Chapter Text
Relatively, Dream felt better. Or rather, physically Dream felt much better. There was no more throbbing headache, no more waves of pain that swept through his entire body every time he tried to move. There was no bile sitting in his mouth, waiting to jump out at any slight pain. Dream felt fine.
His body did what he wanted it to when he wanted it to, and right now, he wanted his body to lie motionless in his bed, blankets over head, mask over face.
The hermits knew.
They knew and they didn’t care and that was almost worse than knowing and caring. Of course, many of them were hybrids, so it was only logical that they didn’t care, didn’t treat him any differently for his ears and horns. But at the same time, Dream knew he was an abomination in a way the rest of them weren’t. The fact that he had hosted a monster in his body was the main abomination, but it was only made more monstrous by his hybrid form.
His mother hadn’t been fond of the hybrid features. Apparently it was a trait passed on from his absent father, who had hidden it in the same way that Dream did now. It hadn’t been a problem for George and Sapnap. They didn’t care about his ears, they cared about his personality. But those manhunt servers and modded stuff didn’t matter anymore. So much had changed. They would probably care now, just knowing Dream’s luck.
So, bed. Bed was easier.
Dream didn’t really want to eat, even though his body felt like it was caving inward with hunger. He drank water, only because Quackity had taught him deeply the feeling of dehydration, and Dream wasn’t fond.
Then a hermit came to grab him for some menial labor. Of course, now that he was fully healed from his fever they got him to work again. No rest for the weary.
It was worse now. They chided him for tucking his ears away. They told him that his hybrid features needed to breathe, that no one would care. Dream kept his hoodie and mask no matter what they said. He worked even harder, a pretense to ignore them. Most picked up on the hint. Some didn’t.
Dream passed out once or twice from working with no food. He was tired of being the damsel, but it was easier to be out cold than to deal with the hermits’ nonsense. The scolding went from his hybrid features to his lack of self care. Dream didn’t say anything but the words burned at his lips. How he wished he could say he would rather be dead than be here right now. It would only be right. It was his fault that people had died and suffered. Even some of the hermits had suffered at his hands. They shouldn’t care that he wasn’t eating.
Although he wanted to, he didn’t tell anyone that he hated his hybrid features. He thought it would be a bad move. So many of them had their own features and were loud and proud about them. Gem’s deer antlers came to mind. He didn’t want them to take his distaste the wrong way. It was difficult to explain to them that he didn’t have any problems with them, their hybrid features, or the way they flaunted and owned them with confidence - well earned confidence at that. He didn’t know how to explain that he was the only problem. That when he had the horns and the ears, it created a monster, something that needed to be put down. He had a feeling they wouldn’t appreciate that thought process, nor accept it.
He kept his head down, did the work, and dealt with the gnawing hunger by ignoring it.
Eventually, when enough hermits - probably only one or two - tattled on him, Cub swung by to tell him to knock it off with the not eating because he was making his malnutrition far worse and he was going to die and respawn in a lot of hunger pain.
Dream didn’t dare defy Cub. After all, he could do this. He could blend in with the hermits. He could try going along with them until he could find a good time to get away and release his burden from them all.
He ate the food. It hurt worse than being hungry did.
He did the work.
The hermits eventually cooled off the hybrid talk and gave him his peace. Dream did chores. Dream ate food. Dream didn’t talk to anyone. Dream did chores. Dream ate food and drank water. Dream didn’t talk to anyone unless they asked him a direct question.
Dream stuck to his pattern. He started to enjoy his outings for chores and helping hermits as he watched the server grow. It was odd to see a place so un-riddled by creeper holes and battle sites. There were no destructive pranks, no malicious tearing down of architecture, not even stealing from the unaccompanied shops in the shopping district.
Dream’s chores moved from things like mining and chopping wood to helping place blocks to create a tiled floor pattern. There was an oddly satisfying feeling to being a cog in the machine in this way. To know that it was his work that had contributed to this amazing build. To know which blocks he placed, which seeds he planted. Of course, nothing was better than the uninterrupted sleep he had when he was worn out and dead to the world.
It was almost a peaceful and calm routine beyond the venomous thoughts that were constantly whispering in the back of Dream’s mind, so reminiscent of the times the Dreamon was still there but let Dream take control for a few minutes to witness the horrors he had done.
Then, Dream noticed a new pattern.
Xisuma was showing up a lot more. Xisuma who had shown nothing but distaste for him, who had strictly set rules that Dream had yet to prod, wouldn’t dare touch, actually. Xisuma who had been stiff and distant.
The shift was weird. Xisuma set him on edge far more than the other hermits. Maybe it was a lingering mark of that creature, but the famous, voidwalker admin made his teeth itch and his arms set over with cold.
But Dream wasn’t causing any ripples. He was doing what the hermits wanted. So, he tolerated Xisuma’s presence. He allowed the admin into his home and allowed the man to bring him meals. He noticed that Xisuma often showed up when he was helping out a hermit. The man always watched Dream with a critical eye, although he pretended not to. It was like he was staring into Dream’s soul.
“It’s great that you’re staying so active. Just remember to take breaks,” The admin would say with what had to be fake cheeriness. Dream wondered if it was mainly for the hermit Dream was working with and not for himself.
“I know golden apples have far too much magic, and golden carrots aren't to your taste. We have plenty of beef farms, so I brought you some for when you’re out and about. I’m really glad that your malnourishment really seems to have resolved.”
It seemed fake. Dream didn’t know what to make of it, other than nod his head and say thank you and pretend that the older man’s presence didn't make his skin crawl.
X would wander past Dream’s hut and check on him whenever he passed by with Keralis, even when Keralis - who somehow managed to find the boundaries to not bother Dream most of the time - didn’t expect to say hello.
—
Dream didn’t think his hands were supposed to be coated in egg mess from trying to craft a cake, but the crafting magic wasn’t quite twisting around his fingers correctly. Maybe it was the lack of any delicate crafting he had done recently. Sure he had turned logs into planks into slabs, and other such block manipulation. But he hadn't made any tools or food.
The cake was a bit spontaneous in nature. The wheat was given to him by Beef as compensation for helping harvest and reseed the wheat field. Dream had enough to make many stacks of bread, but decided to store the wheat in bales in case of emergency. The eggs came from the handful of undomesticated chickens that roamed the fields around Keralis’s base.
Technically, Dream wasn’t sure he was supposed to wander by himself, but he was left with a lot of time to himself. He didn’t go far, just in case they didn’t like that, but far enough that he managed a handful of eggs.
The sugarcane was easy. It was pretty common on the shorelines of Keralis’s lagoon and grew quickly. No one would miss it. Now, the milk was far more interesting. Like the chickens, there were also a few cows wandering the hills. Dream knew this, but finding the cows wasn’t the hard part.
The hermits, even so much as they preached trusting and accepting Dream, had yet to let him keep any real weapons. Sure, to make work go faster chopping wood, they would toss an enchanted diamond axe to him like it was worth nothing, but they always asked for it at the end. Once or twice mining, he had been given efficiency and looting pickaxes to make the work speed along (also mining underneath a beacon, which was so expensive and rare and how in the world could they just shrug that off like it was all in a day’s grind???) but again, they were determined to get their tools back.
However, it was the people who took him mining that made the most difference. The hermits cared about ores or specific blocks, but didn’t care so much for plain stone. Dream snuck a few stacks of stone, along with the small amounts of wood (a much more tracked resource, but Dream managed to make off with a few logs here and there). He made himself some stone weapons, once again, just in case. But these hermits, despite keeping weapons from him, decided that it wasn’t too harmful to give him a few ingots of iron.
Dream couldn’t believe it.
He tried to make one bucket, but the crafting magic stuttered a bit - his own lack of daily magic use - and he ended up with three. It was a disappointing waste of iron, but buckets were incredibly useful, versatile, and could be dangerous depending on the situation. He was surprised that the hermits would let him have that option.
About a week later, he realized what he could do with three buckets, so he chose a time to go find a cow and well… here he was now, with his fingers sunk into the eggy mess, wondering where it had gone wrong.
He knew that some people had a touch for food. Most of the hermits hinted at cooking for fun instead of crafting the food. Some of the players on his server dying, dead, he wanted to hunt them down and turn them into rivers of blood so that no one dared mess with him again had a similar touch. Nihachu in particular. Niki’s break and baked goods had been phenomenal, for what few Dream had managed to get his hands on while actively trying to wage war on them. Her pastries had been so fluffy and airy and so sweet. Dream’s attempt at a cake was turning out both dense and gooey in a way that defied physics.
The crafting magic gave out with a flourish and - as predicted - Dream’s cake was a mess. He went to wash his hands before returning and serving himself a slice.
There was a knock at the door.
Instinctively, Dream scooped everything but the cake into his inventory. Xisuma entered and Dream spun around, chest heaving with barely restrained terror. Xisuma paused midway through some random greeting, eyes flicking between the very tense Dream - who was now forcing himself to relax, he needed to be calm and easy and good - and the sad-looking cake on the counter.
“I see you’ve been getting into some baking. It’s good that you’re exercising your crafting magic. I was getting a little worried there for a second.”
Dream didn’t know what to do with that statement. It couldn’t be true that Xisuma really cared enough about anything Dream was doing to worry about some lack of personal world magic use. Especially because Xisuma had made it clear that any use of magic would border on suspect. Admin magic was forbidden for Dream, but small magics were allowed now? Dream wasn’t in trouble? Was he supposed to be crafting more? What did Xisuma want from him?
Xisuma had continued rambling on about something trivial, seemingly blind to Dream’s inner conflict.
“Are you going to eat any? Cub mentioned that you were doing a bit better about keeping up with food.”
Well that was a veiled order if ever Dream heard one. Slowly, he went to grab himself a thin slice of his cake, feeling examined as X watched his measured movements. Dream nibbled on the corner of his cake, pushing crumbs through the crack of his mask that sat right over the side of his mouth.
It was sad and flat with bitter pockets all through it. The icing was too sticky and too sweet. The cake itself was too dry. Dream hated it, he hated his stupid creation and he hated his faulty magic that was cracked and tough to handle since he crashed on this void-forsaken server and forced to live among these void-forsaken people.
He smiled a little behind his mask as a performance for Xisuma. He could see the older admin’s shoulders lift a little and hoped it was pleasure that Dream was cooperating. Couldn’t he see that Dream was trying so hard?
“Well, it’s good to see that you’re keeping up with your health,” X cleared his throat, seeming to suddenly catch up with the awkwardness of the situation, “Well… Now that I’ve checked up on you, I suppose I’ll head out. Just let us know if you need anything. Good to see you, Dream.”
And then the admin was gone, as quickly as he had arrived. Dream dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, down onto the floor, body pressed into the cool, hard ground like it would absorb him and he would be nothing but floor for all to walk on and none to really notice. A small gasp of something that wasn’t quite a sob pressed against Dream’s lips, but he didn’t let it fall.
He pushed the cake away and hid it to rot (if it even could) in the back of a random chest.
Dream fell asleep that night dreaming of fluffy baked goods from Niki’s shop before everything went wrong and he ruined everyone’s lives. Including hers. Including his own. He would never have one of her cakes again. He deserved to eat the messed up, collapsed thing of his own creation.
—
Xisuma just wanted to check in on his newest (perhaps temporary) hermit. He made sure to be welcoming, dropping by here or there, usually with a friend to accompany him. He offered help, although Dream never took it. He offered advice, and he made sure Dream knew he didn’t have to overwork himself.
Then the ear tag came about and the whole trafficking situation. They weren’t sure where that fit into Dream’s history considering the Dreamon and all that, but knowing that Dream had been at least tormented because of his hybrid traits spiked a lot of concern and sympathy from X. A lot of his hermits had similar tales, and although he wouldn't push any of their stories out in the open to Dream, he would make himself available should Dream desire any support. X knew Dream was independent, so he didn’t expect his offers to actually come to fruition. X knew how stubborn his own players were. He tended to attract that type.
But he really wanted to demonstrate to Dream that he was in it for the long haul. He was going to be a good admin, going to be supportive and available and a listening ear should it be needed. Xisuma really wanted Dream to know. So he threw in a few unnecessary visits to Keralis’s base and made sure to wander by Dream’s hut. He kept stopping by jobs that Dream did, sharing lunch with the hermit and Dream and then stepping out. He even decided to visit Dream in his home once or twice just to check up on him.
Sure it was awkward. Dream wasn’t fond of conversation, and X could understand that. He didn’t push, he just held one-sided conversations for a minute and then took off again. Every time he told Dream that he was checking up on him, he was glad to see progress, he was thrilled that Dream was doing so well, or something of the sort. Consistency was key, especially with the flighty types.
—
Dream couldn’t understand what Xisuma’s obsession with him was. It wasn’t like the admin had particularly wanted him in the beginning. Now he wanted him around too much. First it was ‘don’t use your admin magic or you’re gone’ and now it was ‘oh I’m glad you’re stretching your magical abilities, just make sure not to hurt yourself’. Dream was sure that Xisuma was attempting to manipulate him or do something of the sort. But he really couldn’t figure out the admin's angle.
It was so bothersome. It was so consistent. It was like a threat hanging over his head. Xisuma swung by during random parts of the day, at least once a week, although sometimes more. Dream never knew when he would come, he never knew during what part of his day he would be interrupted. He was ready to start pulling out his hair at the stress of it all.
And the things the admin said to him… Dream wasn’t sure if he was in danger here. Xisuma sounded like he was making sure Dream wasn’t acting out, and then he supported something that he hadn’t liked before (example: world magic) or then he said he was glad Dream was making progress like there was a goal to meet before something bad would happen.
The unknown nature of it all was about to make Dream hurt somebody. He just wanted it to stop.
—
Xisuma wasn’t sure why Dream was so uncomfortable with him. It had been a solid amount of time that Dream had been with them on the server, and now a good few months since X had started treating him properly and giving him the attention that all his hermits deserved. But Dream still wasn’t acting any looser or getting more comfortable with anybody. It was concerning to say the least and X was quite nonplussed with the whole situation. He just hoped that continuing to follow his normal patterns would eventually yield positive results.
—
The hermits really liked to garden. They were freakishly obsessed with their plants; trees, flowers, and the like. Dream wondered what the fuss was about, so he had snagged some wildflowers from the area surrounding Keralis’s base and was now digging in front of his little hut, fiddling with replanting his flowers in a pleasing way.
It wasn’t soothing like some of the hermits told him it was, it was more frustrating than anything. Nothing he did looked right. It seemed all out of place and his flowers were becoming bedraggled. Not to mention that it was a hot day and his clothes were sticking to his skin and he felt like he was being cooked. It honest to goodness felt like the nether on the overworld and he wasn’t happy.
As he was pulling a stubborn rosebush from an awkward position Xisuma made himself known with a quiet hello. Dream startled, slicing open the pad of his thumb on a thorn.
“Ooh, I’m sorry friend. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
Dream turned to face the admin, wiping his thumb on his shirt.
“Gardening, I see?”
Dream shrugged, turning back to his wilting flowers and plucking a particularly frustrating dandelion from the dirt.
“It is tricky work I suppose, although you’re making a great effort. Everyone has been telling me how much help you’ve been and how good it is to work with you. Im pleased to see you fitting in here.”
Dream stiffened a little as Xisuma rambled on some more. So he was here to be a servant of some kind. There was no other reason the hermits would report him to their leader as being good for work. But Xisuma was still going on. Dream tried to tune him out and turn back to the rosebush that had cut him. It refused to pull from the ground.
“It looks like you might need a hand here,” Xisuma’s hand landed on his shoulder.
And finally, under the weight of all the stress that had been building up, Dream split. Like the overused handle of a worn down axe, swung one too many times or an old bow pulled too tight by a new bowstring, Dream fractured. His hand whipped around and slammed into the side of Xisuma's helmet.
The admin fell in surprise and Dream fell on top of him, slamming his fists into the admin’s mask over and over and over again until the skin split and the admin’s faceplate was bloody and small fractures had appeared in the glass.
But Dream’s stress, all the anger and irritation and above all else fear, had yet to be spent.
Without a second thought Dream pulled an axe from his inventory - a sharp, new iron axe - and with a motion, far too practiced, he buried it into Xisuma’s unprotected, unarmored chest, emotion fueling his tired, thin, underfueled muscles to propel the axe straight through Xisuma’s body and into the ground beneath it.
The admin made a punched sound and then disappeared into a puff of smoke. And Dream stepped back and watched the admin’s blood wisp slowly out of the grasp pulled away by the magic of the respawn and Dream knew that he was in trouble he knew that he was going to be hurt, enslaved, hunted down like the prey animal he was, so he tugged the bloodied axe from the grass (but the blood was vanishing off the axe too, all evidence of his crime erased but from his mind, Xisuma’s mind, and the world logs that documented that one Dream killed one Xisumavoid).
He tucked that axe into his inventory, the one that marked him a fugitive, and Dream ran.