Chapter Text
A masked man follows the lines of the cracked sidewalk, blonde hair falling in his eyes—papers in hand, examining the indents and cuts of the paragraphs. DreamXD walked into the upper district, patrolling as usual, but today, he was distracted. His green eyes faltered when a body slammed into him—stumbling back, barely catching himself before his tail hit the ground. The sheep hybrid bleated in distress, the scenario throwing him off.
“Huh, I didn’t take you for a sheep, XD.” Orpheus stood on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, his usual form shifting between translucent and opaque.
“Yeah? What’s it to you?” He huffed, folding the papers carefully and resting them in his pocket. “I’m not interested in fighting tonight, are you?”
A hum. “Not necessarily; figured I could cure my boredom, though.” His response was vague but gave away many emotions. Smug. Curious. Stressed.
“What’s got you so stressed?” He switched the topic; Orpheus and DreamXD had always been somewhat civil with each other. Their personalities clash like sheep in a herd, eventually being guided by the morals of their careers.
“A child. Or well, three children.” Another vague answer. “I had an interaction that has me thinking for someone’s safety from the organization.”
DreamXD hums, fixing the eyebrow piercing and twisting the end to tighten the sterling silver. “Hmm, fair. I don’t feel like the organization is putting anyone in danger–”
A scream cut him off.
He ran, boots hitting the sidewalk. He followed the brief noise, reaching an alleyway last minute. He twists his body to see the scene in front of him.
There stands the number one hero, knife in hand, and an evil smirk plastered on the scene.
Jshlatt: Status– Off patrol.
He stared dumbfounded, not noticing the ghostly villain following behind. “Jshlatt? What the fuck are you doing?!” His voice cracked with concern.
“DreamXD, why hello there.” Blurry eyes followed his smirk. He would be seen as drunk by anybody that wasn’t the younger hero. “I see you are patroling, wonderful. Now you can leave.”
“What do you mean?! Why are you threatening her?” He screeched, his world reeling. The hero he looked up to was pulling something he could’ve never imagined.
The knife twists to point at him, stalking closer.
“I suggest you leave right now and keep quiet, little hero. Before, you end up in the medical wing.” The knife tipped at his jaw, point pressing to his vocal cords.
Dream’s eyes were blurry with tears—ears pushing back, instincts appearing to the front. Green eyes blew into a black abyss. “I–”
“Oh, is the hero going into his instincts? Good boy.” He laughed, Jshlatt’s voice sadistic. The knife pushed forward, knicking the blonde’s skin. Blood begins to trickle onto the neon green hoodie.
Orpheus managed to get the woman away.
Dream fell to his knees, soft bleats leaving him. He was in distress, instincts pushing his mind in a deadly direction, and he never reacted like such. Little bleats, as his knees felt weak.
Jshlatt: The ability to force instincts and manipulate unsuspecting individuals.
The more diminutive hero had never been on the receiving end of this power, calculating in his mind, trying to find a way to bring himself back. He felt the cold, sharply tipped metal on his skin.
‘--Bring! Jshlatt, H.O immediately, detrimental meeting.’
Number One left, leaving the hero in his instincts alone. A ghostly appearance just a couple of feet away. Distressed bleats left Dream.
“DreamXD? Buddy, I need you to focus.” Orpheus’s voice whispered, holding his cheeks. His brown eyes were feening with concern.
Dream’s eyes perked up, looking at him.
“Fuck…I’m going to call Thanatos.” He pulls out his phone, bringing the hero to his chest. He rocked him gently, whispering soft praises to keep the instincts happy.
The phone rang before a shattering noise that someone had picked up the phone. “Wil–”
“Thanatos! I have an emergency and need you to lead me to a secure area.”
“Orpheus, what–?” Orpheus heard a deep breath. “Go to the one on Walnut; I’ll be there momentarily.”
“Thanks, Da– Thanatos.” He hung up, holding the hero. “Okay, Dream? Dream I will pick you up; we will sit in a safe house, okay?”
Dream could only bleat in response, hands tight in the yellow sweater. He held onto him, his head feeling fuzzy and floaty. He was so tired, and he couldn’t think. ‘Is Orpheus going to kill me…?’ His trust issues stressed him, feeling his ears pinned back, tail fluttering angrily. He heard the gentle chuckle from the villain as a door opened. Dream was significantly smaller than the phantom hybrid.
There in the darkroom, only lit by a couple of lamps and a brown couch. Phil Watson sat at the furniture, veil covering his face in vital acceptance. “Dad–” Wilbur cut himself off, revealing the whimpering hero.
“What happened?” He asked, guiding DreamXD’s body to the comfortable fabric. Blood trickling down to the neon green hoodie. His eyes were black, different from their usual green. The whites of his eyes were no longer visible, only an abyss of emotions and entrapment. DreamXD felt trapped and unable to escape in his instincts, without the ability to run.
“Jshlatt was harassing a woman; DreamXD ran in and tried to get answers to the situation. Jshlatt used his powers, and he couldn’t come back. He’s scared.”
Phil nodded, sitting on the ground next to the hybrid. “Hey, buddy. I know you’re scared. It’s okay, and we won’t hurt you. I know it’s scary, okay? You’re safe.” His reassuring words had started to bring the instinctual sheep back. The abyss in his eyes slowly whispered away into a white void, reaching his iris, before returning to his pupils.
DreamXD was pulled back into the present, stuck for half an hour. He would never deny the terrifying experience. “I-I…I’m sorry.” He apologized, only receiving a gentle scritch behind his ear. ‘Safe-safe-safe,’ His body screamed. The new experience was shocking; his instincts only ever pulled when in fear.
“There we go. Everything’s okay.” He could hear the fatherly smile under the veil, and the hero showed relaxation.
“I. I don’t know what happened… I’m sorry for bothering you.” Years of manipulation and demanding higher-ups came crashing down on the poor blonde.
“Don’t apologize; your instincts are demanding. Jshlatt knew of this and used it against you.” Orpheus’s hands delicately ripped a piece of paper.
“If you ever change your mind.” He kissed the hero’s forehead, leading him to the exit.
Dream’s cheeks were flushed red as he held the paper. The amount of love in one of the interactions was enough to quell his fears. He looked down, unwrapping the article to see it in scratchy handwriting and black ink flaring out in a soft streak. The immediate thought to turn it into his boss ran into his mind, but instead, the sheep carefully folded it back, placing it in his pouch.
Good thing his shift just ended. He has to tell Blaze and Lucid.
Will they believe me?
Morning came, and Tubbo sat alone in the kitchen, pushing a grape around the ceramic plate. The fork scratched the place and made an ugly noise. His eyes were focused, blue eyes scanning a paper composed of a case from long ago.
Tubbo was a person who lived through many traumas that he wasn’t proud of the events. Even if they weren’t his fault, he blamed himself.
The creek of the stairs notifies Tubbo of a friendly approach. He tips his head up, closing the binder to look at his friend. Ranboo stares tiredly, rubbing the end of his sleeve over his eyes. “Tubbo?” He whispers. His cow-like ears twitched.
“Hey, Boo. How are you feeling?” Tubbo’s voice was soft, knowing his roommates hadn’t been feeling 100% the last few days.
“I’m feeling … better.” He had breathed in between, his fluffy tail curling around his leg, stopping at his ankles. “Tommy is still pretty sick, I’m pretty nauseous, but I need to get groceries and medicine.” He wrapped his mask around his ears, wincing at the pressure on his skin.
“Are you sure?--” He paused, chewing his bottom lip—a piece of skin pulling away to reveal a metallic taste. Silver never tasted as good as the blood from his nervous habits. “I could run to the store after work and get it instead.”
Ranboo shook his head.
Tubbo responded with a weak sigh, a twinge of a headache starting to form. “Mmm…Okay.” He held a soft breath before standing and walking over. He wrapped his arms around Ranboo, burying his face into his chest. Head-Butting him gently, affection showing in his action. “At least let me drive you.” He offered, gently smiling. He grabbed his keys and slipped on his work shoes, quickly departing before leaving.
After a short drive and one detour, Tubbo arrived at work. The twinge of a headache still pushed to the front of his mind, swirling around his eyes, threatening to expand the pupils and drag him into a distressed instinctual state. The whites of his eyes turned a deep gray.
He shook his head, pulling himself back. “Now, that’s enough.”
He knew the reasoning for the growing migraine, the toxins of his nuclear power inhabiting his bloodstream. The migraines had happened many times before, never affecting him too terribly. The only thing that would help him is falling into his instincts, but the very thought gave him anxiety.
The world blurred as he was pulled back to reality, an apron wrapped around his frame, tied in the back in the sloppiest of bows. His headache was still burdening; his pupils were shaking and dilating as he tried to get himself under control.
He was in a state of distress, sliding to the ground. Ears pinned back and hair plastered to his face in a gallon of sweat. Sinking to the floor, Tubbo pulled his sleeves over his hands. Tubbo pulled his knees to his chest, burying himself into a fetal position.
He never noticed the ring of the door alerting a customer’s appearance.
Purpled runs to his side, soft unearthly noises leaving the alien. Comfort pulling at Tubbo’s instincts. He looked up when Purpled wrapped his arms tight around his shoulders, and Tubbo was dragged into his friend's lap like a doll.
Purpled dialed for Karl immediately; he was unsure how to help someone with power-induced migraine of side effects. “Tubbo, I need you to look at me, okay?” His voice was soft but desperate.
Tubbo wanted to cry, embarrassment flooding his cheeks. Red burying the naturally ivory skin. Dark freckles are seemingly darker. “I’m here.” He grumbled, his voice weak and strained.
At that moment, neither noticed a pink-haired man walking in.
The bell seemingly fell on deaf ears. After a couple of minutes, he brought himself back on his own two feet. His hands gripped the cherry wood, the fairy lights flickering in his eyes.
Purpled followed, breaking away to the other side of the counter, pulling himself up onto the barstool and spinning around once before focusing in. “Your face is healing better; the scar is fading at the edges.” He spoke with confidence.
Tubbo pulled his overgrown hair back into a ponytail using a thin hairband, exposing the burn scar that covered the left side of his face, resembling fireworks. Sparks had burned his neck and arms—the regretful experience repeatedly playing in his mind. “Yeah, I am glad. That experience wasn’t– amusing at all. My birthday party, the number one hero, and fireworks.” He laughed brokenly.
The noise pulled at Technoblade’s curious nature.
“What even happened that day?” Purpled questioned, his head tilting. Antennas fall to the side in a complicated gesture.
Tubbo only sighed for the millionth time. “On my twelfth birthday, my dad– Jshlatt had me decorate my party. But during the party, I guess one of the kids had broken a whiskey glass. His favorite one.” He paused, filling the cup with espresso.
“A whiskey glass?” Purpled repeated.
The goat nodded, nodded that evening when everyone had gone home. Shlatt grabbed the leftover fireworks and his crossbow. Trapping me against the corner of the shed and fired without a single show of mercy.” His voice filled the air with a gentle whimper.
“I’m sorry, Bo… Good thing you’re out of his care now. He’s an awful person, and the fact that the hero agency ignores the warning.”
Tubbo nods.
“How’s the orphanage?” He was desperate to change the focus on the traumatic conversation.
It’s worse than ever. Yesterday someone broke in and got my arm, and Purpled pulled up his sleeve, showing a nasty scratch.
“How the hell did that happen?” Tubbo squinted, blue eyes twinkling.
“Tiger hybrid, he was angry looking for his nephew, who CPS had taken into the system without reasonable cause.” He shrugged with a curious tilt as his friend grabbed the First-Aid kit from under the counter.
“Well, let’s clean it up then. You can’t let that get worse, Purp.” He opened it with a click of the clasp, laid it out, grabbed the hydrogen peroxide, and ran it over the wound. Grabbing the white bandage wraps and gently holding it still to bring it to a guided close. “There, I’m proud of you. Thank you for letting me help you.”
Purpled nodded at him, laying his head on his undamaged arms. “So, why did your migraine get so bad?” His curiosity never failed to annoy the brunette.
“My quirk overrides my bloodstream due to stress and lack of rest.” Purpled seemed worried and like he was ready to say something. “They don’t have any lasting effects that I’m aware of, but it’s annoying and gives me headaches.”
“You’re fifteen like the rest of us; you need rest, dude.”
Tubbo shook his head, not believing that he was being reprimanded. “Don’t say that too loud; no one knows that but you and the two boys.” Tubbo’s whine was long and demanding, and he seemed tired and not focused on the things around him–or well, the people around him.
“Hopefully, the Syndicate can help the orphanage. You know Jester always patrols the surrounding area.” He changed the subject once more.
“Sure, sure.” Purpled laughed it off, shaking his head. His agreement goes silenced, only getting a strict nod to agree.
Across the room sat Technoblade taking note of each word.
Technoblade was an intelligent man, spending his days researching and discovering new until his eyes ached from straining to see the blue light. His eyesight failed him in the late evenings when he would look to see his father reprimanding him for being up late once more.
It never did Phil any good, but he didn’t fail to try.
Today though, was a different day. He wondered about the three boys he met days ago. Since then, his eyes failed to focus; he did what he felt was reasonable—walking to the bakery to see one.
The presence wasn’t calming; in fact, probably something that brought a darker twist than he had ever felt. Even on the nights he watched, the light slowly lost its presence in his family’s eyes—the people he killed and no one, and the only people he could see were children.
He heard every word about the top hero and felt his throat clench in pain. He remembered the nights that Jshlatt got too close to hoarding his instincts—pulling them to the front of his mind, like a poker game finally going someone’s way. Quackity spoke of his brief relationship with him and how the months were blurry since any negative emotion felt like hypnosis into his bird-like instincts. How he felt his body be floating above water after a dead body’s gases bring a person to the ocean's surface after death. How the blood he would think with every form of torture felt cold, pin-pricking at his throat. How he was so far in, he quickly lost himself to a razorblade to stay conscious.
He swore from the day Quackity whispered those words through choked laughs and globbing tears. He would kill someone so vile, and no one hurt the family he worked so hard to love.
He remembered long ago when Jshlatt sobbed with no tears at his son's absence. His son supposedly died after a firework accident happened in his backyard. But with the new revelation, he figured that it was no accident. And once more, Technoblade felt a striving burn in his stomach. The one for blood, as the voices he held screamed. Each feeling like a punch to the throat as they forced him to break the lead of his pencil, demanding death to a child abuser.
Flashes of the scars on his friend’s arms soared when he saw Purpled’s arms. His ears pricked at the age revealed, having been informed they were adults. Technoblade hated lying children, and the black abyss of possession and protectiveness swelled. Why was a child on his own? A runt.
He feels the vibration of his phone, blue light tearing at his instinctual greed.
Message Received From ‘Quackity, Little Bird.’
The gray bubble filled a paragraph on a screen, rambling bird brain. The pig chuffed silently.
Hey, your location says that you’re at Niki’s Coffeehouse. Is everything alright? Purpled messaged Time in a panic over his friend.
Technoblade’s nails make quick tapping on the glass box. Everything seems fine; they seem to discuss trauma from their old or current households profoundly.
The orphanage? Is everything okay? I’m trying to do quick work of adopting Purpled and Punz, but possibly something could encourage the slow process.
Understandable, seems like an infected injury on the little alien runt. The little goat talked of his past life with your ex-lover. Jshlatt’s missing/dead son is alive and well, with the melted skin healed over poorly.
The three dots took what felt like hours to send another box.
You mean… Toby? He’s been gone for so long. Thank god he’s alive. I’ve missed the little shit.
I’ll keep you updated; I feel I will be taking him home soon enough.
SBI 6/6, LMAO.
Technoblade closed his phone, an evil glint at the thought of three little brothers. Little runts to cover in gold, shoving them in the nest of blankets. Blood filled his mouth as he bit his tongue to pull himself back. ‘Not yet, chat.’ The reprimand was weak as his knee bounced in anxiety.
He glanced at the time, remembering his walk home, feeling himself shuffle to the door. First, grabbing a drink would be for the best, he decided. “Hello? One black coffee, Large, Extra large if you have it. Please.” The plead was ushered out in a weak attempt to seem polite.
The little alien snickered, head falling to his uncovered bandages. “Man, good thing Tom’s home.”
Tubbo seemed to snicker in agreement, catching the pink-haired man’s confusion. “Tom would have a fit, and he hates straight black, and it feels like it tastes like shit on a good Friday. He goes on to preach about Prime and Kristen themselves.”
Technoblade chuffs in amusement. “I always forget my mother is a goddess.” He grabbed the coffee, setting down a $50 before walking away, leaving the two to gawk in awe.
The runt will be a good brother.
The bed felt cold, the striped sheets missing their usual shadow print of his friends. Tommyinnit was a big man who never slept alone, fearing being alone after years of scratching boards and broken needles. Even though Tommy could shift to animals, each altering his appearance, the need to imprint fogged his mind. Tommy was breaking his body down, bringing chills to his body. Making the world spin every time he sat up. He was naturally a raccoon, and the shift would always resort to the beginning stage.
A blond boy who possessed enough power to make the grounds of the hero organization recoil in confusion. Intense healing followed by Death’s wish. The ability to heal brought the ability to kill. Instincts that only enhanced his power and brought an easy escape in trickier situations. He was made to be a weapon and the hospital's prayer.
Nights were plagued with silent cries behind closed eyes. Scars littered a raccoon’s body, only to make more in the morning. Tommy Innit was a danger to himself, as well as he could be to another person. Hell, maybe worse to himself some days.
The world hated TommyInnit, and he would agree.
His ears twitched as he felt the presence of his friend walking in their shared apartment. Pots and pans clatter uncomfortably; Tommy hated the sound of metal clattering. He knew his friend’s goal was never to hurt him, so he sank back into the spring-ridden mattress. Springs dig in his skin, cutting him that he considered tetanus some nights. Even with the slowly growing numbers in their bank account, they never pushed themselves to the desired luxury of a new bed. Money. Money. Get up! Work!!! Get up! Money. Rent. Money. Reprimands filtered through his mind, but nausea kept him in the broken bed when he sat up. “Later–Money, later.” He choked on reassuring words. Pulling himself to the bathroom as he felt bile rise and burn him. He expelled days of food, turning the toilet an ugly color that would require bleach to bring back a sterile smell.
His throat was on fire, feeling strong with acid, expelling until he was sputtering spit. His nose burned from the amount trickled farther in his violent distress. The smell was revolting, shaking his body frail with pain. The experience of a violent sickness triggered his mind to a dark place. An instinctual place that had his vocal cords rattling in terror.
Ranboo was nearby to hear the screams through his headphones. He dropped the knife to the ground and felt his feet take flight. He was in the bathroom at a time closer than the moment Before anyone could take a panicked breath.
He pulled Tommy to his chest, rocking him. Desperation as he brought the headphones over his ears, letting him sink to ‘The Able Sisters.’ He felt the youngest fall into an exhausted state as his screams died down. Ranboo cried in relief, never loving the feeling of the youngest being in the unbearable pain he never expressed.
Tommy had always been conservative about the trauma he endured in the laboratory. Any mention brought him into different stages of distress.
Ranboo’s eyes littered the dried blood under his friend’s nails. The white, a dirty brown, red trickling in under the demanding light. The white felt like a broken record, reminding him of every night he spent staring at the checkered tiles. His breakdowns feel like a call for help. No memory will ever pull me under like it used to. People need me, and people love me.
The three roommates knew why Tommy was sick, and soon enough, it would happen to each of them. Until the stress of their hybrid hearts, give into the Death’s prayer.
Ranboo listened to Tommy’s weak chitters and chirps of stress, coughing the blood that coated his insides that fell onto the blue sweater.
When this started, they brushed it off as a nasty cold. Then the flu. Anything until reality hit the roommates harder than any brick ever could. The truth the Bench Trio dreaded showing when the blond fell into the dreaded instincts the day they met the villains—overwhelmed by the older hybrids and their scents. Craving to imprint on anyone and everyone. Anything to feel like a genuine part of a family.
Across the districts sat a bird, not any bird. But a hybrid, a man, older as he talked to his wife in the stars, and his eyes were black as they spoke.
“I can sense three young deaths approaching, my love. It’s those babies.”
“What babies, Kristen?” Phil’s voice was genuine as his heart felt tight; he hated to hear about the death of young kids.
“The ones from Nihachu’s coffee house. Cow, Goat, and Raccoon.” His voice, angelic as ever, darkened at the mention. Not one of disgust, but one of depression. A depression that plagued her heart for ages. Decades and centuries of helping each one pass on.
“Why? What is happening?” The whisper felt destructive, endangering, and shaky.
“They are alone, their imprint time is running short, and they will soon die without a father.” She paused. “Please, my husband, take them from their sad lives and bring them back to Prime herself. Give them life once more.”
That conversation was a week ago, and the urgency was drawing stricter.
Phil watched as his new son’s lived their lives. Unaware that they soon will be in his care forever.