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Prompt: secret, danger
Micheal has a secret.
One he can’t tell anyone about. As much as he loved his papa, he couldn’t tell him because he would tell Dream and well--god knows how that would turn out. And he can’t tell Dream either, or else he’ll be decapitated, probably.
Micheal’s only heard of the device in his papas stories from before. When he and his papa had been running, before Dream had swooped them up and sworn to protect them. Before his dad had died (killed by a traitor, Dream said. Another reason why they never leave the base and the lands they call home.)
(Nevermind how his papas eyes shine when talking about before, how Micheal swears they change from the normal bright purple to something more alive.)
A communicator.
Micheal doesn’t know how to work the thing, hell, he hasn’t been able to find a time to figure out how. His day has been filled with chores more and more lately (do the laundry, feed the sheep, check the bridge. The little cottage always had so much to do; normally his papa or Dream would do it, but apparently it's time for Micheal to grow up.)
Micheal shoves the communicator under his pillows as the familiar steps of Dream come up. He flops down and pulls the covers of his bed up to his chin. Getting caught was pretty suboptimal right now. (Besides, Dream never knocked--even if his papa always did. Dream said that family don’t need to knock, after all. Papa just did it out of habit, after all.)
“Micheal! Get up! The sheep got out again!”
Acting like he had been asleep the whole time, Micheal gets up slowly. Stretching and rubbing his eyes for good measure, with an extra exaggerated yawn. “I’m coming- I’m coming!”
He plants his hooves on the floor, snatching a hoodie from the floor-- one of Dream’ green ones probably, fitted to Micheal. Or one of his papas hand-me-downs. Not one of Micheals rare hoodies Dream gives to him from… actually Micheal doesn’t know where he gets them from. There's nothing but destruction and death past the farlands after all. All Micheal knows is that they're new, comfortable, and have all the designs he likes on them. But definitely not one of those; all of those are neatly tucked in his closer, not on the floor.
Breaking into a quick trot to catch up with Dream, Micheal skids at the door to pull his boots on. He continues to follow the guardian to behind the cottage, where the sheep usually were. The pen is a simple fence, with bridges between the long strips of land. Normally the sheep would be in there, grazing on grass and doing whatever sheep do. They aren’t though. The fence gate is busted open--and you would think they would reinforce it after years of rams slamming into the thing, but they didn’t. They were just lucky enough to have well behaved sheep who didn’t run off often.
When they did however…
Hell was to pay,
Micheal fumbles with the hat and shepherd's staff (otherwise known as a glorified stick), thankfully getting his act together quickly. He pulls the hat over his head so hard it might’ve infused into him; holding the staff just as harshly. He looks over to Dream, who had no staff or hat, or anything that suggested he was going to help Micheal like he usually did.
“Are you going to help me, Dream?” He asks a carefully phrased question. As much as he would love to say something like, hey word-i'm-not-allowed-to-say face get over here and help me here! That wouldn’t end well. It would probably end in silent brooding from both ends. Or yelling. Yelling was always on the table; along with, I’m an adult don’t talk back to me, a sword pointed at him, or dangling his favourite stuffy over his head.
The older man huffs through his nose, crossed arms only tightening even more. “Micheal you’re like ten, it's about time you start doing things for yourself.” Now go get the sheep, is probably what Dream would say if Micheal was younger.
Micheal nods tensely. Yep. I’ve got it sir, the sheep will be taken care of in no time!”
He gives an hesitant grin at his caretaker, before adjusting his hat and trotting forward. Okay. Micheal has done this dozens of times before! With Dream and Papa! He’s always had fun doing things, it's really not that different! (Then why, why, does he feel like running off the edge of the strip of land they were currently standing on. Either the void would kill him, or the fall onto a strip below them.)
He shakes his head. Right, the sheep.
He supposes he got lucky, none of the sheep have wandered over to the other strips of land via the bridge. That made his job about 100x easier. Though, at least fixing up the gate a bit was a priority--or did Dream want him to do the sheep first? Usually they did the gate first, but there had been times they didn’t. Did Dream want him to handle the sheep first or the gate?
Well, Dream sounded like he wanted the sheep to be taken care of as fast as possible. Fixing the gate up a bit after they’re inside the pen was probably best. Yeah.
Now, time for what Micheal and his papa lovingly call The Battle Plan. As mentioned before: seemingly, the universe had it easy on Micheal today, seeing as there was a straight line from the main horde of sheep to the gate. All he needed to do was get them there. It wouldn’t take mch, either. Just walk towards the sheep, maybe jog, and watch them going into the pen. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.
Micheal steps forward. Okay. First job by truly by himself, he can do this--
A hand yanks his hoodie back, making Micheals hat fall to the ground and said boy fall off balance. “What are you doing?”
“Herding the sheep into the fence, that's what you wanted right? For me to heard them in first and then--”
“No, that is not what I wanted!” Dream cuts him off, letting go of the hoodie and dropping the ex-ziglin to the ground. “We’ve done this a million times! Are you dumb or did you just inherent your fathers forgetfulness?”
Micheal rubs his arm as he guts him. It slightly hurts from falling on it. Sheepishly, he looks the other way. “Sorry, sir. Won’t do it again. Can I fix the gate then heard the sheep now?”
Dream drags a hand through his hair, he swings his back for a few seconds before staring at Micheal. “No.”
“What? Why?”
“You’ve made it clear you can’t handle something as simple as this.” Dream takes the shepherd's staff from Micheal. “Go inside.”
Micheal nods. When he reaches the corner of the house, he turns around. His hand lingers on the corner. “Can I… Can I see papa today?”
“No. Now Go, Micheal.”
Micheal nods frantically, swiftly turning the corner and going back inside.
Great going me, fucked it up didn’t you?
Despite Dream saying no to Michael seeing his papa, he does anyway.
The 3rd door, farthest down the hall. Right across from Micheals own room. It should be the same as always; lit by a singular lamp, bed in the corner, the windows covered by curtains. The drawers in a disorderly manner (that was a new one), everything strewn about like Micheals 7th birthday celebration. The chains to stop his papa from doing something he would regret when he recovered from this… illness. (Also a new one.)
Wow. All of those things are new, but he’s starting to see them as normal--is this… is this what became of his family?
He sighs, pushing the door his papas room open. His hooves make quiet clacks as they fall against the smooth wood floor, the steps quieting as he reaches the soft carpet.
Green and red eyes-- different eyes, scary eyes, not the eyes Micheal was used to. Not the comforting pure purple that Micheal knew and loved-- snap up to him.
“Micheal!” his papa cries out, in a deceivingly relieved voice. This isn’t his papa, this is a fake. The second he escaped he would tear Micheal apart limb from limb then ruin what was left of the world. Dream told him this. Dream had said, Dream had said.
“Papa.” he shares in reply. Always be cautious around it; it uses his eyes, his mouth and body, but he is not your father. Dream had said, Dream had said. (Micheals breaking Dreams’ rules right now. He should get out, he really should. Dream will be mad if he finds out.)
His papa--no, the parasite. Dream said it was a parasite infecting his papas brain. That's why the eyes were changed. The parasite launches forward, the chains of the wall--the ones that Micheal was so proud of making and getting to work, despite the circumstances--clank and smash together. The parasite falls forward to its knees, arms held out in front of itself. If Micheal looks close enough he can see how its wrists are red. And oh god that's his papas body, what do they do when they find the cure?
“I’ve missed you, you know.” His papa the parasite whispers. It's the same line, everytime. But what follows is always different. “I’ve missed you so much Micheal. I saw you grow up in snippets, but I'm proud of you… I just wish I was me, and that I remembered, and that I could raise you-- actually raise you.”
This one is different. Like always,
He doesn’t answer the parasite.
“He would be proud of you, you know.”
Michaels eyes narrow. “Who?”
“You don't… Of course you wouldn’t, who am i kidding. But he would be proud of you, ‘bo would be so proud of you--”
“What are you doing?”
Both of them stiffen at the voice, one that seeped with deep rooted anger and hatred. A firm hand places itself on Micheals shoulder--he knows who it is. The parasite scrambles to the back of the room, pressing its back to the wall immediately.
“Micheal, I told you can’t visit him.” Dream says from above him. Micheal nods, holding his arm. The man's gaze snaps to the parasite. He was shaking and his eyes were dilated into slits. The thing was muttering. “What did I say about talking to him?”
“To-- to not talk to him.” the parasite wearing his papas skin stammers out. If it was smart, then it would have stopped then and there. “But I think I have a right to talk to my own son, Dream!”
Micheal sees the moment Dream's eyes cloud with barely concealed anger. The green turned dark, like an incoming storm. Micheal would leave, but he hasn’t been told to go yet. (He’s not risking it.) He stands rigid as a stick, waiting for what would happen. For some reason, he hopes Dream just leaves it be. He doesn’t know why, because the parasite broke a rule and it knows this--from shifting through his papas mind. The parasite talked back to Dream, and no one talked back to Dream. Not even grown ups like Micheals papa. (Micheal had learned well enough the first few times. His papa took a while longer, but after the 10th he had learned his lesson.)
“Micheal, go to your room.”
Micheal nods, stepping out of the room slowly.
(Silently, he wonders who the parasite was talking about.)
Micheal turns the device in between his hands. It's black and white, scuffed and scratched. It had codes and names(?) on the back, some of the buttons were jammed, a small crown accessory dangled from a chain. His papas name is scratched into it, the screen is cracked in the corner. Like a spider had weaved a web in there.
A singular switch right below the screen, labeled “off/on”. It's red and green and looks hand painted, someone had taken time to make the thing look good. To make sure the paint didn’t crust the switch over. (Of course, it obviously hadn’t been taken care of in a while. A part of it had been chipped off.)
Sucking in a shaky breath, he turns it on. He might not be able to do this again, after all. Dream was asleep in the room closest to the kitchen, Micheal could only assume his not-papa was sleeping too. Micheal was the only one in the house that was awake.
The screen of the device flashes on, light fading to something that wouldn’t hurt Micheals eyes. The crack on the corner obscures it a bit, and it's dirty and it's humming. The screen has a simple layout: a few labeled buttons he could choose from, a large comic sans font saying Welcome back Ranboo!
Micheal hesitantly presses the contacts button.
A different screen replaces the other one. A straight line of labeled buttons and numbers-- contact codes, Micheals mind supplies. They’re labeled offline and online. Only one of them was labeled online. Micheal clicks it, presses confirm, and types his first message.
You to TommyInnit
hi
He immediately gets a response.
TommyInnit to You
what
huh
what the fuck
Micheal grins, feeling a smile crawl its way onto his face.
You to TommyInnit
I stole my papas weird communication device from my caretaker dream hah.
TommyInnit to You
uh
my dad gave me his comm willingly so im infinitely better than you by definition
TAKE THAT RANBITCH
You to TommyInnit
1) my name is micheal
2) i don’t think thats how it works
TommyInnit to You
i totally knew that
shroud
by the way
my name is shroud
A bed creaks in the distance--from Dreams room.
You to TommyInnit
shit gotta go
dream woke up :(
Micheal shoves the comm under his pillow for the 2nd time that day, dragging the blanket to his chin. This time, however, it's different. Because Micheal isn’t stupid. Dream says no one else lives in the farlands, and everyone past there are dead men walking. Dream is a liar, is a thought that jumps into Micheals mind for the first time in a long time.
Well… Micheal might as well go to sleep before Dream checks on him.
Dream is a liar, his mind whispers. Dream is a liar.