Chapter Text
Dream is practically vibrating.
He feels like he’s going insane. This anxious waiting is going to kill him before the apocalypse does.
George is motionless next to him, breathing soft and easy despite Dream’s wringing hands and bouncing knee. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He doesn’t know how many times he can go outside, call until his voice is hoarse, and come back inside to an unconscious George, heartbroken and hollow.
Karl had dragged him outside with him this morning, long after Sapnap and Technoblade set out for their round of maintenance. The boy was quiet, and they didn’t say much, but after sitting and eating raspberries with him, doing nothing but sitting in the damp grass under the trees, he’d felt a little better.
Karl was harbouring an air of worry, too. One Dream wasn’t sure how to broach. He knew Quackity’s state was scary, unpredictable at best. Even if Phil assured them countless times he would be fine. His patience never wavered with the repetition, either. Dream knows it would probably take a lot to get him truly irritated, after having to take care of someone like Tommy.
It helped him feel like things might actually be okay. That their two fallen friends will wake up healthy and healed, and their group can finally become whole again.
Because that’s what Dream feels right now; like there’s pieces missing. Quackity, George, Patches.
He swallows thickly, turning his heavy gaze to the boy laying asleep beside him. Tubbo said he could be sleeping for well over eighteen hours. And as antsy Dream is for George to wake up, he thinks back to the days of sleepless nights for the brunet. The stubborn insistence he was fine, even with his irritability, uncharacteristic clumsiness, the god-awful heavy eyebags.
Dream frowns, reaching out. He trails fingers through George’s hair, along his temple and down to brush the soft skin under his eyes. They’re almost gone now, the eyebags. He hopes he wakes up himself again. Dream misses him— god he misses him. He’s done nothing but pine after the idiot the past day, however mad he’d been when they got here.
But after everything settled and he thought about it, he never once blamed George. Experiencing something like that must’ve been terrifying. Not sleeping, dealing with so much other things that probably felt more important than a few strange nightmares. He understands, but he still wonders if this all could’ve been helped if he’d just pressed more.
He’s sure Sapnap was right. George probably would’ve shut down harder if he’d been prodded anymore. But Dream still wonders.
Voices pass out in the hall, and he shifts, dragging a hand through his own wild hair. It’s too long, scratchy against the back of his neck. He needs to cut it before it drives him crazy.
He moves his hand from George’s jaw to rest over his chest. The silence falls around him, and he listens to the drone of background noise. Eyes stuck to the slant of light painting Geroge’s shoulder and edge of his pillow. His head is loud in comparison to the room around him.
After a few minutes, there’s a gentle knock on the doorframe, yanking him from his thoughts.
“Dream? You should come eat something.”
He unsticks his tongue, blinking dryly at George’s faint freckles. “Um… I’m not really hungry.”
A moment, and Phil makes a noise. “And I’m the president of England.”
He snorts weakly at the joke, looking over at the man leaning against the doorframe. “England has a prime minister, not president.”
The man cocks a brow. “I thought we were exchanging absurd lies.”
He sighs, rubbing clammy hands on his pants. “I just don’t have much of an appetite.”
“Well, I’ve made some fresh bread, and the boys made jam. It’ll be good on your stomach.”
The words have his mouth watering regardless of his rolling stomach. “Is Sapnap back?”
Phil hesitates, then nods in his peripheral. “Just got back a little bit ago. He’s resting in the lounge.” He seems to want to say more, but then sighs, tilting his head in a beckoning gesture. “Come on. It’s well past lunch time, anyway.”
Reluctantly, he stands, then straightens George’s blanket over his shoulders with a tight throat. Phil waits for him, then offers a gentle smile when he turns to follow him out of the dorm.
Somewhere down the hall, voices and laughter carry over faint music, and Phil seems to notice his questioning look. “The boys completed their duties early, so they’re playing Wii.”
Dream’s eyebrows shoot up, heart leaping just at the mention. “You have a Wii?”
Phil hums. “You’d be surprised what people leave behind when fleeing their homes from zombies.”
Dream recalls having a strangely similar conversation a couple weeks back, though it was about seasonings rather than game consoles.
Back when George was cooking you food after the mock burial for Patches.
Suddenly wracked with grief, he goes quiet, following the man to a set of swinging doors. When he pushes in, he’s instantly hit with a strange smell, like a barn. It’s entirely baffling until he spots the culprit in the corner of the room, and he’s not even sure he can be surprised.
“You have a cow,” he comments.
“Her name is Henry. She’s Tom’s, kid loves her.”
He just watches her munch on grass, completely docile in her little area sectioned off with wooden beams. She watches him back, blinking slow. Her tail swishes.
“Nice to meet you, Henry,” he says, and Phil chuckles.
On the other side of the room, where the actual kitchen is, he approaches the island that separates Henry’s side of the room from the appliances. Pots and pans hang above his head, and there’s a sink of clean dishes. The counters are otherwise clean, and the sight of drawings hanging on the fridge makes him terribly nostalgic.
Phil pulls out a mason jar of raspberry jam, then nods to the stove where what Dream assumes is the bread is covered with a dishcloth. “You get the first piece. I just pulled it out of the oven.”
Now that he’s closer, he can smell the fresh bread, and it makes him sigh. “Oh man, it smells so good.”
Phil sets him out a dish and the jam, moving to find a knife. “I think I’ve perfected it. Kristen had a recipe book, but she’d always tweak stuff and do her own thing. I think I got it now, though.”
Karl briefly told him who the graves belonged to, after he’d asked. They were both looking at them, sitting cross-legged by the raspberry bush.
“One of them was Phil’s wife, Kristen. The other was a boy that was with Tommy and Tubbo when they found them at the start of the outbreak. Wilbur.”
He decides not to press, since the whole subject seems to be a sore spot for everyone.
He wonders what happened.
“I’m sure it’s amazing,” he says instead, shuffling over to watch Phil slice the loaf. Steam curls up around the knife, and the first slice sags against the cutting board. Dream sighs again at the incredible smell blessing his senses. “No actually, it will be amazing. Probably the best thing I’ll ever eat. I haven’t had fresh bread ever.”
Phil chuckles quietly, using the knife to slide the slice onto his plate. “Well let’s not be too hasty. Try it before making any wild claims.”
He uses the butter knife and dips into the jar of fresh jam as Phil continues slicing. It spreads over the warm bread with ease, and Dream’s mouth is already watering.
“How are you holding up?”
Dream sets the knife aside, glancing over at the man. Phil doesn’t look at him, but there’s a tilt in his brow that tells Dream he’s genuine. Maybe even a little worried.
“Good,” he responds, slow. “Um, thank you. Again. For… for everything. For taking us in and helping our friends.”
“Techno says I have a soft spot for kids,” Phil sighs, eyes on his careful cutting. “I hope this doesn’t come off as overbearing, but…” he seems to think, then lightly clears his throat. “You boys are welcome to stay as long as you’d like. We…have a few extra rooms we don’t use that you could… make your own.”
Dream blinks at him, going still. “Are you serious?”
“Of course I am,” Phil huffs out, brow crinkled under straw-blond hair as he turns to cross the kitchen. “There’s enough hostility in this world. And I can’t stand the thought of sending you back out there knowing… knowing the horrors that roam these parts.”
“Yeah,” Dream mumbles, hands falling still where he’d been resealing the jar. “Hell, we barely survived these past two weeks. So much has happened. The mutations feel like they’re just getting worse.”
Phil is silent, then turns to him, hand lightly catching his shoulder. His expression is suddenly serious, mouth opening for a long moment, before closing it. Dream waits, brow furrowed, until Phil’s hold gentles, eyes fluttering. “Just… think about it. You boys deserve to just… live. To actually be together without the fear of death spoiling the moment.”
His smile feels a little unsteady with emotion. He has the strangest urge to hug the man, but swallows his thrumming heart with a nod and a blurring vision. “Thank you.”
Phil studies him, other hand lifting to his other shoulder. “You boys need anything, we’re here, alright?”
Dream’s throat is too thick with tears to speak, so he only nods. Phil’s brows furrow, before he lets out a quiet breath. His hands tug on his shoulders. “Jesus, kid, you don’t have to be so strong all the time.”
Phil’s hug reminds him of his dad, though the last time Dream hugged his dad he was much smaller. And Phil’s embrace is warmer, somehow. Maybe because he understands, because Dream’s been without an adult to turn to for years. Even though he’s on the cusp of adulthood himself, he sure doesn’t feel like it. He lets out a trembling breath, sniffling as Phil pats his shoulder.
“You are all safe here, I promise.”
Across the room, there’s a little gasp and a creak of the door. “Wait, do I get a hug too?”
Dream pulls away, giving a watery laugh at the pair entering the room. Karl has an arm wound with Sapnap’s, both dressed in fresh clothes. He wipes his eyes, catching Sapnap’s concerned gaze.
“Sure,” Phil laughs, holding an arm out for Karl to slip under. Sapnap lets out a fond breath with the action, face soft despite the slight pinch in his brows. He comes to Dream’s side, tossing an arm over his shoulder. This embrace is familiar, and Dream can’t help but sink into it as Sapnap rubs his shoulder.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” he nods, sniffing. Sapnap watches him with muted concern, but Dream smiles, feeling lighter than he has since this whole thing began. He rakes slightly shaky fingers through his hair in an attempt to gather himself. “What about you?”
“All good here,” his friend shrugs.
“Liar,” Karl snorts. Phil draws away, giving Karl’s shoulder a pat as well when the boy smiles at him. Grey eyes find them next, squinting. “Apparently he and Tech ran into some zombies on their way back.”
Dream turns on Sapnap with raised brows, and the boy sighs, narrowed eyes set on the brunet slinking over to them with a lopsided smile. “Well, we’re both totally fine, so I wasn’t lying.”
“Speaking of, how’s your head?” Phil asks. “Need more painkillers?”
Sapnap is instantly shaking his head, hands up. “No, no I’m okay, promise.”
“Alright,” Phil concedes, even if his sigh tells them he doesn’t fully believe him. He turns back to the half-sliced loaf. “You boys can grab some bread and jam. It’s fresh.”
“Oh perfect,” Karl sighs, wandering over and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It makes Dream crack a smile. “We were just coming to find food for Sappy before going to sit with Q.” The boy pauses at the counter, glancing at Dream once with a tilt of his head. Dream gives him an easy smile in return.
Karl smiles back, turning to help Phil prepare two plates.
The four of them fall into mindless conversation as they eat. Phil tells them about his previous failed attempts at baking bread, and Karl giggles while telling them about walking in on Tommy and Tubbo’s chaos that was the jam making process.
“I was wondering what all that noise was,” Dream huffs out, trying not to inhale his food with how hungry he is. With how delicious it is. He savors the sweetness of the jam, the warm fluffiness of the bread. It might just be the best thing he’s ever tasted, which isn’t even an exaggeration.
“It was so funny,” Karl gets out, laughing so hard he curls an arm around his torso. Sapnap reaches out to keep the bread in the boy’s grip from smearing over his shirt. The look on his face is so fond, Dream would tease him if he wasn’t in a similar boat.
Sapnap tells them about the maintenance with Technoblade, eyes glittering as he gushes about the security systems and defenses. Then he stops himself mid sentence, eyes going wide as he nearly chokes on his words. “Oh shit, Dream! Dream you will not believe this—”
Dream listens intently as Sapnap retells the mishap outside the base. Glossing over the fact he hit his head again, which earns him a heavy, disapproving sigh from both Karl and Dream, then reaches to clamp hands on Dream’s shoulders.
“Then Techno got bit, but Dream—” He bulldozes on even as Dream’s jaw drops, alarms blaring in his head. “He’s fucking immune dude!”
He stares at Sapnap, then over to Phil, who just watches with arms crossed over his chest and nothing showing on his face.
Eyes back on his best friend, his mouth bobs for several ringing seconds. “What?”
Sapnap nods fervently. “Yeah, bro, isn’t that so fucking cool?”
He lets out a breath, almost a laugh, the sound punched out of him with the rush of relief and astonishment. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” Then he glances up to Karl, who’s watching with carefully pursed lips and eyes wide as he watches his reaction. “That’s— that’s great, that’s—”
“Good news,” Karl sighs out, nodding. He swallows, even as his own relief is plain in his sagging shoulders. “For once.”
“Yeah, totally,” he grins, hoping his gaze tells Karl how much he’s happy for him. It must’ve been such a relief for him to know humanity isn’t totally screwed because of his own father. Hopefully this means he’ll finally stop blaming himself. Dream knew it’d been haunting him more the more south they went.
He looks over to Phil again, who’d been watching the exchange with something curious and a little surprised. He meets Dream’s look though, back to the easy, open expression from before. “Damn, you guys are just full of surprises,” Dream laughs lightly, still a little mystified.
Technoblade is immune. It’d been a notion Dream fantasied about, being immune to the infection. Wondering if somewhere out there, human evolution was still holding out. Fighting back against the terrible virus that turned the whole world on its head. It’d mostly been a background thought though, because honestly, part of him thought of immunity was an impossibility you’d only find in comic books.
Phil just tilts his head with a smile, and then says something about fetching the boys to come eat.
As he leaves, Sapnap leans back against the counter, letting out a wistful exhale. Karl settles beside him, finishing his bread with gleeful hums. “Man, I could just stay here forever.”
It’s light and half joking, but Dream still looks down, picking at the few crumbs on his dish. “Would you… want to?”
He can see Karl and Sapnap look at him, but he keeps his gaze on the little spot of jam he swipes up with his finger. Sapnap lets out a breathy chuckle, like he’s unsure if Dream is joking too. “I think I’d be crazy to say no.”
Dream nods. “Phil offered,” he tells them.
It’s quiet, and he can see them share a look. “What about…” Sapnap murmurs.
He shrugs. It’s hard to want to leave this place, now that they’re here. Now that Phil has made them a space in his home, treating them like his own. “I mean, we’ve got a lot of wounds to patch up first, right? I don’t think it’d be… terrible if we just… hung around for a while?” he lowers his voice, zoning out on the chip in the glass dish. “’s not like they’re going anywhere. The labs.”
Karl looks down at his plate. Sapnap crosses his arms, quiet as he thinks. “Again, I think I’d be crazy if I said no to that kind of offer. I’m kind of on house arrest anyway to get healed up.”
“We could use the break,” Karl adds quietly. “To get our bearings straight. To… think things over.”
Dream nods. He scratches at the back of his neck, tugging at the hair by his nape. He finally lifts his gaze, meeting grey and brown. “We’ll talk it over with the other two, obviously, but… I think we should. Stick around, help out and…”
“Relax,” Sapnap finishes for him with a crooked sort of grin. He smiles back. Relaxation was never on their radar in their fight for survival. Until now. Until they’ve basically been ordered to do so, to slow down and just live.
“We just have to convince those two,” Karl mumbles, looking a little distraught at the idea. His lips twitch though, brow quirking. “Which will be totally easy and not at all like forcing a camel through the eye of a needle.”
Sapnap groans at the mention. “Jesus, George is difficult enough as it is with the people he does trust.”
“Quackity too,” Karl frowns, nibbling on his lip. “And he doesn’t even know we’re here. He might totally freak out when he wakes up.”
“I’m banking on the fact George might be easier to talk to after he actually gets some sleep,” Dream sighs. “And I’m sure they’ll both come around when we talk to them and explain.”
“Honestly…” Sapnap starts, laughing nervously with a hand dragged through his hair. “Not to sound like a dick, but it’s sort of a good thing those two are passed out. Can you imagine the hoops we’d have to jump through to get them to chill for one second? I feel like this whole process would’ve been more of a… well, shitshow. No offence.”
“I’m glad someone said it,” Karl breathes, even if his tone bows with guilt. “I love Quackity, but you guys remember how long it took for him to warm up to you guys.”
“Nobody blames you guys for being careful,” Dream frowns, seeing the haunted look painted over Karl’s face. Sapnap reaches over, grabbing his hand.
“Yeah, he has every reason to be wary. We’ve seen the shit you two had to deal with it.”
Karl looks up at him with something heavy, something distressed and pained. He steals a shaky breath, both hands clasping Sapnap’s. “You didn’t just see it Sapnap, it nearly got you killed.”
Sapnap just leans in, visibly much more relaxed compared to the rigid lines all over Karl. He seems to be trying to ease the tension away himself through their hands, voice gentle. “Which is why Q’s wariness is completely valid. We just have to take it one minute at a time.”
Karl blinks at him, eyes wide but shoulders relaxing. “One minute at a time,” he echoes, nodding.
“We’ll talk to them together,” Dream decides, earning a pair of nods. “Plus, I’m sure they’ll be… less likely to freak out after sleeping for over sixteen hours.”
“Yeah,” Sapnap scoffs, though it lacks the heat it usually does. “Hopefully George will chill the fuck out after getting some proper rest.”
Quiet falls over the kitchen, the only sound is Henry shuffling around in the hay. Karl’s picking at the watch on his wrist, leant into Sapnap as the boy pushes fingers through his hair. He doesn’t have his bandana on, which Dream assumes was so the injury on his head could be checked.
He turns to set his plate in the sink, looking around for anything resembling soap. Before he can start searching through cupboards, Sapnap sighs out, stretching arms over his head.
“Man, I’m wiped. Let’s go sit with Q now. I’m stoked to start reading that comic.”
Karl hums happily, hooking their arms together. “We’ll be in the infirmary, Dreamie. Or you can bond with the children in the lounge, they’re playing Wii.”
He snorts, waving over his shoulder. “I think I’m fine, thanks though.”
“Hey man, I don’t blame ya,” Sapnap cackles. “That Tommy is a— oh shit.”
The doors have been unceremoniously shoved open, and Dream just sighs down at the floor at the following, shrill accent. “Oi, you talking shit?!”
“Nope! We were just leaving, right Karl?”
“Mmhm!” Dream can hear Karl’s muffled giggle from the kitchen sink as the two flee, leaving him in the line of fire. He’s never had a younger brother, but he thinks this is what it’s like.
“Dream,” Tommy demands, and he glances over, meeting crossed arms and a petulant jut of his chin. The young blond waggles his finger at him, brow cocked. “Don’t lie to me, I have ears and eyes everywhere.”
Tubbo just smiles in greeting when Dream’s eyes slide to him in question. Ranboo is standing behind him, hands on his shoulders and eyes hidden under his mess of grey and black hair. He has a black scarf tied around the bottom half of his face, instead of the blood-spotted bandages from yesterday. He almost looks normal, if not for how he practically towers over them all.
“How was the jam?” Tubbo asks, head tilted and eyes round. “Did we do a good job?”
“Oi, I’m interrogating over here, don’t interrupt me!”
“It’s really good,” Dream nods seriously, biting back his grin at Tommy’s indignant squawk.
“Hellooo? Chat, am I muted?” he turns to the right abruptly, glaring into nothing. “Don’t answer that.”
Deciding not to question it, he motions to the sink. “I’m, uh. Trying to clean our dishes but I can’t find soap. If you have any.”
“Uh huh!” Tubbo prances over, whipping open a cabinet under the sink. He points, looking up at him through his own mop of brown hair. “Plenty, big man!”
His eyebrows go up at the several, club-size jugs of dish soap tucked away behind pails and sponges. “Oh damn, yeah, okay.”
Tommy brushes past him, grumbling to himself. He reaches up for a cabinet, rising on his toes to reach the handle. He makes a disgruntled sound when the lowest shelves are emptied of plates. The next stack sits just out of reach, and Dream watches in thinly veiled amusement.
He’s about to tease him, see how long it takes for him to ask for help, when out of nowhere, Ranboo is behind his shoulder. With strangely graceful ease, he reaches up and takes a plate, handing it to Tommy wordlessly.
“I didn’t ask for help, dickhead,” he huffs, snatching the plate and turning for the slices of bread on the counter. Ranboo looks unfazed, bringing down two more plates and handing one to Tubbo, who thanks him brightly.
Dream lets out a breath, fishing out a sponge and one of the bottles of soap. He washes their three dishes, then dries them with the dishrag Tommy chucks at him (“Don’t you dare half-ass or I’ll sic Henry on you!”) then makes his leave.
The young trio’s conversation is dampened as the door shuts behind him, putting him back out in the hallway. It’s quiet, and he sighs, rubbing the side of his neck. He flicks unruly hair out of his eyes, then wonders what he did with his hair tie. Maybe Sapnap has one he can borrow.
He turns and shuffles down the hall until coming to the infirmary. He hesitates, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in contemplation. Before he can talk himself out of it, he lightly taps on the ajar door, slowly pushing it open.
Inside, Quackity is still the same as he saw him last; laying on the bed closest to the counter, propped up with a few pillows and face relaxed. The darkness around his eyes and on his fingertips is cleared. He looks like he’s just sleeping— like any slight noise could stir him out of it like before. Dream remembers his becoming-habitual movements to be as quiet as possible when the boy was sleeping. Any wrong step had the Mexican’s eyes peeling open, gaze clearing of sleep almost instantly. Dream always felt bad, because he rarely went back to sleep after that.
“Hey,” Sapnap greets quietly. He and Karl are on the bed next to the third boy, which has been pushed closer to let Karl have a hand laced with Quackity’s. They have a book between them, silently reading.
“Hi,” he replies, glancing over Quackity again. “He’s looking better.”
Karl nods, eyes on his unconscious boyfriend. “Yeah, Phil thinks he’s due to wake up later today or tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” he says. His fingers tap on the doorframe, eyes lifting to Sapnap. “Um, Pandas? Later— not right now, obviously— but when you’re done, can you help me… call for Patches?”
Sapnap’s eyes widen a little, and he nods earnestly. “Yeah, course dude.”
He smiles, hoping it doesn’t show how worried he is. “Thanks. I’ll be… around.”
“Sure, man. I’ll come find you in a bit.”
He nods, starting to back out when remembering the state of his too-long hair, how it’s starting to grate on his nerves. He stops, eyes lifting to his best friend again. “Oh wait, do you have a hair tie on you?”
Sapnap makes a noise, checking his pockets before Karl pipes up. “Oh, I do.” He pulls it off his wrist, holding it out. He glances to Sapnap with a little smile. “I stole it off you when you were sleeping.”
Sapnap’s eyes follow the boy as Karl leans forward to hand Dream the elastic, expression too fond to match his words. “Karl, you dirty thief.”
The boy giggles, and Dream reaches to gather his hair in a hasty bun. His buzzing nerves sing in relief, and he rolls his neck out to fend off the lingering pricks of overstimulation. The lights are way too bright. “Thanks.”
Karl turns his attention to him, still smiling, soft and happy. He reaches to pat Dream’s head. “You are very welcome.”
He lets out a huff, shoulders relaxing, then turns to leave the three alone. “See you guys later, then.”
His face falls as steps out, nails scraping over his hairline and tugging traitorous locks from his face. Fuck, he misses Patches. Sapnap’s magical way with her is his last hope. If that doesn’t work, he’s preparing for the worst.
He swallows hard, shuffling down the hall to where faint clanking can be heard. He comes to Tubbo’s workshop, pausing at the open doorway. Inside, the lights are off save for a lamp at the desk. In front of it, a form is hunched over, humming to himself.
“Tubbo?” he asks, knocking on the doorframe.
The boy startles, yelping as the objects on his desk clatters. A form that Dream didn’t notice before slinks back into the shadows, and he winces. Shit, he didn’t even see Ranboo standing there. “Sorry,” he exhales, hands up. “I didn’t mean to scare you guys.”
Tubbo whirls around, gloved hand waving him off. “No worries big man!”
He glances into the darkness of the rest of the room, but Ranboo is expertly hidden and he can’t pick out the skittish boy among the shadows. He turns back to the brunet wheeling himself to a nearby shelf. “I hope I’m not… interrupting.”
Tubbo makes a noise. “Not at all, I just got here.” He picks up a box and pushes himself back across the floor, wheels clacking across the tiles. “Did ya need something?”
“Uh… I just have some questions. You seem to be the one that would have answers.”
“Ah, okay, hit me.”
He lightly clears his throat, slowly sitting on a stool nearby. The light from the hallway spills in front of him, reaching the base of Tubbo’s stool as he continues to work. It’s a blessed relief to the buzzing overheads in the other rooms. Maybe Tubbo likes the dark too. He toes at the line of light with his worn shoes, mind spinning. “Just about stuff in general. I feel like… I’ve been compiling so many questions the past couple weeks and they’re gonna drive me crazy. I… I’d been writing them down, but I lost the journal…” He’s still upset he can’t find that thing anywhere. He probably lost it in one of their previous shelters. “But there’s a few I just… I don’t know—”
“I’ll answer to the best of my ability,” Tubbo agrees easily.
He lets out a breath. “Okay, um. First, back at Sapnap and George’s old base, we came across these zombies with claws. They were smart, and started cutting a tripwire to one of our alarm systems.”
“Mm, yeah, those are rakers.”
“Rakers?”
“Hm. They’re stupid smart, those mutants. I think they’re among the second round of mutations in the chain.”
“Chain? You mean you’ve kept track of their mutations?”
“Sure have,” Tubbo says, as chipper as ever. He rolls across the floor again, and Dream can see what looks like a shirt in his hands. “It’s what’s kept us alive! Had to know what was out there and what could be.”
“Could be?”
“By keeping track of the mutations, we’ve been able to collect important data that would help us somewhat predict the virus’s progression.” He tugs something off the shelf, blowing dust off it. “First, we had the initial infection. Getting bit and turning into the stereotypical mindless monster. Hungry for living tissue, your flesh rotting and becoming especially sensitive to the sun. Then, after the virus was being rapidly killed off by the heat of the sun alone, it mutated as a self-defence mechanism to have an intolerance to the daylight. This kind of modificative evolution is usually seen in slow progression over successive generations. But this virus has been able to achieve it in less than two years.”
Dream tries his best to keep up, but even he doesn’t know a majority of the words Tubbo’s rattling off. “The ones intolerant to the sun were stronger too.”
“Yeah, we call those ones husks. They seem stronger because what made them immune to the sun was a combination of reinforced muscle tissue and tougher skin.”
He nods, brow scrunched as he processes the information. “Oh, that makes sense.”
“Then once the sun wasn’t a threat, the next in the line of the virus’s predator was us. Humans. Once we started fighting back and retaking our claim on the daylight hours. Even if they were physically more resistant, they were no match for our weapons and reaction time. Then they had to find a way around that problem.”
“Which was having weapons of their own.”
“And improved intelligence.” Tubbo nods, holding a finger up to his temple. “To counteract our faster reaction time. Having weapons wouldn’t help them if they couldn’t get a hit in.”
Dream blinks. “I never thought of it like that.”
Tubbo hums, standing from the stool and brushing his apron off. He walks across the room to pick along the shelves cluttering the darker half of the room. Dream still can’t pinpoint where Ranboo went. “Thus, rakers were born. But that was only one variant of the secondary mutation.”
“What are the other ones?”
“Instead of branching off for weapons and intelligence, some of the infected took a different route. One that would allow them to go after the other half of survivors.”
Dream’s brows furrow. “What do you mean, other half?”
“Well, not everyone was eager to engage with the zombies, understandably so. That half we loosely reference as Fighters. The Fighters are what sparked the virus’s more hostile, aggressive mutations, ones to combat the stronger of us.”
“Then what are the other half?”
“Runners,” Tubbo replies. “Those of us that sought shelter and protection rather than confrontation. The half of the survivors that would escape when seeing a horde, not engage them. The ones that would seek a hiding place, or high ground.”
He thinks he can see where this is going. “The climbers,” he says. “Is that the next mutation?”
Tubbo grins at him, snapping his fingers in his direction. “Ey, you’re getting it! See, everything is connected! Isn’t it fascinating?”
“I’m not sure that’s something to get excited over,” he mumbles, scratching his jaw. “But I guess.”
“Yeah, climbers were the ones spawned from the Runners. They had reinforced muscle tissue too, but instead of the weapons, they had the agility to cling to and scale buildings and stuff. I hypothesize they have around the same level of improved intelligence as the rakers, they just utilize it different.”
“Like planning surprise attacks?”
“Exactly,” Tubbo grins from over his armful of acquired supplies, then tilts his head. “It sounds like you’ve had some not-so-fun run-ins with our climber pals.”
Dream rubs a hand over his face, chills racing down his spin just at the thought of those disgusting creatures. “You could say that.”
“Yeah, so I suspect that’s where the intelligence goes. To stealth and using the element of surprise to their advantage. To seek out survivors from vantage points and preying on the unprepared.”
“It’s kinda unsettling how much sense it makes,” he mumbles, eyes stuck on the floor at his feet. He can see Tubbo dump his armload onto his desk in his peripheral. “I never considered they’d be changing as a survival tactic.”
Tubbo plops back down in his stool, making a happy sound. “It’s all just science! Even zombies have to follow the laws of it.”
“What about the stalkers and the forsee-mites? The shadow bats? Those all seem like mythical creatures compared to the mutant zombies.”
Tubbo taps his chin, squinting up to the ceiling. “Sure, they’re more complicated, and further down the chain of the virus’s evolution, but they still follow the rules of science too. Just a more complex strand of it.”
“I ran into another kind of mutation,” Dream cuts in, before he gets Tubbo going about the complicated side of evolution. “We were crossing a river, and a zombie I’d pushed in turned into some… water variant. It turned kinda blue and grabbed me, trying to drag me in and drown me.” He remembers the terrible feeling of his lungs burning, the cold water all around him, the colder vice around his ankle. Clinging to George as he reeled in shock. “We named them ‘drowned’ in honour of that,” he adds bitterly.
“Interesting,” Tubbo says lowly, chin in his hand as he turns back to his desk. He putters around murmuring to himself for a moment. “We’ve seen zombies seemingly adapt to their immediate surrounding environment before. I haven’t personally seen one of these drowned zombies, but it tracks.” There’s a pause filled with shuffling papers. “We just call that variant of zombie ‘adapters’. They have some sort of heightened mutation speed, like adjusting to see in the dark, or learning an opponent’s fighting style in a prolonged fight. I’ve even seen one walk out of a blazing fire unharmed, so I think they have some sort of ability to quickly adapt to impending threats. Like their evolution is on steroids.”
He laughs, like Dream isn’t completely horrified to hear that the zombies are evolving at such an alarming rate. Adapting to their surroundings like that? Gaining night vision, becoming fireproof and learning on the spot. It’s completely terrifying.
“I’ll have to mark that one down. The drowned definitely pose a threat.”
“So the adapters come from the husks?”
“Actually, I think they’re an adjacent variant of them. I believe they came from the first zombies, and instead of turning into husks, they just learned to adapt instead of their makeup being permanently altered. You know what I mean?”
“Sure,” he replies grimly.
“Those ones are harder to study. They’re rarer than the other mutants. And because they adapt so quick, sometimes they learn it’s safer for them to avoid humans altogether.”
“Then what do they feed on?”
“Animals, I think.” Tubbo shrugs. “Or maybe they prey on the weak or unguarded. They’re the ones that usually coordinate and work with other zombies, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they worked with a climber or raker to avoid the brunt of an attack.”
“How do you know all this stuff?” Dream asks, looking up. “I mean, I don’t doubt you have skill, but you just don’t seem the type to be out in the field.”
“No, no,” Tubbo chuckles, waving his hands. “Techno is our field expert. He collects data when he’s out and about and brings it back to me. It’s like being brought the puzzles to a giant, intricate piece I get to solve!”
“Lucky you,” he deadpans, deciding not to mention the boy’s mix-up. How he can spew out a paragraph of big words in one breath and then mix up simple phrases is a mystery to him.
“I know, right? It’s so interesting,” Tubbo replies, and Dream just sighs, accepting he kid’s disconcerting curiosity. “And honestly, learning about them like this eradicates the fear of the unknown. You know? It’s worse not knowing, I think.”
“That I can completely agree with,” he frowns. “It’s what nearly drove us crazy. Not knowing what took Sapnap, what the thing was that impersonated him, what the rakers wanted in sabotaging our traps…” he works his jaw. “It was a dark time.”
“That’s exactly why we go to such lengths to learn about the virus.” Then Tubbo frowns, tilting his head. “Wait hold on, did you say something impersonated Sapnap?”
“Yeah, a stalker, or stalking mimic, whatever you called it,” Dream replies. “It’s what basically started everything.”
“And something took him?”
He nods, trying not to let the memories bog him down even more. “Yeah, he went missing and then came back— or, we thought he did. It was actually a stalker in his place even though we didn’t know that at the time.”
“And… Sapnap’s alive…” Tubbo is looking at him wide-eyed. “Incredible.”
“What?” Dream frowns, sitting up. “What is?”
“Just, considering what we know about the stalking mimics… Sapnap shouldn’t technically be alive right now.”
He feels his chest fold in on itself, stomach dropping. “What?” he squeezes out. “What are you talking about?”
“Stalking mimics… well, stalk their prey, obviously. Learning their movement and the sound of their voice, sometimes lurking around long enough to pick up memories or things that will help them deceive the rest of its prey. They don’t really go after lone prey, which is why they aim to infiltrate and gain the trust of a larger group.”
“Now that I know what they are,” Dream mumbles, “It’s so clear they’re thinking like a person. Why that intelligence of how to deceive and what we’re weak to is so scary. It’s because it knows what to prey on in a person.”
Tubbo nods. “Exactly.”
“So why should Sapnap be dead?”
“As far as we know, the stalking mimics replace someone and takes them to their nest.”
“Nest,” he echoes, pictures of that haunting room flashing in his head. The disgusting web-like stuff in the ceilings, Sapnap trapped in it. How none of it made sense.
“Or, their lair, more accurately. They’re lone hunters.”
“I figured.”
“Once their victim is there, they use this substance we call mimic fibre. It incapacitates their victim further and essentially saps the life out of them. By cocooning them in it, they can harvest DNA that upgrades their mimicking abilities.”
“Where…” Dream starts, voice hoarse. He clears it, willing himself not to be ill. “Where does the mimic fibre come from?”
“The creature’s mouth. It kinda spews out in a… hmm, a tentacle, sort of?”
Dream shudders, hating the mental images he’s gathering. So that web stuff does come from the stalker. He’s sure George would be more than satisfied to know that.
“Actually, by refining the mimic fibre, we’ve been able to make some incredibly durable rope and nets and stuff!”
“Cool,” he says, though he sort of thinks it’s anything but. Maybe that’s just the bad memories talking, though.
“Anyway, yeah. Traps it’s victims, replaces them, lures in a bigger group to feast on,” the boy lists, tapping his fingers as he counts. Then he splays them, eyes shining like he isn’t talking about a terrible creature from hell. “Like that, they’re able to sustain themselves for weeks with one catch! Brillant, isn’t it?”
“One thing, though,” Dream frowns. “That doesn’t explain why Sapnap should be dead.”
“Oh yeah! That’s what I was missing. The mimic feeds its prey this neurotoxin that makes it so they can’t fight back.”
“Feed?” he chokes out. “Feed how?” he doesn’t know why he asks, he’s not sure he wants to know.
“Mm, orally, I think. Never seen it happen up close. This is intel the Blade’s gathered for me.”
That might explain the shit Sapnap kept coughing up, why he seemed so out of it for days when they did get him back. “So that stuff was meant to kill him?”
“Yeah,” Tubbo replies, looking thoughtful again. “Though again, some of this stuff is hard to study. All the victims we knew of died in a stalking mimic lair before we could collect any data.”
It’s a bit morbid, how he’s talking. But there’s a strange sense of security that comes with knowing all this now. There really is something about the fear of the unknown. Even though he’s learning what really happened to Sapnap, he feels less scared knowing than he did when they had no idea what was going on with him.
“Then what happened? Why didn’t he die to the toxin?”
“Could be multiple things,” Tubbo shrugs, turning back to the desk to continue working. “Circumstances, maybe even a natural immunity.”
“Like Technoblade?”
Tubbo turns, tilting his head. “Ah, Sapnap told you, did he? Pretty insane stuff, huh?”
He nods, a little mystified. “You think Sapnap was immune to it?”
“Or more resistant to it. How did you guys save him?”
“Once we dealt with the stalker, we went out to look for him. Quite literally followed his blood trail to that lair place.”
“How long after was it? You could’ve got him out before the toxin worked its way through his body.”
“Uh, like a day? Not even. He went missing in the evening sometime and we found him the next day.”
Tubbo nods, tapping his chin. “Interesting. Did you give him anything upon finding him?”
“George made him drink water and gave him medicine.”
“Do you know what kind?”
He tries to recall, but he doesn’t think George specified what he forced down an unconscious man’s throat. He wants to smile at the ridiculousness of the memory, but it fades quick at the recollection of George freezing up, looking so terrified like he was losing Sapnap all over again. In that, they were the same.
“I don’t remember.”
“Hm, I’ll have to ask George when he wakes up. I need to add it to my notes, maybe that specific medication curbed the effects of the toxin.”
“Whatever it was, he wasn’t completely fine after the fact,” Dream comments. “He was super out of it for a few days.”
“Yeah,” the boy replies. “I suspect that was the start of his string of head injuries.”
“It was,” Dream frowns. “How did you know?”
“Stalking mimics aim for the head. Human’s weak point.”
“Right,” he mumbles.
“It was likely a combination of the two,” Tubbo muses, hands working under the light of his rustic lamp. A moth flutters by the bulb, casting a shadow over the wall. Dream watches it with distant eyes. “He sure is a fighter. Sounds like he’s been through it, he’s got a lot of natural resistance.”
“Tell me about it,” he murmurs. “I can hardly believe it myself.”
There’s a small pause, then Tubbo hums. “I couldn’t help but notice the numbers on his arm, too. Same with George.”
Dream tenses, eyes flitting up to the young boy. He doesn’t want to have to explain those camps to Tubbo. He doesn’t know how much he knows, and Dream hardly knows the extent of them. Only what the other two told him.
“Fucked up places, those Camps.” Tubbo’s voice is lowered. “Only saw them from afar. Heard things, though.”
He nods, throat tight. He remembers nearly being sick at seeing the scars covering Sapnap’s back and torso. The ones that criss-cross over George’s hands. “Yeah.”
“Well!” Tubbo says, voice back to his usual brightness. “Then it’s even better you boys wound up here! I think this is the safest place to settle and recuperate! Technoblade’s made sure of it. He’s a legend.”
“So I’ve heard,” he says, then shifts in his seat. “Hey Tubbo, why does he wear that skull mask?”
Tubbo pauses, but before he can reply, a shadow falls across the floor in front of Dream, and he turns to see Tommy all but skidding to a stop at the doorway. His chest is heaving, hands braced on the doorframe like trying to block something from escaping. His eyes are narrowed in accusation, scraping through the room. “Where is she?”
“Uh… who?” Dream asks.
“Clementine!”
Dream’s brows furrow, but at the desk, Tubbo makes a noise. “She’s keeping me company while I work.”
Tommy storms into the room. “You kidnapped her, you bastard!”
“I did no such thing!” the boy shoots back. “Ranboo, tell him!”
Dream completely forgot about the other kid in the room and nearly jumps when the tall boy materializes from the shadows. He seems to avoid looking in Dream’s direction, keeping his gaze by Tommy’s shoulder. He lifts his hand, pointing. “Left her… with us.”
The blond scoffs, even if Dream’s brows shoot up at the sound of the mysterious boy’s voice. He didn’t even think he could talk. Especially with his whole thing about covering the bottom half of his face. He wasn’t sure what was hiding underneath. Obviously a mouth, now that he has proof.
“I did not leave her with anybody!” Tommy argues, holding out a hand. “You stole her.”
“She’s rather hard to steal, Tom,” Tubbo snorts. “Look, she’s just enjoying the light.”
Dream leans to see who the hell they’re talking about, only to see that moth from before. It’s fluttering about in the light of the lamp, and Dream’s flat gaze slides to Tommy. They cannot possibly be talking about a bug.
Tommy approaches, shoving Tubbo’s stool over with his foot. Tubbo rolls away with a chuckle.
And Dream watches as Tommy reaches out, finger stuck out toward the moth. And then the moth floats over to land on his finger. Dream blanches.
“There, there, Clementine,” the blond boy murmurs, turning to leave the room. “Papa Tom’s got you now.”
It’s silent as the boy exits, talking to the bug and Dream half wonders if he’s dreaming.
It doesn’t help when he turns back to the other two for an explanation, only to see Ranboo gone again and Tubbo scooting himself back toward his desk. “You know, if he just kept better care of his pets, he wouldn’t keep losing them. He’d lose Henry if she wasn’t literally fenced in down here.”
Dream can’t fathom entertaining that conversation, so he doesn’t reply. Tubbo doesn’t seem to expect one anyway, resuming his work with a sigh. “Where were we?”
He tries thinking back, scratching the side of his head. “Uh… oh, I asked why Techno wears that mask.”
“Oh right! Yeah, I don’t know.”
“You… don’t?”
“Nope. Man’s never takes it off.”
“Not even to sleep?”
“He probably does, but we don’t go into his room at night.”
Dream frowns. It can’t only be for aesthetic purposes, right? “Huh.”
“I have my speculations though.”
“And those are…?”
“I heard about fights breaking out on Techno’s runs in the early days. People attacking him for no reason. I think there are some pretty gnarly looking scars under that mask. As a result from his infection.”
“I thought he was immune?”
“He is, that’s why he isn’t dead or wandering the city as a zombie. Doesn’t mean it didn’t affect him.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Anyway, just an educated guess.” Considering most of Tubbo’s “educated guesses” are Harvard-worthy, Dream thinks his speculation is likely pretty accurate. Tubbo is one smart kid, Dream knows better than to doubt him now. “But who knows. Maybe he’s really committed to the bit.”
He snorts a laugh, leaning to rest his elbows on his knees. He twines his fingers. “Maybe.”
A long moment passes, and Dream thinks through all he and Tubbo discussed. The chain of evolution, the way everything is purely science, a matter of survival, natural selection. “Hey Tubbo, can you briefly explain the shadow bats and stuff? How they all connect to this?”
Tubbo hums, seeming to think on it for a long time. Then, he turns to look at him. “If we go into that stuff, I’m afraid we’ll be here a lot longer than you want. Any hyper-mutation of the virus is dipping into a larger, more complex web of mutations that come directly from the source.”
“You mean the labs,” he murmurs.
Tubbo looks at him, expression unreadable, until he just nods. “Yeah. It’s a lot, so I’ll just say this: you don’t know the half of the horrors that come from that place, Dream. And you don’t want to.”
He suddenly feels scrutinized, like Tubbo is talking to him, not just at him like before. Like he knows something. At this point, Dream wouldn’t even be surprised. Still, he steels his expression, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you think we should do something about it? Instead of letting it run rampant, let that place fester and produce even more terrible things?”
Tubbo makes a face that catches Dream off guard. One that’s uncharacteristically dark, sharp, like daring him to argue. “No. It’ll naturally die off eventually. That place is hell, Dream. There’s nothing we could even do if we wanted to. Trust me.” His gaze grows distant, before he turns, shoulders bunched as he slowly resumes working. “That place is better left alone. All it does is cause hurt.”
Everything in him wants to press. He wants to demand answers, why Tubbo feels like he has any right to tell Dream what he can and cannot do. But he remembers the similar reactions of Tommy, Phil, Techno, anytime the topic or anything related is brought up. He’s starting to think the graves outside have something to do with the labs.
“I thought you said it was better to eradicate the fear of the unknown,” he says instead, crossing his arms. “Why can’t you tell me about the hyper-mutations?”
“Some day, Dream,” Tubbo says, tone hard. “One day that is not today. The research is still fresh.”
“At least tell me about the foresee-mites, what happened to George.”
“I already told you guys all that I know about them.”
He can tell this is all he’s getting from Tubbo. He hit a sore spot, and the curious kid from before has been replaced with a traumatized, grieving shell of himself. He’s closed off, shoulders tense. Dream knows better than to dig his elbow into a wound like that.
“Sorry,” he says quietly, standing. “I didn’t mean to… pry into stuff I shouldn’t. Thanks for answering my questions. It… it is fascinating. Learning about this stuff.”
Tubbo seems to deflate a little. He spins in his chair, looking at him through his hair with something close to a pout. “Sorry for being mean, big man. Didn’t mean it.”
“It’s okay,” he smiles. If they’re staying here for a while, he shouldn’t go and make enemies of their survival buddies. “I overstepped.”
Tubbo looks at him, then sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… think I have a theory about your cat.”
He blinks. “You have a theory about Patches? Like where she is?”
“No, that I don’t think I can’t help you with. But I think I know… what turned her into the beast Tommy told me about.”
“Really?”
Tubbo nods. “I think she was bit by one of those adapters. You know how I said they go after animals? I think she managed to survive and get away. And instead of getting infected…”
“She adapted,” Dream finishes, something like awe curling in his chest. “Like the zombies.”
Tubbo nods, seeming to cheer up. It lets Dream relax. “I’m not sure if that would happen to anything it bit— I don’t think the virus would allow itself to create creatures capable of destroying itself like that. But sometimes nature works in mysterious ways. Animals are known to be creatures of evolution too, especially domesticated pets. I think in her fight for survival, instincts took over and she reverted back to her primal state. Maybe that triggered the mutation.”
Dream makes a curious sound, lips twitching. “She’s always been a fighter. Even before she was mutated, she was so smart.”
The boy nods, holding the edge of his stool as he spins himself side to side. “Sounds about right. I think all of you guys are pretty badass. The more I learn, the more I wonder how you all survived so long.”
Dream can’t even believe it himself sometimes. And in reality, it hasn’t even been that long. Well, not since becoming the five of them. He swears he’s lived ten lifetimes over the past two weeks. He really wishes he had his journal; he needs to update his day count. Chuckling, he pushes a hand through his hair. “With the power of friendship and a shit ton of luck, I guess.”
Tubbo laughs, spinning fully around and back to face his desk. He picks up whatever he was working on, feet swinging. “The power of friendship,” he snorts, laughing to himself again. “These guys are crazy, Boo-man.”
A noise in the darkness, like an agreement, and Dream takes that as his cue to leave. He smiles to himself, ducking out and leaving the sound of Tubbo tinkering behind.