Techno.”

“Techno isn’t—”

“But piglins are,” Phil explained patiently. “Blood-lust runs heavily in Nether creatures. Bad has problems with it too.”

Velvet exhaled shakily. “Tubbo’s okay?”

“Yes,” Phil nodded. “He’s seen worse, been through worse.”

Velvet swallowed thickly, feeling as though he was going to choke on his tongue.

“Let’s get you home,” Phil said, standing and bringing Velvet with him. He swung the fledgling up in a bridal hold. Velvet yelped a bit, but curled against Phil’s chest all the same. He was warm, his heartbeat pounding in regular time.

“Easy mate,” Phil said. “Easy.”

Velvet closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Phil’s heart.

Chapter Text

“You can’t keep doing this!” Karl backed away from Jimmy, his heart bursting with emotions he couldn’t name. The grass was cold under his bare feet, damp and prickly.

It was the second time Jimmy had come to visit, and Karl had already had enough.

“You can’t just take my memories and give them back whenever you want!” Karl grabbed fistfuls of hair, tears streaming down his face. “I spend my days wondering why I can’t remember and at night I can’t sleep because I don’t know what’s wrong!”

He gasped in desperate breaths, nearly choking on the tears that were flowing down the back of his throat. “What do you want from me?” he asked, looking up at his best friend, his older brother, the man that had saved him so long ago. “You say I’m not ready but I don’t know what I’m supposed to be ready for!”

He hiccupped, furiously wiping away tears. His hands balled up into fists, shaking and trembling all over.

Jimmy didn’t say anything, just stood there almost awkwardly. “I need you to trust me,” he said quietly.

“But you don’t trust me!” Karl pled, voice cracking. “You take away my memories like it’s nothing and leave, and—and—”

His face crumpled and the sobs began to shake themselves free.

“What did I do for you to abandon me!?!”

Jimmy reared back as if struck, and Karl took some sick sort of satisfaction from it.

He wanted Jimmy to hurt as much as he had, hurt the way he did every night when the emptiness of his hidden memories swallowed his mind and left him feeling alone and unloved.

“Karl—”

Karl jumped as Phil’s hand landed on his shoulder. He hadn’t heard his dad approach.

“Dad—”

“I know,” Phil said, voice oh-so-comforting and familiar. He turned Karl around till his face was pressed to Phil’s chest and he held him there. Karl didn’t have the energy to fight, just laid there and cried.

“This will have to be the last time, James.”

Karl didn’t listen as Phil spoke. He didn’t care—

“Phil—please—”

“This is breaking him. He’s been hurt enough.”

“It’s for his own good—”

“But he’ll never see it that way. All he’ll see is someone who didn’t trust him and gave him away.”

“I didn’t want to—the Council—”

“Means nothing to a child that looked to you for everything.”

Silence, and Karl’s muffled cries could be heard quite clearly.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Karl started, realizing Jimmy was crying.

Suddenly, he felt very, very guilty.

““I’m trying—I’m trying to keep him safe, keep him away from the war and the mess and everything—” a gasp, and a sound of pain. “But it’s only hurting him more.”

Phil’s hand gently worked through Karl’s hair, rubbing the tender spots on his scalp where Karl had yanked.

“We can only wait,” Phil sighed. “His magic is growing. It’s starting to affect the other kids.”

“Already?”

“He’ll be ready when the time comes.”

“But when will that be?”

Phil moved, and Karl guessed he was shrugging. “When the time is right. Till then, I think you should say goodbye.”

Karl hitched a breath as Phil made him leave the safety of his shirt. His stomach churned at the sight of Jimmy, the man’s eyes bloodshot and face wet with tears.

“It’s time to go,” Phil said. Karl shook his head dumbly, refusing to say goodbye.

He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

He’d already had to say it twice, and they couldn’t make him do it again.

Not again.

“Karl—”

“No,” Karl whispered. “I won’t say it. You can’t make me.”

He knew he sounded like a child, but he didn’t care.

They weren’t going to put him through this again without getting hurt too. It wasn’t fair he was the only one who never got to remember, who was left out of the loop.

It may have been petty and spiteful, but Karl was sick of being the only one that got hurt.

That felt the pain of losing and regaining and losing again.

Phil sighed and gave him a gentle push towards Jimmy. Jimmy’s strong arms closed around him, and it took everything Karl had not to lean into the warm hold.

The only hold that had ever felt right.

“I love you,” Jimmy whispered.

Karl didn’t answer.

There was a second, two—then nothing.

…

Karl startled awake, in his own bed. He sat up, gasping for breath. Across the room, Eret stirred and muttered. One of Quackity’s wings fluttered, and Sam rolled over.

Karl heaved a breath and wiped his face. There were tear stains on his cheeks, still damp. It had been years since nightmares had made him cry—

Karl blinked, trying to clear his head.

There was something there, something that wasn’t there before—

It hurt too much to think about, and he let it go in favor of sleep.

Chapter Text

George struggled to keep his breathing under control. That was the key—keeping calm. Not letting his façade of uncaring prisoner crack. Not letting them know he was scared.

And he was.

Oh he was terrified.

He huddled in his corner, crammed up against the filing cabinet and a stack of papers, hands tied behind his back. His head throbbed where the snatchers had gotten a lucky hit in, and his nose was stuffed from the quiet crying.

The gentle scritch-scratch of pen on paper did little to calm his nerves—that not since it was his <>paperwork that was being filled out. Paperwork that he had been stripped to his drawers for, weighed, measured, and poked and prodded.

At least they had let him have a shirt and pants, plain and white and thin as they may be.

As subtly as he could, George pulled at the rope. He flinched against the bite, and tried to focus his ice without the clerk noticing. He felt the frost crystalize, coating the surface or the course fibers, but nothing else happened.

George groaned as the frost immediately melted and made the rope damp and itchy.

“Stop fidgeting.”

George flinched at the order, then flinched at that as his head wound pulsed, a bitter reminder to how he had gotten into this situation in the first place.

It was supposed to be fun—the family going on a small vacation to a resort up in the mountains, a stop in one of the nicer, bigger cities in this kingdom. Ant and George had taken Foolish and Niki to the park to see the fish in the big pond, and to see if they could refresh their water magic.

They had been jumped on the way home back to the hotel.

Someone must have been watching them in the park—must have marked them as easy targets.

Niki had screamed, and George had seen red. He had shoved the nearest possible stalker—Ant had grabbed Niki’s hand and hauled Foolish onto his hip.

George remembered yelling at him to run, then a blow to the head he hadn’t seen coming had sent him spinning.

When he could finally see straight, he was being carried over someone’s shoulder into a building, hands behind his back.

Then came the messed-up doctor’s visit, the hums of approval that made his skin crawl, then he had plunked here to wait.

For what—George didn’t want to know.

Distantly, George ran through the events that had led up to him being stuck here. Was there anything he could have done differently—better? He didn’t regret making a way out for Ant and the kids. George’s stomach curled painfully at the thought of sweet little Niki being stuck here, or innocent Foolish.

He was glad it was him.

A knock at the door sent a ripple of fear through his gut. It swung open without the clerk saying anything, and a guy in his late twenties with a patchy beard that made George think of a pedophile stepping in.

He shot George a lazy look before turning to the clerk. “He ready? I got a buyer.”

It was at this moment George was positive he was dreaming.

“Already?” the clerk asked, make one last mark on a sheet of paper before taping them together.

“Pierre lost one of his better-bred boys yesterday to a beating,” the guy said, as if they were discussing the weather and not trafficking. “Needs a replacement for his higher-class customers.”

George parted his lips, breath rushing his mouth in a paltry attempt to try and calm himself.

“If Pierre bothered to take better care of his merchandise,” the clerk rolled his eyes, standing to file the stack of paper, “he wouldn’t have that issue.”

“But we wouldn’t have our customer base either,” the guy grinned, revealing perfect teeth that, for some reason, made George’s skin crawl.

The clerk shrugged with one shoulder and stretched, rubbing his neck before giving George a careless wave. “He’s ready. Get him out here.”

George snapped his head over to the guy, eyes wide with fear. He didn't have a chance to protest before he was being yanked up and over the guy’s shoulder.

“Make a sound, kiddo, and I’ll get my use out of you before you even get to Pierre’s.”

George swallowed, feeling every place the guy touched burn, and kept his mouth shut.

He could barely see, upside down and with his face against the guy’s shirt, but he had enough senses left to tell they went down a set of stairs into a damp, dark basement, out a door, and through a very, very long cold corridor. More stairs, this time up, and into a dim, warm building.

“Find Pierre.”

A set of hurried footsteps, and George yelped a bit as he was thrown from the guy’s shoulder to the ground just in time to catch a door closing.

George’s captor sighed, and George slowly moved into a sitting position, wondering if he was going to get kicked for the movement. The guy left him alone, and George slumped, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried not to think about what was going on around him.

He heard the door open again, and it took everything he had not to start screaming and kicking and fighting.

The toe of a boot nudged his ribs and a hand took his chin. George forced himself under, checking out as far as he could into the safe little space in his head he used to go to all the time as a kid.

Before he could remember.

It came easily, scarily easily, and George absentmindedly wondered how often he had had to go here.

It was nice here.

He couldn’t feel the hands touching him, but he knew they were there. He couldn’t hear the voices talking, but he knew they were talking about him.

Hands pulled him up, friendly words were exchanged. George was passed off to someone else, orders to ‘change him,’ and a new room.

George came back to himself when his shirt was pulled off. His hands were free, he was sitting on a chair in an empty room save for his chair, a dresser, and a mirror.

An older, overweight woman was flapping out a black shirt. She was smartly dressed, but look annoyed and tired. “Arms.”

George stared at her, not really understand what she wanted. She pulled the shirt over his head anyway, wrangling his arms into the shirt. The V in the shirt was much too wide, exposing way too much of George’s chest than he ever cared to show, but he had little time to fuss. The lady shoved another cloth into his arms.

“You have once chance,” she said sternly. “Change yourself, I will change you.”

She turned around, and George’s stomach sunk at the cloth. They were britches, meant to go to his knees. They were lightweight and flimsy—easily torn.

George’s breath hitched at that implication.

“One minute.”

He changed, desperately trying to keep what semblance of self-control he had. He had barely finished before the woman was grabbing his arm and dragging him into a narrow hallway and up stairs.

They entered a bedroom through a secret door, and George chose now to start putting up a fuss.

Without warning, he side-kicked as hard as he could, aiming for the woman’s shoulder. He hit true, knocking the woman sideways.

George scrambled for the secret door, and when that failed to open, he dove for the actual door.

When it didn’t open, he started screaming. He felt his magic pulse and flair, desperate to be used, but he didn’t know how.

The woman slammed into him from behind, dragging him from behind by the hair to the bed, cursing under her breath. One good slap to the head, and George was lying on his side, stunned, as she fastened a collar around his neck.

“There, you little—” she huffed a breath and swiped her fly-aways. George clawed at the collar, panting.

“I’d get myself together if I were you,” she said saucily, heading back for the secret door. “The customers like the feisty ones.”

George watched her leave, great heaving gasps making him dizzy.

He was left alone.

…

How much time passed, he didn’t know.

Enough for him to calm down some. Enough for him to try and work the collar off, enough for him to try the length of the lease that tied him to the wall behind the bed.

Enough for him to wonder if his family was even coming.

And when the footsteps came, somehow George knew they were for him.

He swallowed against the collar, pulling himself as far away from the door as possible. He could hear the dense steps, heavy and deliberate.

Taunting.

He slapped his hand over his mouth, using his thumb and first finger to squeeze his nose shut to keep himself perfectly silent. His heart roared in his ears—how could no one else hear it?

There was a pause, right outside George’s door. George whimpered, then nearly swallowed his tongue at what he had just done.

The door swung open with a force that made George scream a little, and he lurched against the collar, nearly choking himself, trying to get away—

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find one brown-haired white boy in this city?”

George stared at Schlatt with wide, watery eyes, knees starting to knock. Schlatt was wearing light armor, carrying a sword with an easy hand. He looked annoyed, but George knew him well enough to see the relief in his eyes.

He was most beautiful thing George had ever seen.

His knees gave out, and Schlatt caught him. George didn’t remember him crossing the room. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

“They got you all gussied up, huh?” Schlatt asked lightly, adjusting George so he was basically draped over Schlatt’s one arm, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

“Where are the others?” George asked quietly, relief stealing his breath away as Schlatt nudged his head down to get at the lock on the collar.

“Most are combing the city under Dad’s direction,” Schlatt said distractedly, pushing George’s hair out of the way. “Techno’s on mother-hen duty at the hotel. Mumza’s rebooking our train.”

George swallowed. “I’m sor—”

“The next words out of your mouth had better be ‘I’m short’ because if you apologize for something out of your control—” Schlatt snapped at the same time as the lock. George breathed a sigh of relief as the metal was pulled off and he could breathe.

“I got jumped,” George pressed, Schlatt pulling him up to his feet and holding him by the shoulders, frowning at George’s thin excuse of a shirt.

“From the looks of you, they got in a lucky hit,” Schlatt said, turning George around and pulling the loose fabric of the shirt up and bunching it together at the neck, tying it in a knot so George’s chest wasn’t exposed. “Happens to the best of us.”

“But—”

“Techno has lost to Minx because he slipped,” Schlatt huffed, ripping the sheet off the bed and tearing it in a few places. “I lost to Tommy because heartburn decided to kick me in the horns. Chill out.”

He threw the sheet around George and tied it in a couple places, adjusting it and pulling at the edges before stepping back and smiling quite smugly at his handywork.

George stared at what he was now ‘wearing’—a toga of sorts. It wasn’t practical, by any means, but he wasn’t exposed anymore.

“C’mon, shortstack.” Schlatt clapped George’s shoulder and led him to the window. “I’ll climb down and you jump. Last I heard about our rebooking, we gotta get up at four in the morning to make our train.”

…

Phil watched as George huddled on the bed, blanket pulled up and around his ears. He could practically feel the shame pouring off his son, muddled with self-aimed fury and guilt.

Schlatt had dragged George back to the hotel first, where Mumza had called off the hunt and Phil started rounding up his scattered children while George was smothered by the younger kids.

Niki had insisted on George using her special bubble bath, and Minx had offered her fancy facial soap. Tommy and Tubbo had put on an impromptu play that Ranboo crashed and Quackity offered ridiculous commentary for, Purpled had offered his favorite blanket, Charlie had made George a stress-ball of slime, and Jack had made fire figures dance on his palms and arms.

Phil had bundled George off to bed after Jack set Niki’s hair on fire.

Now, they were waiting for the last two kids to make it back to the hotel.

Sapnap and Dream.

The two had covered the most ground, and subsequently were the farthest away.

“George.” Phil said it softly, gently.

George’s bi-colored eyes flicked up to him, so filled with worry and misery.

“Alright, mate?”

George blinked, and he shook his head a little bit. A small part of Phil’s heart swelled with pride—George hadn’t tried to lie and hide his pain like he used to before he trusted. Before he realized he was safe.

He had been doing it for years, but every time Phil saw the boy’s open heart, his own melted just a bit more.

“Need a hug?”

George shook his head. Phil had already given George several hugs, head pats, shoulders rubs, and side squeezes—so had the rest of the family.

George wanted Sapnap and Dream.

“They’ll be here soon, mate.”

George made a small noise and rested his head back on his knees, shuffling his feet in the blanket. He had to be freezing by himself, especially when he was this tired and his magic wasn’t under as much control.

There was a slam of a door somewhere in the building, and George raised his head. Loud voices, quietly muffled through the floors and walls. Stampeding, and somebody running into the walls a few times.

The door slammed open so hard it nearly flew off its hinges, cracking the paint on the wall.

George sat up as Dream and Sapnap stood in the doorway, eyes wild and panting for breath. They hadn’t even changed out of their light armor. Dream’s mask was pushed up lopsided on his face, and Sapnap’s headband was loose.

George moved first, trying to unwrap himself from the blanket and get up, one arm outstretched toward his brothers.

Dream and Sapnap didn’t give him the chance to free himself.

George let out an oomph as Sapnap landed on his one side, and Dream collided with his other. Sapnap’s arm viced so tightly around George’s ribs he wheezed and couldn’t take a normal breath in. One of Dream’s hands held George’s head tight to Dream’s shoulder, his other arm locked around George’s waist.

They stayed that way for a long time, the two refusing to let go even though George started squirming at one point.

“No,” Sapnap had growled, holding George tighter. “No.”

“You’re wearing a leash for the rest of the trip,” Dream had added.

“ ‘M not,” George had got out.

“And you’re being babysat the whooollleee way,” Sapnap had said.

“But—”

“No,” Dream pressed George’s face more into his shoulder. “Shush.”

George had made a noncommittal grumpy noise, unable to free himself from either brother’s hold.

Phil chuckled and stood from his chair, popping one wing and sighed. “I’m gonna check on everyone else. We leave pretty early tomorrow, so try and get some sleep.”

Dream and Sapnap refused to let George go, so Phil gave all three one big hug and ruffled George’s hair, muttering a fond ‘love you’ before leave the boys to their own devices.

…

George only let himself relax after the light was snuffed and Dream and Sapnap were half asleep.

Sapnap’s fire burned contentedly, happy to have its personal stuffed bear back. Dream was already snoring softly, breath whistling through George’s hair.

George was warm and he was safe. He could smell Sapnap’s warm metal and Dream’s light pine and Niki’s vanilla sugar and the cheap detergent in the stiff sheets. There were small noises—the building settling, the pillow fight in the room a few doors down, the fire crackling softly in their fireplace.

There was still the lingering wrong that clung to George’s skin that he couldn’t scrub off no matter how hard he tried, but it didn’t feel so bad with his brothers holding him tight.

The wrong couldn’t get him here.

The wrong couldn’t control him here.

Not with Dream and Sapnap right there, ready to fight and die for him.

George snuggled deeper into the blanket, letting out one small sigh that came from the depths of his soul.

He was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Techno never gave much thought to his birth parents.

He never really had to, what with Kristin and Phil. Sure, he knew they weren’t his real parents, but he never really needed to know otherwise.

But the man on the other side of the shipyard was too familiar in a way that Techno simultaneously wanted to ignore yet find out.

“Whatcha looking at?” Tommy dropped his head on Techno’s shoulder—kid had gotten tall in the past few years, shooting up like a weed till he was almost as tall as Wilbur. Ranboo had clear shot up over all of em; Wilbur for the first time having to look up at someone.

“Ohhhh, does Technoblade see a pretty lady that catches his fancy?” Drista teased from Techno’s other side.

Techno rolled his eyes. Why’d he have to be stuck with the Chaos Duo? Why couldn’t he have gotten Alyssa and Hannah? They weren’t little terrors—why not Jack? Put a leash on that kid and he’d be fine.

Drista was too smart for the leash, and Tommy would burn it off.

“C’mon,” Techno said, grabbing Drista’s hand and stepping into the swirling crowd.

Tommy followed after, perhaps a bit closer than usually. His wings had finally lost their childish invisibility, of course right before the whole family picked up and moved.

Phil had said it was dangerous to keep that many hybrids in one place for too long.

Techno, and most of the older kids, said it was because Phil was getting itchy feet again.

Either way, Phil had booked passage on a ship for them to move to the First Kingdom, single-handedly securing his entire family as the only passengers with a party of thirty-plus. While the luggage and furniture were boarded, Phil had allowed for his kids to wander a bit, as long as they stayed close to their designated baby-sitter.

Drista and Tommy, two of the more ‘valuable’ kids, were assigned to Techno, much to his chagrin.

“You two are going to keep your mouths shut,” Techno said to his little siblings. “Not a word, y’hear?”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but Techno shot him the look.

The look that said ‘shut up or else.’

Techno would, as sure as the fact that Tubbo and Ranboo had snuck Michael along in a box of linens, fulfill the ‘or else.’

Tommy snapped his jaw shut and glowered.

Techno was unperturbed, and hurried through the crowd.

The man he saw was now standing by a wagon filled with belongings—they looked as though they had just gotten off a ship and were preparing to leave the city.

Techno swallowed as the man turned a bit more towards him, and there was no more doubt in his mind.

The man locked eyes with him, and Techno saw him do a double-take.

Techno noted, with a mixed dose of apprehension and slight curiosity, that the man had four small children with him. The oldest couldn’t have been twelve, the youngest closer to five.

“Do I know you?” the man said, voice low and gravelly, once Techno was close enough. The man glanced at Tommy and Drista, his own four children looking up.

“Hey!” the little boy said brightly, pointing at Techno. “He looks like Dad!”

Techno ignored him, and swallowed. “You wouldn’t have happened to spend a stint in the Nether, would you?”

The man paled a bit. “Yeah. Yeah I did. How’d you know?”

Techno shifted, pulling Drista farther off the street. “I came from the Nether. Was abandoned as a baby because I looked too much like a human.”

The man looked a bit sallow, his kids giving him worried looks. “Where?”

“Near the Wretcheds. Second District.”

The man swallowed. “Do you have a minute?” he looked around, motioning for his kids to jump off the wagon. He looked back at Techno, and his eyes held a sadness that Techno had seen on Phil too many times. “Perhaps we can go somewhere quieter?”

Techno nodded.

…

“I was taken by a traveling band of piglins.”

Techno sipped the water, keeping one eye on the six kids in the corner of the bar. They were chattering away, seemingly getting along well over a bowl of peanuts and glasses of root bear.

“They killed most of us, sold the rest of us off,” the man continued, nursing a cup of something rich and smoky-smelling. Techno figured the guy probably needed it right now.

“I got pawned off to a female, a nice one for the most part,” the man shrugged. “She didn’t beat me, usually. Just wanted something to hang off her arm at parties I guess.”

Techno listened.

“We had a kid a few years in,” the man said, words becoming slightly emotional. “He was precious, adorable.” The man chuckled. “Looked just like my first kid.”

Techno didn’t want to think about the fact that the man had three kids now, none of them the age the man was insinuating this ‘first kid’ was supposed to be.

“That was the problem, wasn’t it?” the man said, and he choked a bit. “He was too human—too much me. I doomed that kid, I thought, when they took him away.”

He set the drink down and pushed it away, cursing under his breath. “I think I lost my mind that day. Killed two of the males before they got me down.”

Techno was slightly impressed. He himself was said to be ‘unkillable’ by his siblings, and he was only half-piglin.

“So I waited,” the man sighed. “Waited till we got close enough to a portal and I ran. They didn’t follow.”

He nodded to his kids. “Got my life back together, found me another woman. A good one, too. Wither fever took her after that little one was born.”

Techno noted how skinny the youngest girl was, the dark patches on her skin. The girl had survived where her mother had not.

“And now we’re moving,” the man sighed, glaring at the drink like it was somehow the cause of all of his problems. “Gonna find me some land out in the middle of nowhere. Keep the kids safe. Avoid the chaos that’s happening in the Capitols.”

Techno nodded. Didn’t sound too far different from what Phil was doing with his family.

“How’s life?” the man said, sounding a bit upbeat, though he was obviously trying too hard. “You okay? Everything going—okay?”

Techno nodded, suddenly a bit sad himself. He didn’t know this man—didn’t know the kids at the table.

Those were his sisters and brother.

This was his father.

His real father.

He shared their blood.

They were supposed to be a family.

But they weren’t.

“Doing okay,” Techno said, sipping his water. “Phil, the guy who found me, has a bit of a kid-hoarding problem.”

“Those kids—” the man nodded to the table where Tommy was trying to teach the boy how to drink chocolate milk through his nose. “Are they yours—?”

Techno snorted. “No. Thank Ancients for that. They’re adopted—we all are. I have, like, thirty siblings.”

The man stared.

Techno shrugged. “I lost count after Skeppy.”

The man nodded, and sighed. “But you’re okay? Got a good life in front of you?”

Techno nodded. “Far as I know.”

The man nodded too and clapped a hand on Techno’s shoulder. “I’m proud of you—for making it out, you now.”

Techno glanced at him.

“You were a ray of sunshine when you were mine,” the man said quietly. “Bright and happy. Liked me more than that female.” The man chuckled. “She didn’t like that much, really.”

Techno nodded to the kids. “How’re they?”

The man pointed in turn. “The boy’s Chris, named after your grandfather. The eldest girl is Sabre, the middle one’s Rapier, and the little one’s Butterfly.”

Techno raised an eyebrow.

The man rolled his eyes, but laughed a bit. “She named ‘em. ‘Bout as clever as your name, if you ask me.”

Techno huffed. He liked his name, thank you very much.

He watched the kids for a minute, watched them fool around and laugh and make jokes.

The Chris kid had his laugh. Butterfly had his dimples, and Rapier had his dry-bones humor. Sabre seemed a bit calmer, more responsible, but laughed louder than the lot of ‘em when Tommy got a peanut stuck in his nose.

“I have to go,” the man said quietly, and Techno was drawn back to the present. “We gotta catch the next train—got some relatives of mine expecting us.”

Techno nodded, knew he was going to be late too.

“I’m sorry, Technoblade,” the man said suddenly. “Sorry that I didn’t fight for you more, or go looking for you when I got out. I just thought—” he sighed shakily, “—that you didn’t make it, and it would be hopeless to chase straws.”

Techno nodded. He understood—he really did. He hadn’t gone looking either. What use was it chasing memories?

“I’m sorry this is probably all we’ll ever see of each other,” Techno said. “But maybe it’s for the best. My adoptive dad—” he shook his head a laughed a bit. “He’s something—but it’s better if I don’t get more kids involved.”

The man looked confused, but nodded. “We should go.”

They stood, and the man reached out awkwardly for a hug.

Techno let him have it, though it felt too strange and oddly familiar at the same time.

The kids came running over, Tommy bleeding from his eyebrow for some reason, scampering all over and yelling for attention.

Techno patted his brother’s and sisters’ heads, much to their confusion, and gave the man, his father, one last nod.

He grabbed Tommy and Drista’s hands and swept out of the bar, ignoring the pinch in his chest.

“They were nice,” Drista commented as they headed back into swirling traffic. “Can we adopt them? I want more sisters.”

“No!” Tommy said, offended. “There’s enough women in the house!”

Techno ignored their arguing, dragging them along through the crowds and making sure they were safe.

He’d probably never see that man again, or the bio-family he never knew he had.

But it’d be okay.

He knew that’d it’d be okay when he watched Tommy rush up to almost tackle Jack into the harbor and Tubbo latch onto him for a half-hug.

He knew it’d be alright when Sapnap lifted Drista up into a piggy-back at her begging, Puffy checking her over and giving her a kiss on the forehead for no reason.

He knew everything’d be fine when Lani and Fundy came dashing up, asking to be picked up and showing off the over-priced souvenirs they had probably begged from Phil.

He knew it’d all work out when Ponk and Sam had a fight over the top bunk and Foolish ‘fixed’ it by stealing the mentioned bunk.

And as he watched the land grow smaller and smaller on the deck of the ship, Wilbur and Minx leaning up against him and babysitting a game of cards between Dream and half the younger kids that was quickly growing violent—he knew everything would be okay.

Chapter Text

“I don’t like it here,” Bad grumbled under his breath, hunching his shoulders to let his hood fall more over his body.

“You don’t like it anywhere outside of the house,” Minx pointed out, rolling her shoulders. She had been sitting too long in the saddle, and her legs hurt. This town wasn’t even that impressive to be drawing Bad’s attention, much less his nerves.

“He has a point,” Puffy said, golden eyes darting around. She could feel the eyes from the townspeople, raking over her and her siblings. “I’m getting a bad vibe.”

“See?” Bad said, pulling his hood lower over his face. “Can we leave now?”

“We have to play fetch yet,” Minx said. “Shush up.”

Phil had gotten bolder with sending his children out—the olders at least. The youngers were getting sent out now too—right now, Techno, Wilbur, and Dream had the joy of taking Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo on their first mission elsewhere.

Puffy could practically hear the screeching even though they were a literal whole kingdom over.

Phil had not chosen Puffy, Bad, and Minx for this mission and they knew it.

All three were built for fast, endurance traveling. All three were quick and light on their feet, and their fighting styles required lighter weapons. With Bad around, the shadows clung to them, hiding them at night. Minx could sense someone coming for a quarter mile, and Puffy could talk her way out of anything.

They were Phil’s speed team.

And apparently Phil needed this information now.

Puffy led the way through the mild crowd, noting and ignoring the stares. She held her head up high, carried herself with a confidence that Phil had said had come from her father. Puffy hadn’t been too happy to have inherited something from the man that had abandoned her, but she refused to give up her noble air.

She carried herself like a queen—and she knew it.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said, hopping off her horse in front of the town’s only hotel. “Don’t let anyone steal my horse.”

“We’ll be fine too, thanks for caring,” Minx huffed. Bad would have snickered, but he was too busy shooting mildly worried looks in every direction. He had learned to do it subtly—hood pulled low and mask pulled up, head held still while soft grey eyes darted every which way.

Puffy rolled her eyes and flipped her sister off before entering the hotel. It was dim, and smelled like cinnamon. The carpet was plush under her boots, and the walls and ceiling were draped with rich tapestries. It was rather luxurious for an out-of-the-way town.

Now that Puffy thought about it—

The whole town had been pretty nice and clean and upkept—in a distant, far-away way. Everything had been too—sterile.

“Can I help you?”

A young teen in a black and gold silk uniform smiled politely from the counter, but Puffy could see the bored look in her eyes. Tommy had mastered that same look years ago.

“I’m picking up a package,” Puffy smiled politely, pulling the hood off her hair. The white fuzz poofed up and around her face, framing her narrow features.

“For?” the girl turned around, heading toward the back.

“Philza Minecraft,” Puffy answered.

The girl popped her bubblegum in answer and hummed some song as she headed for the back.

Puffy waited patiently, picking at the symbol on the desk counter. It was gold, it looked like. Frowning, she actually looked at the thing. It was golden and red, a flying snake all twisted together with ruby wings and golden scales.

Demon.

Puffy glared, a bitter taste in her mouth.

Bad was one in an entire race. Demons weren’t kind, they weren’t creatures of grace or love. They were brutal monsters from birth with a taste for blood of any species. Phil and Kristin figured it was Bad’s human side that saved him from the majority of these savage tendencies, but he still suffered everyone now and then.

Those fits left him screaming till he spit up blood, screaming and thrashing at anyone that got to close. It was worse when he was a younger teenager, but as he grew older so did his control.

That didn’t erase Puffy’s memories of Bad literally trying to kill their father.

“Like the logo?”

Puffy looked up as the girl came back, a satchel of papers in her hand. She nodded to the demon Puffy was tracing. “It’s the symbol for our organization—the Vermillion.”

Puffy’s brows furrowed, but she smiled politely. “It’s pretty.”

The girl beamed, looking quite proud of herself. “You should consider joining. We are a powerful force, stretched across the kingdoms. This just happens to be one of our main headquarters. Our leaderess is actually in town this month, overseeing expansion on our western border.”

Puffy’s brow puckered. “ ‘Leaderess’?”

“Our term for leader,” the girl sniffed. “Our leaderess is a woman, so the term used to refer to her is to be feminine.”

Puffy nodded and smiled thinly. “I’ll pass it by my brother and sister.”

The girl immediately frowned, and Puffy caught a hint of disgust. “Men are not permitted.”

Puffy raised an eyebrow.

The girl sniffed again, checking on something under the counter. “Men are good for nothing more than providing children. They’re weak-minded and selfish.”

Puffy kept her face carefully blank as she thought of Phil and her brothers.

Her protectors, her comrades in arms, her shield and sword. Her duckling, who made sure she was safe and brought her home when he could have left her behind.

She smiled sweetly. “I’ll think about it.”

She would most certainly not.

She left with a flounce, stuffing the package of paper into her shirt as she went.

Bad was just as antsy as he was when Puffy got back. “They’re giving me looks,” he hissed, subtly nodding his head in a direction. Puffy glanced, and saw a group of women shopkeepers sending glares their way.

Bad’s way.

The hotel clerk’s words rung in her head, and Puffy quickly looked back to Bad. He was wearing rather loose riding clothes, hood and mask pulled up with a cloak draped over his shoulders. Bad had been born with rather narrow, big eyes—he could pass as a girl, right?

“Keep your hood up, Bad,” Puffy said lowly, getting on her horse. “I’ll tell you once we’re out of here.”

The three made their way out of town, Puffy’s unease noting how they were getting more and more stares and how she was noting the distinct lack of a male presence. Even the children—most of them were girls. Now that she thought about it—she didn’t see a single man.

“There’s something weird about this place,” Minx said, wrinkling her nose daintily.

“You said it,” Puffy muttered.

The symbol, again, on the doors of some of the businesses. On the flag. Everyone wearing black with gold. All of the shop fronts the same, eerily the same, as if built from the same textbook. No men, only women, precious few children.

It’s a cult.
…

“You have to be kidding.”

Minx was not taking to Puffy’s idea at all.

“C’mon, Minx,” Puffy said, plopping down in the grass, picking at it as she looked back down at the town. “You can’t tell me that place didn’t feel even remotely off to you.”

Minx gave her a look, arms crossed. “I live with mages, hybrids, amnesiacs, and a guy who loves axes a little too much for my taste. Nothing fazes me anymore.”

“I felt something,” Bad shuddered, scrunching his shoulders up to his ears. “Eyes boring into me at every corner.”

“Okay, Ranboo,” Minx scoffed, but she sounded more concerned now. As concerned as Minx ever got, anyway.

“I say it’s a cult focused on demons and hating men,” Puffy said. “It makes sense. The demon culture is primarily led by females, which is fine by principle, but leave it to humans to idolize one of the most terrible races in existence. No offense, Bad—”

“None taken,” Bad groused. “Demons are terrible.”

Minx snorted her disdain out of her nose. “If they hate men so much, let them run themselves into the ground. In case you haven’t noticed, men are kinda needed to reproduce.”

“That’s what the clerk said,” Puffy said, feeling her stomach knot. “There were children in that town. Babies. And those buildings. I’ll give some of the women credit, they looked pretty strong, but only a man could have done some of that stonework. And the fields. Most women aren’t heavy enough to hold the plough down in the ground—a man’s weight is needed to dig it in.”

She looked to her siblings, a feeling she couldn’t quite convey with words in her eyes. “Men are obviously down there. Where?”

Minx blanched, and Bad choked, both of them looking back to the town with nothing short akin to horror on their faces.

“That’s what I was thinking too.” Puffy got to her feet, dusting off her pants. “Get your gear. We’re going in.”

“Puffy—”

“We’re not going to sit by and watch people suffer,” Puffy said firmly, swinging her bag over head. “Dad didn’t leave us to suffer with abusers by ourselves. We’re not going to do it either.”

…

Bad was not in love with this idea, if he was being honest.

He felt like Ranboo, feeling everyone’s stares boring into his skin, past his clothes, through his very soul.

Just because I’m a guy? I didn’t do nothing to nobody.

Bad grumbled, stepping into the shop.

The three of them had split up to try and cover more ground, asking around to see how one joined the Vermillion. Hopefully, they could get on the inside and burn it from the inside out. With Bad’s magic, Puffy’s intuitiveness, and Minx’s viciousness—it shouldn’t be all that hard to catch the organization off guard enough to cripple them at the knees.

Puffy had sent Bad to one of the side streets on the hope it was quieter and he would be left alone.

As stated before Bad was not exactly ‘pleased’ with this plan.

“Excuse me?” he asked politely at the counter, looking around. It looked to be a small shoe shop, quiet and cute. “Anyone here?”

A girl stepped from the back, looking quite annoyed. There was a half a second of shock on her face before she leaned back and whispered something to someone in the room she was leaving before stepping forward and crossing her arms.

“What.”

Now Bad wasn’t the world judgiest person, but he was getting sick of being treated like dirt just because he was a guy.

“Me and my sisters were just passing through and they saw the Vermillion logo at the hotel,” Bad explained, trying to be polite even though the girl was glaring as if he had kicked her dog. “They got curious and we’re just asking around on how one would join.”

“Men aren’t permitted.”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” Bad forced the laugh. “I’m not all that interested, if I’m being honest, but my sisters were thinking of moving out soon and were wondering if this was for them. Do you know who I, or they, talk to about joining?”

The door to the store opened and the girl’s eyes flicked behind Bad. Unease settled in Bad’s gut at the look on her face.

“Yeah, actually. They’re right behind you.”

The potion bottle slammed into his back and Bad immediately choked on the fumes. His clothes were potion proof—his lungs were not. He had kept his mask off to try to appear friendlier, and he was greatly regretting it.

His vision went cloudy as he struggled for a clean breath--weakness potion.

He staggered, fighting past it to draw his sword.

Someone knocked his hand to the side and nailed him right in the gut with a nasty uppercut that had him coughing for even more of the contaminated air. He collapsed back, hacking.

Blurrily, he blinked up at the fuzzy figures, seeing the distinct outline of a sack headed right for his head.

“Wait—” he rasped, feeling resentment burn in his gut. He wasn’t going to win this, he already knew, but they weren’t getting away with this completely scott-free.

To his surprise, they did, and he managed to blink a bit more clarity into his eyes before he grinned impudently. “You hit like a girl.”

The blow to his head was deserved, even Bad had to admit.

…

“Hey Puffy?”

“Yeah?”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Oh, you think? And, dearest sister of mine, what gave it away?”

“Oh, I don’t know—the giant hole in the ground we’re currently being led into by an armed guard?”

Puffy had to agree with Minx—the maw of the cave they were being led to did indeed seem to lead to the bowels of the earth.

This was a terrible idea.

But Bad had vanished. Not a trace of the demon all over town, and both Puffy and Minx were left with the unsettling reality of what could have happened to the demon-hybrid.

Shortly after this horrifying realization, Minx and Puffy had been approached by a perky young woman who had offered the information they had been looking for all day.

How to join the Vermillion. A quick trip out of town, joined by a literal armed guard of armored women-warriors, and nightfall oversaw their descent into the earth.

“If this ends up with us getting drunk then eating our own fingers while handing upside from a chandelier, I’m letting you know I’m just gonna jump,” Minx offered as they descended into the darkness.

“How do you even come up with that stuff?” Puffy asked, shaking her head at her sister’s overactive imagination.

“Mum says I think to much. Dadza says it’s on those thriller novels I keep collecting.”

“Someone got drunk on a chandelier?”

Minx nodded, though Puffy could barely see her. Apparently the Vermillion could afford tapestries and rugs, but not candles and lamps. Puffy was half-afraid she was going to trip on the uneven, sloping ground, even though she had the balance of a literal mountain goat.

"A Vampire’s Touch, near the end, when he kisses her before draining her dry,” Minx replied nonchalantly, swiping her thick hair away from her face.

“And the finger-eating?”

“Oh I got that from Tommy. Kid’s a genius when it comes to insults when Mumza and Bad won’t let him swear.”

Puffy snorted, but the two couldn’t help but fall silent at the mention of their missing brother.

Soon, Bad. I promise.

…

Bad breathed.

That was all he could do, really, and that thought did very little to calm him down. The practice exercises Phil had given him were helping, but nothing could help the panic that clawed at his mind.

He was on his back—he could feel the cold stone digging into his ribs—forced to remain there by the twine tied around his wrists and ankles. He’d been searched and stripped while unconscious, and he had been starkly relieved to find they had left him his black cargo jeans, at the very least.

He had been alone since he had woken up, and that was what was eating at him.

What could a group of men-hating women possibly have in store with a young man they had tied to a stone table half-naked?

Bad let out a stuttering breath that hitched a few times.

Breathe Bad. Don’t let your anxiety win. I know—I know it’s hard, mate. Breathing makes it easier. It’ll get worse before it’ll get better, but you’ll get through it as long as you’re breathing. Breathing means you’re alive, breathing means you’re winning. As long as you’re breathing, it’ll all be fine.

Bad screwed his eyes shut, refusing to let the silence that roared in his ears get the better of him—refusing to let the darkness that swallowed him whole send him drifting into that messed up place in his head he used to hide in from his nestmates.

He hadn’t been in there for years, and he wasn’t going back.

Keep breathing, kiddo. As long as you’re breathing, you’re winning.

…

“We’re really doing this,” Minx whispered, back ramrod straight and eyes straight ahead, not really seeing. Her hybrid thrashed inside of her, searching for her brother and ticked it couldn’t find him.

“Let me do the talking,” Puffy whispered back, adjusting her jacket and letting out a calming breath that settled too heavily in her gut.

“Be my guest,” Minx said, stiffening as the great double-doors clicked before swinging open on oiled hinges.

And just like that, Minx and Puffy were in the presence of the leaderess of the Vermillion.

…

Puffy was ushered to the seat across from the leaderess. Minx refused hers, choosing to stand at attention at her sister’s side.

Wine was offered, and Puffy gracefully accepted hers while Minx sneered hers away.

“We are pleased to welcome you to our humble accommodations.” The lady on the throne had a beautiful smile, though her eyes were guarded.

Puffy raised an eyebrow at the woman’s sentence. They were surrounded in luxury and wealth, from the thick carpets worth a farmer’s salary for a year to the paintings most laborers couldn’t afford to touch to the gold lining the columns fit for a palace.

“Your pleasure I accept,” Puffy smiled politely, hiding her teeth. “Your meekness is, I’m afraid, lost on me.”

The leaderess’s smile immediately turned wooden. “We—” she gestured to the other women standing next to her on her sides, “—heard you and your sister were looking to join our organization.”

The organization that had stolen their brother away.

“Of course,” Puffy said, steepling her fingers and crossing her legs. “If you can answer a few questions for me.”

The woman motioned for Puffy to continue, though Minx could see the tightness in her shoulders, the nervous tick of her ankle.

“Could tell me why you hate men?” Puffy asked, and Minx inwardly grinned. Her feline lashed its tail, practically foaming at the mouth already.

Going right for the throat.

“We do not hate men,” the leaderess corrected patiently, scraping her nail across the cup. “They simply serve no purpose in today’s society, outside of reproduction.”

“So they serve a purpose.”

Minx almost, almost, snorted out loud.

The leaderess right eye twitched. “For far too long men have pushed us down, forced us to obey their rules. We lived under tyranny for centuries!”

“So to retaliate, you force innocent children under that same tyranny.” Puffy sipped her wine, running her tongue over her lips as she considered the taste. “It’s the double-standard for me, really.”

“It is deserved.”

“Last I checked—” Puffy looked bored, Minx decided. Like this was a typical Tuesday afternoon and not a face-off with someone that could order their death with a snap of her fingers. “—children are not responsible for the sins of their parents.” Her golden eyes seemed to cut across the room. “Instead of raising boys to be good men to be good leaders and good fathers and good husbands, you’re raising cattle to be bought and sold as stock in a barn. You’re justifying slavery for a wrong centuries gone by done to someone else.”

The leaderess was fuming, Minx could practically smell it.

“The way I see it,” the woman bit off, “you’ve become too soft, too willing to let men control your life. To let men have their way. Women are the ones who are meant to rule, the ones meant to lead. Men are nothing more than animals who can talk. They’re pathetic and weak, violent and selfish. It is pointless to pretend otherwise, and foolish to consider that they can be anything greater than well-trained pets.”

…

Her father, holding her so tight that terrible night, welcoming her home when the world had cast her out again and again and again…his strong arms warding off everything that had beat her down. His heart, pounding in her ear, already so full of love for a daughter he had never known.

Techno, teaching her how to swing a sword properly with stoic confidence that, yes, she would eventually get it even though she had messed it up for the fiftieth time.

Wilbur, laughing as she tickled him while she preened his feathers.

Dream, making sure she had a family, making sure she came home every time she wandered to the highway—looking, searching, for someone who would never come back.

George, holding patiently still as she used him as a mannequin because he was slim enough and Minx was having none of it.

Sapnap, holding her back as she cussed out the postmaster’s oldest son for trying to trip her into a puddle.

Schlatt, the stubbornness to her bullheadness, the spit to her fire, the dark rage to her quiet fury.

Bad, braiding her hair with gentle fingers.

Skeppy helping to wash the dishes, even though it wasn’t his turn.

Eret, singing her to sleep in the latest nights when the darkness just wouldn’t leave her alone.

Karl, snuggling in for cuddles whenever she asked.

Sam, helping her find a place to put her parents to rest when she could finally let go.

Ponk and Punz, racing her through the fields, laughing till they collapsed into the grass and screaming when she finally caught them.

Charlie, Jack, Purpled, Tommy, Tubbo, Ranboo, all of her baby brothers—

Animals. Cattle. Pets.

Slavery justified and hate given reason.

Tubbo in those chains, Skeppy in that cage, her father on his knees before the knife went through his chest because he no longer served a purpose.

…

The leaderess sipped her wine, smiling behind the rim at Puffy’s silence.

Puffy set her glass down heavily, the delicate crystal echoing in the suddenly very quiet room.

It was everything Minx could do not to flinch as the sound echoed.

Puffy had only truly been angry—truly, purely furious—once before.

“I belong to no one but myself!!

It was a once Minx never wanted repeated.

Despite her name, despite her looks and her soft face, despite her normally-passive hybrid—

Puffy Cara Virium-Minecraft was not someone to be messed with.

She sat back, crossing her legs and leaning on one elbow, chin tilted with an air of supreme, utterly-unbothered confidence.

“Tell, me—” she demanded, commanding as a queen, “since you seem to be so knowledgeable on the subject of who deserves to lead—”

The leaderess ticked up an eyebrow.

“What makes a proper leader?”

The leaderess pinched her eyebrows together, exchanging a glance with the woman sitting next to her. “There are several aspects—”

“But there is one that stands out,” Puffy said, admiring her nails. “One attribute among the dozens required is above the rest.” Her golden eyes flashed. “As you seem to be at a loss for words, I can only assume you do not know.”

Minx swallowed as Puffy’s tone dipped. “A pity for someone in your position.”

The leaderess sneered. “You tell me then, oh wise one.”

Puffy picked up her glass again, swirling the rich liquid—never breaking eye contact as her free fingers drummed on the arm.

Minx’s knuckles were white on her dagger.

“Strength.”

The leaderess raised her eyebrows. “You’re not serious.”

Puffy leisurely sipped her drink, gilded irises never leaving the leaderess’s face. “I am.”

“Strength has many definitions—”

“True,” Puffy interrupted, setting her glass down. “I’m talking of true strength.”

“What—”

“True strength is knowing when to quit,” Puffy wouldn’t let the other woman speak. “True strength is knowing when to pull your punches. True strength is humble, pure—selfless.”

She adjusted so her ankle was resting on her knee. “There is so little true strength in this room I’m surprised you’ve managed to rule to maintain control for as long as you have.”

Minx drew in a hissing breath. This was going to be bloody—

“But I shouldn’t be surprised,” Puffy tinked a perfect fingernail against her glass. “Weakness, if you’ll pardon the paradox, has its strengths as well.”

Her eyes cut deeper than a poisoned dagger, cold and unforgiving and slicked with laced honey. Her words carried, damning and destructive in their honesty.

“Manipulation, cruelty, fear—those,” she slammed her fist on the chair’s arm, startling the room as her voice raised. “Those are the tools you use, that is how you’ve made it thus far. You don’t lead—you control.”

“Same difference,” the leaderess scoffed, though Minx could see her hands shaking. Puffy was getting to her, chipping at the false confidence with her own, unfailing authoritativeness.

“And yet when pitched against each other—” Puffy had a knife in her hand. Minx didn’t know how it got there. Nobody else did either, from the silent collective inhale from across the room, “—your manipulative, pathetic ‘control’ will crumble when faced with someone strong enough to stand you down.”

“Are you threatening me?” the leaderess said, ignoring Puffy’s logic and going straight to playing the victim.

Puffy’s knife was across the room in the hairspace between breaths.

The leaderess blinked, then touched her face.

Metal, cool and sleek, met her hand instead.

Dimly, she became aware of the blade resting against her cheek, embedded into the chair’s high back.

“Now whatever gave you that idea?” Puffy said coyly, another knife spinning delicately around her fingers.

The leaderess’s face twitched, then she shot to her feet, cheeks flushed red and eyes snapping thunder. “We invited you here under the pretense that you would like to join our ranks, perhaps become one of us,” she said tightly. “We did not invite you here to disparage everything we’ve spend decades building!”

Puffy tilted her head, kicking her crossed leg lazily. “Now why would I wish to join your petty, pathetic cult?” She smiled sharply, canines glinting. “A lioness amongst the rats doesn’t quite fit, now does it?”

The leaderess’s eyebrow twitched.

“No—” Puffy carelessly knocked her glass to the floor as she stood, shattering the expensive crystal and spilling the wine as she stood. “I came here because you have something of mine.”

The leaderess scoffed and turned away, waving her hand dismissively. “We’re done. Kill them.”

Minx was between the crowd and her sister in a second, Full form snarling and poised to lunge. Muscles lean and tense under thick fur, eyes paper-narrow slits at the thought of danger for her sister. The growl in the base of her chest was enough to make the advancing pause.

The leaderess whipped back around at the rush of magic. “Wh—”

“Should have done your research before you welcomed the wolves into the den of lambs,” Puffy laughed, hand clasped behind her back, stance open and unbothered, fully trusting Minx to protect her.

“Who-who are you?!?” the leaderess pulled one of her guards in front of her, her bravado melting.

“Us?” Puffy grinned. Minx snarled in the back of her throat, tail lashing like a whip, licking her chops.

“We’re the monsters under your bed.”

Minx lunged.

…

Puffy slipped through the halls as quickly as she could, Minx’s roars and snarls and the screams of her victims echoing in the halls.

A normal beast wouldn’t have stood a chance against that army.

A normal beast didn’t have four potions of varying degrees pumping through her blood and personalized training specifically for her hybrid.

Minx would be fine.

Puffy had to find Bad while she had a distraction working in her favor.

She wound her way farther and farther down, searching and reaching out for her brother’s magic with her own.

Her ears found him first—dim cries echoing off damp walls.

She chased them down, heart pounding in her throat. The cries sounded so weak—

On more staircase, two more doors to the left—

The door was locked, but Puffy didn't notice. She side-kicked the door open, lock snapping like dried twigs.

If Puffy had been anyone else, she would’ve passed out right there.

It was clearly a massive sacrificial chamber of sorts, with an altar to the Demon Mother herself. Red candles, flickering against terrifying paintings depicting gory scenes. The stone floor was bare, and stained with what Puffy knew was blood.

Bad was tied spread-eagled to the altar, stripped to his black cargo jeans. His chest was bare, and chalked with strange, black lines. His hair had been run through with the paint, and his left eye had a strange symbol drawn over the brow and the lid.

He was crying—soft, choky sobs that sounded like he had given up.

She darted forward, knife in her hand, unwilling to listen to those cries for another second. She sliced Bad loose with four fell swoops, the half-demon crying too hard to realize it was her.

“Get off me!” he shrieked, lunging away from her the first chance he got, but he too weak to go far. Puffy could smell the weakness potion on his breath, the tingly smell on his skin as well.

“Bad, Bad, Bad—” Puffy caught Bad’s face, trying to keep him from curling on himself so he could breathe.

Was touching him a bad idea?

Most definitely.

Bad shrieked, a demon wail for family and safety and make it stop, too out of it to realize his family was right there in front of him.

Puffy felt a few tears slide down her cheeks as she kept Bad from worming himself free from her grip. “Bad, look at me, please, open your eyes.”

Bad obeyed out of instinct of hearing a female, dark eyes blown wide with fear. He was shaking so hard his whole body appeared to vibrate in place.

“Hi sweetie,” Puffy thumbed his cheek, Bad trembling so badly she nearly stabbed him in the eye. “Blink for me.”

Bad blinked twice.

“That’s it! Can you blink four times?”

Bad hesitated, breath stuttering and wet, but he obeyed.

“You’re doing so good! How about six?” Puffy knew she was talking to Bad as if he was a baby, but she didn’t care.

Bad blinked the six times, chest heaving less and less as he came back to earth. Slowly, he calmed down enough to talk.

“You found me,” he rasped, awed almost as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Of course,” Puffy laughed a little bit, through it was damp. “Of course I found you.”

Bad lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around his sister, holding her as if he was afraid she would disappear.

Puffy muttered assurances to him, rocking him back and forth as he cried the rest of the panic from his system. She felt snot seep into her shirt, but she didn’t care. Bad could snot all over her and she wouldn’t give a flying—

“Ya’ll done?”

Minx was leaning against the door, blood splattered across her clothes, her face, and—everywhere. It looked as though she had tried to keep herself clean at first, but gave up halfway through.

Bad looked up at her voice, and his face crumbled a bit at the sight of all the blood.

“Don’t even think about it, demon,” Minx said, looking at her reflection in one of her knives, trying to wipe the blood of her face without smudging her eyeliner. “Those idiots didn’t have any souls. They’ve killed hundreds. I feel no remorse.”

“You got ‘em all?” Puffy asked, helping Bad to the edge of the altar so he could stand.

“Think so,” Minx used the same knife to pick at her teeth. “I mean, if I didn’t, it’s no loss. I got enough. Cut the head off the preverbal snake, if you will.”

Bad stood on wobbly legs, Puffy helping him all the while, while Minx continued.

“You were right about the men being prisoners,” she said, licking her teeth. “I found the dungeons three floors over. Found the control room to the doors too. Do you have any idea how much fun it is to click that many ‘open’ buttons at once?”

Bad actually giggled a little, knees knocking as the blood started flowing again. His face was pale, but Puffy could see his strength and resolve was coming back.

“Can you see if his stuff is anywhere around here?” Puffy asked, looking around. “He had an expensive knife set on him.”

Minx tossed a bag Puffy didn’t even notice she had been holding. “Already done. Found it in the control room tossed in a corner. For being a cult bent on worshipping demons, they didn’t recognize demonic steel when they had it.”

Quickly and deftly, moving with years of practice embedded into muscle memory, Bad strapped his arsenal to his body—under folds in his clothes and into cleverly hidden pockets. His movements were jerky at first, but grew steadier till by the time he was a walking armory again, his fingers weren’t shaking and his jaw was set.

“Let’s go,” he said as firmly as he could with a weakness potion still in his system.

The two sisters nodded, and they took to the shadows.

They left behind a village freed, people finally able to decide their own lives.

They knew their dad would be proud.

…

Phil had been waiting on the grassy knoll for roughly an hour when his requested guest finally decided to make an appearance.

“What is it, Angel?” the Demon Mother huffed in poorly-veiled annoyance. “You’re not the only one who has a large brood to raise.”

“Your cult,” Phil said, biting his words, cutting straight to the point. “Get rid of it.”

The Mother raised an eyebrow. “I see you’ve met the—”

“I don’t care what they’re called,” Phil snapped. “Get rid. Of. Them.”

The Demon Mother scoffed. “I don’t take orders from the likes of you.”

“You will.”

The Mother stiffened. Her magic sensed the strength in his words, and it unsettled her. As human as the Angel appeared—she kept forgetting what he could do.

(What he had already done.)

“Your followers nearly killed my son—the son you promised me in exchange for your peoples’ lives,” Phil said darkly, and the Demon felt the storm stir to life. “They breached our deal.”

“Our deal—”

“Promised me a child of yours, to be forever mine,” Phil interrupted, careless of the company he was keeping. “Your little cult nearly took him from me, which violates our deal. And when the other branches of the cult find out what my daughters have done in retaliation—”

The Demon rolled her eyes. “They will not cause you trouble.”

Phil’s gaze could’ve melted steel. “I will need more than your word.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Destroy your cult. I want it gone. I don’t care who, I don’t care how—I want it gone so they can never hurt what is mine ever again.”

“You do not get to order—”

“Or I will wipe out the demon race as it exists.”

The Demon’s tail lashed viciously, and she inched closer. “You threaten my children?”

Phil didn’t flinch. “I threaten you. It is not my concern if your children are the ones that pay for your foolishness. I saved your race once. I can just as easily wipe it off the face of the earth.”

The Demon snarled, taking another step, claws digging into the soft dirt. “I think it’s time you were taught your place.”

Phil didn’t budge, eyes flickering with an unearthly light. “I think you’ve forgotten who you’re talking to.” Thunder rumbled, and light flickered over Phil’s wings.

The Demon hesitated.

“I still outrank you, Demon,” Phil said quietly. “Earthly as I may appear.”

The Mother had nothing to say.

“Destroy your cult however you see fit,” Phil said, turning away from her, wings fluttering behind him. He spared a look behind him.

“You’ve been warned.”

Chapter Text

“Focus, George,” Phil scolded lightly from the sidelines.

“I’m trying!” George snapped without meaning too. Punz came in low just as Ponk came in high.

George blocked Punz’s strike, but took Ponk’s right to his shoulder. He stumbled, and Punz recoiled and took his left knee out.

George went down hard, the breath knocked out of him.

“Done!” Phil called, sighing heavily. George heard the disappointment quite clearly in his dad’s voice and bit back bitter tears.

“George, mate—”

Phil’s hand was gentle on George’s shoulder, but George shrugged him off roughly and wiped his nose, getting to his feet by himself.

“George—”

“No, Dad,” George said quietly, trying not to cry. “Please don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not going to make fun of you,” Phil said, coming around so he was in front of his boy. “I would never.”

“Sapnap does, Techno does, they all do—” George nearly died from embarrassment as tears clogged his throat. “I’m not strong like Techno, I can’t fly like Wilbur, I’m not fast like Dream—” Ashamed, he drew in a shaky breath and wiped his sleeve across his face. “They’re all so much better at this than me and they don’t even try, whereas I try so hard and never seem to get anywhere.”

He kept his gaze solidly on the ground, feeling his dad’s heavy gaze on the top of his head, ignoring the stares he knew his siblings were giving him.

“Have you ever thought about trying to use your magic?”

George looked up, startled.

His ‘magic’ was pathetic in his eyes. Illusions that he couldn’t hold for more than two seconds and ice magic that only affected himself.

“I thought we decided that it was useless—” George said quietly.

“You decided that it was useless,” Phil corrected gently. “And then refused to let me teach you.”

“Because it is useless,” George whispered.

“Because you won’t let me tell you how to use it.”

This time, George let Phil’s hands rest on his shoulders.

“Would you be surprised if a shovel couldn’t cut down a tree?”

George bit his lip and shook his head.

“Come on,” Phil said, pulling George away from the sparring grounds. “We’re gonna try something.”

…

“I don’t see how this is gonna work,” George said, the bow heavy in his hand.

“I do,” Phil said, adjusting the target. “Now shush and stop your complaining.”

George huffed but obeyed while his dad cursed out the target for not staying where it was supposed to for a solid five minutes.

“Now—” Phil said, walking back to George after successfully swearing in three different languages, one of which George was fairly sure was demon. “Shoot.”

George didn’t even have to look. The arrow hit its mark dead center.

“Now, close your eyes.”

“What? No! Then I can’t get see!”

Phil was not taking a no as an answer.

He turned George around with a firm twist of the shoulders and swiftly tied a strip of cloth around his eyes.

“Hey! Dad—!!”

George breathed in a quick gasp, being yanked back for half a second to the hot Nether, the blistering metal cage that had held him and Sapnap—the dark fabric that had cut off his most relied-upon sense was suddenly back, he was back there—

“George—”

George let out the breath, coming back to the present. One of Phil’s hands was still supporting the bow; the other was gently cupping his chin. His back was pressed firmly to Phil’s back, steadying him.

“Breathe, mate,” Phil said softly. “You’re right here, with me. Safe.”

George breathed, feeling himself come back to the present. Feeling himself be wrapped in security by the mere presence of his dad and reinforced by the feeling of Phil’s hands on his arm and chin.

“Sorry,” he said in a small voice.

“You’re alright,” Phil reassured, adjusting George’s grip on the bow. “I’m right here. Now I want you to focus on your magic. It’s a part of you, but at the same time not.”

“Sounds stupid,” George muttered, trying to hide the fact he had almost broke down in a panic attack over a dumb piece of cloth.

“I know, but just trust me,” Phil said. “Your magic wants to protect you, help you. You just have to ask.”

“How do I ask myself to protect myself?” George asked.

“You’ll have to figure that one out yourself, mate,” Phil said. “Now look inside for your magic.”

George wanted to roll his eyes, but did as he was told. It felt dumb, reaching for the very thing he had only ever seen as a disappointment and failure and hold-back.

The tingly feeling that tickled his wrists every time he did illusions began to grow, this time from his chest.

“There we go—” Phil’s voice was a bit hazy. “Now focus that magic to the arrow. Send the energy outwards.”

George tried. It was like herding a very cold, very erratic, barely-there butterfly.

He imagined the cold that had wrapped around his heart so many years ago moving to encase the arrow in its icy grasp.

He let the arrow go.

He heard the arrow thunk in the target, almost immediately followed by another noise. Like glass crashing down on a ceramic floor.

The blindfold was tugged off and George blinked at the light.

“You wanted to know why you couldn’t get anywhere,” Phil said quietly. “Because you won’t accept what you can do.”

George’s jaw dropped.

The target was frozen through solid in a block of thick ice.

So cold it wasn’t even melting in the hot sun—so powerful George’s magic was still fritzing along the crystalline surface.

“You are just as strong as your brothers and sisters, George,” Phil said kindly. “If only you would accept the way you are strong.”

George swallowed hard.

The icy grasp around his heart wasn’t as cold anymore.

Chapter Text

A dark hallway, steps echoing off the marble floors.

Blood slicking the fine finish, rusty and cloying.

Hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to think—

An arm tight around his chest, a booming voice, black wings like night. A pain in his head, and the Nether air bitter in his nose.

An attack, piglins, separation.

Cold.

George’s eyes shot open and his entire body went rigid. He gasped in silently, sweat prickling over his body.

Something shifted on his right, and suddenly he was painfully aware of where he was.

Crushed between Dream and Sapnap, the two curled around him protectively, almost possessively. He hissed out a slow breath as the memory of the nightmare faded and he wanted to cry.

That memory kept coming back, kept nagging at the back of his mind when he tried to sleep. He panted, trying to get enough breath.

To his horror, Dream stirred. The older boy slept so light—he once woke up because it had started to snow.

“Georgie?”

The weight on George’s left side shifted and George felt incredibly guilty.

“Hey—”

Curse his brothers and their insistent ability to know when something was wrong.

“Nothing,” George choked out, trying to turn toward Sapnap. The blaze slept like the dead, and rarely, if ever, woke up unless jostled violently.

“George—”

George squeezed his eyes shut, but didn’t bother stopping Dream as he turned him over. Instead of making him talk to him about it, like George expected, Dream merely tucked him under his chin and reached over, pulling Sapnap closer so George was securely sandwiched. The blanket was fixed and Dream even turned George’s pillow over so he got the cool side.

“It’s okay, Georgie,” Dream whispered sleepily, hand slowly petting George’s curls. “You’re safe—we got you. We got you.”

Sapnap’s arm closed around George’s waist, tight and reassuring, and buried his face in George’s shoulders, breath tickling George’s neck in a way that was oddly comforting.

George breathed out, and Dream started to hum a soft lullaby—a sea shanty Puffy taught him, probably.

Sapnap murmured and George felt the tension bleed out of him as the combined weight and body heat lulled him back to sleep.

Away from the nightmares.

Away from the twisted memories.

Away.

Chapter Text

Minx’s eyes shot open so fast she saw white spots splotch across her vision.

She inhaled sharply, but there was no noise. No indication that she had ever even woken outside the pattern of her breathing.

Not like anyone else was awake to hear it. Her sisters were still deeply asleep.

She screwed her eyes back shut till she saw spots again, and tried to make the memory of the nightmare fade away.

Unfortunately, the more you think about something, the more it remained.

Swearing under her breath, she kicked her duvet off and slipped out of her bed, the cold floor bringing her back to reality a bit.

She just needed to water.

Just needed to remind herself that she could move on her own, that nothing was holding her down and taking.

Always taking—

Minx growled at the train of thought and forced herself to think of something else.

Phil had promised tomorrow he was going to start letting Ant and her fight out in hybrid form. Minx had never fought another cat—and Ant was just as big as her, if not a bit bigger.

It’d be interesting.

She slipped into the kitchen and turned the faucet on, filling a glass all the way, letting the lukewarm tap water pool under her tongue and sit in her mouth for a moment before swallowing.

She forced herself to drink the whole glass that way, knowing she’d need water after sweating that much during her nightmare.

“What you doing up?”

Minx jumped and threw the now-empty glass as hard as she could.

Schlatt caught it before it exploded on his face.

He held the glass up by the edge of the rim, looking at it with a raised eyebrow before looking at her with the same face.

Minx sneered. “That’s what you get for sneaking up on me.”

“I wasn’t sneaking up on you.”

“What’re you doing here then?”

“I live here.”

“I mean at this time of night?”

“Could say the same to you, Kitty Cat.”

Minx visibly flinched.

Schlatt saw. “What was that for?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“Just—!” Minx pressed her fingertips to her temples, bowing her head to fight the tears.

Still?? It’s been years—!!

“You okay?”

Schlatt’s hand brushed her arm. It was meant to be comforting, but all Minx felt was him.

She lurched away, crashing into the counter. The edge rammed into her hips and lower spine and she braced herself with a gasp at the pain.

She heard Schlatt take several steps back, saw him raise his hands, palms open, in surrender.

“You gonna be okay there? Do I need to go get Mumza or Dad?” Schlatt turned as if to head upstairs.

“No!” Minx almost shouted, only remembering at the last second to whisper. “Please—don’t—”

She couldn’t bear to know she had caused Phil and Kristin to lose precious, rare sleep over her. Just because a nightmare and her brother had caused a stupid flashback that shouldn’t even be happening anymore.

A beat, where all she heard was her own ragged breathing and pounding heart.

“Let’s go sit outside.”

“Huh?” she looked up, surprised to see Schlatt still standing there.

“Outside. You know, ‘fresh air and trees and bugs and dirt’?”

“Yeah, I know what the outside is,” she rolled her eyes. “But why?”

He shrugged. “It usually helps with my flashbacks.”

Minx had forgotten that Schlatt had his own past, his own pain that came back to haunt him in the middle of the night. His own wounds that a stray word or careless comment could rip open.

“C’mon.” he nodded towards the back door.

Minx followed him, not sure what this was supposed to do.

Schlatt flopped down on the stairs as if he had done this a million times before.

He probably had.

Minx sat next to him and let herself breathe.

The open air helped.

It smelled free and open, of fresh grass and the lilac bush Kristin had planted a few years ago. Of turning leaves, and if she focused, she could smell the raspberry bush next to the barn. She could smell Schlatt’s soap—the piney, lavendery stuff most of her brothers used—plus the aftershave he used to shape his stupid sideburns.

“Want to talk about it?”

The question started her.

Minx huffed.

“My worst is a nightmare about the last guy I killed before Soot came along,” Schlatt said, unprompted. He played with one of the lilac flowers, surprisingly gentle for one with such big hands. “I gored the guy with my horns. Kicked his stomach with my hooves—I felt his diagram tear. That’s what killed him, not the bleeding out.”

Minx stared.

He sighed. It wasn’t shaky or scared, but resigned and heavy. As if he’d accepted this a hundred times already, and was no longer bothered.

The pain in his eyes told another story.

“I knew the guy too,” he said, picking at the petals. “He was my neighbor for a month in the cells. Mean. Nasty. Made jokes he shouldn’t about women and had a thing for kids. I don’t regret killing him.”

Minx swallowed.

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it?” Schlatt chuckled, but it was dry. His hand movements weren’t so gentle anymore. “I killed someone. Brutally. And I don’t care.”

The flower smooshed in his hands, petal paste smearing on his fingers.

“What does that make me?” he asked, very small. For a second, he wasn’t Minx’s older, stupid, annoying brother. He was a little boy, lost and sad.

Minx shrugged, not sure what she was supposed to say to another’s trauma. Her own was hard enough to deal with. “Does it matter? It wasn’t your choice.”

Schlatt heaved out a breath. “I know. Phil told me that too. He told me I’m not a monster. Because I care about not caring, I really do care and I’m not some stone-hearted monster.”

“You’re not a monster—”

“But I can be.” Schlatt interrupted harshly. “If anyone tries to hurt Phil, or Mumza, or you guys—” the flower disintegrated in his palms. “I can very easily be the monster the Pit tried to make me be.”

Minx huffed. “That doesn’t make you a monster, dingus. That makes you protective.”

Schlatt rolled his eyes and brushed the flower bits off his hands. “If you say so. Your turn.”

“What?”

“I talked about my feelings, now you talk about yours.”

Minx balked.

Schlatt sighed. “It gets easier the more you talk about it. Buries it better. Makes it harder to hurt you. Takes the power away from it and makes it your own.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve had this exact same conversation with just about everyone in this house,” Schlatt deadpanned. “It doesn’t quite hurt so much anymore.”

Minx grumped. “Fine.”

Schlatt leaned back on his elbows, staring off into space.

Waiting.

Minx swallowed hard and decided to take Schlatt’s advice. Couldn’t hurt, right?

“I worked in a brothel,” she started tentatively, the words a bit heavy on her tongue. “Well, my bio-mom did, and she died because of some idiot. I needed to pay rent, and didn’t know anything else, so I kinda picked up where she left off.”

Schlatt nodded, letting her know he was paying attention.

“I never did that that, just a bunch of other stuff I’m not proud of.” The words came easier now. “Sometimes the clients got a bit rough, and that’s where my nightmares come from.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, but forced herself to keep speaking.

“There was this one guy—I’d thought for sure I’d lose myself. He was three times my size—I don’t know what I was thinking, letting him rent me and a room—and, and, and—”

She hadn’t even realized she started crying. She pressed her hands to her face, feeling the tears pool in her palms.

Schlatt didn’t say anything.

“I screamed. He tried to choke me out, get me to shut up, but the girl next door heard. She saved me, and gave up a pretty hefty-paying client too,” Minx forced the words out. She had made it this far, she could keep going. “My boss kicked her out the next day for that. I haven’t seen her since.”

“The guy?” Schlatt asked. Not pressing, not prying. Just curious.

“Kicked out too for trying to take more than what he paid for,” Minx sighed. “He came back in a week and asked for me, but I made myself scarce.”

“But he still comes back in your head.” Schlatt didn’t ask the question, he made a statement.

Minx nodded. “I don’t get saved in my nightmares. I don’t get to keep that one last bit of dignity. I-I think if-f that had act-tually happened—” she took a shuddering breath. “I-I think I would’ve ended it that night.”

She let it drop there, unwilling to share anymore. She wasn’t in that place anymore, mentally or physically, and she would never dream of leaving this life Phil and Kristin had given her. To end it now, when she finally had everything in some semblance of ‘perfect’—a family that loved her and a solid home life with plenty of food and clothes and roof and a bed—she would never.

But it still hurt to think about—knowing she had been that close, that she had been brought that close.

Schlatt didn’t say anything as she cried a bit, trying to haul herself together. It was several minutes later before anyone spoke again.

“You know I won’t let that happen, right?” Schlatt was quiet, calm.

“Yeah,” Minx laughed a bit. “But you can’t save me from my own head.”

“I can try.”

Minx bit her lip.

“I know it hurts inside,” Schlatt said. “I couldn’t imagine knowing how much it must be twisted up, having to relive your worst hours again and again.”

Minx made a small sound in between a whimper and a hiccup.

“But we’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe.”

Minx looked up at his tone, the possessiveness protectiveness layered there.

Schlatt was looking at her, but not the way the men in brothel always had. As if she was a piece of meat, or a toy to be played with.

Schlatt was looking at her as if she meant something to him, as if she was made of diamonds or put the stars in the skies with her bare hands.

“You know that right?”

Minx nodded, and swallowed the mouthful of tears.

Schlatt nodded too and waited till she had pulled herself together before asking. “He called you ‘Kitty,’ didn’t he?”

Minx shook her head. “Another client. Regular. He always asked for me. He paid well, so I put up with him. He called me ‘kitten.’ He couldn’t have known about my hybrid, but it was just another way for them to destroy me.”

Schlatt nodded. “Fair enough. No more cat jokes.”

Minx smiled very small. She tentatively leaned over and let her head lay on Schlatt’s shoulder. He didn’t move away, or try to push her off.

He let her lay there till she calmed down and her breathing and heartbeat eased. It had to have taken close to half an hour, but he didn’t try to rush her, or tease her about being a slowpoke.

“Hey, Schlatt?” she asked, almost half an hour later.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s ever a someone that I might like—and they like me back—”

“I’ll be right there to make sure they know who they’re messing with,” Schlatt said firmly. “Nobody gets to date you without my express permission. Or Phil’s. Or Mumza’s. Or Puffy’s. Or Techno’s. Or Dream’s. Or Wilb—”

“I get it, I get it,” Minx laughed, suddenly feeling very safe and loved. “I don’t get a choice and have to enter an arranged marriage.”

“Of my choosing,” Schlatt grinned, showing exactly where Tubbo had gotten his gremlin-smile training from.

Minx rolled her eyes and let them close, feeling very heavy and sleepy.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asked.

Minx nodded.

She tried to stand, but Schlatt got to his feet faster and swooped her up in a bridal carry.

“Hey!” she hissed, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Shush,” he said. “You try and walk now you’ll faceplant on the stairs and wake everyone up. And I’m not dealing with a grumpy Wilbur.”

She snorted. “I’d be more worried about Puffy.”

“She don’t scare me.”

“She should.”

Schlatt scoffed.

He slipped into the house, surprisingly silent for such a big guy with an armload of sister, and made up the stairs.

Minx tensed as he paused at the girls’ room door.

“What?” he whispered very carefully, as their parents’ room was right there.

“I-I want—” Minx swallowed, embarrassed.

“Sometime tonight, preferably.”

“CanIsleepwithyou?” she rushed through really fast, under her breath, almost hoping he hadn’t heard.

She forgot that Schlatt was a hybrid.

She felt him shrug. “Yeah. I don’t care. Tubbo and Connor do it all the time.”

He turned around and headed back to the room he shared with Eret, Ponk, Punz, and Purpled.

Schlatt set her down on the edge of the bed and let her maneuver herself in, something she greatly appreciated having the option to do. He shooed her over when she apparently didn’t leave enough room for her and joined her, floofing the blanket over the both of them before lying flat on his back and folding one arm behind his head. He yawned so hard his jaw cracked and hummed.

“Gnight, Annoyance.”

Minx, curled up on her side with a pillow hugged to her chest, rolled her eyes. “Gnight, Dingbat.”

Schlatt made a sound that could’ve been amusement, but he was already half asleep.

Minx was soon to follow.

This time, when the nightmares came, she woke with someone nearby to comfort her.

She fell asleep for the third time that night with Schlatt’s arm in her sweaty grasp, clinging to it as if her world depended on it.

Finally, finally, she was allowed some rest.

Chapter Text

Kristin wiped the table, sighing tiredly.

Phil was out, visiting someone or another. The kids were asleep, having been tucked away hours ago. Kristin couldn’t sleep without her husband, and was finding things to clean to keep her hands busy.

Her mind, however, was finding more than enough thing to worry about all on its own.

“So this is what you’ve been reduced to.”

Kristin set the rag down, a coil of fury she had forgotten existed burning in her chest. A presence drifted into the room, made of dread and fear and hate.

“Death.”

“Kristin.”

“How is Philza dearest?” A soft hand, delicate and slender, tracing the marks on the table.

“I fail to see how anything to having to do my husband is any of your concern,” Kristin said, swiping a loose hair behind her ear as Death decided to grace her with a physical presence.

She was as beautiful as ever—in a cold, distant way. Skin pale as the richest milk, with hair long and luscious to her waist in a way Kristin could never hope to achieve.

“Just as salty as ever,” Death rolled her eyes, practically sneering at the worn appearance of Kristin’s kitchen. “How Philza puts up with you is beyond me.”

“Many things are,” Kristin remarked snidely, putting the rag back in the sink and opening the cupboard to get a bowl.

She ignored Death, stepping around her to get to the fridge. Wanting something to do with her hands, she began to peel the eggs she had boiled earlier so the kids could have something extra for breakfast. Fundy likes eggs, but Hannah hated them. Tommy and Quackity too. Maybe she should make some muffins for them, and Bad could happy then as well.

“You make a charming housewife,” Death said sarcastically, interrupting Kristin’s breakfast plans.

Kristin hummed, trying to figure out if she had enough eggs left to make French toast. Did Alyssa like powdered sugar or cinnamon on hers? Or was that Skeppy? Which one of them liked sprinkles?

“Are you just going to ignore me?”

Kristin barely suppressed the eye-roll. “Unless you’re going to help feed thirty-some kids, I’d suggest you find someone else to annoy.”

Death tsked, admiring her nails. “Such a charming hostess.”

“I don’t remember inviting you into my home.”

“I’m Death. I don’t need an invitation.”

A trickle of fear began to worm down Kristin’s spine, coiling around her lungs and burrowing into her heart.

She set the current egg down and braced herself on the table. “You touch so much as a hair on their heads—”

“You’ll do what?” Death said loftily.

Kristin turned, facing her with iron in her eyes. “I will watch as Phil tears you apart from the seams.”

Death blanched slightly, then her eyes narrowed and she sneered. “Pathetic. Can’t even protect your own children.”

“Enough.”

Death and Kristin both froze at the voice.

Fate was sitting cross-legged on the counter, a bored expression on her face. She looked as though she’d been interrupted from something important, and wasn’t too happy about it.

“Having nothing better to do, Death?” Fate said snidely. “I don’t know, reaping souls and escorting them to the Afterlife and the One? You know, that super important job you were gifted so people weren’t stuck on their Bridges?”

Death glowered, but hung her head.

Kristin inclined her head in Fate’s direction respectfully. “M’lady.”

Fate smiled gently. “Kristin. How are the children?”

“Rambunctious as ever. They’re asleep right now.” Kristin went back to peeling eggs to hide the shaking in her hands.

Fate nodded, then sent a glare to Death. “Leave. You have work to do.”

Death’s jaw clenched. “You don’t have the right to—”

“I have every right,” Fate snapped, and Kristin’s heart leapt to her mouth. Fate’s eyes burned, and magic rippled through the room. “Or have you forgotten your place?”

Death took a step back, her physical form wavering in fear to show the monster beneath.

Fate tipped her head to the side. “I believe I told you to do something.”

Death gave one last glare in Kristin’s direction, then she was gone.

Kristin’s anxiety spiked at not knowing where the Ancient was. “She’ll leave the children?”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Fate sighed, playing with her hair. “Prophecy and Destiny have grown quite attached to your babies. They have many plans set in place.”

Kristin was in no way a fan of Prophecy and Destiny—the twins that held her children’s futures in their hands—but she didn’t say anything.

“Forgive me for worrying, M’lady,” Kristin said, finishing with the eggs and dumping the shells in the bin.

Fate smiled easily. “It is a mother’s job, after all.”

Kristin heaved a breath. “You won’t tell me anything?” she said quietly, hoping behind hope.

“My darling, the future is not set in stone,” Fate said kindly. “It could change at any moment, with any decision. Me and my sisters make plans, but we do not control what is to come.”

“But you know,” Kristin said, trying to hide the accusatory tone. “You see everything that could possibly happen.”

Fate’s face grew sad, and suddenly she appeared as ancient as she truly was. “I see the future, true, but be glad I am the only one. If you knew the horrors that could happen, you would kill your children yourself to ensure they never saw it.”

Kristin’s heart swooped, and a bitter taste filled her mouth.

Fate offered her a bright smile. “Have hope, magess. You have raised your children beautifully. They may see this through yet.”

Kristin gave her an exhausted look. “That is what I’m afraid of, M’lady. There is no future where they are happy.”

Fate smiled wider, more mischievous. “You’d be surprised, magess, what the future may hold.”

Between one breath and the next, she was gone.

Kristin cried that night, on her kitchen floor, wishing for all the world her children didn’t have to grow up, didn’t have to face what she knew was coming.

Chapter Text

“What’re we doing?” Sam pretended not to be worried. Foolish slept in his arms, chin on Sam’s shoulder and snoring softly. Phil’s hand was steady on his shoulder, firm and secure.

It also held him in place as they marched through the desert at two in the morning.

“We’re visiting a friend of mine,” Phil said cryptically. “You don’t need to be concerned.”

Sam was concerned, but he kept quiet. Foolish stirred a bit, burrowing his face into Sam’s neck. Sam rubbed his back absentmindedly, watching the terrain change. The mesas rose out of the ground, giant lumbering land masses sloping through the night, casting shadows in ominous shapes.

Phil led the way confidently, not straying from the path only he could seemingly see.

“Been a long time.”

The voice sent chills down Sam’s spine and he held deathly still as Phil stopped.

“Could be an eternity and still not be long enough,” Phil laughed, turning to his left. Sam peered around him. At first, he couldn’t see anything.

Then he saw him.

He blinked, looking up.

Phil chuckled. “You may want a more approachable form. You’ll scare the kids.”

The figure shifted, and the shadows melted around to reveal a smiling, hunched over man with grey hair and laugh wrinkles in soft green robes. His eyes twinkled, and Sam got the feeling there was so much more to this person than his own eyes could see.

Phil gently pulled Sam out from behind him as the old man meandered forward.

“So, you found the child?” the man said, reaching out to cup Sam’s jaw.

“By chance,” Phil said, thumb caressing Sam’s shoulder. “It’s a long story.”

“And this other little one?” the man craned his neck to look at Foolish’s face.

“You already know,” Phil smiled.

The old man looked up, eyes wide with shock, and he looked back at Foolish as if he was the world’s greatest treasure.

“May I—?” he asked, voice trembling, holding out his arms.

Sam hesitated, making a small noise in the back of his throat, and looked up at Phil for permission.

Phil smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay, mate. Old Nook here isn’t gonna hurt him.”

Sam gave the Nook guy a look, but let him take his little brother.

Foolish didn’t stir, but curled up into the new embrace and yawned.

Nook looked close to tears. “Aren’t you just precious—” he cooed, brushing Foolish’s hair off his face and thumbing his cheek. He looked back up at Phil, a few tears trickling down his face. “He’s the spittin’ image, Phil. The spittin’ image of ‘er.”

Phil smiled softly. “I know. Has her laugh too.”

Nook’s lip wobbled and he went back to admiring the little bundle in his arms. “You’re gonna be so important,” he whispered, and Sam got the feeling he shouldn’t be hearing this. It was too personal, too private. “Fran would be so proud of you,” Nook continued, and he wiped his face with his free hand. “She would be so proud.”

Phil held out his arms, and Nook gave him the child back, though he sniffled loudly and watched Foolish go with the most forlorn look Sam had ever seen on an adult.

Foolish actually stirred this time, opening his eyes just long enough to recognize Phil, smile drowsily, and go right back to sleep.

“And what of you?”

Sam jumped as Nook put his hands on his shoulders. The man’s face was too close—Sam could see very wrinkle and line that told a story.

“It’s okay,” Nook said, cupping Sam’s jaw again, holding his head in place with a gentle but firm touch. “I won’t hurt you.”

Sam didn’t believe him, but Phil’s hand on his back was reassuring. “Easy, mate. Nook’s waited a long time to meet you.”

Sam didn’t care. He didn’t like people touching his face.

He gave Nook two more seconds before moving his head away. Nook let him go, and Phil pulled Sam to lean against him. His hand held the back of Sam’s head, fingers playing with the hair curled around Sam’s ears and soothing Sam’s anxiety.

He wanted to go home, go to bed. He was tired.

“His mother?”

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face into Phil’s shirt, inhaling the smell of Kristin’s homemade soap and Phil’s piney, grassy scent that smelled like home.

“Gone,” Phil said quietly, respectfully. “Sam never met her.”

Sam heard a soft sigh. “Pity really. She was a good woman.”

Sam peeked out from Phil’s coat, wondering what that meant.

Nook saw and smiled sadly. “Not ah, young one. No secrets for you tonight.”

Sam blinked. Now what did that mean?

“So what do you think? Will he do?” Phil asked, guiding Sam’s head to lie back on his shoulder.

Nook nodded. “He holds my magic well. I still got it.”

“And Foolish?”

“Later. Not now.” Nook let a finger caress Foolish’s cheek. “He’s still a baby. His magic is too new to this world.”

Phil chuckled. “His magic is millennia old, Nook.”

Nook gave him a look. “You know what I mean.”

Sam didn’t, and he wanted to. He grumbled, but Nook on laughed at him. “You might want to get them home. This one’s a bit grumpy.”

Phil lightly tugged at Sam’s hair, sighing fondly. “This one was supposed to be in bed two hours ago.”

“Daaad—” Sam pushed against Phil, whining. “I’m not a baby.”

Phil pulled him right back, pressing his cheek to the top of Sam’s head. “You’ll never stop being my baby.”

Sam huffed, feeling drowsy as the minutes dragged on.

“I’ll let you go,” Nook said, and he sounded mournful. “Go home. Go to your family.”

Phil sounded just as sad, Sam yawning widely and nuzzling against him. “Your rest will come soon, Old One. Soon, I promise.”

Nook could only smile, though he looked as though he carried the weight of the world. “I’ve waited a long time for my end. But now that it’s so close—” Sam wrinkled his nose at the hand on his cheek. “I think I’ll miss it here.”

“You’ve earned your rest,” Phil said kindly, and Sam’s eyes drifted closed.

Nook nodded, as if trying to convince himself, and took his hand back. “Do you want a ride home?”

Phil relaxed a bit against Sam. “That would be greatly appreciated.”

“Till next time.”

Sam squeezed his eyes as the wind picked up, and the ground shifted beneath his feet.

He didn’t bother opening his eyes as Phil guided him into a bed. He curled up, opening his arms long enough for Phil to tuck Foolish against his chest. He wrapped his arms around his little brother and murmured appreciatively as Phil pulled the blanket up.

“G’night, mate.” A kiss was pressed to his forehead, then Foolish’s. “I love you.”

Sam was awake long enough to hear the footsteps fade and the door close, before he slipped into sleep’s welcoming cloak.

Chapter Text

Tubbo didn’t like not being able to sleep.

He had gone too many nights on the run with Tommy, too cold or too uncomfortable to sleep. Stomach pinched with hunger, and throat sandpaper-dry in such a way he just couldn’t sleep.

He wasn’t hungry now, and not really thirsty. The bed was soft and warm, and Tommy was with him.

All should have been right with the world.

It was in Tommy’s world, at least.

Tubbo laid on his side, Tommy’s face nuzzled into his neck. The older avian’s breath fanned easily across his collarbone, and his fluffy hair tickled Tubbo’s nose a little bit. Tommy’s usually tight grip was lax, arm just resting on Tubbo’s side.

Tommy finally, even though it had been almost two years since Phil had rescued them, felt safe enough to fully, deeply sleep.

Tubbo absentmindedly patted Tommy’s head, playing with the fluffy golden curls, annoyance setting in.

He was not going to sleep tonight. Might have had something to do with sleeping a solid nineteen hours the day before.

Meh.

Grumbling, he extricated himself from Tommy’s long limbs, careful not to wake him up. Maybe if he got some water or something to snack on, he’d get sleepy.

The house was cold, and he immediately regretted his decision to get out of the warm covers as now he was wide, wide awake.

He grew even more awake at what was in the hallway.

Ranboo was wandering in a circle in the smack middle of the hall, making small, sad warbles. His long arms were folded up to his chest, and he was hunched over, as if in pain.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo was used to Ranboo’s strange quirks at this point—everyone was.

Ranboo was ‘bipolar,’ or whatever Phil had said. And not just in moods, but in magic as well. Ranboo was a dual hybrid, human body struggling to maintain a born Ender and a manifested ghast.

The ghast third was becoming more and more dormant over the years, Ranboo’s Ender blood proving superior.

There was only one issue with that.

Ranboo’s Ender blood was clingy.

Ranboo’s Ender blood absolutely, wholeheartedly adored a certain someone named ‘Tubbo.’

Ranboo, eyes all whited out with a purple glow, perked up at the sound of Tubbo’s voice.

A low warble, sounding more like a question that anything else, made its way out of his throat. The lanky teen slowly but surely began to walk (‘stumble around like a newborn foal’ was more accurate) towards Tubbo, hands outstretched towards him.

That’s when Tubbo noticed that Ranboo had shifted to an actual Half form, something nobody thought the teen’s messed-up magic could do. Sure, Ranboo had split skin and hair color, but that didn’t classify as a Half from.

He sure had a Half from now.

Delicate horns, one black and one white, lanced from just behind his ears—speaking of ears, they were now floppy and long, almost like goat ears but black and white. His fingers had lost their human qualities, becoming almost talon-like and elongated with little claws at the tips.

Tubbo couldn’t resist the cringe as those talons landed on his shoulders.

Ranboo had gotten taller too, if that was at all possible. On a normal day, he was and even 6’ 6” in his messed up Half form. Now, he had to be pushing seven foot. His jaw had sharpened, and Tubbo could just barely see little fangs protruding from where Ranboo’s incisors were.

Ranboo tilted his head, spindly fingers gently tapping Tubbo’s face.

“You doing okay, Boo?” Tubbo asked, gingerly grabbing Ranboo’s wrist. The Ender’s pulse was normal, slower even.

So Ranboo wasn’t in any distress.

Ranboo churred, and that’s when Tubbo noticed the tail.

Mostly because it was winding around his waist.

“Hey man—” Tubbo chuckled nervously. “D’you mind?”

Ranboo did not, in fact, seem to mind. The tail was long and thin, almost like thick wire with a little fuzzy white thing at the end.

Under normal circumstances, Tubbo would be laughing at Ranboo, poking fun at him for having a tail and cute little floppy ears.

He didn’t dare with Ranboo’s new limb now wrapped around his oxygen-supply.

Ranboo made another noise, suddenly pulling Tubbo to him. Tubbo stumbled forward with a little yelp, Ranboo catching him and picking him clear up off the ground the way a toddler would pick up a cat.

“Boo?”

Ranboo churred and began his halting walk back to his room that he shared with Tommy, Jack, Charlie, and Tubbo.

Ranboo flopped Tubbo down in his bed, made extra-long by Phil for his lanky limbs, crawling in after him.

“Ranboo—”

Ranboo was not listening in any way, tail winding tighter around Tubbo’s chest and now around Tubbo’s arms.

Tubbo gave up, laying back and letting Ranboo adjust him to his little Endery heart’s desire. Finally, after Ranboo had taken more than enough time to make sure Tubbo was comfortable, Ranboo settled down.

His head plunked down on Tubbo’s chest, arms tight around Tubbo as if to make double-sure Tubbo couldn’t escape.

Not that Tubbo would be able to worm himself out of Ranboo’s tail that seemed intent on making sure Tubbo couldn’t twitch.

At least Ranboo had made sure Tubbo was under the blanket.

Tubbo groaned as he felt Ranboo’s breathing ease.

He still wasn’t sleepy.

Twenty minutes passed, then an hour.

Ranboo started purring around an hour and a half, and that’s when Tubbo noticed the change.

Ranboo was shifting back.

First the horns and ears, then the claws softened back to Ranboo’s freakishly long fingers. Ranboo shrunk a few inches, his spine crackling in a way that made Tubbo’s skin crawl. The tail was last, slowly uncoiling until Tubbo was ‘free.’

He still had roughly a hundred and eighty pounds sitting almost directly on top of him.

Ranboo actually woke up once he shifted back to human form, and Tubbo felt Ranboo tighten his hold on him with stiff fingers.

His heartbeat picked up, and Ranboo slowly began to pull his limbs up, trying to curl up in a ball.

He didn’t seem to realize he had a whole Tubbo in his bed, hindering his efforts.

“Boo?”

Ranboo jolted as if touched with a live wire, head snapping up to look at Tubbo.

And he looked so scared, so distraught and confused—Tubbo’s heart panged.

They were supposed to be safe in this house, with Phil and Kristin and all the older kids—there shouldn't be fear here.

“Hey, man—”

Ranboo shuddered as Tubbo worked an arm free to poke at his face.

“You doin’ okay? You were wandering around the hall all glowy and crap.”

Ranboo didn’t seem capable of speech yet, eyes fluctuating randomly on nothing and everything at once. He sat up, and Tubbo wheezed as the weight lifted off him.

Ranboo made a distressed noise, hands fussing with the blanket. Tubbo sat up, sitting cross-legged while he watched Ranboo almost start crying over bedding.

It took much longer than it should have for Tubbo to figure out what Ranboo wanted.

A nest.

The silly stupid goofball Ender wanted a flippin’ nest.

Tubbo huffed good-naturedly and gently pushed Ranboo off the bed. “Let me do it. Enders don’t know how to make nests.”

Tubbo didn’t know either, but his hybrid allowed for some basic instincts.

He stole some blankets from his brothers’ beds and made a fluffy little cave almost, all shored up with pillows and filled with various stuffed animals.

Ranboo, in no way, shape, or form present in his own head yet, watched with wide, pupil-blown eyes, blinking languidly every now and then.

“There we go,” Tubbo said quietly, flinging one more blanket over the top. “Think this will work?”

Ranboo approached warily, still wavering on his feet, and tapped (‘pawed,’ really) at the nest. Slowly, Tubbo heard the same, rumbling purr coming back.

Ranboo, sounding like world’s most content cat, snuggled into the den. It kinda creeped Tubbo out, peering into the nest to only see one red and one green eye glowing back.

“Good?” Tubbo asked, kinda wanting to go to bed now. His wings were kind of sore from just hanging down off his back (he still couldn’t bring himself to fold his wings in dark, confined spaces, even if it was just a blanket on his bed or their dark bedroom) and his eyes were growing heavy.

The green eye blinked and a hand shot out of the den and Tubbo nearly shrieked as he was yanked down.

Ranboo wasted no time wrapping his lanky limbs around Tubbo, tangling their legs together and pinning Tubbo’s arms to his chest.

“Ranboooo—” Tubbo whined, finding himself completely unable to move again. “Whyyyyy?”

Ranboo pretended (and Tubbo was starting to think Ranboo wasn’t as loopy as he was playing off to be) not to hear, making a small chirping sound and snuggling the both of deeper into the nest.

Cocooned in the little cave, Ranboo’s heartbeat slowing back to normal, Tubbo found himself getting sleepy.

Ranboo was purring again, much quieter, but it was still there.

It was comforting, really. And Ranboo wasn’t sad anymore. He just wanted a nest, somewhere safe and warm to share with someone.

Tubbo felt himself drifting off, and before he knew it, he was deeply asleep.

Chapter Text

George couldn’t sleep. He was cold, so very cold.

The nightmare made it hard to even breathe, screams of terror still echoing in his head. Arms of steel, forcing him out of his bed, the smell of blood so thick he choked on it. Explosions, all around—fire, fire, fire—

Sapnap wasn’t helping, holding George practically hostage with the way his arms were wrapped around George’s middle.

Dream was just laying there like a dead body, arm thrown over the both of them.

And George couldn’t sleep.

Dream must have been really deeply asleep, because George was able to get himself free and out of the room without a hitch.

He avoided his siblings’ rooms, heading for the hallway window that most of the kids used to get to the porch roof. George wanted to climb higher, but George also knew that George had no self-preservation skills and it would probably be best to stay right here.

He sighed deeply, feeling the cold night air work into his already frozen lungs. It didn’t matter anymore, how cold he got. He wasn’t warming up tonight.

“Terrible thing, isn’t it? Not being able to sleep.”

George nearly fell off the roof, whipping around to see a little girl, no older than Alyssa perched on the gutter. Her eyes, clear as the center of an ice block, pierced through his very soul.

Ancient.

“You’re not Fate,” George whispered, and he didn’t know how he knew.

He just knew.

This girl—this girl was different.

She smiled lightly. “No, I am not. Unfortunately for your family, I am not.”

George didn’t want to know what that meant.

He swallowed. “What are you doing here?”

The girl shrugged and began stepping delicately toward him, one foot in front of the other like a cat. George had nowhere to go except for inside where his family way, and he wasn’t interested in leading this strange girl straight towards them, so he didn’t bother trying to run.

“I thought I’d visit. See how the Three are doing.”

George blinked. “Three what?”

The girl giggled. “Honestly, I’m still surprised you all haven’t figured it out.”

George blinked. Again. “Huh?”

The girl plopped down next to him, and her figure changed. Now she was a barefoot teenage girl wearing fluffy pajama bottoms and an over-sized t-shirt.

“I can’t wait to see everyone’s reactions,” she said lightly, taking a deep breath of the cool air. “It’ll be worth this wait.”

George was getting nervous now. “What’re you talking about?”

The girl looked at him, and tilted her head. “Do you trust your father?”

George nodded without hesitation. “He saved me.”

“Tell me, child,” the girl said. “What did he save you from?”

“Piglin slavers. In the Nether.” George couldn’t see where this was going.

“And before that?” her steely see-through eyes were unnerving. “What is before that?”

George immediately tried to remember, but a pain pulsed in his skull. He moaned, and held a hand to his forehead.

The girl only sighed. “Still?”

“Still what?” George asked.

“You still cannot see. And Karl? Eret? Sapnap? What of Foolish and Callahan? Their memories lay hidden away too, don’t they?”

George had no answer. Callahan had memory problems?

He knew Karl did, and Eret from the concussion he had received from the slavers, and Sapnap had gotten brained by a piglin, but Foolish?

“Ask him, little one,” the girl stood. “Ask your father of your time before the Nether.”

One last gaze that seemed to freeze George’s iced heart over in a fresh layer of frigid fear.

“Your nightmares of blood-stains and screams are not the nightmares you think. Ceilings dripping in blood and hallways piled with corpses? They are not merely bad dreams that haunt your mind.”

George felt his lungs seize.

“They are memories.”

George gasped, sitting bolt upright.

Dream snorted and woke up with him, looking up at him like he was an idiot.

George wasn’t on the roof.

There was no little girl, no eyes made of the Antarctic’s cold.

Memories.

“George?”

Dream’s hand was on his shoulder, pressing him back down.

“Easy, Georgie,” Dream carefully tucked George back in, Sapnap instinctively latching on the way he always did. “Just go back to sleep. It was just a nightmare.”

George had every reason to believe his brother, every reason to trust his family.

No reason to trust a mirage walking on the roof at midnight.

And yet, at the back of his mind—

Memories.

Chapter Text

“Where’re we going?” Niki asked, clinging to Phil’s hand. She leaned against the railing of the ship, trying to see what Phil was looking at so intently at beneath the frothy waves.

“We’re paying someone a visit,” Phil said, and Niki looked up at the coldness in his voice. “Someone who neeads to be put back in their place.”

Niki didn’t like the sound of that. “Why am I here?”

Phil sighed, then turned her to face him, kneeling down to her eye-level. “I need you to listen, sweet, very carefully right now. Where we’re going is very dangerous, but I’m almost positive we’ll be fine. In case we’re not—” he tipped her chin up. “I need you to Sing.”

Niki’s brows furrowed. “But that’ll—”

“I’ll be fine,” Phil said. “If something goes wrong, Sing.”

“What’ll I Sing?” Niki asked shyly, nervously.

“It won’t matter,” Phil said. “As long as you Sing.”

“Okay,” Niki said quietly. “I’ll Sing.”

Phil smiled, pulling her in and kissing her on the forehead before closing her in a hug. He stood, bringing her up with in his arms.

“Hang on tight,” he whispered, and Niki had three seconds to figure out what he meant before Phil jumped over the railing.

Niki screamed, then they hit the water.

Salt water filled her mouth and nose, then she shifted against her will as the Sea called to her. Now she knew why Phil had had her wear one of her special skirts that Kristin had made for her shifting.

Her tail lashed out behind her, more pink and gold this time instead of blue. The sea’s magic flooded into her veins, filling her with power that she didn’t have access to on land.

She glared at her father as he took her hands to keep her from drifting. He gave her a cheeky smile, and Niki noted the magical breathing apparatus around his throat made of turtle shells and magic.

They began to sink, Phil’s wings pressed tight to his back.

It didn’t take long for Niki to figure out where they were going.

The giant coral palace embedded into the side of an underwater mountain may have been a clue.

Mers in armor carrying curved spears rushed out to meet them long before they got anywhere close to the outer gates. Phil pulled Niki behind him, his feet settling onto the ocean floor.

“I wish to speak with the King,” Phil said coolly. Niki liked how the water distorted his voice—to her, it had a more musical quality.

“You are not welcome here,” the guards said in unison, which was creepy.

“I’m welcome where I please,” Phil said, head held high. “I have information that His Majesty would be most interested in.”

“The King has no need of information from a Sentient,” the guard on the left said, sneering.

“I will speak with the King,” Phil said. He pulled Niki out from behind him. “Niki, sweet—don’t we have a meeting with the King?”

Niki got the hint. “We need to speak to the King.

Mers weren’t supposed to Sing other mers into submission. It was against their magic, against their biology. It wasn’t supposed to be possible.

But the guards still went stiff, as if pulled by the strings of a puppet.

They moved to the side, and Phil and his daughter passed by.

…

They made it to the throne room that way, Niki Singing a sweet little Song, enchanting her way through the burliest of guards with the gentlest of notes.

Phil’s hand was on her shoulder the whole time, steady and reassuring.

When the throne room doors swung open grandly though, revealing grandeur Niki had never thought imaginable, her Song died in her throat.

Phil patted her shoulder, telling her it was okay.

She ducked into his side when she saw who was on the throne, giving the two intruders a disinterred, annoyed look.

A mer, bigger than a great white shark, reclined lazily. Stubble lined a sharp jaw, piercing blue eyes hid under heavy eyebrows.

Phil took his sweet time approaching the raised dais, ignoring the guards, court appointeds, and staff. Niki’s tail flicked nervously as the she realized almost everyone wasn’t staring at her father, but at her.

“Your Highness,” Phil didn’t bow when they reached the bottom of the throne’s platform, didn’t even dip his head. “Been a long time, mate.”

“I was hoping for forever,” the mer said, his voice a deep rumble that made the water ripple. His tail, shimmering in blue and gold, swiped irritably.

Phil grinned cheekily. “Naw. Why wouldn’t I want to visit an old friend?”

“We are not friends,” the mer said, almost childishly. “Anything but.”

Phil’s grin turned sharp, and his eyes melted into something more sinister. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

“What is the nature of your visit?” the mer leaned on an elbow, dismissing a group of mers that were clearly some type of advisory panel with a wave of his hand.

“I just wished to ask your opinion,” Phil said innocently, his arm around Niki’s shoulder pushing her forward.

The mer’s eyes narrowed, and in the matter of a second his body went rigid. “Philza—”

“Found the child washed up beach, all wrapped up in a fishing net,” Phil said, tucking a strand of hair behind Niki’s ear. Niki leaned against her father’s hand, then burrowed her face in his side, trying to hide.

“Philza—”

“She’s out of your reach,” Phil paid the mer king no mind. “She will never be yours.”

The king’s grip on the throne’s arm cracked the marble.

“By your own laws, she is mine.”

Niki shivered at the possessiveness, but Phil’s hand on her shoulder rubbed her back comfortingly.

“Give her up, Your Highness.” Phil tone held no room for argument, no patience for backtalk. “You’ve lost this fight.”

“You will pay for this insult,” The king snapped, voice holding the promise of war.

“I owe you no debt,” Phil said coolly. “I simply benefited from a situation.” He tilted his head. “Perhaps you should get to work on that little piece of legislation that allows for the abandonment of the most helpless of your people to their doom on the mainland. Perhaps you should have protected what was yours so this never would have happened.”

His arm wrapped around Niki securely, shielding her from the court.

“This is your own fault, Your Highness. Face the consequences, or pay the price.”

The water in the room shifted unnaturally, and the bio-luminescent chandeliers flickering ominously. Niki gasped as Phil’s hand turned icy on her back, though the comforting motion never paused.

“Be sure you’re willing to pay such a price. You may find yourself severely in debt.”

Niki didn’t like this—she wanted to go home now. The palace was pretty, and the sea longed for her to stay—but she wanted to go home.

“Come along, sweet,” Phil said gently, turned towards the exit.

“You won’t get away with this.” The king tried to save face, tossing one more threat at Phil’s back.

Phil, never one to miss a beat, tossed him a flashy smile. “I believe I already have.”

…

Phil watched as the kids played in the living room, settling down for the night.

Niki was off to the side a bit, Eret brushing her hair as she played a board game that required sea magic with Foolish. Eret was helping her, much to Foolish’s chagrin, and Phil chuckled at his screwed-up face.

“He was angry?” Kristin settled against his side, handing him a mug of fresh tea while sipping a cup of hot cocoa herself.

Phil settled an arm on her waist, sipping and nodding at the same time. “Nothing he could do about it. There should have been nothing he could have done about it in the first place. He just needed a reminder now that Niki’s old enough.”

Jack sneezed right into his cup of milk, evaporating it instantly and sending steam into his face. Charlie thought this was hilarious, and let Jack know it.

“He didn’t try to Sing you?” Kristin giggled at Jack’s rallying of T-Squared to charge at Charlie.

“He wouldn’t have dared with Niki right there,” Phil said.

Charlie yelped as Dream, ever eager for a chase, darted at the two avians. Tommy retreated to Techno, shrieking the whole way, Tubbo to Sapnap, leaving Jack on his own.

Jack shrieked, darting across the living room at warp speed to hide behind Puffy.

“Think she’ll be able to—”

“She will,” Phil interrupted his wife, not wanting to think about the ‘what it she can’t.’ “She’s bright and strong—has the right heart. She’s perfect.”

Kristin hummed worriedly, watching as Minx dogpiled Dream out of nowhere. “How’re we going to tell them? Bad, Niki, Sam, Foolish, Charlie—not to mention Eret, Fundy, and George. What’s Puffy gonna say? Alyssa and Callahan—”

“We’ll burn that bridge when we get there,” Phil reassured, shushing her a bit so the kids wouldn't hear. Not they seemed to care, what with Lani laughing as Dream wrestled with Minx to get her off and Velvet joining in to hold him down.

“And if things don’t work out?” Kristin had rarely voiced this fear, but as the days and years wore on, she got more and more worried. The reality they had created was harder to ignore.

Phil didn’t answer for a while, just watching the children play, enjoying it while he could.

“Then we’ll have failed the world.”

Chapter Text

“C’mon Ranboo, focus—”

Ranboo tried, he did.

Kristin’s hands were on his neck, cupping his face as her fingers pressed into his skull from behind his ears. He could barely feel the bed beneath him, hands clenched into the comforter.

“Relax,” Phil’s voice was soothing, steady like the hand on Ranboo’s back.

Both of their magics flowed through him, stabilizing his own and aligning it the way it was supposed to. They didn’t want to be—Ranboo could feel the Ender and ghast going at it, the Ender slowly but surely winning as Phil and Kristin lent that side of him power.

The ghast hybrid was almost, almost, completely dormant.

Ranboo keened as part of himself quite literally shut down, hands coming up to grip at Kristin’s wrists.

“Mum—” he just barely got the word out, a hazy whisper mixed with a pained moan.

“I know, sweetie, I know. Just let it happen.”

There was a sickening crack, as if a bone had broken, and Ranboo shrieked as something inside him snapped.

“There we go—” Phil’s voice, relieved as another hand wrapped around Ranboo’s stomach, just below his heart. “Now—shift.”

Ranboo cried out again as pain, raw and bitter, flooded quite literally every inch of his body, but he nearly fell over from shock.

The sound he had made was human.

He hadn’t made an Ender distress warble, he had made a human noise for pain.

“No, no—” the two hands on his neck tipped his head up a bit more, holding him still. “Just give it a minute, it’s not done yet.”

Ranboo twitched, but let himself relax into his mother’s hold, feeling her thumbs caress his cheeks. The pain flickered a bit more, in his joints and around his eyes and at the base of his spine. It tingled, then tickled, leaving him in a sort of strange limbo between pain and not-pain.

“And done.” Phil sounded happy, elated almost. The hand around his stomach was still there, holding him up.

“Okay, sweetie, open your eyes.”

Ranboo blinked them open, seeing his mom smiling broadly. He opened his mouth for a little breath, and blinked again when his jaw didn’t creak. His face had been oddly deformed by his mixed Ender and human features—jaw a bit sharper than it was supposed to be, almost hinged with very thin lips that honestly served no purpose; and a nose that was so flat to his face it might as well as not have been there.

But now—

He opened and closed his mouth a few more times, eyes widening in shock.

There was no catch. He could feel his lips touch, his teeth didn’t grate against each other, he could breathe through his nose—

“Here give him this,” Phil, hand still on Ranboo’s spine, handed his wife a mirror. “I’m just finishing up the last little threads.”

Kristin held the mirror up, smiling gently, and Ranboo nearly reeled back in shock. Phil caught him, laughing a bit.

“Easy mate,” Phil said, helping Ranboo sit back up. Ranboo’s eyes, his normal, blue eyes, were fixed on the mirror. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Ranboo blinked at his reflection, breath hitched when the other Ranboo blinked along with him.

“I’m—I’m—”

“In your Hidden form,” Phil said for him. “With your entangled magic and cracked-up Pearl, it shouldn’t have been possible—but with mine and Kristin’s magic, we were able to put the ghast part of you to sleep and even out the Ender and human. You should be able to shift back quite easily, but I’d give this form a few days to settle first.”

Ranboo was only half listening, fascinated by human he’d thought he’d never see.

He had dark blond, straight hair, probably a perfect mixture of Tommy’s and Tubbo’s own fluffy locks. Blue eyes, soft and easy, blinked from under long eyelashes. His jaw was narrow, and the hollows of his face were slightly indented, as Ranboo had never quite fully healed from his malnourished days.

He looked down to his arms, pale and smooth with little blond hairs. There were a few scars, and dully Ranboo remembered seeing those scars on his black-and-white splattered skin. There were rope burn scars, faded and delicate pink, around his wrists, and a pale line in the crook of his elbow where he had been bled almost to death for his blood.

“Good thing we fixed those tear-stain scars, huh?” Kristin said, touching Ranboo’s face carefully. “Scars show up a bit clearer on human skin.”

Ranboo nodded, then remembered. He lifted his shirt—across his stomach, broad and ragged, was another scar. This one was puckered, ‘torn’ at the edges, put still a soft, rosy pink.

Ranboo swallowed at the sight of it, memories of how that got there flooding his mind.

Tears bit his eyes and another round of shock hit him.

It didn’t hurt to cry.

“Aww, mate,” Phil said. “I bet that’s a relief.”

Ranboo choked on a laugh, wiping his nose as the tears began to slide down his face, cool and smooth and not burning.

“Ready to stand up?” Kristin asked. “You might be a bit wobbly—”

Ranboo let Phil and Kristin held him up, supporting him on either side.

It was weird.

He was shorter, he could tell, but only by a few inches. His human legs were sturdier than his spindly Ender legs, and his knees weren’t so knobby and prone to resting at a half-bent state. His pelvis felt different—it held his spine better. He could stand up straight too—in his messed-up form, he was usually hunched over slightly. Why, nobody had been able to figure out and he hadn’t been able to fix.

He felt weak and wobbly as a newborn lamb, knees shaking and arms straining to be held up.

Inward, he felt the change too.

His magics were separate now, no longer was there a twisted mess of threads in his soul. The red thread was neatly wound and spooled, set aside. The green thread was entwined with his human side, neatly and completely.

The ghast side would no longer torment him.

The Ender side would support him, lend him strength.

He was whole.

He was finally whole.

“It’s a lot, ain’t it?”

Ranboo nodded, unable to stop the tears from trickling down his face.

“Your hybrid form will look a bit different too,” Phil explained as Ranboo took his first few steps. “You’ll be more Ender than ghast, but you’ll still have the split skin and hair.”

“Don’t care, as long as it doesn’t hurt,” Ranboo said, fascinated with the sound of his own voice. Human vocal cords felt more airy and wheezy. His voice sounded deeper too, and rumbled just a little bit in his chest.

Ranboo found he could walk by himself after a few minutes, and spent a few more getting the practice in.

“Do you want to go show everyone, or wait a bit?” Kristin asked.

Ranboo suddenly felt very, very self-conscious.

“You can’t shift back just yet,” Phil said kindly, seeing the look on his face. “It’s not quite safe—might confuse your hybrids a bit after we just settled them down.”

Ranboo bit his lip, wrapping his arms around his chest and slumping in on himself.

A hand on his back startled him a bit, and Phil, oh so gently, pried his arms away from his body, making him stand up straight and tall.

“This is who you are, mate,” Phil said, not letting Ranboo curl in on himself. “You’re not to ever be ashamed.”

“But—”

“No,” Phil said firmly. “You can’t run from you who are, so why try? Embrace it, mate. Make it great.”

Ranboo was shivering slightly, Phil’s words fighting the disbelief and shame in his mind.

“We can wait a bit—you can take a nap if you want,” Kristin said.

Ranboo shook his head. “No, the longer I wait the worse it’ll be. Let’s—let’s go.”

Phil asked him one more time if he was sure, and Ranboo nodded.

Slowly, carefully, they made their way down the two flights of stairs, Ranboo leaning heavily on Phil.

The living room was packed with the rest of the family, the snowstorm outside pinning them to the indoors. They were reading and playing games and putting puzzles together. Some were snoring or dozing and others were knitting.

Ranboo paused in the double-door entryway, now having to lean on Phil if he didn’t want to fall down.

Puffy noticed first, and she smiled hesitantly. “Found another one, Dadza?”

That got everybody else’s attention.

Ranboo swallowed, now under the scrutiny of over sixty eyes, and almost slumped his shoulders, but Phil’s hand on the curve of his back stopped him.

“Not quite,” Phil said, rubbing soothing circles on Ranboo’s spine once he straightened. “Hey Tech?”

Techno, sprawled on the couch with Niki sitting on his stomach mending a sock, made a low rumble to signal he heard.

“Missing one?”

Techno sat up so fast he nearly launched Niki into the air. Ant panic-shifted because if Techno was moving that fast something was wrong, and Bad, George, and Drista shrieked.

Phil watched Techno do a headcount twice, get two different answers, and then reduce himself to trying to remember names with faces. It was honestly hilarious when Techno figured it out and his head snapped to Ranboo.

His eyes narrowed, then the recognition clicked and he fell back onto the couch.

“Not missin’ nuthin’,” Techno grumbled, going back to drowsing. “Ranboo’s right there.”

That really got everybody else’s attention.

“Boo?” Tubbo asked, face all confused as he tried to fit Ranboo’s old face with this face.

“He kinda looks like Dream and Punz and Sam all mushed together,” Charlie remarked, sitting cross-legged on the arm of the recliner.

“He looks like every other rat Dad decided to drag home,” Minx yawned, stretching and popping her back.

“Says the ‘rat’ Dad dragged across a literal ocean,” Schlatt rolled his eyes.

“I will claw your face off.”

Ranboo bit his lip as the arguing started amongst half the room. Phil led him to the one empty seat (sorta, the couch was most definitely holding more people than the manufacturer had ever intended, but if Tommy and Tubbo scooted apart there was enough room for Ranboo’s skinny frame).

“You don’t look half bad, big man,” Tommy said quickly, almost as if embarrassed, before going back to hurling a stuffed animal at Fundy.

“It’s you,” Tubbo said, pitching his own stuffed soccer ball at Jack. “You look exactly like I would expect you to!”

Ranboo blinked, trying not to start crying again.

“Honestly he’s kinda good-looking,” Drista piped up, only to get almost the whole room to stare at her in stunned silence.

“No wait—!!”

“~Sweet home, Alabama~!” Dream sang, Wilbur, Sapnap, Skeppy, and Sam joining in instantly. “~Sweeet hoommme, Alabama!~”

Ranboo leaned over to Tubbo. “What’s an ‘Alabama’?”

Tubbo shrugged. “Whatever it is, Drista don’t like it.”

Drista was chucking pillows at her brothers to try and get them to shut up. “That’s not what I meant!!” she yelled, squealing as Dream caught her and held her down as Sapnap slapped her in the face with a pillow.

“Relax, big man,” Tommy elbowed Ranboo. “You’re stiff as a board. You really think we care that much about your face?”

“What he means—” Tubbo shot Tommy a glare, “—is that we’re not going to think any different of you. You’re still our Boo.”

“Your Boo,” Tommy snorted. “He’s my b—”

“TOMMY!”

Ranboo settled between the avians, listening to them argue. This form was a lot warmer than his Half form, squishier too with Tubbo and Tommy smushed up against him. He was exhausted from the procedure, and he had a feeling his human form would get tired quicker.

He laid his head back, letting it slide till it rested on Tommy’s bony shoulder. A blanket got tossed on them, and that only sunk Ranboo further into the drowsy state his human form was slipping into.

Ranboo fell asleep, deeper than he had ever before, safe and protected.

Chapter Text

Techno wrapped the skinny ankle, noting how it was swelling up. The owner sniffed, and Techno looked up at Niki’s face. Her eyes were puffy, and her nose running. There was a scratch on her chin, and her clothes were all dirty.

“You okay, Princess?”

Niki sniffled again but nodded, wiping her nose. “Just—sore.”

“Mhm.”

Techno glanced over at the other kid he was supposed to be babysitting. Charlie was nursing a nasty bruise on his side, hem of the shirt in his teeth as he dabbed a rag soaked in healing potion on his side. The slime hissed with ever other gentle dab, and Techno could see his ears and fingertips trying to dissolve away into the safety of a puddle of slime.

“What about you, Slimecicle?”

Charlie looked up, not dropping his shirt, and grinned half-heartedly. “Mfine.”

They weren’t.

Techno could see it written on every line of their body.

It was Niki’s first mission, and Charlie’s third. It was just one shire over to get some baking supplies since a local locust outbreak had wiped out most of the wheat fields back home. Niki had begged to go, and Techno had volunteered to babysit. Charlie had tagged along to get away from Wilbur, whom he had pranked earlier that week by replacing his pillow with a pillowcase of slime.

They had only been a few hours out. A brigand had jumped without warning from the trees onto Niki’s horse, tried to hold a knife to her throat.

Techno had shot him through the head with his crossbow a moment later. The thief’s buddies had jumped from the trees and bushes, enraged.

Niki’s horse had thrown her, startled, and the mer had landed wrong on her foot. Techno’s horse had reared, and Charlie’s had kicked one of the assailants square in the gut. Niki had panic-Sang a bitter Song that had Charlie frozen in place to take a rock to the side that had been flung half a second before Niki had begun to Sing.

Techno, who had never been affected by Niki’s Songs, initiated a blood-bath out of the Song-made statues, Niki Singing through their demise.

The fire crackled, and Niki sniffed again as Techno finished wrapping her ankle. Night had spread her cloak, and the crickets were chirping as the fireflies flashed. The air smelled wet and green and all things foresty.

“Techno?”

Techno looked up from putting the bandages back in his saddlebag. Charlie was twisting his fingers, the digits melting into a pool of slime for him to play nervously with. The horses munched grass behind him, not the least bit disturbed with the day’s events.

“How—how do you—do it?”

“Heh?”

“How do you be strong, even when there’s scary things?”

“When you feel like you can’t be strong?” Niki tacked on, whispering quietly as she huddled in on herself.

Techno huffed. “Tough questions tonight, huh?”

Charlie blinked, messing with his fingers some more. Techno was pretty sure the kid only had six fingers total now.

He sighed, plunking down heavily, leaning against a tree and stretching his legs out. He grabbed his sword, using the tip to stir the embers around while he gathered his thoughts.

Niki scooted closer to his side and Charlie yawned. The fire popped, and somewhere an owl hooted. A wolf answered, and a cloud moved over the moon.

“Hey Charlie?” Techno finally said.

“Yeah?”

“What would you do if someone messed up Hannah’s order at a restaurant, and she couldn’t tell the waiter because she’s got that selective-mutism that pops up now and then when she’s nervous, but there was no way she could eat the food?”

Charlie looked confused. “I’d go ask the waiter myself.”

“Why?”

“Because Hannah literally can’t tell them herself.”

“Exactly.” Techno adjusted the blanket over Niki’s legs. “ ‘Being strong’ is doing for others what they can’t do for themselves. You guys couldn’t have taken those raiders today by yourself—not with Niki having to Sing to hold them still and Charlie not knowing how to get out of the Singing. I took them out because you couldn’t. I killed them because you were too scared too. I did the ‘strong’ thing and defended you guys, because you couldn’t defend yourselves.”

He toed one of the rocks that lined the firepit into a better spot. “One day I’m not going to be here to ‘be strong’ for you. You’re going to have to do it, not for your own selves, but for each other.”

“You don’t get to leave,” Niki said stubbornly, clinging to Techno’s side like a burr.

Techno chuckled, a piglin chuff underlying the sound. “I want to move out eventually, Princess.”

“Take us with you!”

Techno rolled his eyes, flopping his head back to watch the stars.

The kids fell asleep there, safe in their brother’s presence.

Techno closed his eyes, feeling his heavy heart. The weight of knowing that he wouldn’t always be here.

He hoped that his brothers and sisters would be able to ‘be strong’ when the time came.

Chapter Text

Charlie gasped, eyes flying open. He lurched up, head pounding. He moaned and covered his eyes, trying to get his breathing back to normal.

That nightmare had come again—the Quell wasn’t working.

Charlie pulled it off his head and threw it, frustrated. It clunked against the wood floor and Jack snorted. Tommy actually woke up, but only blinked for a minute before shifting the blanket over Tubbo’s wings and going back to sleep.

Charlie breathed deeply, eyes closed, letting his magic flow through him. It seemed eager, almost desperate, as it thrummed through his veins and heart.

My little one—

A hand, not quite there yet heavy all the same, on Charlie’s shoulder.

You don’t know who you are, the legacy in your bones.

Charlie’s brow furrowed and sweat beaded on his forehead.

The other is strong, sure, but you—

Charlie choked out a sound as another hand landed on his other shoulder.

You are of thegods—

The door flew open, slamming against the wall.

Charlie gasped, eyes snapping open, the hands that had never really been there dissipating. Tommy and Jack woke up with yelps, Tommy’s barn-red wings flaring up protectively.

Their mother was standing in the doorway, eyes wild, hair a mess.

“Be gone,” she hissed out, seemingly to no one in particular.

Charlie whimpered, feeling his magic still.

“Charlie, baby, you okay?” Kristin crossed the room in a second, scooping him up in a hug.

Charlie couldn’t answer, face mushed into her shoulder and arm. He nodded as much as he could, snuggling closer.

“Kristin?” Phil was here now, sleepily rubbing his face. His wings were limp, but his sword was in his hand. Eret was there too, for some reason, looking like a lanky ghost with the dark lines under his eyes and what little light there was reflecting on his pale face.

“Mom?” Jack looked scared, blanket-lines on his cheek and eyes all bleary.

“Nothing, sweetie,” Kristin said, exhaling shakily. “I just had a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Tommy said, wings ruffling before going flat. “You okay?”

Kristin nodded, picking Charlie up. “I will be. I’m just gonna steal Charlie for the night, okay?”

Tommy and Jack exchanged glances, but nodded.

Charlie fell back asleep before Kristin and Phil even got him to their bed.

…

Charlie decided he hated traveling.

“I hear you whine one more time—” Schlatt turned in the saddle and glared at Charlie, “—I’m stealing your glasses for the rest of the trip.”

Charlie made an affronted noise, jerked his thumb in Schlatt’s direction, and gave Eret a ‘see what I deal with?’ look.

“Don’t look at me, squirt,” Eret yawned. “You’re the one pushing Grumpy Horn’s buttons.”

“Call me ‘Grumpy Horns’ again, Stringbean, and I’m tying you to the saddle for the rest of the way home,” Schlatt added, not even giving Eret a glance. “Don’t think I won’t.”

Eret stuck his tongue out behind Schlatt’s back, something he would never do the older teen’s face, as Schlatt would most certainly make do on his threat.

“Anyone wanna tell me why Dad keeps sending us on wild-goose chases?” Charlie stretched, yawning.

“Probably to get us out of the house so we get a taste of real life and hopefully move out,” Eret cracked his neck. “Like that’s gonna happen.”

“I’m sick of chasing after notes and papers and message and garbage,” Schlatt grumped. “It’s getting old.”

“It was old two years ago after Ranboo got his moronic self stuck in a barrel forty in an alley miles from home,” Eret groaned, remembering.

“It wouldn’t have been a problem, except he was with Ponk, Minx, and Skeppy and their track record with responsibility isn’t the greatest,” Charlie pointed out.

“Dad really should have learned his lesson after Velvet shoved Karl in a bar and the whole village descended on Callahan, Quackity and the lot of em in a rage,” Schlatt scratched his nose.

“Or the time Tommy and Purpled got snatched by a traveling band of gypsies and Tommy almost got discovered as a phoenix and Purpled got his ear pierced against his will?” Eret sighed gustily.

“Ooooorr when Puffy and Minx joined a cult and nearly got Bad sacrificed?” Charlie crossed his leg over the saddle.

“How are we all still alive?” Eret asked, not really wanting an answer.

Schlatt shrugged and opened his mouth, probably to make another snarky comment, but he was interrupted.

“Heyo!”

A man, looking to be in his early thirties, stepped onto the road, dressed in ragged riding clothes and carrying a beaten-up blade.

Schlatt halted his horse, his brothers following suit. “What’s up, stranger?”

“Horse threw me couple miles back—spooked by a rabbit, I think,” the stranger smiled sheepishly.

Charlie didn’t like it.

“Care to give me a ride back to the next town?”

“Schlatt—” Charlie had a bad feeling under his skin. His magic pulsed, warning him.

“You can ride with Stringbean back there,” Schlatt waved at Eret.

“I don’t think—”

The man took Eret’s hand, but instead of using it to pull himself up behind him, he yanked Eret viciously and got him on the ground.

“Hey—!” Eret choked on his protest as a knife was jabbed against his throat.

“Alright, off the horses,” the man snarled, holding a fistful of Eret’s hair to keep him down.

Charlie obeyed, shaking.

Schlatt did no such thing.

He kicked his horse, causing the animal to rear and he took off back the way they came, dust flying.

The man cursed as several more of what Charlie had to guess were his friends jumped from the woods.

“Didn’t think he had it in him,” one of the newcomers said, grabbing Charlie and forcing him to sit up on his knees, pulling his hands up and behind his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” the stranger on Eret said, using his grip in Eret’s hair to force the teen to roll over onto his stomach. “We got what we came for.”

“Wh-what’re you doing with us?” Charlie swallowed the stutter as hands were dragged roughly over his sides and around his thighs, obviously looking for weapons. They found his dagger easily, and placed it against his throat as they finished frisking him.

“Just relax, kiddo,” one of the younger men said, watching the proceedings with an indifferent air. “You and ‘Stringbean’ here don’t have to worry as long as you’re not difficult.”

Charlie whimpered as he was kicked forward onto his face, arms yanked behind his back roughly.

Eret snarled like a feral dog and thrashed, disregarding the knife at his throat. It took two men to hold him down as they tied him at the knees and ankles.

“Kids this skinny shouldn’t be able to put up this much of a fight,” one of the men grunted as he wound another rope around Eret’s wrists and up his arms.

“Eret—” Charlie couldn’t help but murmur as a blindfold was tied over his eyes.

“I know, Charlie, just—calm down—agh!” Eret yelped, and Charlie could hear him panting in pain.

“He’s gonna lose his fingers with it being that tight,” the first man said, and Charlie could hear the frustration in his voice.

“We’re gonna lose the kid if we don’t,” another guy retorted. There was the sound of standing, and hands being brushed off. “Get the horses. Gag em and let’s go.”

Charlie didn’t like the sound of that and immediately kicked out, but it didn’t do much good with his ankles lashed.

The cloth was tied around his mouth, tasting of salt and dirt, and there was nothing he could do about it. Tears bit at his eyes, and he forced back the sound of misery as he was picked up and thrown over a horse like a sack of flour.

A blanket was tossed over him, hot and thick, and the horse was mounted.

He heard several other footsteps, horses being mounted, and the creaking of leather.

A silent signal was given, and the troupe began to move.

Charlie, half-upside down and swaying uncomfortably, could only close his eyes and plead without whoever was listening that Schlatt got help, and soon.

…

He must’ve fallen asleep.

Not real sleep, but a doze that made it hard to tell track of time.

He was hot and sweaty under the blanket, but he couldn’t quite wiggle his way out from under it. And every time he did manage to get the blanket to budge a bit, a hand landed on his back and held him still for a few minutes till he got the message.

He didn’t know where Eret was, and it was killing him. He didn’t even know if the horses had split up or not.

It a sick sense of relief when the men pulled their horses to a stop for the last time.

Someone whipped the blanket off Charlie, the night air biting into him against the sweat dripping off him.

He was pulled off the animal into someone’s arms.

They weren’t warm and sturdy like Phil’s, or soft and comforting like Kristin’s.

They were hard and rigid, stiff in a way that told Charlie he’d be dropped at the first opportunity.

He was proved right a few minutes later when suddenly he wasn’t being held anymore. He couldn’t hold back the yelp as he fell, and grunted when he landed on what was clearly a bed.

Ice flooded Charlie’s veins and he immediately began to squirm and buck, trying to get off the bed.

“Easy, you little terror—”

The rope around his ankles was loosened enough to tied to the bedpost and Charlie really began to panic. Why would they tie him down other than too—

Charlie had heard the stories, knew what happened to little kids that didn’t have protectors or guardians to ward off the nightmares in the night.

He shook his head desperately as hands landed on his body, making muffly protests as loud as he could as they turned him over on his belly.

No—

“Shoot, kid! You act like I’m gonna—”

The voice trailed off and the hands stopped manhandling him, lying heavy on his shoulder and lower back. Charlie stilled, trembling and shaking violently.

It’d be so easy—I’d never be able to stop him—

Charlie tried not to cry.

“Easy, kiddo—” a hand in his hair, gentler than Charlie could’ve thought possible of the man. “Not gonna hurt you. Cripes, you’re just a kid!”

Since when that had ever stopped people before?

The hands moved again, and Charlie tensed and choked on a garbled cry, but they only took the blindfold off (didn’t really matter, what him being face-first in the mattress). The gag was next, and Charlie grimaced at the aftertaste.

To his surprise, the man began picking at the knots around his arms.

“Okay then, you little worm,” the man was saying. “You try to hit me, and I’ll tie you back up, y’here?”

Charlie nodded, because what else was he gonna say?

That he planned on dissolving this man and his buddies in a big pool of slime first chance he got?

The ropes came lose and the hands—those stupid hands—pulled him up into a sitting position.

Charlie blinked the bleary from his eyes, trying to figure out where he was.

A cabin, from the looks of the walls and ceiling, a rough-shod one.

There was only a bed, a small table, and a chair in this room—honestly it was probably the size of the broom closet back home.

A door signaled the only way out, and it was closed. No windows.

The man sat at the edge of the bed. He was young, probably only a year older than Wilbur, with some light stubble and tired eyes.

“Where’s Eret?” Charlie asked thickly, trying to scoot away from the man, but there was nowhere to go.

“My buddies are just asking him some questions,” the man said patiently. “He’ll be fine.”

Charlie forced his eyes not to well up. “I wanna see him.”

The man hesitated. “Can’t let that happen. Don’t need you two conspiring up a plan to escape.”

Charlie bit his lip, getting himself as far as he could from the man with the rope still around his knees and ankles holding him fast. He didn't make it far.

“Why’d you take us?” he asked quietly, not really expecting an answer.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” the man said calmly.

Too calmly.

Charlie swallowed. “I wanna go home.”

The man smiled thinly and Charlie felt a chill trickle down his spine.

These guys weren’t going to let them go home.

“Try and rest kid,” the man sighed, ruffling Charlie’s hair before heading to the door. He turned back after almost a second-thought. “Leave your legs tied. You don’t wanna find what happens if the other guys find you free.”

He left, leaving Charlie with that cheery thought.

…

Eret sat in the hard chair, trying to breathe. His hands twisted at the ropes, but there was no way he’d ever manage to get them off by himself, even with a knife. The men were scattered around the kitchen of what appeared to be a cabin, pretending to do tasks.

Eret knew they were watching.

“All you have to do is tell which of your freakishly large family is the Heir,” the man, the one that had tricked them, was saying. “And we’ll leave you and your baby brother alone.”

“I don’t know what a Heir even is,” Eret said carefully. Charlie’s safe—for now.

The slap to his face was expected, but still brutal.

“Listen, kid—” a hand on his jaw, vice-like and merciless. “—we’re out in the middle of nowhere, where no one can hear you or that little brat scream.”

Eret’s heart forgot how to beat. They wouldn’t hurt a kid—oh, Ancients, please don’t let them hurt kids.

“Tell us who the Heir is, and you and Glasses can live.”

Eret was let go, and he licked his lips. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Heir? Heir of what?”

Another slap, to the other side of his face.

“Stop playing stupid.”

“I don’t know!”

He tasted blood the third time around.

“How am I supposed to know!?” he yelled out desperately, face really starting to hurt now. His jaw was throbbing. “I’ve never even heard of the Heir!”

He flinched, waiting to be hit again.

“Maybe he really doesn’t know,” a younger voice said, and there was a shushing sound from behind him.

Heavy hands landed on his shoulders, kneading into the boney curve painfully.

“He has to know.” A thick accent, curled with something else that Eret didn’t like the meaning of. “Or things are going to get messy.”

Eret forced himself to swallow past his dry throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please—” he gasped sharply as the hands pinched the tender muscle at his neck. “How am I supposed to know!? My parents are nobodies!”

The grip held up, and Eret was having a hard time remembering how to breathe.

“Does he seriously think that that’s going to work?” a flabbergasted female voice.

The hands moved to his throat, tilting his chin up as far as his neck would go. His neck creaked, and his breath hitched. Eret felt ice shatter in his bloodstream, numbing him in fear.

“There we go,” the first man chuckled. “He gets it now.”

“My dad—”

“Has something he’s been fooling around with for too long,” the woman broke in. “We’re done playing his games.”

Eret couldn’t actually form words at this point, feeling the pressure in his neck building up past what he thought he could take.

“Just tell us, and this’ll be a much better day for you.”

Eret wheezed thinly as an answer, and he was let go. His head hung, bones in his neck flaring in agony.

“What’s it gonna be, kid? Do I have to start playing with knives?”

Eret flinched, heart pounding. “How am I supposed to tell you something I’ve never even heard of!?”

He didn’t even see the backhand coming thing time.

Tears formed, not just because of the pain. His nose started running, heat flaming in his face. He was pretty sure his one eye was already swelling shut.

“I don’t know! Please!”

“This is going to be a long day.” A sigh, not as resigned as it should have been.

A hand locked in Eret’s hair, yanking his head to the side and holding him there. His shirt was torn from the collar to his sleeve, revealing the pale curve of his shoulder and collarbone.

Eret struggled to keep breathing as a knife was held delicately against the skin.

“Who’s the Heir?”

Eret closed his eyes, already feeling the first dribbles of blood working their way out from under the knife.

“I don’t know, please—”

The knife carved in.

…

Eret wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep.

He was laid on his side, his good shoulder, on a blanket with another tossed carelessly over him—he knew that much. The now-bad shoulder was under a layer of bandages to keep him from bleeding out.

At least his captives cared enough to not let him die.

Eret blinked, finally freeing his mind from the last bit of haziness the blood-loss had caused. He was almost positive they had done that on purpose—let him bleed and bleed and bleed till he was too weak to hold his own head up.

Someone moved on the other side of the kitchen/dining room where he had been deposited in a corner and Eret involuntarily flinched.

Most of the kidnappers had left as the sun set—probably because there wasn’t enough room in this tiny cabin for all of them to sleep.

Three were left behind. The trickster, the young man that had taken Charlie to another room, and a woman that had stared at Eret in a way that made his skin crawl.

Which one was moving towards him in the middle of the night?

A hand on his shoulder.

“You make a sound, and I’ll rethink my generosity.”

The young one then.

Eret wanted to curse him, and all his horrid little friends, out, but he kept his mouth shut.

The man leaned over him, picking at the knots around Eret’s hands. It came loose and Eret gasped in pain as the man helped him sit up.

The rope came off his ankles next.

“Alright—” the man pulled Eret up, having to take almost all of the teen’s weight as he was in no condition t hold himself up. “Let’s go pay Glasses a visit, shall we?”

It took Eret a minute to figure out what that meant, but when he did, he was left with confusion.

“Wh—?"

“Shut up.”

Eret shut up.

…

Charlie jerked awake, the doorknob turning quietly.

He jolted upright, working himself as far away as possible from the door as possible.

“Only a few minutes,” a quiet voice said.

Charlie flinched away from the two figures outlined by a weak candle.

“Charlie?”

Eret.

Charlie made a choky sort of sound and Eret’s arms closed around him. Charlie gripped back and let himself break, sobs working up his throat.

“Keep him quiet!” A hissed warning.

“Charlie, buddy, shhh, shh—”

Eret’s hand in his hair, an arm strong around his back, holding him close to solid, warm chest. “He’ll take me away sooner if you don’t shush.”

Charlie stifled the next cry, burying his face in Eret’s shirt.

“I know, shh—it’s gonna be okay—”

Charlie wanted to know how Eret knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

“Two minutes.”

Charlie jumped at the voice, forgetting the other guy was even here.

“No—” he shook his head, voice slick with the tears he was holding back. “Don’t let him, Eret!”

“Charlie, you need to be quiet—” Eret was whispering, but Charlie wasn’t hearing.

“You can’t leave!”

“Charlie—”

“I’m so scared—Eret, please! Don’t let him!”

“If you don’t shut him up, you won’t see him again.” A hissed growl, low and threatening.

A hand covered Charlie’s mouth—not cruelly, just enough to rest on his lips.

“Charlie, you really need to be quiet buddy,” Eret whispered. “I’m not supposed to even be here.”

Charlie finally quieted, despair swallowing him as he realized he wasn’t going to get his way.

Eret held him, rubbing a hand on his back and humming softly. Charlie felt himself falling asleep to the sound of the deep baritone, and he barely noticed when Eret laid him down.

“Eret—”

“No, no, I’m just gonna be in the other room—”

Blankets were tucked around him, a hand resting for a second longer on his tied ankles.

“You left him tied up?” Eret sounded accusing and angry.

Charlie got the feeling he wasn’t talking to him.

“Look, kid, I’m risking my life for you to tuck the brat in. A little gratitude would be appreciated.”

Eret didn’t say anything else, but Charlie could tell he was still irritated.

“I have to go now, okay?”

Charlie didn’t want him to. He wanted Eret to stay here, feel his familiar magic ripple and play with his own—he wanted Eret to stay.

“Easy, shh, shhh—”

Charlie didn’t even know he had started crying again.

“Please, Charlie, shh—”

Charlie bit down on his arm till he tasted blood, curling up on his side.

Eret ran his hand through his hair one last time. “I love you.”

Then Eret was being dragged away, leaving Charlie in the cold, alone.

At least no one could hear him cry.

…

Destiny glared at the figure in the corner of the room as they watched the young bandit tie the Minecraft child back up. The mortals didn’t even know they were there.

“This was not what I had in mind,” she said snippily.

The figure shrugged, standing a full head taller than her. “You’re going to have to deal with it.”

Destiny wrinkled up her nose, but didn’t speak. The young bandit seemed to be taking extra care in making sure the knots weren’t too tight on the Minecraft kid and her heart panged a bit.

Hopefully, his destiny would work out the way she had designed.

“They will be asking questions they have no business knowing,” Destiny pressed.

The figure chuckled, deep and rumbly. “They better start asking questions. Fate’s growing bored. Nothing good ever happens when that sister of yours grows bored.”

Destiny mumbled something under her breath. “It’s too soon.”

“It’s now or never,” the figure fixed his gaze on her. If she had been any lesser being, those white, soulless depths would have made her shiver.

But she was Destiny, one of the Ancients, and Ancients don’t shudder in the presence of mortals.

Even mortals that had lived as long as this one had.

“My Descendent and my Heir will rise,” the figure said, going back to watching the boy curled up in the corner, beaten and shivering. “And they will be great.”

Destiny didn’t doubt that—she had helped write their future, after all—but she knew what was coming, what laid between the boys and their final destiny.

She wouldn’t wish that future on her worst enemy.

…

“Where are the kids?”

The man shuddered at the voice, feeling his very soul tremble.

The panther and leopard paced around him, claws digging into the dirt with every step. He could hear the rough breathing of the demon, eager to feed. He could feel the fire on one side from the blazes, and the ice on the other from the young mage.

He knew he was surrounded, he knew he wouldn’t get out of this alive.

His men hadn’t.

Their bodies lay scattered about, or what was left of them.

The kids had been brutal, violent in a way that told a much darker story than the youthfulness of their faces should have ever allowed.

The youngest could have only been thirteen.

And he hadn’t even hesitated to kill at his father’s order.

The man couldn’t help but gasp as a hand, soft and gentle, cupped his chin.

The eyes of the Magess were soulless pits. There were no other words for the empty viciousness within the marbly dark irises.

“What have you done to my children?”

The man felt dread seize his lungs.

He wouldn’t be walking away alive from this. The weight of what he had done collapsed in on him.

There was no hope for his soul.

He told, and doomed the rest of his men.

…

The sun rose coldly.

Charlie had been awake for hours. The blanket offered no protection from the night’s chill, and his legs from the knees down had gone numb.

Scared he was going to lose a limb, Charlie had resorted to losing the rope—not actually taking it off, but wiggling it lose enough for the blood to flow, hot and prickly, back into his feet and calves.

Now he sat, propped up, going through his magic exercises like Kristin and Eret had taught him.

He reached and reached out with his Seeker magic, trying to expand his limits. He grew stronger every day, he knew this, and it hadn’t been too long ago he had surpassed Eret.

But Eret was still more skilled in honing in on other hybrids, and he could even mess with their emotions a bit now.

Charlie had tried that, and Connor had cried for two hours. Karl hadn’t been able to stop laughing, even though tears poured down his face, and Techno had only raised an eyebrow.

Charlie hadn’t tried that again.

Now, he simply focused. He could feel Eret in the other room, magic low and humming softly.

Eret was asleep then.

Charlie took a deep breath and reached out as far as he possibly could.

Darkness touched the edges of his mind, and he twitched, but kept going. He pushed and pressed, building the walls of his magic as he went, filling the in the cracks and thin spots as he extended beyond every limit he had every reached before.

He heard a feral growl, heard a whisper of a laugh. A hand brushed his arm, fingers brushed his hair. A whoop echoed in his ear, the pounding of footsteps pressed against his skin. Wings beat the air near his face, and a warm hand cupped his cheek.

We’re coming.

Charlie’s magic crashed back into him like a tidal wave.

His eyes flew open and he doubled over, feeling his magic struggle to contain itself again.

It took a while for Charlie to gather up the loose strands and put them where they belonged.

By the time he was done, he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

They’re coming.

…

“They should’ve been back by now.”

Eret flinched at the tone of the trickster.

It was late morning now, and the rest of the kidnappers hadn’t yet returned from wherever they had gone off to last night.

The young man sat at the table, picking at his fingernails. The woman was pacing, hands clasped behind her back. The trickster stood in the doorway, watching.

They had forced Eret up into the chair again, tying him to it.

“Maybe they overslept?” the young man offered, not sounding too worried as he picked at a scratch on the table.

“We have a schedule to keep.”

Eret suddenly jolted as something brushed against his magic.

He threw his magic out, not caring that he didn’t have his sunglasses to the hide the white of his eyes.

Immediately, he recoiled, fighting for breath.

“What the Nether?”

A hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

Eret began to laugh, high and maniacal as the reality of the situation descended on him.

“You idiots!” he spat out, still giggling. He smiled triumphantly at the three shocked faces. “They’re here.”

The window smashed open.

The trickster was dead with a shuriken through his throat in half a second.

The door slammed a second later, and the woman never got to scream as a flurry of claws and fury descended on her.

Eret laughed through it all, slightly delirious.

His father walked through the door.

Eret hardly noticed as the temperature dropped.

“Eret, baby—”

Hands on his face, hands freeing his arms and legs, rubbing the feeling back into his stiff limbs. A bottle pressed his lips, a healing potion flowing down his throat.

“I got Charlie!”

Eret slumped, relief flooding him. Charlie was safe, Charlie was okay.

He didn’t have to fight anymore, he could relax.

He slipped into unconsciousness.

…

Charlie barely had time to comprehend the door slamming open before Puffy and Wilbur were scooping him up, holding him tight in a hug.

“We got you,” Wilbur was saying, over and over again, as if trying to convince himself. “We got you, we got you.”

Charlie let them hold him, felt their magic pulse and flare around him protectively.

It was going to be okay.

Wilbur held Charlie in a princess carry and brought him to the main room.

Charlie shrank back when he saw the young man, though he wasn’t going anywhere with Dream and Techno holding him against the wall.

“Don’t kill him,” he said in a quiet voice.

Phil—Dad—turned at his quiet plead. “Mate—”

“He was nice,” Charlie added. “He let Eret visit.”

Okay, the guy hadn’t been exactly ‘nice,’ but he didn’t do nothing to deserve dying.

Not really.

Phil gave him a thoughtful look, then nodded to Techno. “Let him go.”

The young man fell, gasping and wheezing.

“Get out of my sight,” Phil said. “Be lucky the kid likes you.”

The man stumbled to his feet and to the door under record time, running as quickly as his weak legs could go.

Phil sighed, and Charlie felt the weight of it from across the room.

“Let’s go home.”

…

Phil sighed contently as he tucked Charlie in, the slime hybrid all snuggled away in the middle of Tubbo, Ranboo, Tommy, Jack, and Purpled. The five had dog-piled him, kidnapped him to Purpled’s bed (kicking the twins out to sleep somewhere else), and snuggled him to sleep.

In Sam, Quackity, and Eret’s room, Eret was sitting on the edge of his bed, waiting for Niki and Fundy to come back. The two insisted on sleeping with Eret, even though he had insisted he was fine. Sam and Quackity were elsewhere right now, probably helping to cause the destruction Phil could hear happening in his living room.

Eret had taken off his shirt, the wound on his shoulder angry and red. The healing potion had only done so much. Kristin had taken a guess at the blade having some form of enchantment.

Phil set the bottles of ointment and wraps down, and hummed softly as he inspected the wound. The cuts were deep and irritated and raw, but they didn't need stitches. Gently, he began to re-clean the wounds, muttering soft apologies every time Eret flinched.

“Dad?”

Phil hmmed, not looking up from his work.

“Who’s the Heir?”

Phil looked up at that.

Chapter Text

“C’mon Fundy, stay together!”

Fundy chirped softly, pulling his attention away from the pretty banners and scampering back to the hoard that was his family.

Wilbur pulled him close for a hug, ruffled his fluffy hair, and pressed him close to his side.

“This has got to be one of Dadza’s worst ideas,” Puffy muttered, her motherly instincts bristling at all the people so close to her siblings.

“You’re telling me,” Techno said, ignoring the tug on his belt. Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo glared at him. Techno stoically paid them, and the leashes that kept them from vanishing into ‘Never Gonna Find Me Land’, no mind.

“I’m surprised we still have everyone,” Schlatt mumbled, ignoring how Niki had taken his hand, pressing herself close to his side as a troupe of soldiers passed.

“Because Puffy yells at us whenever we try to run away,” Dream whined, hanging off his ‘mother’s’ cloak like an overgrown toddler.

“Shush, duckling,” Puffy said absentmindedly, expertly catching Karl around the collar before he could dart away.

Sapnap sniggered, only for Dream to smack him upside the head.

“Do we still have everyone?” Eret called from the ‘back’ of the group, Jack and Charlie chasing each other around him.

“Far as I can tell,” Punz yawned, popping his shoulder and keeping one eye on Purpled. The younger boy was busy laughing at T-Squared and Co., and it was making him nervous.

“That doesn’t reassure me,” Eret said.

“Who’s got Foolish?” Ranboo asked. He was in Hidden form, wearing a mask and glasses because while he trusted his family with his real face, he didn’t trust anyone else.

“I do,” Puffy answered, the shark hybrid standing attentively at her side.

“Callahan’s got Hannah,” George pointed out before anyone could ask.

“Why do we have to stay heeeerreee?” Tubbo whined, pulling on Techno.

“Because Dadza said so,” Wilbur said helpfully.

“Whyyyyyy?”

“Because Dad wanted to take us all on a family vacation,” Minx rolled her eyes.

“Makes no sense,” Ponk grumbled. “I hate all of you.”

“So Ponk is gonna be the first to get bidded off,” Sam announced, and Michael guffawed.

Fundy listened to the chatter around him, Wilbur making sure he stayed close.

Slowly, almost hazily, a fog began to creep into his mind, numbing his feelings and body. The din of his family’s arguing faded away, the ruckus of the market trickled away into nothingness.

A girl was looking at him.

Across the massive market, leaning against the barrel, was a girl.

Fundy made eye-contact, and couldn’t look away. He was trapped, frozen in place, pinned by an invisible force.

He blinked, and he wasn’t in the market.

He gasped sharply, stale air rushing into his lungs with a sickening lurch. He staggered, pressing a hand to his head as spots flickered across his vision.

His family was gone, he wasn’t in the bazar.

The room was quiet, eerily so, and dusty. Everything here, from the curtains to the books on the shelves to the frilly bassinet, looked as if no one had touched it in years. It was cold and stale, forgotten.

As if it had been sealed like a tomb.

“Hello, little kit.”

Fundy whirled on the balls of his feet, knife in his hand and poised before he even turned around all the way.

The girl.

She smiled, and there was something in her eyes that made Fundy nervous. Not a bad nervous—just nervous.

She knew too much.

She had seen too much.

There was sorrow in those ice-chip eyes.

Fundy swallowed, sheathing his knife backing away from her. “Where are we?”

The girl smiled sadly. “You wouldn’t remember, would you?”

Fundy blinked, breath stuttered a bit through his nose. He knew his family had memory issues, but he didn’t think they applied to him as well.

“You were just a baby, after all.”

Fundy felt a shiver run up his spine. “I wasn’t—Wilbur found me as a baby—in the woods outside one of our old homes.”

The girl’s smile turned forlorn and reminiscent. “And who, little kit, do you think put you there?”

Fundy’s breath caught in his throat.

“You—”

“Took you from this very room,” the girl said, dragging a slender hand over the dresser, looking at the streaks her fingers left behind. “Took you from the family that would have let you die.”

Fundy sputtered. “What?”

“This room hasn’t been touched since the day I left,” the girl said to herself, inspecting her dirtied fingers. “I knew you were abandoned. You had even stopped crying.”

“What are you talking about?” Fundy was starting to get irritated with the round-about way the girl was speaking.

“Do you know who lives here?” the girl asked.

Fundy shook his head. The room belonged to a wealthy family, obviously, but there was no way to tell which one. There were plenty of wealthy families in the Capitol of the Third Kingdom.

“Probably for the best,” the girl sighed. “Wouldn’t want your father getting miffed at me for telling you things you aren’t ready for.”

“You’re that girl George dreamt about,” Fundy suddenly said. “The one on the roof.” Recognition flickering on his face. “You’re an Ancient.”

The girl laughed. It was bright, but laced with undertones of grief. “That I am, little fox. But I would pay George some mind when he talks of dreams.”

Fundy felt his stomach turn as the girl pinned him with another look.

“Dreams often hold more truth than our minds wish to acknowledge.”

Fundy had no answer to that. He changed the subject. “Who are you?”

Something in the girl’s eyes buckled. “I am—lost. This world tried to destroy me as they helped destroy my sister. She died long ago, when the Fifth Kingdom was still fresh-born among her siblings. It didn’t take them long to destroy what is good with this world.”

Fundy tried to be more specific. “Your name?”

The girl stared off into space past Fundy’s head, seeing something Fundy could never hope to imagine.

“My name has been forgotten to mortal lips,” she said quietly. “To utter it would change nothing.”

Fundy was getting nowhere with this, and he knew it. “Who was your sister?” he asked instead, trying to ignore the fact he was in an empty, dusty room he had apparently been kidnapped from years ago with a crazy person.

“My sister?” the girl’s face somehow lit up and fell at the same time. “My sister was Hope.”

Fundy screwed up his face. “But—”

“Fate killed her.”

Fundy felt a hand grip his heart and squeeze. “What?” he breathed.

The girl still wasn’t looking at him. “My sister died to Fate’s hand, and consequently hope died among the mortals. They had no reason to live anymore, no purpose. For without hope, there is no tomorrow.”

The girl finally looked back to him. “But your father—”

She backed him into a corner, eyes shining with something Fundy had never seen before.

“Your father stills believes,,” she whispered, hands reaching up to cup his face. “He is defying everything the Ancients ever thought possible.”

Her thumb caressed Fundy’s cheek. Fundy didn’t dare move.

“My sister may yet still be alive,” the girl just barely breathed. “Hundreds of lifetimes spent alone, hated and forgotten, and she may still be alive, brought back through your father’s will alone.”

Fundy gently took her wrists, trying to get her to stop touching her face, but she was unmovable, her skin as smooth and cool as marble. His tongue felt thick in his mouth—he couldn’t speak.

“Your father is not perfect,” she continued. “He is flawed, and his morals are grey. He has done many things in his past for which you would hate him for. But listen to me—”

The grip grew tight, and Fundy struggled past a mini panic attack, her fingers pressing into his face.

“Don’t ever leave him,” the girl said. “Don’t ever abandon him. For if you abandon him—”

Fundy couldn’t breathe.

“All hope is lost.”

A kiss, soft and tender, to his forehead.

“You may be the Angel’s now, but you were mine first and foremost.”

Fundy felt his head slip towards the fog once more. He wavered, and the girl caught him.

“Remember me, my child. In your darkest hour, remember me, and I will save you.”

…

“Fundy?”

Fundy blinked blearily, looking up at his brother. He felt strangely refreshed, as if he had just had the best nap of his life.

Wilbur chuckled. “You fell asleep standing up.”

“Oh,” Fundy yawned, stretching. His legs felt stiff. His siblings were still arguing, now about where they would eat. The girls wanted Buckstars, and the boys were vying for Backout Steakhouse. It was getting testy.

What a strange dream.

He frowned, kneading at his temples, a headache tingling at the surface.

Dreams often hold more truth than our minds wish to acknowledge.

Chapter Text

“I hate this job—”

Eret rolled his eyes, trying not to snap.

“—I hate this farm—”

Punz grumbled, scrubbing harder.

“—I hate this brush—”

Ponk grit his teeth so hard Eret was almost positive he heard a molar crack.

“—I hate the sky—”

“Why don’t you add ‘everything’ to that list, Tommy?” Eret finally said, a bit more impatiently than he meant to.

Tommy glared at him, fingers chapped and red from the bucket. “We’re scrubbing the side of the house when it’s literally hotter than the Nether and more humid than the bathroom after George took a shower. I do currently hate everything.”

“Why’d it have to be Tommy?” Punz said, sitting on his heels as he paused at the last patch of the siding. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and his hair had long since been plastered to his skin.

“Because he can keep the water hot so it’s easier to scrub,” Ponk muttered, furiously rubbing back and forth over a spot roughly two inches big to get a stain off.

“We have, like, four pyromaniacs living with us,” Punz pointed out, rolling his wrist as Tommy continued his tirade of hatred, wings hanging loosely on his shoulders. It was so humid his feathers were sizzling with every movement. “Why couldn’t Eryn have helped?”

“Wilbur sprained Eryn’s wrist yesterday,” Ponk said, using his nail to scrape off a dead ladybug that had cemented itself to the siding.

Punz paused in his quest to remove the outline of a hosta leaf that had imprinted on the bottom panels. “How did I not know this?”

“That’s what I wanna know, considering Eryn bawled like a baby for about an hour,” Ponk said.

Punz shook his head. “Okay fine—what about Jack?”

“Had to help Mumza with the washing. Honestly, we’re probably better off considering she’s been putting it off for almost a month.”

“And Sapnap?”

“Has the day off.”

Even Eret paused at that. “How did Sapnap manage to get out of this?”

“He managed to give Mumza a day off last week.”

“Okay—how did Sapnap, of all people, manage to give Mumza a day off. Even Techno can’t do that on a good day.”

“He bribed the little kids into cleaning the whole house while she was at the market so she didn’t have to the next day.”

“Bribed?” Eret shook his brush out, wincing at the sore that was forming on his thumb. “With what?”

Ponk looked around, then leaned forward to whisper. “Karl’s stash of Monster the parents don’t know about.”

Punz froze. “And when will he be distributing that bribe?”

Ponk sat back and looked at the sky, squinting as he pretended to take his time thinking. “Today, actually? I think—”

Fate must have had comedic timing, because at that exact second, Sapnap quite literally exploded out of the front door, running for his life. Karl was half a second behind him, absolute fuming if his screaming and red face was anything to go off of. He launched off the front porch, landing right on Sapnap’s back.

Behind those two came approximately twelve of the little siblings, all cheering Karl on. Eret could see their wild eyes from here, and knew for a fact every one of them was hyped up on enough caffeine to kill a horse.

“I’m gonna go on a limb as say caffeine doesn’t affect magic well?” Ponk said, flopping down on his backside to watch the Karl v. Sapnap that Karl was very clearly going to lose.

“Considering it’s a stimulant and Phil has expressly forbade soda pop of any kind for that exact reason—” Eret, the only one still actually attempting to work, as Punz and Ponk were watching the fight and Tommy had vanished a while ago, pointed out.

Tubbo whooped so loudly his voice cracked, jumping off the porch railing and completely forgetting to flap his wings. He hit the ground, rolled into one of the rose bushes and immediately started laughing. Drista snorted so hard out of her nose at him she gave herself a bloody nose, and Jack did nothing but point and laugh as diamonds started plinking down her face.

Karl was still yelling, but Sapnap had him on his back, straddling Karl’s hips to keep him down, trying to keep the younger boy from clawing his face out.

“When they crash, they’re going to crash hard,” Punz said mildly, sighing as he reached for his brush he had dropped in the bucket to soak off the gunk that had gotten embedded in the bristles.

Karl cursed and kicked as Sapnap twisted him over onto his stomach while holding his arms, Sapnap still trying to wheedle his way out of sleeping with one eye open for a year.

Foolish’s belly-laughing led to him choking on air, and Niki was literally sobbing with laughter, unable to stand and left sitting on the porch, legs through the railings as she rested her head on one of the railings.

“And we won’t be in any trouble whatsoever—” Ponk said loftily, going back to the ladybug corpses.

“—because we minded our own business—” Punz added.

“—and did what we were told in the first place,” Ponk finished with a solemn head-nod.

“Ya’ll better not start doing that twin crap,” Eret said, flicking water at Ponk. “I had enough of that with Techno and Wilbur when we were, what? Ten?”

“That was all Wilbur and you know it,” Punz corrected, using a rock to take off a petrified frog that must have waited too long in the sun some odd years ago. “Techno tried to string him up by the seat of his pants to the flagpole when he wouldn’t stop after a solid three days.”

Karl shrieked as Sapnap got both of his skinny wrists in one hand and used the other to tickle his sides, the twelve ragamuffins cheering him on.

“He’s ticklish?” Eret wondered, dipping his brush back into the now-cold water.

“You wouldn’t think so, for how touchy he is,” Ponk mused, standing up and sighing as his back cracking in four places, popping his knee in a way that had Eret glaring at him.

“Schlatt’s ticklish too, by the way,” Punz said innocently.

Eret paused. “How do you know that?”

Punz looked up and grinned like an imp. “Now that, my dear Eret, is gonna cost you.”

“May I remind you that I am currently Niki’s favorite, and she’s got that pet alligator in the basement Mum and Dad don’t know about.”

Sapnap had switched to threats over bargaining, going on about how’d he sit there, not letting up, till Karl promised on their mother to not retaliate. Karl was holding out pretty well—either or that he was laughing too hard to actually speak.

Punz pouted, but reached for the rag hanging off the bucket. “Fine. Me and Minx got stuck with him on dish duty last—week? Or was it last month? Anyway, she poked him in the side to get him to move out of the way and he jumped about a mile in the air. Minx pushed it and, well—guy’s ticklish as a baby.”

“Good to know—” Eret smiled with his teeth, wringing his wrist out. “Good to know.”

“You didn’t hear that from me,” Punz pointed accusingly.

“Not a word,” Eret chuckled, looking back as Karl finally pleaded uncle with breathless gasps, unable to take it anymore.

The gremlins on the porch whined, but scrambled back inside when Sapnap shooed them that way.

Within seconds, it was back to peaceful silence.

“Should we go get Tommy?” Ponk asked, adjusting to sit cross-legged.

“And ruin this golden opportunity to listen to nothing?” Eret toed him in the leg. “I don’t think so.”

“Who needs hot water anyways?” Punz said, and Eret caught the hint of the mischievous tone in time to turn to see him dump the bucket of filthy water all of Ponk.

Eret sighed as Ponk shrieked so loudly his ear popped and jump to his feet.

Punz was already halfway up the driveway.

Eret went back to scrubbing as Ponk chased after him.

Silence at last.

Chapter Text

Schlatt didn’t know how to swim. 

He had not shared this fact with anyone, and was not about to, even though it had been years since Phil had yoinked him from the Pit. Not even Phil knew. Phil didn’t need to know. It’s not like they went swimming all the time, and when they did Schlatt made some bullcrap excuse about working on his tan. 

He didn’t want to learn how to swim, and he had no plans on learning anytime soon. 

At least the kids were having fun. 

Wilbur and Schlatt, the designated life-guards, didn’t bring that many this time. George had gotten sick again and spread it to literally everyone within a week. 

The few survivors included Wilbur—somehow, considering the avian had the immune system of an old, dying man—Schlatt, Charlie, Ant, and Velvet. The baby vampire needed fresh air, Phil had said. Get him away from the chaos and give him some peace and quiet. 

Charlie snuck along. 

Schlatt watched them closely, knowing deep down in his gut he wouldn’t be able to do anything if any of them actually did start to drown. The water was shallow though, he told himself. Only a nimrod could drown here. 

Ant found a way.

Schlatt snapped out of a relaxed daze to Ant’s cut-off scream. He sat bolt upright, eyes fixing on the water. He didn’t see his brother, only ripples on the surface. 

“ Ant! ”

Charlie had a deathgrip on Velvet, the two up to their waist in the water—the baby Changeling would never have enough strength to drag himself and Ant to the surface. 

“Schlatt!” Wilbur shouted, rushing into the water to grab Velvet too, face pale. “I’ll never make it back up with my wings!”

How hard could it be?

Schlatt charged into the water, facing this obstacle like he had all others.

With stubborn bullheadedness. 

He sank—of course he did, because he had no idea how to keep his head above water—and found Ant thrashing under the water. 

Schlatt could just barely see Ant’s foot wrapped up on a loose piece of netting. A rock was attached—the higher shelf of the bottom of the lake was only a few feet away. Ant must’ve gotten his foot caught and panicked, thrashed about, and knocked the rock loose to drag him down. 

Schlatt grabbed Ant by the back of the neck, forcing the feline hybrid still, and made a gesture under the water to stay calm. He used Ant’s body to pull himself down, grabbing at the net and pulling as hard as he could. 

The panic bubbling under his own skin helped. Schlatt didn’t get scared—

He got mad. 

The rope snapped and Ant immediately kicked his feet, getting himself to the surface just fine. 

Schlatt tried to copy what his brother did, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. He felt too heavy, too gangly and uncoordinated. His lungs had been begging for air before he’d even reached Ant—now they felt like they were going to pop. He locked his hands over his mouth and nose, knowing if water got in his lungs—

He kicked desperately, but got nowhere. 

I survived the Pit, and I’m going to die in a shallow lake.

A hand grabbed his arm. Schlatt felt the pull up —it took so long —then his head broke the surface.

“What do you mean you don’t know how to swim?!” Charlie shrieked in his ear, the only thing between Schlatt and drowning.

“Get me to solid ground,” Schlatt growled at him, ignoring the fact he was holding on to the kid so tightly Charlie was definitely going to have bruises later. 

Charlie tugged, and Schlatt felt the kids legs kick in the water. Schlatt’s feet found sand and he quickly got his own feet under him. He was forced to lean on Charlie when his head dipped, and Charlie helped him sit down. Schlatt immediately flopped flat on his back, heaving in beautiful oxygen.

“I am so so sorry.” 

Schlatt opened one eye and glared at Ant. “What?”

“I didn’t know your foot got caught too,” the feline said hurriedly, Velvet using his claws to rip the rope off his ankle, Wilbur rubbing his back. “I wouldn’t have left you down there if I knew you got stuck!”

Schlatt raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I dissolved it off with my slime,” Charlie said brightly, poking Schlatt's ribs knowingly. “Who knew it worked under water!” 

Wilbur gave Schlatt the look, and Schlatt, in turn, gave him a ‘I’ll kill you’ glare. 

“It’s fine.” Schlatt flopped back and closed his eyes, calming his pounding heart. “No harm, no foul.”

…

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you didn’t know how to swim?”

Schlatt rolled his eyes, rubbing his hair with his towel. It had been a fight over the shower, but Schlatt had merely locked Charlie in the closet and pulled one of Wilbur’s feathers. “You can’t swim either.” 

“I have wings that weigh me down. Your big head get all waterlogged too?”

Schlatt threw the towel on the floor, specifically because he knew it’d annoy Eret, and sighed. “Fine. I don’t know how to swim. Happy?”

“No. Ant, and then you, almost died. We’re lucky Charlie swims like a fish.” 

Schlatt tugged on his shirt. “Well what am I supposed to do?”

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, ask Mumza? She knows how to swim. Dad does too, just not as well with his big ol’ wings.” 

Schlatt scoffed. “I’m not asking anyone how to swim.”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s not like you’re asking for a public display of affection, since you seem to be allergic to those.” 

“I’m not going to be weak ,” Schlatt spat. 

Wilbur sighed. “Your weakness almost got you killed. Is it worth it?”

He left, shouting at one of the twins and pounding on the bathroom door so he could finally take his own shower. 

Schlatt glared at the dresser like it was the source of all his problems. He heard Charlie scream at something down the hall, and a lightbulb went off. 

…

Charlie shrieked as Skeppy roared at him for the mess of slime and flour on his bed. Didn’t matter that Charlie didn’t even do it —Skeppy just saw him first. 

He did the only sensible thing he could in that moment—he ran. 

He didn’t make it very far before a hand closed on his collar and yanked him. He barely got the yelp out before a hand closed over his mouth and he was pressed against the door. 

“I’ll save you, but you owe me a favor.” Schlatt glared down at him, fist tight in the front of Charlie’s shirt. 

Charlie stared at him, confused, then the door pounded.

“I know the little rat’s in there! Hand him over!” Skeppy sounded ticked . 

Charlie didn’t even wait to see what the favor was before nodding emphatically around the hand on his face. Schlatt shoved him farther in the room, opened the door, demon-stared Skeppy down until he walked away, then closed the door and crossed his arms. 

Charlie gulped and realized he probably should’ve figured out what the favor was before he agreed. Schlatt was known for making the little kids do stupid things for his own entertainment—oh Ancients, Charlie was going to die .

“You’re gonna teach me how to swim.” 

“... huh? ” 

Chapter Text

"Alright, girls. I want to see everything packed up and ready to go in five," Puffy ushered, her hands on her hips and meeting all of her sisters' eyes. "That means you too, Minx." 

Said Minx rolled her eyes, but rolled off her bed to finish packing anyway.

When Puffy was content with her sisters packing, she went to the kitchen to find the money pouches they had been promised by Phil for this trip. 

"Looking for these?" 

Puffy turned around to find Mumza holding three small leather bags tied together with horse string.

"Yeah!" She grabbed the pouches, relieved one of her brothers hadn’t found them instead.

"Try not to spend all the money. We may have a walking diamond mine, but I'd like my kids to be at least a bit frugal." Kristin smiled warmly. 

"I'll be sure to keep it away from Minx and Drista." Puffy snorted, thinking of all the things the two would do with that much money. They didn’t need another camel. 

"Puffy!" 

She turned her head at Foolish’s call from the front. Instantly suspicious, she sighed and walked back into the front room, finding several more people occupying the space than five seconds ago.

"Where did you all come from?" she asked, flabbergasted. 

"Can't we just come and say goodbye to our dearest sisters?" Tubbo asked, holding Lani in a death grip, his wings blocking any sign of the girl.

Puffy clicked her tongue. "Fair enough." She looked over at the other girls, one of her brothers hugging or talking, or arguing in Minx's case, with their sisters.

Puffy almost fell over as a sudden weight landed on her back, squeezing her tightly.

"How dare you leave without saying goodbye!" Foolish said in a wounded voice. Puffy smiled at his concern and hugged him back, feeling his chin rest against her white curly hair.  "I would never leave without saying goodbye. You know that, duckling." 

"You won't be gone for long, right?" Foolish asked, his voice only above a whisper.

"It's just one week," Puffy said softly, smoothing circles on his back, feeling the worry he was trying to hide. "You'll be fine."

"What about the others?"

"Now their fate is in the hands of the Ancients and it's my week off so don't come get me."

Foolish laughs, hugging Puffy just a bit tighter.

"Come oooonn. We got places to beeee," Drista whined, leaning off one of the couch's arm rests.

"If I have to spend one more minute with these idiots, I'm going to lose it," Minx stated with crossed arms, giving Schlatt a death glare. Schlatt just rolled his eyes. He should be lucky that Minx was leaving for the week, or else she would find her shampoo bottle replaced with baby powder.

"Alright, alright. Time to head out!" 

The girls began to cheer while the clingier boys mumbled their complaints.

Everyone said their final goodbyes. Dream didn't let Drista leave without giving a full list of does and don't, which she probably wasn't planning on following. 

Callahan helped Hannah with her bags, most of which were filled with various types of flowers and some edible plants. She refused to go without bringing some flowers, arguing that they were a necessity so she could make flower crowns. 

Aimsey had gotten herself in a giant bear hug with Billzo, Tubbo, Ranboo, Tommy, and Lani, who had somehow squeezed herself in between everyone.

Tina and Eryn quickly wrapped up their conversation, something to do with a prank war against Quackity and Foolish. Puffy was sure that it wouldn’t cause any future problems—absolutely not.

Kristin gave some last minute details to Alyssa, the girl nodding along to her mother's words while double-checking that she had everything in her duffle bag.

Jack squeezed Niki so hard he could have sworn she heard a squeak. Puffy definitely noticed Techno slide a small dagger into her hand when it came to his turn to swallow the Princess up in a big bear hug.

Minx explained, in smug detail, to Schlatt how the girls got to have a nice, relaxing week-long vacation while the boys had to deal with each other and their own chaos. To say Schlatt looked like he wanted to headbutt a wall was an understatement.

"First one to the horses gets dibs on the bath first!" Drista yelled, already darting towards the door.

Everyone immediately sprang into action. The girls started pushing and shoving to be the first ones to the horses while the boys cheered and riled them up.

Tommy especially was cheering on Drista. "Beat their—" 

"Langua—" Bad was interrupted by Alyssa shoving him out of her way. "Hey!" He yelled back, the girl already out of the house, not even apologizing.

During the chaos, Schlatt was knocked into a wall, someone stepped on Ranboo's tail, Tubb was thrown across a couch, somehow, Ponk and Punz started arguing whether Alyssa or Drista was going to win, Tina used Eryn as a human shield, Sapnap almost burnt off Quackity's wings, Karl screamed and jumped into Micheal's arms, Tommy was wacked over the head with a shoe, and Techno stood in the corner watching the chaos unfold while sipping on coffee. Which was the weirdest thing because they hadn't been able to make coffee for the past three days ever since Charlie thought it was a good idea to caffeinate the littles.

Lives were changed and sleep became nonexistent. 

Puffy sighed happily, watching the chaos that was her siblings, grabbing her backpack and headed towards the door. "See you guys in a week!" She shouted over her shoulder, closing the door behind her. She stopped and smelled the fresh air. She closed her eyes and let it sink in. All the girls would be gone for one week, staying at a nice resort town. 

Finally, some peaceful time with just her sisters—no boys and no parents.

Paradise.

"Me and Minx are leading!" Puffy shouted, sprinting over to the horses, all the other girls ready.

This was going to be a great week.

…

"I swear to the Ancients, Hannah get over here and help me ." Aimsey shot Hannah a heated glare, arms full of bags. Hannah smiled, twisting her finger in her curly brown hair.

"But it looks like you got it." She smiled, knowing full well that Aimsey did not "got it."

"I will put mice in your bed," she threatened, blowing her raven hair out of her eyes. Hannah gave her a disgusted look. She rolled her eyes indignantly but walked over to help her anyway.

"If you ever put mice in my bed, I will put thorns in yours." She grabs three bags, her jade-green eyes sharp as she stares into Aimsey's soul. Aimsey brushed her off and headed into the building where they would be staying for the next week.

"Jeez, it was just a joke."

" You're a joke."

"Hey!" 

Hannah ran off laughing her head off, a fumbling Aimsey chasing her.

…

"Brush?" 

"Here you go."

"Hair ties?"

"Here's four—no wait three."

"Straightener?"

"Careful, it's still hot."

"This isn't my first hair emergency, Puffy." Minx rolls her eyes as her sister carefully gives her the iron. She takes it without another thought, all her lessons from Kristin easing into her muscles. Her hands are quick and precise, but gentle and slow when needed.

"Don't worry, Niki," she says with hair ties in her mouth. "This hair emergency is about to become a hair victory."

The younger girl still shivers from the heat of the curling iron, nails digging into her leggings.

"It won't hurt… right?" Her little voice pipes up, her body completely stiff.

Puffy scoots around Minx and places her hand over Niki's cold fingers.

"It'll be alright," Puffy encouraged, her warm golden eyes full of love. "Minx has done this plenty of times."

"Actually, I've only done it a couple of times—"

Minx shut up after a quick glare from Puffy, returning her attention to fixing Niki's destroyed hair, all tangled and messed up in a thousand burrs after Tina had accidentally pushed her into the forest. "Just trust us, okay?" 

Niki nodded, a small but a timid smile on her thin lips.

"O-okay."

Puffy smiles back. "Brave little girl."

...

"Higher! Higher!" Lani shouted as Drista pushed the swing, laughing with her sister.

"Lani, I'm pushing as hard as I can!" Drista pointed out, continuing to push her sister to her demands.

"But I want to touch the sky!" Lani says cheerfully.

Drista smiled and chuckled. "You can, silly. Just use your bee wings."

"But dad said that we had to stay in our hidden forms," Lani argued back, her voice bellowing against the wind as she swings up and down.

Drista was thankful the park is empty at this hour. She doesn't want anyone hearing their secrets. Drista pushed Lani again, thinking over what her sister said. Dadza would definitely be disappointed if they were to break his rules.

But he wasn’t not here, was he?

Drista suddenly grabbed the swing’s chains and stopped the swing, Lani practically falling out of the seat in shock.

"Hey! What was that for?" She asks indignantly, glaring at Drista with her big brown eyes, which didn't help her threatening stare at all.

"Well, Lani," Drista started, mischief in her dark green eyes, "what Dadza doesn't know won't hurt him?"

Lani looks up at her with utter surprise.

"But we can't disobey Dadza!" She whispers, as if Dadza could hear them from all the way across the Kingdoms.

Drista just smiled, all teeth.

"It's not disobeying if he doesn't find out. Now, do you wanna go catch some late night breezes or not?" 

Lani hummed and played with her short chestnut hair. "I guess it wouldn't hurt?" She said after a while, hesitance in her face.

Drista shoved that away and grabbed the small girl by the arm, dragging her away from the park and towards the nearby woods.

"You won't regret it, I promise!"

"Yeah…" Lani looks over her shoulder, wondering if she made the right choice.

…

"What were you thinking?!" Alyssa hissed, pushing Drista into a bush, grabbing Lani and following suit.

"We're sorryyy," Lani apologized, tears pricking her eyes. She latched onto Alyssa, soaking her gray sweater. 

Even in their situation, and how furious Alyssa felt, she calmed herself down and hugged Lani. "It's okay, you're safe now."

"Technically speaking, no we are not." Drista reminded everyone. 

Alyssa shot her a death glare. 

"You're glad I'm not a snitch, or else I'd be explaining to Dream in essay detail what you did." Drista chuckled nervously, scooting away from the older girl.

"What we going to do?" Lani asks urgently, glancing behind Alyssa nervously. 

Alyssa chewed her lip, trying to come up with a plan. Her heartbeat picks up as she feels people approaching, magic tingling and warning her. She closed her eyes and summoned her magic, hoping what little she could do would stop them. It worked a little bit, but her magic wasn't strong enough. 

She flashed back into reality, gulping in air. She carefully eased to her feet, placed Lani on her hip, and grabbed Drista's hand to help her up.

" Run! "

Drista didn't need to be told twice. She immediately dashed into the forest, faster than any other girl her age had a right to be. Alyssa followed after, but the added weight of Lani slowed her down.

They ran until they couldn’t, their legs and lungs forcing them to stop until they could breathe again. Alyssa collapsed against a tree, her sweaty head hitting the hard bark. "I-I don't know- know if I can go-go on," she gasped between breaths. Her eyes closed against her will, her tired body slacking against the tree.

"Alyssa!" 

She distantly hears Lani's panicked voice, but her heavy breathing and the blood rushing into her head drained out any other sounds.

She tried to stay awake, she really did.

She can't let her sisters be vulnerable. Anyone could attack. Anyone could hurt her family.

She—she— can't let that happen .

Against all odds, and probably defying some biological science, she stood up, her body shaking from hurt and tiredness.

"Alyssa?" Drista asks weakly, worry lining her pale face.

"F-fi— I'm fine ," she gasped out, determined to get out of this forest alive.

She grabbed Lani and Drista's hands and started walking, albeit her entire body shaking with exertion. "Let's go," she ordered, and her sisters followed quietly.

…

She didn't remember much after that. Her last memory was falling into someone's arms, knowing her sisters were protected. That's all the confirmation she needed before she passed out.

She woke up in a lovely bed with the smell of herbal tea and lilacs beside her.

She peered to her side, finding Tina sitting patiently in a chair, looking at her with overwhelming joy.

Neither of them talked. Alyssa didn’t particularly want to use more energy, and Tina didn't push anything, for that she was thankful for.

She sipped on some water and tea before falling asleep once more, the gentle light, the soothing feeling of fairy magic engulfing her.

She was safe.

Her sisters were safe.

They all were safe.

…

The girls had a wonderful week at the resort, despite some issues that were quickly taken care of.

Between nails, hair, flower crowns, games, nightly chats, pillow fights, cuddles, snack stealing, spas, swimming, tanning, playing, and so much more, the girls almost forgot that they had to leave, and return home.

But that wouldn't stop them from having fun.

Sure, the resort was amazing, but they missed their brothers and parents, even if some argued otherwise.

They could all see it in their actions and in their longing looks.

And as they rode back, side by side, talking about everything and nothing, they promised that they would never tell anyone what had happened at the resort, whether good or bad. Everything that had happened was only for them to enjoy.

Though that small problem Drista caused was a really big motivator to keep quiet.

But what happens on the girls' trip, stays on the girls' trip.

Chapter Text

Puffy glared at the men blocking her path. She clutched her basket tightly to her chest, ignoring the chill of dread that nipped at her spine.

It was cold out, but she knew for a fact the chill wasn’t from the wintery air.

“What’d you want?” she said, stepping back as one of them got too close. “I don’t have money.”

She did, but she wasn’t about to tell them that.

She also had a handful of knives in her shirt and a dagger in her skirt.

“Do you know a Philza Minecraft?” the man in the front asked professionally, standing firm.

“I do not,” she said primly, her knuckles starting to go numb from gripping the basket so tightly. “Please move.”

She stepped to the side, but one of the taller men moved with her. “Really, because the baker pointed you out as his daughter.”

Puffy cursed Mrs. Lars out under her breath.

“My father would have nothing to do with the likes of you,” she snipped, stepping well out of their reaching range.

The third man rolled his eyes. “You’d be surprised. Where’s your daddy?”

Puffy jutted her jaw, pride and stubbornness straightening her spine as she defied them with every ounce of her body langugage.

“Kid, c’mon—”

A hand landed on Puffy’s shoulder, and she nearly jumped, till Phil spoke. “What’s going on?”

The leader looked confused. “Who’re you?”

“Her father,” Phil snapped, pulling Puffy close to his side. “What business do you have with my daughter?”

The second man spoke. “Our business is with you.”

“Who sent you?” Phil asked, eyes narrowing.

The leader gave him a solemn stare. “The sixteenth rises with the blood of my enemies. The prince guides my drifting ship.”

Phil’s hand tightened on Puffy’s shoulder and a sour feeling settled in Puffy’s stomach.

“Puffy, sweet,” Phil said calmly. “Go find your mother.”

“But—”

“Go, child,” Phil said, and Puffy swallowed. Phil never called any of his kids that. “Hurry now.”

Puffy obeyed.

…

Puffy did not obey.

Puffy trailed them to a quieter part of town, the broken-down sector that a fire had taken out a few years ago.

Phil had taught her stealth well.

She huddled next to a crate, just out of sight and listened. The wind distorted some of the voices—she couldn’t tell who was speaking—but she didn’t dare peek around her box.

“Everything’s ready. The Loyalists have been weeded out. We’re ready whenever you are.”

A gusty sigh. Dad? “I need a bit yet.”

A grumble and a huff. “With all due respect, you’ve been saying that for almost a decade. There’s literally been no better opportunity. We need to move.”

“I will not bring children to war.”

“You’re going to have to. You promised you’d have them ready when the time came. The time is ready now. The Pillars are ready to fall, and someone needs to be there to take their place.”

“Not. Yet.”

A growl. “My men’s lives are on the line. Thousands of lives are the line—the whole kingdom is on the line.” A rough step, and Puffy imagined someone waving a finger in someone else’s face. “You cop out now, and millions are going to die. Our world is going to crumble.”

“The world will crumble regardless. Contrary to what you may think, I know what I’m doing. There is more here at stake than a kingdom.”

“What can be more important than our kingdom?!”

Silence so thick she could feel it pricked at Puffy’s skin.

“Have some patience, and you may live long enough to see. Till then, hold the fort. Hold things steady, just for a bit longer. The kids are almost ready.”

Puffy didn’t like the sound of that.

She didn’t wait to hear anymore. She ran, heart pounding white-hot fear to melt the icy dread.

Later that night, as she braided Hannah’s hair, watching her father as he told a bedtime story about the mers in the Sea of Enchantment, she wondered.

What was her father hiding?

Chapter Text

“Ima drop-kick you off the nearest cliff,” Ponk muttered, glaring daggers at Karl.

“Go right ahead,” Karl hummed, sitting backwards in his saddle to smile cheekily at his older brother. “Let me know what Sapnap does to your soul.”

“He’ll give it to Bad,” Michael snorted. “Good luck with that.”

Ponk glowered. “Just sit in the saddle right—is that so hard?!”

“Yes,” Karl said with the straightest face ever. “Yes it is.”

Ponk cursed colorfully enough that Punz would have slapped his hands over Purpled’s ears.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Michael looked to Alyssa.

Alyssa grinned. “Deader than Techno’s will to keep putting up with all of us.”

“Surprised he hasn’t shot one of us out of a canon yet,” Ponk muttered, still glaring at Karl.

“He’s tried,” Karl said darkly.

“I don’t wanna know,” Ponk shook his head. “I wanna live.”

He ignored the laughter that followed him.

…

Town was quiet.

It was small, quaint, tucked away in the hills away from the war that had ripped apart the rest of the Kingdoms. It was a bit dilapidated, with the flowers dead and the paint peeling on almost every building.

Regardless, the papers were retrieved without a hitch, Ponk hiding them in a special compartment under his saddle.

“There’s only place to get lunch here,” Michael said as they headed out of the church, the cleric waving as they left. He pointed to across and down the street a bit, to a saggy old bar/hotel that looked like it had seen better days.

The Ruina was painted on a weathered sign that was still mounted to the side of the building through goodwill alone.

“That looks sketch,” Alyssa said simply, adjusting her fingerless gloves and cracking her knuckles.

“You wanna eat hardtack and dried meat again?” Ponk asked.

“That looks fantastic,” Alyssa said without missing a beat and marched across the street.

The inside of the building was surprisingly better than the outside. The tables were worn but clean, and the rafters had been dusted recently. The windows had curtains, and there were no signs of rodents. It even smelled nice, like stew and fresh bread—these older buildings usually smelled like rot and mildew.

“Huh,” Karl said, giving the place a once-over. “Not as bad as I thought.”

The waitress was kind and smiley and quite obviously pregnant, and the food wasn’t too bad. Michael complained the food wasn’t as good as Kristin’s, and Ponk smacked him upside the head for being rude in earshot of the waitress.

“Who would’ve thought?” Alyssa said, munching on bread.

“Not you,” Michael remarked. “You don’t think.”

“Michael, you are not one to ever give your opinion on thinking,” Alyssa pointed out.

Ponk snorted into his stew and Karl hid in his cup of milk.

Michael, every classily, stuck his tongue out at his sister and went back to eating.

They tipped well, a trait they had picked up from Kristin, and made to leave.

They didn’t make it to the door.

“ Ello young’uns.”

Ponk’s face was carefully blank at the man standing a solid foot taller than him and his siblings. He was smiling with pearly teeth, dusty hat hooding his eyes. Ponk had watched him get up at the same time as them, and had beaten them to the door.

There was something—off—about the guy in a way Ponk didn’t like.

“G’day.” Ponk tipped his imaginary hat and slipped by the guy, who was conveniently holding the door open.

Alyssa scittered past, then Michael shoved past. Karl tried to get by next, but an iron grip on his arm stopped him in his tracks.

“Well, now—” the man’s smile widened, and Karl’s stomach did a somersault. “Are you quite pretty?”

Karl frowned. “Leave off—” he tried to yank his arm, but the guy held on tighter.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Hey mister—”

The man looked up at Karl’s siblings.

All three had drawn their weapons.

Their shiny, obviously well-cared for, weapons.

“Let him go,” Alyssa said fiercely, under her breath, “and we won’t stain this nice floor.”

Karl felt the man tighten his grip, then he let go with a slight push. “Was only trying to be polite,” he muttered, shoving his way past Karl out the door.

He muttered something else, but none of the Minecraft kids cared enough to listen. Ponk and Michael flipped him off behind his back.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alyssa said, just a bit too brightly, linking her arm with Karl’s.

…

Unfortunately, they couldn’t.

“This is the last straw,” Michael grumbled, leading his horse back the way the kids had came. “Third time this month Bobo’s thrown a shoe.”

“Maybe to get back at you for calling her that horrible name,” Alyssa rolled her eyes.

“Ya’ll find something to do,” Ponk said once the blacksmiths came into view. “Dadza specifically told me not to let anyone of you do the buying.”

“Whaa?” Karl said, looking offended.

“Yes, you,” Ponk shot him a look. “Mister ‘I want a pet talking enchanted can of Monster.”

Karl opened his mouth, but had no argument.

He still missed Oscar.

“Karl, where’s your glasses?” Alyssa asked, fluffing Karl’s hair.

Karl felt around his head, then groaned. The bi-colored glasses had been a gift from T-Squared. He really didn’t want to figure out what happened if he went home without them.

“Left them at the diner, maybe?” Ponk suggested.

Karl shrugged, and decided to check.

Ponk kept going to the blacksmiths, Bobo dutifully following behind.

Alyssa made off to the nearest tree, content to spend her free time napping in the tallest branches. Karl didn’t know how she hadn’t fallen off yet.

Michael had disappeared as soon as Ponk had taken Bobo’s reigns, and to who knows where.

Karl watched Alyssa scale the tallest possible tree as gracefully as a monkey, and decided he wanted a nap too.

Looking across the street back towards the Ruina, he watched the cook, the pregnant waitress, and a few other people Karl guessed were the other waiters leave the building. They were carrying a few baskets of sorts, and were heading towards the only park-looking area in the town, probably to eat lunch.

They wouldn’t mind if Karl slipped inside to find his glasses.

The door was unlocked, and Karl pretended not to see the ‘Out to Lunch’ sign.

Inside was dark, the windows shut to avoid peeping toms and lamps snuffed to save oil.

Karl found the table he and his siblings had been sitting and, with relief, found his glasses on the floor next to his chair. He had probably dropped them when Ponk threw a piece of bread at him and he had jerked to avoid getting smacked in the face.

He had only just turned around when he nearly walked smack into another body.

“Oh, my bad—”

Karl’s apology dried in his throat. The man from earlier standing right there.

“H-hi—” Karl said nervously.

“Funny running into you here!” the man said, smiling with much too many teeth again.

Karl swallowed. “We’re not supposed to be in here.”

“And yet here we are, the staff gone for an hour at least,” the man kept smiling, and just now Karl realized it didn't reach his eyes.

Karl’s mouth turned to ash. “Look, man—I gotta go—”

He made to dart around the man, but he only made it a step before he was caught around the waist and shoved against the table.

“Now, we’re just getting acquainted—” the man’s voice was smoother than honey, his tone suggesting the unthinkable. “We didn’t have time earlier, what with your friends throwing a fit.”

“I don’t want to be acquainted,” Karl said in a little voice, fighting the urge to gag. The man’s hand was still on his side, burning him through his shirt. “I wanna go home.”

“My place isn’t so bad,” the man grinned, leaning forward to brush his nose against Karl’s neck. Karl couldn’t breathe, feeling the man’s thumb lift up the corner of his shirt to rub circles around the bony hollow of his hip, right above his jeans.

“I s-said no—” Karl hated how his voice shook.

“I can change your mind,” the man purred, and Karl let out a low hiss at the hot air that seemed to singe his neck. “Show you a good time.”

“I don’t want a good time,” Karl whispered, praying to whoever was listening that he would make it out of this.

“Because you’ve never been shown one.” The man sound so sincere, so gentle—

Karl squeezed his eyes shut as lips brushed his skin.

When had his hands been pressed to the table?

“No—” he gasped out. He felt hot and cold at the same time, fear in his heart and dread in his stomach. “I don’t want it—”

“You will,” the man said simply, and Karl’s heart dipped into the Antarctic. The man pulled him from the wall, wrapped an arm securely around Karl’s shoulders, holding his wrists tight in his free hand. “You will.”

Karl kept his eyes crushed tight against the tears that threatened to spill. His chest felt tight, as if he felt as though he was about to start screaming and sobbing at the same time.

Scream!!! You idiot!!

Karl opened his mouth, but all that came out was a haggard wheeze.

His head began to pound as the man led him to the stairs, fear swallowing him whole and scraping and clawing at his throat. They made it to the top of the stairs, the man hesitated—Karl knew, just knew, the sicko was deciding on a bedroom, picking out the perfect spot to—to—

“Karl?”

Karl’s heart leapt to his mouth at Michael’s call.

“Karl we gotta go, bud. Where are you?”

Karl opened his mouth, only for a hand to close over his lips, locking his jaw shut with a vicious grip.

“Make a sound—” Hot breath on his ear, “—and when I’m done with you, he’s next.”

Karl had never, not once, felt this cold in all his life. He couldn’t feel anything but a sickening cold that seemed to have burrowed into every nook and cranny of his soul.

“Karrrrllll, I wanna go home already—”

Karl stuttered a breath out through his nose—

And held still.

He would take this—Michael didn’t need to.

He was strong—he could do it—

“What are you doing?”

Michael was at the bottom of the stairs, fury etched onto every line of his body.

Karl could feel the wolf’s magic from at the top of the stairs.

“You sick, twisted—” Michael advanced up a step, shedding his cloak as he went. His eyes a blazing red, as the blood-born he was. “Just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself, just couldn’t let it be. Had to drag him away, keep him quiet were no one would save him.”

The man holding Karl seemed frozen. His knees were locked, his heart pounding against Karl’s back. He offered no rebuttal to Michael’s accusations, and his silence was his own damnation.

This man was weak, all monsters were.

Monsters quivered in the face of strength.

Especially to strength they could never hope to overcome.

“So guess what?” Michael was halfway up the stairs. His canines were on full display, and a grin twisted his lips. “No one’s going to save you either.”

The wolf lunged, and Karl was thrown. The man scrambled for a weapon, something to defend himself.

He didn’t get far.

Michael’s jaws clamped over the man’s throat, locked around his jugular.

Karl had five seconds to comprehend what was about to happen.

“M-Michael—” he whispered, then again, stronger, as the reality of the situation slammed into him. “Michael!”

Michael froze, not letting go. The man stopped moving too, eyes glassy and unfocused.

“Don’t—” Karl took a breath. “Not for me. Not yet.” Karl swallowed hard. “You’re not meant to kill yet.”

Michael, red eyes gleaming, took a few breaths.

Karl had a nagging feeling at the back of his head, a tingling that let him know it would be alright.

“Someone else will take care of it,” Karl said quietly, almost to himself. “Someone else knows.”

Michael growled, and Karl was afraid the wolf wouldn’t listen. There was something terrifying about Michael killing—Karl didn’t know why.

All he knew was that Michael could not kill yet.

Michael dropped the man and licked his chops. He growled, low and vicious in the back of his throat and stalked over to Karl, shifting halfway there.

He stopped right out of Karl’s reach, keeping his shoulders loose and his palms open. “You okay? He didn’t—”

“No.” Karl cut him off, not wanting to hear it. “You came at the right time—” he choked on a giggle. “The perfect time, actually—”

“Hey man,” Michael took a very careful step forward. “You don’t look so good. Can I touch you, or should I get Alyssa?”

Karl honestly would rather die than let another guy touch him right now, but he didn’t want to be left alone.

“Let’s just go.” He stepped forward, crossing his arms tight across his chest and slumping his shoulders. Very, very quietly, he spoke again. “I wanna go home.”

Michael nodded, keeping his hands to himself. “Let’s go. I won’t touch you. Want me to lead the way?”

Karl nodded.

Michael clambered down the stairs, making sure to stay just close enough Karl would fall on him if he had to.

Michael led the way through the empty streets, chattering lightly. Karl wasn’t paying any attention, but he appreciated the noise.

Kept him distracted from the noise in his own head.

Their siblings were waiting at the horse, the big animals shuffling patiently. Bobo looked annoyed if anything else.

“Found him,” Michael called out. Alyssa and Ponk turned at his voice, smiling teasingly.

“Get caught up, Giggles?” Alyssa poked, grinning.

Karl looked at the ground.

“Michael?” Ponk sounded worried.

“Found him in the bar. The guy from earlier was dragging him up the stairs. You tell me the rest of it,” Michael explained shortly. “Alyssa, you’re gonna have to give him a hug for the rest of us.”

Karl peaked up through his bangs to see Alyssa walking forward resolutely, face set. Karl had one second to be afraid, one small second to feel the phantom hands on his waist and wrists—then they were replaced with Alyssa’s warm, delicate arms. She didn’t touch his waist, didn’t whisper in his ear. Just locked her arms around his shoulders.

“It’s okay,” she said. “We got you.”

Karl hugged her back, careful to stoop because he was a little bit taller than her. He buried his face in her hair, hiding. He inhaled slowly, smelling her sugar cookie shampoo and floral perfume. She smelled airy and light, like sunlight dancing on the trail through the trees.

She smelled safe.

Like home.

“Can we go home?” Karl asked, very small.

“C’mon,” Alyssa pulled away, and Karl missed her warmth. “You can ride with me.”

He rode behind her, arms wrapped around her waist and forehead resting on her shoulder.

Ponk rode ahead and Michael behind, guarding him.

Karl hurt, he really did.

But it didn’t hurt so much now.

…

Phil watched from the shadows as Karl slept, smushed in the center of Dream and Sapnap with George. George, who was apparently deemed harmless enough by Karl’s subconsciousness, had Karl neatly tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around Karl. Sapnap (who, though Karl would never, ever mention it, was too short for Karl to ever be scared of him) was at Karl’s back, reaching over him to rest his hand on George’s shoulder. Dream was at George’s back.

It had taken a long time for Dream to go anywhere near the younger boy, especially when he saw how Karl had trembled (oh-so-barely-there) at anyone bigger than him. He had even flinched at Puffy.

But George couldn’t sleep without Dream anymore.

Karl had made himself approach Dream and hug him, face in his shirt. Karl would not be scared of his brothers—he wouldn’t.

The stupid stranger was not going to take the safety and security that came from his family away.

Dream was literally a golden retriever around his siblings (he had once literally played fetch with Alyssa and Drista when they were babies because it made them laugh)—Karl had no reason to be scared of him.

It took a lot less longer than Karl thought it would for the burning sensation under his skin where he had contact with Dream to go away. Slowly, but not as slow as Karl expected, the burning feeling was replaced with warm, secure love.

Dream had hugged him, hands carefully away from Karl’s waist. “I’m never gonna hurt you, Karl,” Dream had whispered into Karl’s hair, away from Karl’s ears. “I promise.” Karl had nodded, as this was not new information, but it was nice to hear.

They had gone to bed, Karl safer than the Second Kingdom’s Queen herself.

Now Phil was watching, making absolutely sure Karl was asleep. The boy hadn’t twitched, or made any cries or moans yet—signals of a nightmare.

He was peacefully asleep.

As long as his brothers were there, he was okay.

Phil smiled knowingly as the feeling brushed against his legs.

The tiger materialized as it approached the bed, tail flicking angrily.

“Michael got to him in time,” Phil said quietly as the tiger jumped onto the bed, the mattress not dipping at all at his weight. His paws fazed through the children, as if they weren’t really there.

“Strangely perfectly on time, if you ask me,” Phil said knowingly. If he squinted, he could see right through the tiger’s form. The tiger ignored him, pressing his nose to Karl’s forehead and chuffing. Karl stirred, just a bit, and smiled. His body relaxed further and the tiger gave a satisfied churr.

“Karl’s okay, mate,” Phil said, just to say it.

The Beast turned to him, scarred eye flickering in rage.

“I won’t send him out again, if you’re worried.”

The Beast growled, and Phil’s hair stood on end.

“Duly noted.”

The Beast went back to Karl, snuffling his hair and pressing his forehead against Karl’s head. Karl stirred slightly again at the disturbance, only for George to immediately hold him tighter.

“He’s safe.” Phil said the words, though the Beast knew.

The Ancient jumped from the bed and gave Phil a questioning look.

Phil smiled grimly. “I can’t leave, mate. If Karl’s magic senses that I leave, it’ll wake him up. I’m the main source of his security right now.”

The Beast tilted his head, and Phil grinned, wide and toothily. “Give him the Nether—from both of us.”

The Beast bowed his head, and Phil mimicked the action out of respect.

When he looked up, the Ancient was gone.

Phil let out a contented sigh, knowing the man that had dared touch the child of an Ancient was getting his due.

When will people learn not to touch an Ancient’s hoard?

Chapter Text

Wilbur opened his eyes.

He wasn’t in his room. That much was blatantly obvious.

It was odd here—it looked like a train station, if Wilbur was being honest. They were underground, the walls damp with mold and mildew with lamps flickering away every few feet. Scraps of ratted paper and rotting food and other trash were scattered about. It was rather small really, the other side of the station a perfect mirror of where Wilbur was standing.

Then Wilbur noticed there was no way out.

He was used to strange dreams though, and this was no exception. The way out would present itself soon enough.

He couldn’t hear his footsteps, he couldn’t feel the breath in his lungs. His heartbeat felt far away. He didn’t feel anything, really.

It took him a lot longer than it should have for him to notice that the other side of the platform really was a mirror.

Complete with another Wilbur.

Wilbur’s non-existent breath caught in his throat and he jumped back a bit.

This Wilbur was wearing Wilbur’s favorite yellow sweater, and his red beanie. Glasses balanced on the tip of his nose, and his soulless black eyes blinked at Wilbur emotionlessly.

For half a second.

Then the world’s biggest smile broke out on the too-pale skin and the too-tight jaw and the Not-Wilbur lunged over the tracks.

“Wilbur!”

Wilbur didn’t move in enough time. Fragile, feeble arms made of only skin and bone locked around Wilbur’s chest, a bony skull knocked against his sternum.

Not-Wilbur was cold.

Wilbur wheezed as feeling rushed back into his body, like he had just got into a hot bath.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Oh wait—”

The Not-Wilbur lurched back, hollowed-out eyes furrowing in worry and confusion and sadness. Wilbur was struck by how much raw emotion was on such a blank face.

“You’re not dead, are you?”

Wilbur blinked and actually waited a second to feel his heart pump against his chest cavity. “Last I checked? No—”

The Not-Wilbur brightened considerably, a pale flush of color rushing to his ashen cheeks. “That’s good! I don’t think Mumma would be very happy if you were dead.”

“Who are you?” Wilbur asked, noting how the Not-Wilbur wouldn’t let go of him.

“I’m Ghostbur!” the Not-Wilbur announced, throwing his hands up as if it was the world’s best piece of information.

“That means what?” Wilbur subtly backed away, but ‘Ghostbur’ followed.

Ghostbur turned grave. “I’m the you that was never born.”

Unease inched up Wilbur’s throat.

“Mumma wanted another one of you,” Ghostbur kept going, hovering above the floor and crossing his legs. “So I was made!”

Wilbur knew who this guy was. He thought he had forgotten—thought those nightmares had only been a child’s bad dream.

“But I didn’t make it,” Ghostbur said, suddenly sad, and he sniffled. Blue snot began to drip from his nose, and he wiped it on his oversized sleeves. “I never got to see the sun.”

Wilbur swallowed. Suddenly, a lot of things made sense.

“I waited,” Ghostbur sighed. “Death brought me here.”

“We’re on the Bridge,” Wilbur said, looking around, the revelation coming to him, laced with dread. “Your Bridge.”

The Bridge was the limbo between the living and the dead, where Death ferried people across to their Home in the Afterlife. Everyone had a Bridge to the Afterlife and the One, and could only truly die on their Bridge alone.

“Yeah,” Ghostbur wiped his face. “She left me here. Said I didn’t deserve the Afterlife.”

Wilbur gritted his teeth.

Death was supposed to keep people safe on the Bridge, bring them home to the Afterlife and the One.

“You’re the little brother Mumza lost when me and Techno were kids, aren’t you?” Wilbur asked, grabbing Ghostbur’s hand as he started to drift away.

“Yeah!” Ghostbur said brightly. “You remember!”

Wilbur did remember.

He remembered his mother non-stop crying for a week straight. He remembered Phil being inconsolable for a month.

He remembered being followed by a little ghost—a baby, then a toddler, then a teen—that could never speak but only trail after him with those pitch-black eye sockets.

He remembered those soulless eyes begging him for a release in his nightmares, though Wilbur could only awake screaming.

He remembered waking up to blue tears on his pillow and pretending they weren’t there.

Ghostbur was the cause of his insomnia, though Wilbur hadn’t seen him in years. Old habits of forcing himself away to avoid the nightmares died hard.

He remembered dragging his brothers into his bed or going to theirs to hide from the pale, spindly fingers that had reached for him in the night, desperate for comfort in any form but the one Wilbur could offer.

And once the visits and nightmares and insomnia had left—once the little white ghost had stopped following Wilbur around—Wilbur was left with the inability to sleep by himself.

He never told anybody about the ghost. How numb he had felt once he had disappeared. How awful he had felt, knowing he could do nothing to soothe the crying child’s tears.

How awful it had been, knowing that that was his little brother, and he would never be able to help.

“I remember,” Wilbur said softly, rubbing his thumb over Ghostbur’s not-there knuckles. “You stopped visiting.”

Ghostbur stuck his lip out. “Death got mad when she found I could slip out. She fixed that. I’m stuck here now.”

Wilbur closed his eyes. Anger bubbled in his stomach, chasing away the ‘nothing’ that was congealing in his veins.

“No, you’re not.” He didn’t care if this was real or a dream.

Ghostbur tilted his head, not-there hair flopping in his empty eye-sockets.

Wilbur pulled him close, feeling the still heart settle against his warm, breathing body.

Ghostbur practically melted into the hug, clinging to Wilbur like a koala (like all of Wilbur’s siblings) and making a very happy ghosty noise.

Wilbur knew it was the first hug Ghostbur had ever received. He had been dead before he had been born, and the body Kristin had cradled so tenderly had been cold.

“I’m sorry I didn’t try earlier,” Wilbur said, jumping down onto the train tracks. He would fix this. Years of being unable to do anything—he could make this better.

“It’s okay,” Ghostbur patted Wilbur’s back. “I’m happy you’re here now.”

“I’m gonna get you across your Bridge,” Wilbur soothed, rubbing the bony spine. “You should be home with Grandfather.”

“Does anyone else know about Grandfather?” Ghostbur snuggled his face into Wilbur neck, Wilbur keeping a steady pace into the tunnels.

“No,” Wilbur said. “Only me and you and Mum. Not even Dad knows.”

“How’d you find out?” Ghostbur asked.

“I should ask you the same thing,” Wilbur ruffled the wispy, smokey hair.

Ghostbur batted him away, and settled his head on Wilbur’s shoulder again. “I don’t know how. I just do.”

Wilbur hummed.

Grandfather had told Wilbur in a dream, shortly after Wilbur’s first run-in with Death in his nightmares, to ease Wilbur’s fears of the terrible monster that Death was.

Grandfather had told Wilbur to be quiet about it—not to tell anyone—but to know there was family, powerful family, waiting across his Bridge when Wilbur would one day cross.

“Fate knows too,” Ghostbur said out of the blue, and Wilbur nearly dropped his dead blood-brother.

“She knows Grandfather—”

“Made a kid and sent her to the Overworld across her Bridge to be an unassuming princess among the mortals because she was bored with the Afterlife?” Ghostbur interrupted. “Yep. Fate’s the only one that could recognize Grandfather’s magic and she recognized it in Mumma.”

Wilbur sighed. There wasn’t anything Fate could do with the knowledge of Kristin’s heritage—besides tell Phil—but it still made him uneasy.

Fate did that on a regular basis.

A chill prickled down Wilbur’s spine. Ghostbur whimpered, and clung tighter to Wilbur, hiding his face in Wilbur’s shoulder.

“Death.” Wilbur didn’t bother with formalities.

“Hello, little bird,” Death cooed, and Wilbur pretended not to notice the hand that brushed his cheek. “Trying to deliver himself to the One without my help. How did I get so lucky?”

“This isn’t my Bridge,” Wilbur snarked, continuing to walk. “I need to walk my own Bridge to truly die.”

“We could walk your Bridge,” Death whispered, and Wilbur closed his eyes as the tunnel wavered.

“No.” Wilbur said firmly, and the tunnel solidified. “I’m bringing my brother Home.” He shot Death a glare. “Y’know, the brother you left to rot.”

Ghostbur whimpered, and his gangly ghost limbs tightened if at all possible.

Death snuffed. “I’m allowed to do whatever I wish on the Bridge.”

“Pity really,” Wilbur said, hefting Ghostbur up as he started to slip. “Such power endowed to such a loser.”

There was a low hissing, and Ghostbur made a low cry. Wilbur ignored the claws that touched his neck and raked up through his hair.

“Try it, Death,” Wilbur snapped, “and Fate will have your head on a spike.”

He knew Fate was playing favorites with his family. He knew they were her favorite playthings, and he used it to his advantage.

He could feel Death sneering at his back, but there was nothing she could do.

What Wilbur spoke was true.

“Easy, Ghostbur,” Wilbur sang softly. “You’re almost Home.”

He could feel the Bridge wavering beneath his feet, his grasp on reality fading—and it was already rather weak. Ghostbur was slipping beneath his fingers.

“Fate knew he was here.”

The words slammed into Wilbur, his heart almost stopping as he halted dead in his tracks.

“She took pleasure in his screams.”

Wilbur breathed through his nose. “Ghostbur?”

Ghostbur shuddered, and spoke in a still, small voice that trembled. “I don’t like Fate.”

That was all Wilbur needed to know.

“It’s okay,” Wilbur sighed deeply, and kept walking. “She won’t be able to hurt you soon.”

“I’ll tell her.”

Wilbur ignored Death. She was merely taunting him now, wanting to get her way.

“Don’t let them hurt me,” Ghostbur whispered, and Wilbur could feel the tears seeping through his nightshirt. “Please—they like to hurt me. They like to hear me scream.”

“They won’t.” Wilbur could feel the limbo ending, feel the One’s presence opening his arms.

“They’ll never hurt you again.”

…

Wilbur opened his eyes.

Tommy snored softly, a comforting weight on Wilbur’s chest. The blanket was tangled around Tommy’s left wing, and Wilbur’s feet were cold.

But his heart was warm.

Ghostbur was safe.

Ghostbur was Home, with their grandfather.

He would be safe, protected, till Wilbur crossed his own Bridge to the One.

“Till we meet again, Ghostbur,” Wilbur whispered, carding his hand through Tommy’s hair. “Annoy Grandfather for me, will you?”

…

Kristin watched the sky, the stars flickering and dancing in a way that was all too familiar.

She frowned, as one star that always flickered and faded with the days suddenly grew bright and strong.

A hollow she never even knew existed in her chest even out and filled. Suddenly, she was at peace with a conflict she didn't even know she had.

Unease prickled her spine.

She let a breath out through her nose.

“Father, I believe it’s time we had a talk.”

Chapter Text

Plink, plink, plink.

“We found you~”

“You thought you were safe—”

Gleaming silver, twinkling maliciously.

Plink, plink, plink.

“You’ll never be safe, not with the treasure in your blood.”

“You’re special~”

Pain, lancing through his arms straight to the back of his neck and down his spine.

“What if we cut to your heart?”

“What treasure do you think lies within?”

Plink, plink, plink.

Dream’s eyes slammed open, and he simultaneously kicked and shoved as hard as he could with a gasp of freezing air.

George woke with a yelp, and Sapnap grunted as he hit the ground only for George to land right on top of him.

Dream lurched himself up with a jerky push, backing himself into the corner, eyes not seeing anything but shining steel coated with blood.

His blood.

Plink, plink, plink.

“Dream—?”

Dream snapped his head over to George and Sapnap, the two staring at him in the dark. Gingerly, Sapnap raised his arm and pooled fire in his palm so they could see.

Dream visibly relaxed as the shadows were chased away, but he still stared at George and Sapnap with a healthy amount of fear and suspicion.

He looked down at his arms, the crooks of his elbows.

There were no scars.

…

“I want them gone.” Dream looked up at his mother, expecting her to say ‘no.’ “I know you can make them go away.”

Kristin didn’t say no, didn’t scold him for wasteful magic or tell him to deal with it because ‘it made him stronger.’

She picked him up and set him on the counter so they could be eye-to-eye.

Adult to adult.

“Why do you want them gone?”

Not accusing. Never mean.

A genuine question.

“They remind me,” Dream had answered. “I go back there every night, and the scars are waiting for me when I wake up.”

He had set his jaw, determined not to back down. “They feel like chains dragging me down, dragging me back there.”

Kristin’s hands settled on his arms, on the thicker portion of matted, woven-together scars. “They show you that you survived,” she said gently. “They remind you of what you’ve overcome.”

“I shouldn’t have had to overcome that,” Dream said, just a bit defensively. “I should’ve been safe. I don’t need reminders every second of every day for everyone else to see that I was abused. That I was hurt.” He swallowed, pushing forward. “They welcome pity and sadness. People don’t see me the way they see Tech and Wil. They see me as a something to be handled like glass.”

He clenched his fists, Kristin’s thumb gently caressing the divots and raised edges. “I’m not glass. I’m not fragile. I’m normal.”

“Normal is boring,” Kristin said.

Dream blinked at the tears. “Not when the alternative is being a freak.”

“Hey—” Kristin’s hand cupped his face, gentle as a rose’s petals. “You’re not a freak, y’here?”

“I bleed gold, Mum,” Dream deadpanned.

“And your father and brother have wings. Techno has tusks,” Kristin said. “According to the local government, you’re the most normal one here.”

Dream pulled his head away and looked down at his fists. “I want them gone,” he insisted quietly. “I want a new start. I want to leave that all behind. And I don’t ever want to think about it again.”

He felt his nails slice into his palms. “It’s over. Nobody will ever cut me for gold again. And I want all signs of it to be gone.”

His breath hitched. “I don’t want to live in the shadow of what I almost became.”

He tensed as Kristin kissed his forehead. “Alright sweet. As long as you understand that what happened didn’t break you.”

Dream hissed as warmth, hot and prickly, ripped through his arms.

“It made you.”

Dream gritted teeth, but managed to speak.

“It didn’t make me,” he hissed. “It destroyed me.”

Kristin’s whisper was gentle in his ear.

“And yet here you are.”

…

Dream breathed a sigh of relief.

It hadn’t been a dream, it hadn’t been the subconscious hope of a little kid, lost and confused.

He was safe. He had gotten to grown up.

He had brothers, he had parents, he had a family.

He was safe.

“Dream?” A hand on his shoulder, gentle and cautious.

Dream twitched, but didn’t pull away.

“You okay, man?” Sapnap sat the edge of the bed. “You kinda launched us into next week—”

“Nightmare,” Dream bit out, tilting his head back to rest on the wall. “Bad one.”

“Hug?” George asked.

Dream flinched, and George took his hand back. Dream relaxed, not even knowing he was tense with George’s touch.

“No.” He said quietly. “Don’t.”

George settled next to Sapnap, on the other side of the bed. Not boxing him in—just waiting.

“They—they would hold me down,” Dream whispered, not looking at either of them. “Wrap me up in their arms and act like everything was okay.”

“But it wasn’t okay,” Sapnap said softly.

“No,” Dream said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t.”

They sat in silence for a bit, Sapnap keeping the fire lit to chase away the shadows.

“I’m safe.” Dream said it quietly, shakily, after his heart-rate was no longer pounding in his mouth.

“You’re safe,” George repeated.

“I’m not there.”

“You’re here,” Sapnap mirrored.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“And it’s never gonna hurt again,” George offered his hand, upturned. Sapnap did too—the one without the fire.

Dream stared at their hands, blinking a few times. Slowly, trembling, he held his hands out.

They met him halfway, just setting their palms under his. Not pushing, not holding.

Just being there.

Dream closed his eyes, felt himself relax.

This touch didn’t hurt.

This touch would never hurt.

This touch didn’t demand anything, would never demand anything other than the occasional hug or comforting hold.

“Sorry,” Dream said.

“You’re fine,” Sapnap yawned lazily. “I wasn’t having any fun in my dream anyway.”

“From the way you were trying to crack my spine,” George stretched, said spine popping, “I’d say you were sleeping just fine.”

“Your bony backbone was digging into my cheek.” Sapnap stuck his tongue out.

Dream giggled at George’s nose-wrinkle of disgust. George could be so prissy sometimes.

“Maybe you shouldn’t use me as a teddy bear,” George flopped on his back, one of his arms knocking against Dream’s knees.

“But you make such a nice teddy bear,” Sapnap plopped onto his stomach, resting his head on his arms.

Dream slid down so he was lying on his back too, getting used to the feeling of having someone touching him again.

George was a cool weight next to him, calm and comforting. He could feel Sapnap’s heat through the mattress.

There were no bruising grips, no rank of alcohol. No twisted whispers, no rush of burning adrenaline.

Just George and Sapnap’s petty argument about who kicked the most in their sleep.

Just the soft blankets and the blue comforter that had taken two hours of debating and literally wrestling to decide on between the three before George’s whining had won out.

The window was shut, and the room smelled like vanilla and lavender from the freshly-washed curtains.

George and Sapnap weren’t arguing anymore, facing each other, George apparently refusing to be Sapnap’s teddy bear.

Sapnap had fixed the blanket, George was already drifting. Sapnap was staring off into space, blinking languidly.

Dream eased onto his side, his protective-older brother side waking up as his consciousness started to slip away. He pulled George flush to his chest, making sure to get George’s arms crossed to his own chest before reaching for Sapnap.

Sapnap rolled his eyes, but inched himself over and threw his arm over George’s shoulder to rest on Dream’s arm.

“You’re okay,” Sapnap yawned, patting Dream’s elbow. “Nobody’s gonna get you here. And even if they do manage to get in the door,” Sapnap’s jaw popped as he yawned again, “I’ll make popcorn while Techno and Schlatt beat their faces in.”

Dream smiled, safely sleepy now.

George’s breathing evened, Sapnap not far behind.

Dream made himself stay awake a little longer, just listening to their breathing, enjoying the warmth from their living bodies.

He was safe.

He was loved.

Everything was going to be okay.

Chapter Text

Callahan blinked.

He was dreaming, he knew that much. His body was too weightless, too free.

He had forgotten what it felt like to be this free.

The marble hall stretched out before him, a white light beckoning him at the end. Statues, taller than any building he had ever seen, lined the hall, gracefully posed or holding weapons.

He vaguely recognized a few of them, holding disgust for some of their faces that he couldn’t quite see, couldn’t quite comprehend—but they were not his priority.

There was something else.

“Wait!”

Callahan turned, and his heart skipped a funny beat.

Phil, his dad, was running towards him, feathers rippling behind him in all their ebony glory.

But this wasn’t Phil.

This Phil was younger, brighter. His face wasn’t carved with worry lines, his smile so wide and youthful it made Callahan want to smile too.

The young Phil opened his mouth to speak, and the scene changed.

He was in a quaint little house, in the corner by a bookshelf.

A woman was standing at the sink in the kitchen, looking out the window at some chickens scratching around on her front lawn. One hand was in the soapy water, idly chasing a cup around.

The other was on her stomach.

Callahan felt a tug in his chest, something warm and happy, and he stepped forward.

The woman was pregnant, she didn’t even know it yet—but Callahan knew.

He wondered how he knew.

The scene changed.

The forest, quiet and dark and nearing nighttime.

A baby deer was crying in the roots of a tree, bleating for a mother Callahan somehow knew would never come.

He scooped the baby deer up, held it close. Its little heart fluttered wildly, the poor creature continuing to cry.

He left the baby at the doorstep of a cabin.

He could hear children running around inside—knew their begging would save the baby from dad’s axe and the baby could grow up.

The scene changed.

A garden, lush and rich and luxurious in a way the finest royals could only wish for.

Cool marble under him, the water tickling Callahan’s palms as he fed the koi fish in the fountain. Silken robes, soft on his body, and no shoes to protect him from the velvety grass.

Birds chirped. The grass was perfect and green, the flowers pristine and beautiful. The garden was surrounded with marble walls, silver threaded through the shining material. Murals were embedded into the marble, made of diamonds and emeralds and sapphires and dozens of other precious gems depicting scenes of peace and beauty.

A tall man, shoes clicking on the gilded, marble walkway. Stubble lined his jaw, a scar ripping through his right eye and down his face. His robes, blue and red, shimmering in the spring light, billowed behind him.

Two young teens, wearing apprentice’s robes, trailed after him, smiling and chattering.

A little boy, no older than five with fluffy cocoa hair and dimples in chubby little cheeks, held the man’s hand. The man was smiling indulgently, carrying on a conversation with the child that Callahan couldn’t quite hear.

The man nodded respectfully to Callahan as the four passed, the young boys paying absolutely no attention.

Two young girls, on a bench under an apple tree in the corner of the garden.

One was quiet, refined—a proper lady in the making. The other was bubbly and talking animatedly, a book obviously for study ignored in her lap as she carried on with some story.

Callahan was sad, for some reason, for the one.

Very sad—

The scene changed.

There were people yelling, magic thrumming powerfully, so thickly in the air Callahan couldn’t breathe.

Callahan was confused—scared.

Scared in a way that would have made lesser men faint.

Callahan wasn’t a lesser man.

He was held down against a cold floor; strange magic—magic that wasn’t his own—holding him still against his will. He wanted to fight, he wanted to snarl and slash and hurt in a way he had never hurt before, in a way he wasn’t made to—but he couldn’t move.

A glint of steel, a flash of silver—then pain.

Agony, white-hot and burning and spreading like lightning, on his neck.

Warm, hot blood, gushing and thick and gurgling, pouring down his shirt, sticking to his chest and pants and the floor and spreading, spreading, spreading—

How was he still alive? With this much blood—

Silence.

Callahan was on his side, breathing heavily. His head felt empty and vacant. There was a valley in his mind, one he knew he could never hope to cross.

Around him was dark, though he knew he was lying on a thin blanket on the ground. It smelled like barn animals and cheap perfume and plastic tarps.

Dimly, Callahan was aware of only one thing.

One thought that faded as the seconds grew, though he struggled to hang on and grasped at it with desperate fingers.

You are all that remains, Angel. How long will you wait?

…

“Callah—”

Callahan jerked at the touch on his arm. Sam gave him a funny look, adjusting his grip on a sleeping Purpled. “You all there?”

Callahan blinked, noting he was in the living room, the windows dark. It was late, time for bed, from the way the older siblings were gathering up the sleeping youngers to get them upstairs. Dishes were rattling in the kitchen—Kristin and Phil were probably setting things up for breakfast tomorrow.

“Callahan—”

“I’m fine,” Callahan said softly.

His throat was throbbing. He could see the silver—feel the pressure before the jugular split and—

“Funny dream.”

“I am, thank you!” Dream smiled smugly, Alyssa and Fundy in his arms, chins resting on either shoulder. George rolled his eyes, wrestling Tubbo’s dead body into a carriable position.

Callahan smiled ruefully as Tommy, half-passed-out and hanging off Wilbur, snorted.

He went to bed, smiling like nothing was wrong when Phil made his rounds, and stared off into space long into the night.

One thought kept pinging around his head, around the empty valley that had haunted him for years, yet that thought ran truer than the blue of the sky and the brightness of the sun.

It hadn’t been a dream.

It hadn’t been a nightmare.

Those had been memories.

…

A girl watched from the window, unseen by all.

Not even Fate would have been able to find her.

She smiled, pained, as the young boy struggled to fight sleep—and the nightmares he thought would follow.

She played with the magic in her palm, the first of the threads of the Beast’s mind magic she had pulled from the boy’s head.

“A simple mercy,” she whispered, snapping her fingers. The threads dissolved, and the boy slumped. It wouldn’t be very long before the rest of the mind tapestry that blanketed the boy from his past would become undone.

“Soon, Angel,” the girl said to no one in particular. “You’ve waited long enough.”

She turned her face to the stars and breathed.

For the first time since her sister had breathed her ragged last—

She had hope.

Chapter Text

“C’mon mate—”

Velvet squeezed his eyes shut, pretending he couldn’t see Phil sitting across from him on the bed, couldn’t see the concerned look on Phil’s face.

The bedroom window was open, soft spring puffing in in gentle breezes. He focused on the soft caressing on his skin, the grassy smell tickling his nose.

“Velvet—”

“Please,” Velvet whispered, stomach whirling with unwanted tension and fear. “I don’t want to.”

“I know mate.” Phil’s voice was as soft as the breeze, kind yet unrelenting. “But you need to.”

“I don’t want to drink blood,” Velvet said bitterly, just the thought of the taste making him want to gag. He had barely made it through in the tree, the venom from the bite numbing his mind enough to pull him through.

He didn’t have ease of the venom this time.

“If you don’t, you’ll die.” Gently spoken, with the love of a father.

“So be it,” Velvet blinked at the tears burning in the corners of his head. “One less monster.”

“Hey—” a hand on his chin, tilting his head up. Phil’s green eyes were warm and full of love, but protective. “You’re not a monster.”

Velvet opened his mouth to protest, but Phil interrupted.

“You’re not a monster,” he said again, no room for arguing. “Not for wanting to grow up or wanting to eat.”

“I can’t eat, not normal food” Velvet said, wanting to just bawl his eyes out.

“Yet,” Phil said patiently. “Mate, it’s only been two weeks. It takes a bit. You’ll be able to eat regular food in a week or so.”

Velvet took his head away, and Phil let him go. “Can’t I just drink from the stupid cup?”

“You need to know how to use your fangs,” Phil continued. “I’m not gonna be around forever, and you’ll need to eat once I’m gone.”

Velvet’s heart stuttered at the thought of the loss of his second father. “I though you said—”

“You need me specifically for only two months,” Phil said, “since the venom didn’t fully get into your system. But you’ll need to drink from someone twice a month till you’re grown—and even after; you’re a vampire, mate. You’ll always have to drink blood, every once in a while. And it’s easier and safer if you learn to use your fangs. Your saliva is sanitary, numbing, and clotting. I promise it makes everything easier.”

Velvet wanted to cry. Somehow, he kept forgetting he would have to drink blood, at least in intervals, for the rest of his life. The thought of having to use his teeth—fangs—to suck the life out of someone—

“I don’t—”

“I know,” Phil said, resting a hand on Velvet’s shoulder. “Just once. Just try it once, and I’ll show you. I promise it’s all going to be okay.”

Velvet had tried it once, in a hollowed-out tree, shaky and weak and practically drugged.

But he knew that wasn’t the answer Phil wanted and he also knew he wouldn’t be getting out of this.

“Okay.” He tried not to sound defeated.

Phil rubbed his shoulder, then moved so he was sitting against the headboard. He pulled Velvet close to his side, wrapping his arm around him to support him up when he would get ‘blood-drunk,’ as Phil had explained it.

Phil carefully explained and pointed out where Velvet was to bite, how hard, and how long to wait before he started swallowing.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Phil said, resting the hand Velvet was to drink from on Velvet’s knee.

Velvet hesitated. He could go to sleep like this, snuggled next to Phil, warm and protected with the soft bed beneath them—

“Not ah,” Phil said, using the arm he was supporting Velvet with to rub his shoulder. “You can nap after.”

Velvet swallowed, biting back tears. His thin fingers shook, and he took Phil’s hand. Phil let him, perfectly relaxed.

“There you go—” Phil encouraged, watching Velvet line his fangs up. “Just like that—”

Velvet bit.

Phil didn’t even flinch.

Phil coached him through it, even as the haze of a full stomach settled in Velvet’s mind. The blood didn’t have a taste this time—there was no unusual smell either.

Just thick liquid like warm slush in his mouth.

It wasn’t appetizing, by any means, but it was bearable.

Velvet was falling asleep by the time his teeth retracted themselves from Phil’s wrist, and he barely heard Phil chuckle as he wiped the corner of his mouth.

“There we go, mate,” came the fond praise. “Go to sleep.”

~

Velvet held terribly still, not wanting to move.

He could feel the blood-lust nipping at the vampire part of his brain, begging to be let out.

But he couldn’t let it out.

Phil wasn’t here—him or Kristin. They were on a honeymoon of sorts, taking a much-needed break from parenting.

Everyone had forgotten that Velvet needed to be fed this week, even Velvet himself.

Now it was too late. Much, much too late.

He didn’t need Phil’s blood specifically anymore—he had been with the family for over a year now—but Velvet didn’t know how to ask anyone else if he could drink their blood.

Phil had just kept feeding him, and it had proven to be the easiest option. Phil was a full-grown, powerful man. He knew how to sieve out his magic so Velvet only got blood, and not any of the side-effects from Phil’s power.

Now—

Phil wasn’t here.

Velvet groaned, and haggard panting make its way out of his throat. He was so hungry—his insides felt as though they’d been hollowed out, even though he had eaten dinner.

“Velvet?”

Velvet’s breath hitched at Drista’s call.

No, no, no—

“Velvet?”

She was the room, and Velvet knew though his eyes weren’t open.

He could smell her—her young, flowing, pumping blood. Fresh like spring-water, refreshing as iced lemonade.

“Get out,” he hissed, scared of the rough growl of his own voice. “Get. Out.”

He heard scrambling, and the smell of fresh dew faded. His stomach bucked in protest, and he almost lurched from the floor to chase and catch and pin and bite and drink—

It was through a hair-breadth’s will alone he managed to stay on the floor, claws digging into the floorboards. He could feel splinters working their way under his nails into the quick, but he didn’t care. The pain kept him grounded, in his own head.

As long as Drista was safe, as long as no one was around—everyone was safe and everything was okay.

“Oh dear—”

Warm cocoa, creamy and rich—hands on his face, tapping his cheek. Sweet rolls and cinnamon, vanilla and everything good.

“Sweetie, come on—”

Velvet’s eyes opened—Puffy was kneeling in front of him. Chocolate chip cookies, buttered cinnamon rolls, warm cupcakes—

She paled at the sight of his eyes.

“Go get Dream,” she ordered to whoever was behind her. Velvet hadn’t even known they were there through the fog that was the smell of Puffy’s blood.

Stampeding, and Velvet struggled to focus past the delicious scent of warmth and full and sweet.

It smelled so good, like honey tea or lattes or lollipops or pumpkin bread. Sweet and thick and rich.

Velvet felt his mouth parting, felt his mouth watering—

“No, no—”

A hand on his jaw, gently (but firmly) closing his mouth.

“I c-can’t stop-p it—” he coughed out, hands clenching and unclenching.

“I know, that’s okay—” Puffy said, and she didn't back up, didn’t run away. “Dream will know what to do.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, someone shot up the stairs three at a time and burst into the room.

Dream.

Outside—fresh and light and airy. Like raspberries or apples. Juicy yet crisp, rainwater on mangoes or dew on a peach.

Delicious.

“He didn’t drink before Dad left,” Puffy explained quickly, not turning to face Dream, but keeping an eye on Velvet.

Dream paled a bit, then his jaw set. He gently pushed Puffy out of the way, putting himself between his second-mom and a half-feral baby vampire.

“Okay, so we get you something to drink,” he said calmly, talking to Velvet slowly so he could catch all the words under the haze of the lust, helping him up to unsteady legs.

“No—” Velvet hissed, suddenly very scared, completely incapable of standing on his own.

“You need to drink,” Dream said calmly, “or you’ll go feral. Which do you want?”

Velvet whined. He didn’t want either—but he did and he didn’t and he didn’t know

“Who weighs the most?” Dream asked, turning to Puffy. “That’ll make it safer.”

“Techno and Sam,” Puffy answered. “But Techno’s with Wil uptown and Sam’s gunpowder magic might not be a good idea.”

“Okay, so who’s magic is the safest?”

Velvet whined again, desperate to drink.

His siblings, smelling like a whole buffet, weren’t helping.

“Easy, bud,” Dream said, subtly grabbing Velvet’s arms in a mock-restraining hug.

Two more smells, one spicy like Mexican food and the other straight-up ghost peppers and California reapers, came up the stairs.

“Puffy?”

Quackity and Minx.

Velvet, if he wasn’t light-headed from the smell of unreachable food before, certainly was now. He staggered, head reeling.

“Go ask everyone downstairs if someone wants spend the rest of the day napping,” Puffy ordered.

Minx left, taking with her the smell of spicy peppers so hot it was making Velvet’s eyes water.

That left him with the appetizer, the main course, and dessert.

“Okay, bud—” Dream said, pulling Velvet towards the stairs. “Let’s get you comfy on the couch.”

Velvet couldn’t form words at this point, languidly letting his siblings lead him downstairs.

Of course, a quarter of their siblings were in the room.

Velvet was onslaughted with smells—honeyed cakes, prickly chorus fruit, wild roses, savory gravy, blueberries, Valentine’s chocolates, maple syrup, sage and basil, whisky and rum, vanilla—everything so sweet and delicious and out of reach.

Dream and Puffy bundled him to the couch, shooing some of the kids out of the way.

“Anyone younger than fifteen—out!” Puffy ordered, adjusting Velvet so he was propped up with pillows and a blanket thrown over his legs.

“Whyyyy?” Tommy whined.

“I wanna help!” Jack announced.

“You’re too small,” Dream pointed out, ignoring Tommy’s affronted protest. “Velvet might take too much and hurt you.”

Someone plopped down next to Velvet, the couch dipping with his weight.

Frosting, sweet and rich and creamy—buttercream and cream cheese and chocolate and birthday—

Ant, smiling easily and not at all afraid.

“Okay, bud—” Dream said, adjusting Velvet so he was tucked against Ant’s side. “You’re gonna drink for a bit and then we’ll switch you out.”

Skin pressed to Velvet’s mouth, and dimly he was aware of Puffy on his free side, Ant holding his wrist up to Velvet’s mouth.

One single, solitary hair of self-restrain made Velvet hesitate.

Puffy, humming soothingly, gently pried his mouth open with her thumbs and lined his fangs up. Ever-so-carefully, she pressed his chin up, closing his mouth.

Velvet went offline at the first drop of blood.

It tasted just like it smelled, only a hundred times better.

At some point—he had no idea how much time had passed—the fog lifted as the hand was detached from his teeth, the blood-flow cutting off, and he whined.

“Easy—”

The warmth from his one side was removed, and another body took its place.

Ice cream, vanilla and cold and lightly sweet. Tingly on his tongue and fresh in his throat.

He settled back down, the haze coming back and sending him under once again.

The third time, he was barely aware—almost completely asleep.

Chocolate—rich, dark, and smokey—distinctly heavy and probably too-sweet, and Velvet drifted.

…

“Is he asleep?” Eret asked, wondering if he should try and pry his wrist out of a baby vampire’s fangs.

“Getting there,” Puffy said, twirling her fingers through Velvet’s dusky-red hair. Velvet’s red eyes were pupil-blown and half-lidded, and she was almost positive no one was home upstairs.

“How much does Dad normally let him have?” Ant asked, slightly woozy and sipping the lemonade Hannah was forcing him to drink. George was already passed out next to him, having traded places with him once Ant had started to feel light-headed.

“He usually lets him have what he wants,” Dream said.

“Why didn’t you get stuck on feeding duty, Oh Older Brother of Mine?” Eret asked, though there was no real heat behind his words. He was happy to help.

“I bleed gold,” Dream deadpanned. “How well do you think that would have blown over?”

“Just like Sam’s gunpowder or Sapnap’s fire,” Puffy said, holding Velvet’s head up so he could swallow without choking. “Since we can’t filter out magic like Dadza, Ant’s leopard, George’s ice, and Eret’s magic are all quiet and docile enough they won’t hurt Velvet.”

“Does it feel weird?” Tommy, who had snuck back in at the first opportunity, Ranboo and Tubbo right behind him, poked Velvet’s nose.

Puffy slapped him away.

“Kinda,” Eret said, noting how he was kinda getting light-headed. “I can’t really feel it though—vampire spit is numbing.”

“That’s weird,” Tubbo screwed up his nose.

“Here now,” Puffy scolded, frowning at the avians. “Be nice. Velvet’s not happy about this in the slightest.”

“Velvet looks pretty darn happy to me,” Ranboo pointed out.

Velvet chose that moment to unlatch his fangs and lick his lips. His blinks were unbelievably slow, almost like he was opening and closing his eyes every few minutes. He grabbed Puffy’s arm and rested his head on her shoulder, curling up and sighing satisfactorily.

“You mention anything of that when he wakes up and there’ll be Nether to pay,” Puffy warned, face softening as Velvet hid his face and promptly fell asleep.

“Velvet doesn’t want to be a zoo exhibit,” Eret said, grabbing another blanket and throwing it over the vampire.

Tubbo had the decency to look bashful at least—Tommy screwed up his face. “Okay.”

“Not a word when he wakes up,” Dream ruffled Tommy’s hair. “Nothing weird happened, nobody was in danger, nothing.”

“I’m a dual-hybrid,” Ranboo said dryly. “I am the definition of ‘weird’.”

“I come back from the dead!” Tommy announced, as if everyone didn’t already know.

“I’m normal,” Tubbo said innocently, all doe-eyes and cheeky smiles.

“Tubbo, you asked Dad to teach you how to make a potion that could explode a city,” Tommy poked Tubbo in the side.

“And?”

Ranboo grabbed the two, dragging them out of the room so Velvet could sleep in peace.

When Velvet did wake up, George, Eret, and Ant were asleep, sprawled around the living room. His stomach was full, and he, horrifyingly, knew why.

He immediately felt guilt wash through him, the sated feeling only making it worse.

“Stop it.”

He looked up and saw Minx curled up on an arm-chair, reading a book, obviously on baby-sitting duty. She was glaring up at him through her hair.

“Stop—”

“Stop feeling bad for being hungry,” she snapped.

Velvet shrank back at her tone, knowing arguing with a brick wall wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“ ‘S fine.” Ant ‘woke up’ a bit, stretching and yawning before snuggling back down. “ ‘S no problem.”

Minx’s glare told him to shut up and go back to sleep, and Velvet really didn’t see any other option.

He let himself sink back towards the blissful, satiated sleep.

~

Velvet didn’t know where he was, what was going on.

There was a pounding in his head, like the blood-lust, only a hundred times worse and out of his control.

His limbs felt like lead, but they were moving and he wasn’t controlling them.

There was shouting, something caught under his fingernails, and he hit the ground hard enough to rattle his brain in his skull.

His lungs squeezed, then filled with air. He inhaled so sharply he got an instant headache, and blinked as the world came back into focus.

Techno was holding him down, hands on his elbows and a knee on his sternum. They were alone, in the kitchen. It was night, just after dinner if the dishes in the sink were anything to go by.

Techno gave him a dry look. “Back with us?”

Velvet panted, wondering what had happened. He had been trying to slap Skeppy with a dish-towel, Charlie had bowled into his legs—

“Blood-moon,” Techno said, not letting up at all. “We should’ve figured you’d go a bit crazy.”

Velvet whimpered, wiggling a bit.

“I know, but you swiped a handful of Quackity’s feathers and took a chunk of Alyssa’s hair,” Techno said. “Forgive me for not letting you up until the red in your eyes goes away.”

Velvet blanched at the thought of his siblings getting hurt.

Techno rolled his eyes. “They saw it coming and got out of the way.”

“Wh-why—” Velvet sputtered, struggling to keep tears at bay. “Wh-what’s wrong with-the me?”

“Nothing.” Techno ticked up an eyebrow. “It’s natural for vampires to get feisty every now and again.”

“B-but—”

“No.”

Velvet just looked at him.

Techno sighed. “I’m a piglin. Don’t you think Dad had troubles with me? Or Bad? Avians aren’t the easiest to raise either. Minx was hell, I’ll tell you that much. There was a stint where Schlatt would break stuff just to see if he could get a rise out Mum and Dad. You’re nothing special.”

Velvet didn’t know if he had just been complimented or insulted.

“You really need to chill,” Techno continued.

“I keep attacking people—”

“I took the corner of Dream’s ear off when we were nine, and Wilbur’s nose is crooked because of me,” Techno yawned, starting to let up a bit on Velvet. “Until you actually draw blood, I’m not impressed.”

Velvet blinked. He was a literal vampire—drawing blood was what they did…

Techno let him up, helping him stand on shaky legs.

There were golden feathers scattered beyond the table, and a hunk of dark hair on the counter.

Velvet felt sick. That could have been Quackity’s finger, or Alyssa’s ear.

Techno bopped him upside the head. “Stop it.”

Velvet swallowed, knowing he would get nowhere arguing with Techno.

Techno knocked on the kitchen door with one knuckle. “All clear.”

The rest of the kids filed back in, chattering to themselves. Velvet tensed, waiting for the cautionary looks or the wary glances.

They never came.

Puffy, ever the mother, made him sit down and had him sip cocoa and nibble on some plain bread to settle his stomach.

Ant shifted into feline form and rested his head on Velvet’s lap, curled around his chair, purring steadily and sending the vibrations into Velvet’s legs.

Alyssa showed off her new bob (apparently Velvet had taken enough hair off in an odd spot that Minx had to chop it to her ears), crowing how light and airy it felt and why she didn’t think about cutting it earlier. She gave him a big hug and planted an overdramatic kiss on his cheek, laying it on much too thick (but Velvet still appreciated it).

Schlatt and Eret even asked if Velvet needed a drink drink.

All in all, they acted as though Velvet hadn’t tried to kill them.

They acted as though he wasn’t a monster.

And with Karl hugging him from behind, resting his head on Velvet’s, Ant purring up a storm and T-Squared and Co. having a bubble fight and Charlie making play-dough with his slime and flour and Jack and Wilbur dyeing Niki’s hair and everyone just going about the rest of their night—

Velvet wondered why.

~

“You can do it, Velvet—”

A hand, clenched in Velvet’s, holding him to earth.

“Focus past it.”

Hands on his shoulders, steadying and grounding.

“Breathe.”

An arm around his stomach, holding him flush to a firm chest, a beating heart pounding, relaxed and calm.

“Stand up.”

Velvet didn’t want to stand up.

But still his legs trembled against the weight holding him down. Physically, he couldn’t stand up. Mentally—his vampire brain begged for him to obey his Sire.

“Velvet, stand up.”

“No—” Velvet grit out, mind almost going offline with the pressure in his skull.

Waves crashing against the rocks, lightning pounding the sky, thunder roaring in his ears.

More hands, looping through his arms. Comforting, warm weight, an anchor to hold him from drifting into the story that was the submission haze.

“You can break free.”

“You aren’t a baby anymore.”

“You’re strong enough for this.”

Velvet bit his lip till it bled, listening to the voices reassure him. Unafraid, so sure he could do this. Steady as the lighthouse that had first saved Velvet from drowning to his panicked mind. Bright as the sun that had burned away his fear.

Slowly, surely, he mustered the strength to seize his own mind back.

“Velvet—”

“No.” Velvet bit, trying so hard. His legs ached to stand, his knees were filled with fiery little pinpoints begging him to obey.

“Just listen, obey, and it’ll be over.”

“No it won’t,” Velvet hissed, feeling tears on his face, the cramps in his legs, the shaking of his hands. Wind beating down the door, waves threatening to overturn his ship, hail thrashing the deck. “It’ll never be over.”

“Don’t listen.”

“Shove him out.”

“It’s your mind, Velvet. Use it.

And Velvet tried. He pushed and he fought and he beat at the little voice in the back of his head, screaming at it to shut up.

“Velvet—”

Something released, and Velvet fell forward, gasping. Hands caught him, of course, held him steady while he bent over double, trying to get his breath back.

Hands cupped his face, brought him up.

Phil, eyes filled with proud tears, a smile stretched across his face brighter than any lighthouse. “You did it.”

Velvet exhaled in shock. His siblings, the anchors that had held him through his storm, laughing and cheering.

“You did it!” Drista hugged him.

“And you didn’t think you could,” Sapnap rolled his eyes.

“Not bad,” Schlatt punched his shoulder lightly.

Velvet smiled with his teeth, not caring if they could see his fangs. He giggled a little too, a bit deliriously, then burst out in a full-blown laugh that he knew Phil and Kristin had been waiting to hear.

A laugh he never thought he’d be able to laugh again. A laugh of unbridled joy and unrestrained elation.

He did it.

~

“What’re you going to choose?” Connor asked, skipping along as the troupe moved through the woods, steadily following Phil and Kristin.

Velvet shrugged.

Vampires, traditionally, could shapeshift into any animal of their choosing. This skill was dying out as true vampires became fewer and fewer, and with Velvet not even being a full Changeling vampire, he wasn’t sure if he could be able to do it.

Phil had explained that, with his and Kristin’s magic boosting his vampire magic, they could open a channel to Velvet’s primal vampire instincts and he would get to chose one animal to transform into. The channel would then remain open, but opening a second could be damaging and unstable.

Phil wanted to do it outside, so the magic released wouldn’t affect the house (they learned their lesson after Ranboo—the ceiling paint had peeled off).

And, of course, everyone else wanted to come watch.

Nosy little— Velvet thought fondly, not really paying attention to the din around him. Honestly, he was glad they had all come.

Ant, Minx, Fundy, and Michael were all in Full form, darting back and forth and trying to tackle each other, eager for the exercise.

Quackity and T-Squared were playing tag in the sky, Wilbur refereeing (and cheating in Tommy’s favor).

It was homey, domestic.

It was his home.

They made their way to Lani’s Meadow, the little clearing where Phil had found the bee hybrid.

Phil and Kristin sat in front of and behind Velvet respectively, and the rest of his siblings scattered about in a lose circle. Velvet sat cross-legged, Kristin behind him on her knees, pressing a palm to his back.

“We did the same thing for Ranboo,” Phil reassured, holding Velvet’s face with gentle, calloused hands. “It may hurt a bit, opening a channel, but we’ll try to numb it.”

Velvet nodded, grabbing on to his dad’s wrists the brace himself.

He closed his eyes at the first tug in his chest. Something poked at his core, tore into it. He gasped, feeling tears of pain already biting at his eyes. It felt so off, like a drill working a tiny hole into his very being.

“Just a bit more—” Kristin’s voice was slightly strained, but just as loving and assuring.

Relief flooded Velvet’s body as the ‘drill’ went away, and he felt a small, cool trickle of power begin to work its way around his magic.

“Now would be a good time to imagine shifting into your animal,” Phil’s voice sounded echoey.

Velvet did as he was told, as best he could. He didn’t know how shifting was supposed to feel like, or how it was supposed to look. But he gave it his best shot.

Then he felt the change.

Everything was clearer, lighter, brighter. More open and free. He couldn’t feel his fingers, his chest felt more open. His heart beat powerfully in his chest, and he could feel in a way he didn’t think he’d ever feel.

A chuckle, sounding just a bit louder than it normally did.

“Well I never.”

Velvet opened his eyes. Phil was grinning, and he looked a bit bigger—as if Velvet had shrunk.

“No way—” Velvet heard Ant breathe, the rest of his siblings murmuring in awe.

Velvet took a deep breath, reassured his footing, and flapped his wings.

The weightlessness swallowed him as he flew higher and higher and higher. In seconds, his father was joining him, laughing with pure joy.

T-Squared appeared shortly after, Wilbur following with Quackity and Connor trailing after.

Lani, paying no mind to the fact they were a long way up, charged him and hugged him so tightly Velvet felt something pop.

“Easy, Lani,” Phil chuckled as Velvet got his wings under him.

“A black hawk,” Tommy said, his own barn-red wings flapping small sparks with every wing-beat.

“Like Dadza!” Tubbo exclaimed.

Velvet looked just a bit ashamed as he turned to Phil.

Phil, and his great black wings, powerfully instilled with magic, a symbol of freedom and safety to his children.

Velvet had wanted that.

Wanted that freedom to let go, let himself fall weightlessly from his past.

It would never let go. It would never go away—Velvet knew that. He knew it was a part of him, as much as the blood pounding in his veins or the nose on his face.

He was still a half-vampire, a Changeling, a monster to those that wouldn’t take the time to look past shining fangs and glistening red eyes.

But he was free.

Free.

Chapter Text

Dream was restless in his sleep.

George glowered at him, barely able to make him out in the darkness of the room, even with him so close to his face.

Sapnap was at his back, treating George like his personal stuffed animal—per the usual. Not that George could complain, considering George was leeching his heat.

Dream was at George’s front, holding him and Sapnap to his own chest.

Tonight, he was shifting around, twitching and moving and not sitting still.

Waking George up.

George worked an arm free to brush the hair out of Dream’s face. Dream twitched, then his face relaxed, body falling still.

George sighed contentedly and snuggled back down, resting his head on Dream’s chest. Sapnap shifted a bit, his heat flared up, and George felt him tangle their legs together and smush his face to George’s bony shoulder before settling.

George drifted.

…

Dream panted, head pounding.

He was on the floor, a cold floor. Something dripped onto his face, wet and sticky and slightly tingly. He blinked, forcing his gritty eyelids to open. The obsidian floor of a cell met his gaze, a wall of lava glowing and crackling at the far end.

Dream squinted his eyes, forcing himself to breathe past the ache in his chest. Slowly, without moving like Phil taught him, he catalogued any injuries he could feel.

Bruised ribs, though one might be broken. He was missing two teeth, on the right side. His face felt slightly swollen, like he had gotten smacked really hard across the cheek. One of his knees was swollen up too, and didn’t really want to move. His knuckles were bruised and covered in days-old scabs.

As if he had been trying to fight back.

Groaning, and sensing none other in the cell with him, he sat up. There was a sink and shelf with a chest in the corner next to him, a dim light flickering from the ceiling. A hole was in the other corner, and if the smell was anything to go off of—Dream wrinkled his nose.

He was wearing a prisoner’s getup, but it was ripped and torn and filthy.

He had no mask. His face felt painfully bear.

“Where—?” Dream breathed, feeling the strain on his throat. Had he been screaming?

“What kinda dream is this?” Dream said, forcing himself to stand, though he felt incredibly woozy.

The chest didn’t have anything in it save a small stack of books and some potatoes. The water in the sink worked though, and Dream tentatively tasted it. It was lukewarm, but didn’t taste like any poisons, so he drank his fill to ease the panging in his stomach.

The more he acted and the more he did—he got a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut.

This didn’t feel like a dream.

This didn’t feel like a nightmare.

This felt real.

Dream had always had crazy-realistic dreams, but they had always felt hazy—out of reach.

This—this didn’t feel hazy. Besides the fuzziness from an obvious head wound, Dream felt fully present. The heat from the lava crisped at his skin, the coolness of the obsidian prickled his bare feet. Some of it was crying, dripping purple droplets that sizzled uncomfortably whenever they landed on his arms.

The lava began to fall.

Dream regarded it warily, anticipation working at his gut.

Why was he nervous?

The trickled away, some of it pooling and cooling at the edge, revealing a room far out of reach. As Dream realized his cell was completely suspended in a lava-lake, he realized he recognized the people in the room.

Quackity and Sam.

Dream swallowed—his throat was dry despite the water he had drank.

Where were Quackity’s wings? Why was Sam wearing a gas mask? Why was Quackity smiling so oddly? Why did Sam look so grim?

Dream’s feet moved on their own accord, farther into his cell, as Quackity stepped onto a platform. Sam pulled a lever and the platform began to move—towards Dream’s cell.

Fear—fear that wasn’t Dream’s— licked up Dream’s spine. Quackity was smiling—Dream’s stomach churned at the scar on his face.

Someone had taken—what? An ax? A pickax—to his face? The one eye was slightly milky, his lips curved into a perpetual sneer by the puckered skin.

“Just another day,” Quackity said, and Dream’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of Quackity’s voice. It sent a thrill of horror down his back, and he backed up, swallowing thickly as he bumped up against the chest.

“Here,” and he reached behind him. “I’ll show you which one I’ll use this time around, I’ll show which one I’ll use this time ‘round.”

A gleaming ax, polished netherite flickered with the glow from the lava. “It’s gunna be this one?”

Dream breathed a small ‘what?’ as Quackity grinned.

“You like this one?”

Dream felt his blood curdle. This wasn’t Quackity—this wasn’t his brother—this wasn’t even some sick, twisted version of his brother his mind had made up.

Where was he?

“What’d you think of this one, Dream? Give me your thoughts,” Quackity ran his thumb over the razor edge, pooling a bit of blood on his skin. “Give me your honest thou—”

Dream saw a chance and took it, lunging forward. The handle was rough in his palms, and he yanked, then he was being shoved viciously to the ground. He lost his grip on the ax, falling hard and knocking the wind out of his lungs.

“STOP! Stop—” Quackity kicked him in the bad leg and Dream cried out, crawling away from Quackity as quickly as possible. A demented laugh bubbled from Quackity’s mouth, his eyes lighting up with a maniacal gleam. The apologies died in Dream’s throat when he saw the look on Quackity’s face. “You’re playing a dangerous game here, you are playing a dangerous game—”

“No I’m not!” Dream exclaimed, pushing himself into a corner by the wall and chest. “Quackity—please—”

Why was he begging?

“You do that again—” Quackity shook the ax good-naturedly, though he loomed over Dream as he did it, “And it’s over for you.” His grin vanished within a blink, and his face pulled into a leer. “Don’t ever do that again—you understand?”

“Yes.” The word was quiet, breathless. The adrenaline pumped in Dream’s heart, but it was useless when his back was pressed to a wall and an ax hung inches from his face.

“Don’t ever reach for any of my weapons ever again, okay?” Quackity bit out, letting the blade rest dangerously close to Dream’s ear, almost as if teasing him to take it.

“Yes sir,” Dream repeated, tacking on the last word in a desperate attempt to appear meek enough that maybe Quackity would back off.

Why was Quackity doing this?

It seemed to work. Quackity took a step back and threw the ax over his shoulder, but he huffed, annoyed. He turned away, rubbing his face and pushing the beanie farther up his forehead to scratch at his bangs. “Listen, this is getting so tiring for me, it really is. You might think this is fun—it’s getting a little tiring. I have a business to run nowadays, I have a bunch of things I’m busy with.”

Business?

Dream scooted farther back, feeling the edge of the chest dig into his hurt ribs, but it gave him an extra inch away from the demented psycho wielding an ax.

Where was his brother? Where was Sam?

“So all of this is getting a little too much to an extent,” Quackity said pulling out his watch, the gold glimmering from the dim light.

“You don’t have the come, you don’t have to—” Dream pled, feeling his voice shake with a fright that didn’t feel like his own. He was scared sure, unsettled too—but not enough to trigger such a deep reaction it made his fingers shake and his voice tremble. Even his knees were stiff with the effort it took to keep them from knocking together. “You can leave—"

Quackity rolled his eyes and snickered. “No I do, I do, Dre—this is what you don’t understand—okay?” he sat on his heels so he was face to face with Dream, smiling as if humoring a young child. “I do, I do to come every single day so I can remind you of all the bad stuff you’ve ever done to me, to ever other person—I have to come every day to remind you otherwise you’ll end up forgetting, and I don’t—I don’t think I want you to forget.” He squeezed Dream’s chin with two fingers and shook it a bit, smiling passively, before letting go and backing off again.

Dream felt like crying, his skin burning where Quackity had touched him. “I won’t forget, I won’t forget—” his voice cracked on the last word as he struggled to get his feet back under him.

Quackity ignored him, hefting the ax back into two hands. “Okay, so listen—”

Dream’s knees nearly buckled at the sight of the ax being wielded again, and he interrupted, staggering a few steps forward. “No, I promise you—!”

“Stop! Stay the Nether back!” Quackity swung the blade around and Dream fell back to the ground, back in his corner. “You just tried something—stay away!”

“I-I-I wasn’t—” Dream started, having to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Quackity made a ‘yes?’ face, and Dream forced out, “I wasn’t trying anything.”

Quackity sighed, obviously bored. “Listen, I have some questions for you today. Okay? And I want to ask you a few things. All right?”

Dream blinked, not answering, as opening his mouth only seemed to make things worse for himself. His eyes flicked to the ax.

Quackity saw it, and swung back to the sheath on his back. “Here, I’ll put the ax away. Just relax, we’ll put it away.”

Dream wasn’t fooled, at all, by the sudden shift in Quackity’s behavior. Some part of him knew this was a trap—a false lull into security, perhaps an old friendship from long ago.

What friendship?

“I have some questions for you.”

We established that, Dream thinks to himself, wondering why Quackity was repeating so many words and phrases and threats.

Like a madman.

“When’s the last time you’ve seen Technoblade?”

Huh?

“I mean,” Quackity shrugs. “You’ve been in the prison, but before you came in here, when was the last time you saw him?”

“Technoblade?” Dream asked, not sure what Quackity was getting at.

“Yeah, Technoblade,” Quackity presses patiently. “When was the last time you saw him, Dream?”

“Uh—” Dream didn’t know the answer. The last time he’d seen Technoblade was last night, when he chucked a pillow at Ranboo’s head after the Ender snuck Michael (the pet) into Techno’s bed.

But that was obviously not what this Quackity wanted. “It wasn’t a little bit before I—I got in here—” he answered vaguely, not sure how to answer that.

Quackity hummed, scratching his chin and leaned against the wall. “How are things between you and him?”

Dream swallowed, but felt something tug at his chest. “Probably one of my only allies.”

He hadn’t said that, yet the words hung in the air.

“Really?” Quackity asked, looking intrigued and bored at the same time. “Huh.”

“Why?” Dream asked, just to see if he was the one talking. He hadn’t been the one to speak before.

“All right,” Quackity stood up and pulling something from his pocket. “Get ready.”

“Did he say something?” Dream asked.

He hadn’t said that. Why—??

Quackity ticked up an eyebrow, and nodded to the paper in his hand. “Get ready,” he repeated, a little more impatient.

“What?” Dream took the paper, found a small pen tucked into the fold. “Writing?”

“Get writing,” Quackity said.

Dream blinked up at him. Quackity frowned. “You heard me, get writing.”

“Write what?”

The words coming from Dream’s mouth were becoming less and less his own—as if someone else was in his body doing the talking—as if someone else in his body was feeling their own emotions and having their own reactions to what Quackity was saying.

Dream didn’t know who it was.

Quackity huffed and rolled his eyes, as if a child was being purposefully rebellious. “All right. I want you to make a note to Technoblade and get him to visit you. You guys get along—you guys are good with each other. I want Technoblade to come and visit you, all right?” His voice was soft and patient, but it still sent chills scrabbling into Dream’s gut.

“So, I want you to write him a note that’ll get him to visit. It’s easy.”

Dream didn’t want to write the note. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t want to write the note.

He wanted to go home.

“What if I don’t?”

The words were spilling from Dream’s mouth—he was losing more and more control over what he said and did.

Quackity’s smile was plastic, his blinks a bit too close together. “Listen—I said at the start, and I’m gonna say it again—my country is a lot of work—”

Country?

“It takes a lot of manpower to run, I kinda need a break from all these visits as well.”

What was he going on about?

“Why did you want Techno to visit?”

Quackity looked annoyed at being interrupted, but he didn’t reach for the ax. “I’ll tell you this much Dream, okay, you write that note to get him to visit—don’t ask any questions—and I’ll go a week without visiting you. I’ll give you a little break, all right? From all the visiting, from all the torture. How does that sound?”

He keeps repeating stuff.

Quackity shrugged and smiled amiably. “Sounds pretty fair, sounds pretty good to me.”

“You’re lying.”

Dream wasn’t sure which words were his anymore.

Quackity’s face was carefully blank. “What would I be lying about? I’ll give you a week, I’ll give you a week of free, of no torture, no nothing. I know I said I have to visit you every day, but I’m willing to give you a week off—”

“How do I trust you?” Dream interrupted again, skidding his foot against the floor to try and get him any millimeter of space he could. “You’re lying.”

Quackity looked like he was losing what little patience he had obviously scraped together.

“Why would I—why would you want me to write a note to Technoblade?”

Quackity huffed, disgusted with something, but Dream pressed on before he could speak. “I’m not going to write a note to Technoblade—especially now—if—you’re telling me to.”

Dream gave up trying to get his words back. They slithered past his fingers, oily and slippery, out his mouth. He had no control of them.

Quackity regarded Dream with a blank stare, tongue in cheek, before pointing to the paper with his chin. “Write the note.” His words held no room for argument, his tone held no patience for anymore fuss. “Open the paper and write the note, right now.”

Dream made a noncommittal noise, and one of the threads holding Quackity’s sanity seemed to snap as he stepped forward. “Open the book and write the note!”

The paper felt like lead in Dream’s hands.

He didn’t want to write the note.

“Or we can talk about it, right? We can talk about it. What if, um—what if—” the words spiled nervously from Dream’s mouth.

Not one of them his own.

“What if Sapnap comes?”

Quackity made a face, and Dream felt his empty stomach churn.

“You know what?! You know what—I’ll tell you this much; this is what we can do, all right? If you don’t open that paper and write a note to Technoblade—which is what I’m asking to do, which is a very simple task—even for you it’s a very simple task—if you don’t do that, then we’re gonna have issues, all right?”

Quackity stepped back, grabbing his hair with both hands and turning away. “You know what?”

Dream didn’t want to know what.

“I’m kind of sick and tired of these visits now that I think about it.” Quackity’s voice was going frayed, frantic.

Crazed.

“I’m actually sick and tired! I don’t like ‘em anymore—” Quackity gave a little, demented laugh as he tripped over some of his words. “They’re boring, they-they-they really don’t serve any much more purpose.”

He whipped around, the ax coming out as he did so as he stalked forward.

Dream’s heart leapt to his throat and any protests died on his tongue.

“So this is what we’re going to do. Either you write that note or I will kill you.”

Dream felt his blood turn to ice.

Was this his brother?

Some part of his head whispered ‘Was this my friend?’

“I am not joking, I will kill you—”

“No you won’t kill me—” Dream pushed out, feeling bubbling resentment in his stomach.

It wasn’t his.

“I don’t care anymore—what?” Quackity’s one good eye fixed on Dream, and it seemed to fix on his very soul. “Are you threatening me with the revival book?”

Revival book?

“Guess what, Dream?”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been after this whole time?” Dream spoke over Quackity, desperate to the get the words out.

“I don’t care anymore!” Quackity’s last vestiges of self-control snapped, and the ax swung to close to Dream’s ankle for him to ever feel safe. “I don’t care anymore about the book—I don’t give a crap about the book anymore. You understand me?”

Spit flew from his mouth and landed on Dream’s cheek, but he didn’t dare raise his hand and wipe it off.

“I don’t give a-a—I’ve lost interest in that thing. At this point, the only reason I come and torture you so much, every single day is merely as a reminder—because at the end of the day, no matter how many times I torture you, that will never amount to the amount of evil you’ve done to this entire kingdom and everyone in it, so you know why—”

The resentment in Dream’s gut spilled over and he couldn’t take it anymore. “It’s because you like it!” he spat, the words heavy and acidic from his sore throat. “You like torturing me!!”

Quackity brushed past his outburst. “You know what? I might, I might. I don’t give a—I don’t care what is it, the reason is—if you don’t write that note, I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you. There is no one—”

“Sam—” and the words were back in Dream’s mouth, pitiful and small and the thought of his brother. “Sam would never let you kill me—”

Quackity gave him an incredulous look. “Sam?” Sam would never let you—” he mocked Dream’s pathetic tone, before switching back to his own cruel timbre. “Oh look!” He swung his arm around to the empty cell. “Where’s Sam? Where’s Sam, Dream? Sam’s behind that wall of lava—where is he, where is he? Come one—call for Sam. Call for Sam—it’s just you and me, alone here. I have the axe—” the blade scratched Dream’s face, “and I will slit your throat with it. You understand me?”

Dream couldn’t speak, or even nod, or he’d slice his own throat.

“If you don’t write that note, I will kill you right now. I’ll deal with Sam later, but all I know is that it’s just you and men in this empty room and one of us has an ax and the other one doesn’t.”

Dream swallowed, feeling his skin break every-so-slightly as it rubbed against the ax.

“I can end your life right here, right now—” Quackity inched closer, and Dream could no longer draw a normal breath, “and we’d be done with all of it. No more visits, no more nothing, all right?”

“You wouldn’t,” Dream breathed out, unable to listen to Quackity ramble on.

Quackity ignored him. “So if you wanna get picky, if you wanna get picky, if you think you have—”

“You WOULDN’T!!” Dream shoved, the blade nicking him as Quackity stumbled back.

Quackity’s jaw clicked shut as he regarded Dream with a cool stare, Dream struggling to breathe past the panic and the horror and the anger and the hate and the viciousness that begged him to do something, to end Quackity’s life fordaringto touch him—

“C’mon Dream,” Quackity stepped forward again, eating up the space Dream had managed to get himself when he has pushed the other away. “C’mon. Test me one more time—” he carelessly swung the ax, nearly missing Dream’s ear. He did it again, grazing the top of Dream’s hair. One more, near his nose. “Test me one more time. C’mon. I’m swinging this thing around you—” a light flick on Dream’s cheek, a hair-breath’s miss by his eye, “—and one hit and you’re done. Did you want me to do that Dream?”

Dream didn’t move, regarding Quackity with scared, hate-filled eyes.

“You know what? Let’s play a little game, let’s play a game—” he swung, and didn’t miss this time. The ax went back to its sheath and Quackity pulled out a sword Dream didn't even see him carrying and swung, the flat of the blade catching Dream in the ribs.

Dream gasped, falling in on himself. “No, no—please, please, please, please—”

“How bout that?” Quackity kept saying, over and over again, taunting Dream with the fact he couldn’t do anything to save himself. “How’s that feel?”

Dream shook his head, clutching the aching side. “Stop, stop, stop, stop—”

Quackity ignored him and swung again, the bite of the blade, catching Dream’ in the arm he was using to protect his chest. It didn’t go deep, but it burned all the way to the bone.

Enchantments.

“STOP, PLEASE!” Dream begged, the plea tearing from his lungs. Quackity was still taunting him, repeating and repeating and repeating. “Please, stop—”

“All right,” Quackity said. “Then don’t—”

The fight drained out of Dream like water out of a bucket with no bottom. “I’ll write it! I’ll write it!” He sniffled, his throat clogging. “I’ll write it.”

He couldn’t stop the tears from breaching his eyes, a few dripping down his face and the enchantments worked to cause as much agony as possible to his arm.

Quackity smiled and snickered, suddenly in a much better mood, even as Dream’s blood dripped from his sword. “Great!”

Dream reached for the paper with his good arm, noting how Quackity had deliberately not cut his dominate arm so he could still write. “What did you want it to say?”

“Coming to an understanding!” Quackity rubbed his hands together, intent gleaming in his one good eye. “I love—I love it! He let out a breath and paced away with his hands behind his back. “All right—this is what you’re gonna do, open up the note and write—” he paused to think, a twisted smile pulling at his malformed lips. “ ‘Dear, Technoblade—’ ”

The scene shifted.

…

Tubbo was yelling, screaming, scrabbling to get away.

The sword was heavy in Dream’s hand, the handle of the shield slick with sweat, the armor weighty on his back. Tubbo was dancing back, weighed down by his own armor, face panicked and scared and panting for breath.

His face was covered in scars, patches of raised burn marks—evidence of something Dream had helped orchestrate—once—long ago—

Tommy (Tommy) was yelling something about a mountain, but Tubbo was looking at Dream as if he was the cause of every nightmare he had ever had. His eyes were haunted, shuttered closed with fear.

He had no wings.

There was nothing of the bright little boy Wilbur and Dream had rescued.

Dream (not Dream, he would never hurt his little brothers, he’d killed for them, he’d die for them in a heartbeat—) swung his sword.

The flat of it connected with Tubbo’s side and the boy stumbled back, his own weapon forgotten, and he panicked.

He yelled and screamed for Tommy, begged for help from his best friend.

“Tommy—” Dream said (Dream didn’t say, he’d never be this cruel to his brothers), “he’s gonna die!”

“Tommy!” Tubbo shrieked as he took another hit. Dream hadn’t actually cut him yet, but Tubbo was taking a beating. He stumbled back one last step and his back slammed into a rise in the mountain—he had nowhere to run.

“Please, Dream—” Tubbo begged as Dream wrenched his shield away, levelling his blade at Tubbo’s neck.

Dream grinned, feeling the sick satisfaction twist in his heart.

Seeing Tubbo so close to tears—clutching his side and biting his lip past the pain—hearing Tommy screaming about disks or something—

He liked it.

…

Dream drifted.

He didn’t know where he was—or what he was doing.

Images flashed and sounds fluttered in in his head

Ranboo, begging him to stop—pleaded and begging with tears streaming down his face as Dream implanted something in the Ender’s head, used magic Dream didn’t know he had—

Wilbur, eyes crazed and unable to fixate on anything, unsteady on his feet, slurring words as he pledged his soul to Dream’s plan.

Philza, (Dad), regarding Dream with a cool air as Technoblade discussed the destruction of L’manburg (the little kids’ bathroom?).

Tommy, gasping one last breath as Dream whispered with viciously calm intent “why don’t you go visit him yourself?” and the sickened crunch as Tommy’s eyes rolled back in his head

Niki and Fundy running away, scared and begging him not to hurt them.

Sapnap, glaring at him as though he could set Dream ablaze with just a look. “I’ll be the one to kill you.”

Dream screamed.

And then he fractured.

…

The creature hissed and spat, hovering in midair as the Ancient held him there with a twist of his mind.

“Silly little animal,” the man said, twirling his finger and subsequently spinning the creature. “You do not belong here.”