Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Everyone knew the name Dream.

How couldn't they? At least one in every four people in this god-forsaken, crime-riddled megaplex of a town had their lives directly saved by the beloved hero. He was the darling of the press, showered with praise constantly and having any and everyone fall at his feet with pure adoration.

Everyone either wanted him, or wanted to be him.

Except for Dream himself, that is.

Trudging back into his Commission-assigned apartment, Dream pulls off his mask. It covered up the full top half of his face, and after a few comments from the press the Commission embellished it like a masquerade mask. He didn't care how it looked. It covered up his identity, kind of, and that was enough. That had to be enough.

In this world of superheroes and supervillains, a powerless hero's identity was worth more than pure gold. Maybe that's why the press liked him so much, a beloved underdog. Powerless, but reflexive and forward thinking, and physically capable enough to be a top hero.

He just wanted a damn nap.

A look at the clock tells Dream has had about an hour and a half of blessed silence to spend alone before George and Sapnap would get home from their rounds. But he just couldn't bring himself to stay cooped up in his apartment. So, he changed up his clothes to darker ones, better for stealth rather than press, grabbed a different mask to cover up the bottom half of his face rather than the top, and hopped out the window to go on a walk. Well, as much as jumping from roof to roof could be called a "walk."

In truth, he liked the feel of the streets at night. Traveling under the moonlight, a cool breeze slipping under his drawn-up hood, maybe stopping a petty crime here and there. It all felt so much more real than his usual patrols and— well, publicity stunts, honestly. Always having to smile for the cameras.

He really wishes he could have had the full-face mask he had wanted in the first place, but they always say that his smile must be seen to feel real, to feel human. Relatable and approachable, as if he doesn’t spend half of his time parading around like a doll rather than fighting crime, you know, like a superhero should.

“Only villains fully cover their faces after all…” What a bunch of bullshit.

He swings himself up to the top of a metal tower atop the roof of the building he's ventured to, staring across the city line. It really is so beautiful at night.

There's a crackling from the small earpiece he swiped from headquarters, a convenient little thing which lets him listen into the hero and police channels even while off-duty. They weren't really using it, and it makes his... extracurricular activities a whole lot more convenient. But the matter at hand— sounds like some sort of a break-in at the jewelry store on 18th street. Police are still a while out, and they don't seem powered, so no hero involvement. Aside from being in a bit of a public location, Dream couldn't have asked for a more perfect tip.

It's easy enough to hop rooftops and dart through the darkened alleys of the city, and he finds himself looking at the scene almost too quickly. Looks to be your generic band of merry thieves, trashing the place with just a little too much vigor. A newer group, probably, looking for a big break.

"Too bad tonight wasn't their night," Dream quips to himself, grinning under his mask as he takes stock of the situation and hops down to street level, just in front of the busted glass doors. He keeps a hand in his pocket and rolls the handle of a knife against his palm, then leans casually against the wall until one of the thugs notices him on the side.

"HEY! Wha—?!" The criminal exclaims, but that's all they have time for before Dream springs forward and knocks them to the ground. The rest of the group yells and gets ready, but Dream is very aware of them and is already whirling around to catch the next punch someone tries to throw at him.

Ordinarily, this is about the time that he would be making some sort of humorous comment, something like "Evening, boys, sorry to break up the fun!" But it's after hours, no cameras are on him, and he doesn't even have that stupid opera mask to deal with. So Dream relishes in the freedom and just does what he does best.

He is number one for a reason, after all.

He's taking them down one by one when he goes for a sweep under the legs of one of them, bouncing back up from his position to uppercut another.

There's a jolt of electricity off to the side and Dream zeroes in on that, tossing one of the thugs onto the one that decided it would try to raise a stun gun to him. They both are sent sprawling, and Dream follows up on his attack to step on the wrist of the one with the electrical weapon. He kicks it up with a boot and snatches the device out of the air, pocketing it. Could be useful.

"What— What are you?!" One of the three left shouts, scrambling to grab any sort of protection from the whirlwind force that Dream has proven himself to be. It's certainly not as though vigilantes aren't a well-known force in this city, but Dream in particular has stayed rather under-the-radar in the few months that he's been going on his nightly excursions. Although the likelihood he gets out of this situation with no press is... slimmer odds than he would like. Oh well. He's taken measures to assure no one will make the connection between Nameless Vigilante #57 and Hero Dream.

The amount of hell the Commission would put him through if they figured it out... Not worth it.

So Dream doesn't even open his mouth before punching one of the three directly in the throat, a very un-heroic move. Punches below the belt and on the throat were so very unseemly, according to the Commission, but they were certainly effective for this kind of work.

One more is given a harsh kick, and two punches later sees only one thug still awake.

This one looks younger, shaking hands wrapped around a piece of pipe that they clearly don't want to wield but are too scared to let go of after the bloodbath in front of them. They stumble back a couple steps when Dream's gaze lands on them.

"Leave, clean up your life," Dream says coldly.

The petty criminal squeaks and runs off into the back of the shop, presumably to escape through the back door. Dream sighs and looks around at the carnage he's wrought. He should probably tie them up and call for the police. But the police are already almost here, he hears from the chatter in his pilfered earpiece, and he can tell that the media is starting to arrive. His favorite.

So, he kicks the one still moving in the back of the head for good measure, and darts off. No need to get caught, especially not in such a state that the police may try to arrest him, and his lovely status as an unnamed and unimportant vigilante will be turned into a manhunt for a new villain.

He finds his way to a nice quiet rooftop and sits himself down on the edge, leaning his head back and enjoying the cool breeze.

It's just a trick, of course. An indulgence of his late-night whimsy. The nighttime bustle might be honest, but as soon as the sun rises he'll have to go right back to smiling for the cameras, to fame and glory, to rules and subtle threats.

The life of the most popular hero of their age. He's living the dream! (Hah, get it?)

It's exhausting.

He gives a deep sigh and checks his watch. Maybe half an hour left before he needs to go home. He doesn't want to.

Time is not kind today. The seconds tick by faster than they possibly should.  Eventually he sighs, stands up, and goes back towards home.

He stashes the mask in his pocket and pushes back his hood—the only real notable features of the "disguise" for his secret excursions—before opening up the door to his grand, spacious, boring condo. Paid for in full by the government as thanks for his "great deeds." Hah. It's just easier to keep an eye on him if they have him stuck somewhere of their choosing.

Dream huffs, shaking his head and pushing the thoughts away. No reason to be negative about it. He closes the door behind him and toes off his shoes in the entryway, sneaking on socks to the living room where George is slurping milk from a cereal bowl.

"Hey," George greets, unbothered by the late hour.

"Hey," Dream responds, grabbing the spoon and taking a bite from George's cereal.

"Fuck off!" George complains, yanking the bowl away. "Get your own!"

"Nah!" Dream chuckles, wrapping his arms around George's shoulders and putting his chin on dark hair.

"You're the worst," George pouts. "I can see the headlines now. Dream canceled for petty thievery."

"If it was Sapnap's cereal, perhaps, but since it's yours I think the press would just assume this is proof we're dating," Dream replies.

"God, they would eat it up," George chuckles, turning his face to look up at Dream. "Have a nice evening?"

"I did," Dream nods, smiling softly. "The weather is lovely out there."

"Glad to hear it," George replies, smiling back. "The blankets are just as lovely as always."

"Ah, yes, one of the many uses for ridiculous amounts of money. Ridiculous amounts of blankets."

"What can I say? It's a pretty sweet gig," George teases right back.

Dream chuckles, rolling his eyes. "The only way you contribute to the economy."

George chuckles, patting Dream on the head. "Alright, alright. Big fancy heroes need their beauty sleep."

"Yeah, cause you glitch so much," Dream quips.

"And who do you think I'm getting out of tight situations all the time?" George jokes back. "Go on. Night night, sleep tight."

"Fine, fine," Dream folds, waving as he heads off to bed.

Morning comes far too quickly for his liking. But the room-controlled alarms and automated lights leave no mercy for his exhausted mind, and he heads back out to the common room. Sapnap is already there, morning person that he is, hopping around and doing stretches with altogether too much energy. Dream avoids that disaster and makes a beeline straight for the automated coffee maker. Ah, sweet, sweet caffeine. His one true love.

"You out that late?" Sapnap laughs, and oh, maybe that wasn't as internal a thought as Dream thought it was.

"Coffee first, Sapnap second," Dream groans.

Sapnap grins and messes up Dream's hair as he passes, before dropping to the ground in the middle of the living room and doing push-ups. Freak.

Just as Dream begins to properly wake up, finally savoring the rich taste of his personal favorite brew, George slinks in from the bedrooms. He practically falls into a chair and pillows his head in his arms, already going back to sleep.

Dream just clicks a few buttons to get George's tea brewing, knowing the smell will get him to either wake up, or far more likely, pout at Dream to go get the cup for him.

"Are you gonna make me some?" Sapnap jokes, already knowing the answer.

"Maybe after you shower, sweaty."

Sapnap laughs and tosses his shirt at Dream as he walks off to the showers. Dream makes a face as he pulls the stinky fabric off of his nose. Why does he live with these dumbasses again?

George groans, predictably roused by the smell of brewing tea, and turns eyes full of pouty expressions and dark bags up to blink at Dream. Right, that's why. Because they're his best fucking friends of going on 10 years, and the only things making this hellish job worth it.

Dream can't help the soft smile blooming on his face as he hands the warm mug to George, whose hands are always so cold. The doctors said it's just his blood circulation, nothing bad or abnormal, but George always claims it's because of his powers, and because he 'teleports the heat away, so I can put my cold hand on the back of your neck and scare you, duh.'

George hums and leans his head onto Dream's shoulder when he takes the seat next to George, sighing and pulling the cup of tea just a little closer. "Head's crunchy today," he mutters, likely referencing the static-like effect that descends on his synapses when his powers are nearing overexertion. Or, "glitching", as it's more colloquially called— a breaking point which their job pushes George to all too often.

"I'll tell the Commission we're taking tomorrow off, then," Dream responds. A good day's sleep should hopefully help George, especially if he can convince the man to take the nap while it's in the early stages rather than far enough where his powers start to react.

George shrugs slightly and takes a sip of his hot tea, sighing happily as it warms his chest. "'m fine," he tries to claim.

"Georgie," Dream whines, pulling out the nickname.

"Ju-reeeam," George drawls back, still leaning against Dream's shoulder.

"You gotta rest."

"We'll see if the Commission agrees with you," George mumbles.

"If they do, will you rest?" Dream checks.

"Fine, fine."

"Promise?"

"Promise," George replies, sitting up and rolling his eyes. "You're such a big baby sometimes, Dream."

"Hey, you are the one who decided to stay up after saying you'd sleep when I got you the day off," Dream argues. "I gotta make sure you'll actually use the time well so you don't end up in the hospital."

"That was one time," George complains, rubbing his eyes.

"One lie, but we both know if I don't put my foot down you'll end up glitching all the way," Dream huffs.

George sighs and waves his hand. "Isn't there a meeting in... some minutes?"

Dream looks up at the clock and, sure enough, they're definitely going to be late if they don't start getting suited up soon. Soon as in, right now.

"I hate everything," Dream groans, but he stands up to go get dressed.

George laughs softly at his misfortune, before realizing the means he has to get ready as well, and groaning similarly.

By the time their escort arrives—yes, escort, because despite being heroes for 10 whole years, they still aren't trusted to find their way to meetings on time—the three are actually successfully suited up. Well, George looks a bit worse for wear, but that's what a makeup crew is for. And Sapnap's hair is still a mess, like always. But they only get a short tsk from their manager, so Dream's gonna count that as a win.

The meeting room itself is more like a miniature auditorium, and the three of them take the familiar path to slip into their seats at the front. Standing up next to the hi-tech screen at the front, not far from them at all, is S. Major: not a hero in his own right, but part of the Commission's "Ring of Gold" and the mastermind behind coordinating the heroes at large and big-scale strategies. Mostly, he just runs these meetings every morning. He looks over at Dream as they file into their seats, offering a silent smile and a nod to them. He's not the worst one of the batch, certainly.

At least Major can be reasoned with, and sees him and the other heroes as people rather than just soldiers. Some of the other Ring of Gold certainly just see machines to be run to the ground.

"Hello, everyone, good morning!" Major calls, getting everyone's attention once most of them have wandered in. "Thank you for your timeliness— though I can tell we're not all quite awake," he jokes, winking. Glittering crystals about the size of a finger circle his head and he waves a hand to bring some of them to float in a cluster in front of him. His power is a sort of information sorting, if Dream recalls correctly.

Major goes on a full list of reminders and assignments for other groups, using the screen behind him to show details as necessary. Dream zones out a little bit, but gets snapped back as the image of a familiar masked face, sharp grin, and long pink hair appears on the screen, along with a few statistics and photos of the city.

The Blood God.

"As I'm sure you know, today marks the two-year mark of the Blood God being classified as an S-Tier villain," Major explains. "We have a report that he plans to take action against Sector 4. Dream Team, that's your duty. All other A-Tier teams are to keep ready to drop whatever you're doing and report to the scene as backup. B-Tiers, keep an ear on your comms— headquarters will be sending orders out as necessary to provide civilian relief. C-Tier and lower, you'll be moved to cover B's assignments as needed."

Dream raises his hand lazily, but doesn't wait to be called on before he speaks. "And what of our weapon allowance for this kind of fight?"

"Your goal is to bring him in alive, but weakened. Avoid lethal force, it would look bad to the public. He usually works alone, so you probably won't have to worry about any distractions, unless some minor villains decide to take advantage of the chaos," Major replies.

Dream huffs, crossing his arms, but knows better than to continue to argue.

The rest of the meeting progresses, primarily consisting of Major giving out more specific orders for the smaller fleets who aren't quite trusted enough yet to be allowed to figure out the details on their own. That era always sucks as a hero, especially since most of the heroes in that class are still young and starry-eyed, still thinking they'll make it big one day and save thousands of people. They either learn it's not quite what the Commission propaganda made the job out to be, or they don't come back one day. It's usually the latter.

The meeting comes to a conclusion eventually, and everyone files out. Dream, George, and Sapnap head for the priority elevator they usually take, but Dream feels a touch on his arm before he goes.

"Dream," Major greets.

"Yes?" Dream replies, suspicious right away. Private conversations never go well. It's almost like there's a correlation between the higher up in the Commission his conversation partner is and the worse that conversation ends up being.

"I couldn't say this up there, for obvious reasons," Scott begins, crystals blinking as he constantly receives information from every corner of the city. "But we've worked together this long. I like to think we're friendly, at least, so take a little... advice. You all are more valuable than whatever the press thinks. If we need to pay off some reporters, fine. So long as you do whatever you need to keep yourself alive."

"Oh," Dream blinks, not having expected that. "Thank you. I'll make sure George and Sapnap know."

Major smiles and pats Dream's shoulder as he moves past him, golden insignia on his sleeve glittering in the fluorescent lights. "Good luck out there. I expect to see you back in your usual seats tomorrow," he bids cheerily.

"Right," Dream acknowledges, taking a breath before walking to catch back up with his team.

"Need me to punch him?" Sapnap jokes, grinning at Dream as George yawns from where he's leaning against the wall.

"Actually, no. Not this time. He gave us permission to kill The Blood God if it comes down to it. Said we were worth more than the money to pay off a few reporters," Dream recaps.

Sapnap whistles at that. "Damn, what'd you do to get on his good side?"

"Not a clue," Dream shrugs. "Probably just the ten years we've all given to this place?"

"Hah, maybe," Sapnap agrees.

"Come on, the makeup crew will yell at me if they don't have enough time to fix whatever the fuck they're gonna complain about this time," George complains, smacking the elevator button and walking in.

"Oh, well, we don't wanna keep our pretty princess waiting," Dream coos jokingly.

George flips him the bird over his shoulder, and both Sapnap and Dream laugh as they step in and the elevator begins to move down the tower.

And so they make it to hair and makeup, where a few talented artists get them in enough of a state for a few pictures without being potentially dangerous once they start sweating bullets and throwing punches.

Half an hour later Sapnap's hair has been properly tied up, George's eye bags have been slathered in concealer, and Dream has a light dusting of shimmering highlighter on his cheeks. None of these are their choice, of course, but someone, somewhere swears that it makes them more marketable. Joy.

"Why am I shiny? Why do they always make me shiny," Dream complains as he walks towards the front entrance, through halls and halls of sterile high-tech walls. "Why isn't George the shiny one? All my makeup just sweats off anyway."

"It makes you pretty," George jokes. "Unlike usual, Mister Number One."

"Oh come on," Dream groans. "It doesn't even matter what I look like when the majority of my face is covered anyway."

"But how are all the ladies meant to swoon?" Sapnap laughs, tossing an arm around Dream's shoulders and poking him in the sternum. With the added impact absorption from their suits, Dream barely feels it, but the intent is there.

"Ew, ladies," Dream pouts. Out of everything, that may be his least favorite part of the job, especially when people try to grab at him or touch him without asking first. Or the multiple times someone's gotten down on one knee before, that was a nightmare.

Sapnap just cackles, and even George giggles from behind a hand. That is, until they all get cut off by a static and alerting chime over their hidden earpieces.

"Dream Team, alarms are going off in Sector 4. We believe this to be the start of the Blood God's attack, dispatch immediately."

"Guess that's my cue," George quips, dropping his dark goggles over his eyes with a smile that's only a bit strained as he holds his hands out to both Dream and Sapnap.

"Try to take it easy. Send people out of the danger zone rather than blocks away for today," Dream reminds, even though he puts his hand in George's.

"Dream and I will make sure the big guy's off your back," Sapnap grins, and George nods back as he gets both of their hands.

"Aye aye, captain," he jokes to Dream, before closing his eyes and focusing.

The three of them Error 404 out of existence in a flash of pixelated colors.