Chapter Text
You know, Daz thinks to himself, it really should be much harder than it has been to lie to an entire server so thoroughly.
Since he locked Innit away again, he's been busy. He's gotten his enchantment removed, reluctantly settled on a therapist, moved into a group home while he figured out where he wanted an actual home, and started working on a little side project.
Okay, well– it's more like making a job for himself. It has not escaped his notice that learning anything about this clusterfuck of a server is a goddamned nightmare.
The flow of information is abysmal. If he were wanting to capitalize on that, he'd be thrilled they were making it so easy for him.
Unfortunately for him, he's trying to set up what's basically an unauthorized militia, helmed by a secret council of similarly batshit insane idiots.
He really can't afford for the public at large to freak out over little details like arming and training a large group of people. Even if it's in defense of a pretty well-liked kid, some will be uneasy about even more power being put in the hands of the Was-Taken family.
It would be understandable, but he really does need the rest of the server to be mostly chill, or at least unwilling to interfere, with his new life’s work. He can’t afford to have others up in arms about how it’s leading up to some kind of hostile takeover.
Though, to be fair, the Was-Taken family seems fairly well liked. Maybe it helps that every single resident, in some capacity, owes their lives to DayDream.
Goddamned time travel. He had to hide in a claustrophobia-inducing blackstone room to have a little mini breakdown when he heard the particulars of how Lucid and DayDream were the same goddamned person whose timeline had split when Vio decided to do some spite-based reformation.
He’d never really wanted to drink before, and the idea of being out of control scares him shitless, but it had been tempting.
Whatever. He’s going to continue the proud tradition of Sanctuary forcibly making things better by helming the soon-to-be-realized Welcome Wagon. There needs to be a coherent, comprehensive group in charge of making sure people understand basic shit about the server. The chaos is unacceptable and likely to cause a magnificent cockup cascade that ends in everything blowing up.
From what Daz has been able to gather, there was nobody willing and/or able to do it up until now. Those with better knowledge of the server all had their own shit they did or were simply…unsuitable for the task in some way. Newer people who might have more reason to want to are skittish, trying to work their their trauma and carve out a semblance of peace.
Not to mention the scope of the task. It needs someone smart, organized, able to adapt, and willing to be both stubborn and gentle.
Upon making a proposal for it to the server managers, the collective group of Orpheus, Zinn, Aryll, Aver, Helio, and Vio– a Wilbur-as-Tubbo (he’s not a whole hell of a lot closer to understanding how the fuck that works, even AFTER learning more about DayDream’s batshit life story), a Tubbo, a Ranboo (a very odd-looking endfolk who seemed utterly ignorant of basic endfolk mannerisms), another Tommy, and two Purpleds– had seemed near tears and looked at him like a hero.
He can’t say he hated that kind of attention.
It's a little funny that nobody has realized what he's actually like. He’d figured at least one person, the persistent thorn in his side notwithstanding, would sniff him out. Nope! They just seem sad that he’s so different from every other Tommy on the server.
Nobody would suspect that happy, bubbly, slightly dumb Daz, he with a heart of gold, is arguably one of the biggest potential threats the server has ever seen. Just the idea sounds insane, let alone it being true.
But it is. He’s smart– smarter than anyone has ever given him credit for. Admittedly, he's currently hiding it on purpose. It’s more effective to work from the shadows for…basically everything he’d have any interest in doing.
That's the deception that nobody has caught on to; he’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. A friendly smile and faux kindness hide a mind wickedly sharp with teeth to match.
Lucky for everyone, he’s not going to be using his false persona to slit all of their throats and make it stick.
Sure, that's only because he decided to abandon his original plan, but nobody needs to know that bit.
His priorities have changed. He's decided to protect, not destroy.
…Well, maybe a little destruction. If anyone fucks around, Daz is more than happy to sink his claws into their mind and rip them in half. They'll never know it was him. They'll only know that they’re spiraling into a nightmarish abyss of pain and suffering within the confines of their own head.
He’s good at selecting the perfect knives to bury into a person’s weak spots. He’s even better at digging until their regrets spill out like blood. It’s fun, in a strange way, to see someone fall to pieces because of him.
To get to a place where he can do that, though, he needs allies.
Allies like…Aster.
God, he’s fucking insufferable. The asshole very obviously doesn’t buy his act, despite Daz knowing for a fact he’s been talked to about it by more than a few people. Aster’s continued and annoying determination to find proof of his secretly evil intentions is driving him insane.
If Aster isn’t convinced to cooperate, the entire plan is dead in the water. Not just the Lee protection group, but Daz’s goals as a whole.
The two of them share a goal and several key life events. It’s not a lot, but it's enough to be an opening. Daz can’t afford to work on his own for this. The scale of the task, the different masks he’d need to don, and the price of failure are simply too incompatible with being a lone wolf.
If he can get Aster on board, that will be the biggest hurdle cleared. But the guy is not going to take what he has to say well for several reasons.
First, though, he has to get to a spot he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt is secure. He can’t risk someone walking in on him during the little chat they’re going to have.
It’s a long, boring trek through the nether on a ‘bonding trip’ to ‘work out their differences’, supposedly for Daz to show him something really cool he’d found. Theo had been utterly delighted by the idea, as had Achilles. The two of them had lowkey bullied Aster into agreeing, which is very fucking funny.
He fills the journey with chatter, putting on a show for the perpetual audience that is San that he’s completely and utterly forgiven Aster for any slights against him. He’s the dumb, bubbly idiot that tries to be everyone’s friend, and he can tell Aster hates it.
By the time he rounds a corner and gives a delighted, “Here it is!” Aster looks pretty much done with him.
“...A bastion?” Given that Aster’s ability to properly emote has been permanently dulled, it’s said with an impressive amount of dismay. “You dragged me through the nether for half an hour to see a bastion? Why?!”
Daz beams at him and grabs onto his arm. “It’s really cool, trust me– you have to see it,” he promises as he drags the other Tommy into the blackstone structure.
The second he’s gotten far enough into the bastion that he’s sure San can’t see them, he spins around. He drops both his hold on Aster’s arm and his own false persona in an instant, the cold calculation he usually hides now clearly visible.
“We share a goal; Achilles should be protected at all costs. I want to bring together those that feel the same way. There are plenty– he’s unknowingly done most of the work already. It’s really just a matter of making it something official, something concrete.”
Aster stares at him for several moments, and Daz notes that he subtly shifts the sword in his hand to be better able to swing it.
He flicks his eyes back to Aster’s and adds, “My Dream extended his hand to become my mentor during Pogtopia. He wanted me to be his co-admin, his equal. Or, at least, that’s how it started. I learned everything he knew. But you and I…?”
Daz pauses, pulling up his hoodie sleeve to show the bloodstone and gold scrollwork cuff that he wears in memory of what he’s lost. “We had the same breaking point. I made sure Dream regretted forcing my hand.”
The other Tommy really looks at the cuff for the first time. Though his expressions are muted, they still convey his surprise when he realizes what Daz means. “Tubbo.” It’s not a question, but Daz answers anyway. “Yes.”
There’s a deep breath from Aster, and then he gives a quiet huff of laughter. “...I thought you seemed off.” No fucking shit; the guy couldn’t be more obvious about it if he tried. “I could tell.”
Aster’s eyes narrow. “And, what, you can just…read me?” That just makes him roll his eyes; you’d have to be blind not to realize that Aster has some kind of issue with him. “I can read everyone, more or less, because I’ve spent a lot of time studying their tells. It’s not my fault none of you bothered to learn that language.” Daz watches Aster actively attempt to smother any microexpressions he makes, like that would make any real difference.
“You’re going to need to spend a long time staring at your own face before that might actually work. But that’s not why I dragged you out here. I’m the only person here who understands exactly the sort of risk that Lucid poses. Nobody else has learned, firsthand, the tools that that kind of admin can wield if he decides to turn against you.”
He sees the moment Aster understands his implication. “Yours was the same kind of admin. Then you were a–” “A mod, and before you ask, it didn’t transfer. I could understand enough of what Day and Lucid were saying to piece together that things are largely the same. Except Dream didn’t speak to the world. That part is weird.”
He raps his knuckles against the blackstone next to him and adds, “He could see everything in the same way, though. And was also blocked by this stuff. I’d bet mine was blocked by obsidian, too.”
Aster watches him for several long moments and then asks warily, “...What is it you want me to do, exactly?”
The smile Daz gives is a little unsettling, judging from the way there’s a slight tensing of Aster’s hand around his sword. “I want to make a group to protect Achilles, no matter the cost. Not everyone is as…devoted, as you are. But I see a lot of people who are lost, who are adrift, who need a purpose. With enough people, it doesn’t matter if half of them are there for other reasons.”
He can see the way Aster is trying to figure out his motives, and why he’s explaining so much. It makes him scoff, even as his attention is drawn by a nearby piglin patrolling.
His chest aches at the knowledge that the ones he knew are probably dead, or as good as. Dream…won’t last. He’ll die, slowly caving in on himself until he gives up or slips up.
Grief surges, fierce and violent as a tempest. Why, after everything he’d done, everything he’s sacrificed, did it come to this? Why does he have to live with the burden of knowing he was loved enough that it killed the one person he swore to protect no matter what?
…Why isn’t he allowed to have anything good?
“Kindness,” he says after a long moment of watching the mob, “is rare. Selfless kindness is rarer. Everything you want to call your own must first be ripped from the cruel, jealous, greedy grasp of life. Is it so impossible that I’m being honest about wanting to protect that impossible, delicate kindness that Achilles has?”
The cost to himself doesn’t matter. He’s a lost cause– too broken by now. It had been such a gradual change that he never noticed, but now, seeing other versions of himself…
He’s different, and not in a good way. A powerful way, sure, but that power is not good. Nor is it nice, nor even well intentioned. If he felt the need to, he could and would crush this entire server under his heel, one carefully spoken lie at a time.
The mind is easier to break than most realize. Everyone has cracks, flaws, openings– and Daz can’t not see them. If he wanted to, he could split Aster open and spill the contents of his worst nightmares onto the blackstone brick floor.
…He hates the sight of the block. It’s too achingly familiar, tied to too many memories of happiness and a home that he had finally grabbed hold of.
Then it was ripped away at the last second by the person who he had trusted more than anyone else.
“...And you need me for this,” Aster asks, slowly. “Yes,” Daz answers easily, trying to shake off the lingering, bitter grasp of his memories. “Do you really need me to list why?”
He judges he muted expressions on the other Tommy’s face and sighs loudly. Apparently he does need to do that. “Fine, okay then. Let’s start with you realizing I’m off– even if I did everything else myself, you’d ferret out the truth eventually. Next up is the fact I can’t and won’t do it myself. It’s too…big. What I want is a system where a select few people can gently tweak the workings of the larger group from behind the scenes. Not just the two of us, obviously. More will be needed.”
Daz idly pops his fingers as he speaks and watches the way Aster is reacting to his words. No excessive tension that indicates a spike in anger, which is good. “Next up is the way you’re smart, strong, respected, and already have a presence. If you give even lukewarm acceptance of a group like this, it’s lent a lot of legitimacy. If you actively reject it, then Theo would eventually take your side, then his family, then the rest of the server. If you’re a part of something like this but not the leader, the question becomes ‘well, why not?’ So I want you to be–”
Aster laughs once, disbelievingly. “You really think I’d let you make me a…what, empty figurehead?” With a withering look, Daz tells him, “No, dipshit, I want you to be the public head and one of the private ones.” “Ah, and exactly what duties is it that you want me to have?” Despite the muted emotions in Aster’s voice, Daz can hear his barely concealed contempt as clear as day.
It makes him roll his eyes again. “The answer to your actual question is equal but separate areas of power, with the rest of the group acting as checks, balances, and nth amount of other perspectives. Your literal question is, yes, being the one who people think of when they think of the main group. Other than that…at first, it’s figuring out how to organize everyone. I have ideas, but…well. People can be messy, and desperate people who need a life raft even moreso. The goal is to protect Lee, so there will need to be some sort of guard rotation. Then there’s making sure they can actually handle themselves in a situation where Lee is at risk.”
The other Tommy frowns faintly, clearly not having expected that. “...So an actual leader.” “Yes, obviously.” “And…what, you’re second in command?”
Daz gives a single, loud bark of laughter, and gestures emphatically at his pastel hoodie. “Bitch, do I look like I’m worth a shit in a fight?”
He pauses, gives a soft hum, and starts again. “No, sorry– do the active choices I’m making in shaping every facet of my fake personality make it seem that that person can actually fight? If your answer is anything but no, then you’re an idiot, and we both know you’re far smarter than you get credit for. No, no…I don’t plan to be part of the perceived inner circle at all. I will be drawn in by the lure of a growing group of people with a cause I believe in, but I’m really just there to make friends. I listen, I learn, I convince people to spill their guts to me bit by bit.”
For a few long moments, the two of them stare at each other.
Finally, Aster asks him, “...What’s your plan if I say no?”
Daz glances at the curtain of lava visible through an opening in the blackstone. Somewhere deep inside, there’s a push for him to jump into it.
He ignores it and looks back. “There isn’t one. If I fuck this up, then frankly…I’m not staying. I’ll…ask them to send me somewhere else. Start a cult, walk into the ocean, fuck if I know. I was already planning to die.”
Aster visibly flinches at the blunt statement, and Daz laughs again, humorlessly. “I’ve never been able to actually ask until now, but…what did your enchantment feel like?” “Pressure, sort of. It got worse the harder I fought,” Aster tells him. Then he asks, “...Yours?”
“Ah.” Daz sighs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pale yellow hoodie. Just the walk here has smudged it with ash and soot, perfectly conveying how little his fake persona gets his hands dirty.
He opts not to mention to Aster that from that description, there's a non-zero chance his enchantment was briefly stabilized into something close to his loyalty enchantment. It seems like he would take that information badly. Instead, he says of the pre-stabilized version, “...It was like being slowly ripped apart. Atomized, bit by agonizing bit. It…wasn’t meant for that. It shouldn’t have been used at all.”
He forces his expression to deaden and his voice to lose all inflection, because he’s not going to say anything more about it. He doesn’t want to get into that part of it, not now, ideally not ever.
“And I’m not explaining why that is. You have your secrets, I have mine. If you decide to tell them to me someday, fantastic. Good for you. Mine are being locked away where I never have to confront them again.”
“You had a hand in making whatever happened to you, didn’t you?” Daz stares at him, still emotionless. This is exactly the sort of reason why he needs Aster on his side. “I just said I’m not discussing it. Keep your theories to yourself. We don’t have to be friends or even like each other. It’s a mutually beneficial partnership to keep a bundle of sunshine with strong opinions on bandaids from getting within a hundred chunks’ worth of any actual danger. I’m the only one who can defend against Lucid, because I doubt even he is aware of everything he can do.”
“What makes you so sure of that?”
Daz lets his emotions return with a soft huff of laughter. Prime, if only Aster knew the sort of things he’d seen and done.
He’s good at whatever he puts his mind to. If he decides to do something, he throws every bit of himself into mastering it. Fighting, code, manipulation– anything and everything that he chose to put serious effort into, he figures out how to do it as best as possible.
He had needed to, because first he had needed to make up for the deficit of having little to no guidance for…pretty much anything. After that, after he did have someone who actually gave a shit about teaching him, he needed to be able to stand proudly at Dream’s side. He had felt a burning drive to prove his worthiness to his once-mentor.
And more than a few of those skills had become useful in his efforts to show Dream exactly what kind of monster he had created.
He’s one who doesn’t have a heart, not any more. Not after his once-mentor had ripped it out of Daz’s chest and called it protection.
…As much as a part of himself hisses at him to plunge himself in the lava until he stops respawning, he can’t and won’t give in.
Not unless he’s miscalculated here. Not unless he’s thrown somewhere else entirely.
Not unless it would stick.
He smiles at Aster, a sharp thing that makes it clear that he’s nowhere near as weak as he’s pretended to be. “Let’s just say that I know admins. I know admin Dreams the best, and luckily for you– I’ve already proven there are enough similarities here that my experience is useful.”
Aster’s lip curls slightly. “You haven’t given any examples.” “Why should I? The way I see it, I’m already handing a solution to you on a silver platter. Who’s more dangerous– me, or the guy who can alter your soul?”
The other version of himself grips his sword and shifts his weight, but Daz darts forward to grab his arm. He hisses, “Don’t be stupid. If I respawn with my clothes fucked up after entering a San-proof box with you, you’ll get reamed out by at least half a dozen people. You realize it’d be really fucking easy to make you into an unstable, untrustworthy asshole, right? After going on a ‘bonding trip’ to show you a cool place I found, I get attacked. Nobody will believe your side of the story. That’ll compound your perceived crimes– until Theo, Day, and everyone else question if you can be trusted to be around Lee at all.”
He lets go and takes a step back. “If you’re going to reject me, at least give me a challenge.”
Aster’s blue-grey eyes are nearly mutinous. “You’re a sociopath.” “Nooo, really? I hadn’t fucking noticed,” Daz snaps back.
“You’ll slip up eventually.” “Hah! That’s funny. I spent months learning how to lie to the face of the person who knew me the best, picking apart his expressions and my own until I can just…”
Once again, Daz makes his face go blank. “It was a game. I’m good at games, and I’m better when I have a concrete incentive to play. You think you can beat me? In a game you don’t understand, against someone who’s already stacked the deck in his favor?”
With a scoff, Aster backs up half a step. “You’re underestimating me.” Again, he rolls his eyes and lets his emotions return. “Pot, kettle, black. If I was underestimating you, I wouldn’t have made this offer. Frankly, I don’t like you. The feeling is clearly mutual. But you’re a person that will make or break this. What do you think will happen if you reject me, and something goes wrong with Lucid? Do you know what it looks like when an admin loses his mind? Do you know how to circumvent an admin? Do you even know what admins can do?”
“Right, like yours told you–” Daz reaches out and grabs onto the front of Aster’s stupid sleeveless hoodie. “I was being genuinely, sincerely trained to stand by his side. I know more about admins than you could even dream of–” “It’s not like you’re one of them–”
Daz leans in, voice going quiet and intense, “That’s where you’re wrong. I’m the same as Day, the same as Lucid, the same as Dream. I have the same spark in my soul– the same capacity to create a server. I’ve used the same tools, felt the same instincts, and most important, know how they think.”
Aster has gone very, very still. “...Bullshit.” “Did you know that mobs love their admins? They love them so much that even the most hostile of mobs won’t attack their admin first. It’d be stupid if they did, anyway– the admin dies, the server dies, they die. It’d be suicidal. But some mobs…”
He steps towards a piglin, who snorts at him warily. Reaching into his inventory, he offers a golden carrot. In their own tongue, he tells them, <”A gift, as thanks for allowing us to be in your home.”>
The piglin startles, and then asks, <”You know our language?”> <”I learned from your kin. I was a young-god, bored and lonely. I found friends among your kin, and they were kind enough to teach me.”>
He makes a familiar gesture; hand outstretched, palm up, his other raised to rest over his heart. <”My sounder is lost to me, but I carry their lessons in my heart.”>
The piglin puts their crossbow away and makes the same gesture. <”I’m sorry to hear of your loss. We will mourn them, too.”>
Daz smiles. It’s been a while since he was able to speak like this; it feels nice. <”Thank you. Your kindness is accepted and welcomed.”> He pulls half a stack of glistening melon out, and says, <”While it’s small…I hope that you will use these to celebrate the health and happiness of your own sounder.”>
The piglin hesitates, but accepts the items. <”I’ve never seen these before.”> <”They come from the overworld. I wasn’t sure if I’d need to bribe anyone– my companion is…a bit slow.”>
They peer over at Aster. <”Has he learned our language, too?”> <”No. He, like most other players, was unaware of your rich, vibrant culture. I’m trying to make a deal with him, but he’s…stubborn.”>
They snort, nodding a few times. <”You did not seem to be getting along with him.”> <”He was saying things that angered me. He doesn’t see the value in the deal I offer, because he doesn’t know such a thing can exist.”>
Their next snort is less kind. <”Are you sure it’s wise to barter with someone like that?”> <”Unfortunately, his help is crucial. I just have to convince him that I’m speaking the truth.”>
A few moments of silence pass, and then Daz repeats his earlier gesture. <”Forgive me for my rudeness, but I need to return to my negotiations. He may grow impatient if I take too long.”>
Unexpectedly, the piglin reaches out to grasp his arm. <”Are you to become a god here?”>
It surprises him. It really shouldn’t, because the prospect of an admin who is so aware of their culture would be very appealing to them.
He shakes his head. <”No. They are unaware that I am able to be one. I want to keep it that way.”>
Despite their disappointment, the piglin bows their head. <”As you wish. I have only heard rumors of the one here, but nothing about him knowing us. It would have been a blessing, to have one as well-versed as you are.”>
They sigh, and lightly knock their head together. <”Well met, golden one. May your life be as rich as your hair.”>
A strange sense of loss creeps into his chest as the piglin walks away. He’s heard that farewell before– so many times that it almost makes him forget that this isn’t one of the mobs he grew so fond of.
He’s startled by Aster suddenly grabbing his shoulder. “What the fuck was that?” <”That was–”> He blinks, shakes his head, and restarts in English, “Some mobs are fully sapient. Piglins are smart, with rich cultures and their own language.”
“And you– what did you talk to that one about?” He shrugs a shoulder; he’s not going to get into the details of his trauma with this asshole. “This and that. It’s not important.”
He pokes at the other Tommy’s chest. “What is important is that I’ve shown you about a dozen of my cards. I can’t force you to believe that I have a spark, or that I’m being sincere. But you should have some sort of idea that I’m not completely bullshitting you. Even if I am leading you into some elaborate trap– which I’m not, if I was I wouldn’t be talking to you like this– the fact is that I’m the best defense you have. That Achilles has.”
After a long moment, Aster sighs. Reluctantly, he asks, “...How many people is it that you plan on, for this group of…shadowy leaders? Secret cabal?” “Five. Large enough that things can be fairly easily divided without getting too messy, small enough that I believe I can actually train people in how to lie well.”
Aster bristles. “I can lie just fine–” “Not to anyone who knows how to really look. There aren’t that many of them, but the resident sleep paralysis demon is one of them. You really think you can fool him?”
The glare he gets, paired with a lack of rebuttal, makes Daz smirk slightly. “Yeah, exactly. He’s good, but he’s…soft. Used to power. But he’s also pulled in a lot of different directions. By the time he really thinks to look too closely, he won’t be able to find a single crack in the facade.”
He steps forward, shoulders thrown back, chin raised, and spine straight. It’s the posture of someone who is confident but not cocky about their skill. It’s the posture of someone who has drawn a line in the sand and won’t be budged for love nor money.
It’s a posture cobbled together from people he had admired, once upon a time. Techno-Schlatt-Wilbur-Dream, a quartet of those who taught him a bounty of bitter, painful lessons.
Family won’t be there. The real person is so much worse than the pretty image they show others. Those you love will hurt you.
And if you can’t defend them, your hard-won victories will be ripped away.
It seems it’s a posture Aster knows all too well, because he grips his sword tighter. “...You really are his student, aren’t you?”
Daz laughs once, without any humor. “Not any more. I’m the one who taught him, by the end.”
His smile falls away, the rest of the emotions following suit. “He was desperate to appease my wrath. He thought he could withstand it, power through it. No. He learned that you do not fuck with me and get to live in peace. If I had known I had another way out…I would have taught that to a few others, too. It was on the agenda. A shame they never saw just how right they were by calling me a monster.”
He extends a hand and asks, softly, “How much of a monster are you willing to become? I’m an impossible thing, and we both know it. There will never be another person like me, for better and for worse. Is your mistrust worth risking his safety and happiness? Is it worth the chance that he could become anything like us?”
Aster stares at his face, then flicks his gaze down to the hand being offered.
Even before he shakes it, Daz knows he’s won.