Chapter 17

81. (credit to QueenQuinn)

Dream stepped through the portal and was greeted with a scream of "MERRY CHRISTMAS, BITCH!" and a large object headed straight towards his face. Years of experience allowed him to duck rather than freeze, but the projectile still clipped him in the head and sent him sprawling on the ground.

"Oh shit!" Hurried footsteps. "Big man, you good?"

Dream groaned and pushed himself into a sitting position. "What. . . what was that for?"

Tommy had the decency to look sheepish. "Your, uh, Christmas present."

"My--" Dream turned to look at the package lying in the snow. It was wrapped in modest brown parchment paper and tied with twine. ". . . you got me a present?"

"Just open it," Tommy huffed. Dream struggled to his feet and dusted the snow from his clothes, then retrieved the package. After a minute of struggling with the twine ("Just pull the fucking strings-- have you never seen a bow before?!"), he managed to peel the parchment away, revealing. . . a pile of black cloth.

Dream stuffed the wrapping into his inventory, then shook out his new present. It was a hoodie, completely black save for the white reset symbol stitched over the heart.

"Did you. . . make this yourself?"

"Damn right I did," Tommy huffed. "Took me ages."

Dream turned the hoodie over in his hands. "This is. . . this is amazing, Tommy. Thank you."

Tommy grinned. "I made it, of course it's amazing! Plus, it's about time you wore something that wasn't bright green. Dunno who taught you fashion, but it's the ugliest thing I've seen since Schlatt's face."

"It's not that bad!"

"It really is. Which is why I took the creative liberty of making you something in a different color. It physically pained me to make you another fucking hoodie, but I gotta ease you into decent fashion."

"A hoodie is decent fashion," Dream grumbled. He rubbed the fabric between his fingers. "I have to ask, though. . . why black?"

"'Cause black looks cool," Tommy deadpanned. "White gets dirty too easily, gray is too similar to your ghost outfit, blue and yellow definitely wouldn't look good on you, you know why I didn't use orange, purple is Purpled's brand, red reminds me of loop 90, and you tried to murder me the last time I dyed your hoodie pink."

"Fair," Dream admitted. He had shimmied the hoodie over his head and was now tugging the hem down. "How do I look?"

"Like an idiot," Tommy informed him. "Who the fuck wears a hoodie over a hoodie?"

"It's cold!"

"So?! I'm wearing a t-shirt, you don't see me keeling over and dying of hypothermia, do you?!"

"You have a fur cape!"

"And I look awesome in it. Your point?"

Dream rolled his eyes and huffed, looking back down at the hoodie. His exasperated expression melted into something slightly warmer. ". . . thanks, Tommy." He paused for a moment, then reached into his inventory. "Merry Christmas."

"Are you fucking serious," Tommy deadpanned as he took Cat from Dream. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the disc. "Did you-- did you steal this from Bad and Skeppy?"

". . . I plead the fifth."

"Americans," Tommy grumbled. He flipped the disc over in his hands. ". . . Wow, I haven't seen this in forever. Gotta complete the set now-- do you think I could slip Mellohi from Tubbo without him noticing?"

"No idea. Let's find out."

82. toddler tales, pt. 6

"I have two more invis pots, I'll be fine--"

"Invis pots last for eight minutes," Philza snapped. His wings flared out with agitation. " Don't. You'll get yourself killed."

"They're out there, Phil-- I can't just--"

A knock on the door interrupted their argument. Both men froze, heads snapping around to the entrance.

"Hide," Philza breathed. Technoblade obeyed instantly, disappearing into the adjacent bedroom. Philza heard the closet doors creak. Taking a deep, steadying, breath, he turned to the door.

"Who's there?" he called.

"Tubbo," the person on the other side answered. Philza's heart sank.

Tubbo. Why was he here? Had he discovered Technoblade's presence? Had he found out about Tommy and Dream?

Setting his shoulders, Philza rearranged his face into an expression of cold annoyance and opened the door. "Mister President," he greeted, careful to keep his gaze on Tubbo's face even as he scanned his surroundings in his peripheral vision. It appeared that Tubbo was alone this time - no butcher army in sight. Which probably meant he wasn't here for Technoblade.

That left two options: either he was here for Philza, or he was here because of the kids. Neither were reassuring.

Tubbo's expression had flattened slightly at Philza's subtle hostility. "Philza Minecraft," he said. "Can I come in?"

Philza smiled, sharp and unfriendly. "Do I have a choice? Or are you just going to barge in like you did last time?"

"Yeah, you get to decide."

"Then no."

Tubbo tilted his head. "Alright then, I'll make it quick. Do you happen to know how Dream and Tommy got turned into kids?"

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Only years of practice allowed Philza to keep his posture relaxed. He shoved down his rising alarm and instead furrowed his brows, pasting an incredulous expression on his face. ". . . What?"

Tubbo scrutinized him. Philza forced his bristling feathers to lay flat. "What?" he repeated. "They-- Dream and Tommy got turned into kids?"

Tubbo hummed. "Quackity and I ran into them," he said casually. Philza couldn't keep his next breath from catching in his throat. "Wonder how two toddlers managed to get through the Nether and into L'Manberg."

"Wait, wait, back up--" Philza grimaced. "Dream and Tommy. They're-- what the fuck? How?"

Tubbo tilted his head, mouth thinning into a neutral line. "I think you know."

Philza narrowed his eyes, fighting to keep his panic off his face. "I really don't."

"Funny," Tubbo said mildly. "Dream mentioned a 'Mister Minecraft' when we talked to him. Something about a 'kidnapper', too."

Well, shit. ". . . I don't--"

"Stop lying." Tubbo straightened, eyes cold. "I care about Tommy--"

"Yeah, you exiled him," Philza muttered. "Real caring."

Tubbo faltered, then steeled himself. "I care about Tommy, and if this is some ploy to hurt him--"

"Look, mate," Philza interrupted. "I didn't turn Tommy or Dream into kids."

"But you know what happened," Tubbo said.

Philza considered his options. On one hand, he could deny it - continue the charade. He was already on house arrest; Tubbo probably wouldn't do worse without Quackity here to boss him around. He'd be breaking out later tonight anyway. On the other hand, he could tell the truth; clear things up and probably gain enough trust to work with Tubbo on the issue.

He chose option one. "I really don't."

The corners of Tubbo's mouth turned down. "Tell me how they got shrunk," he said at last. "I won't ask you how you know. Just-- tell me. Please."

Philza paused. He took a mental step back and looked, really looked at Tubbo. The teenager seemed cold, calculating, his stance firm. But his hands were folded behind his back-- hidden, so Philza wouldn't see that they were shaking. His eyes were just the slightest bit too wide, his face just the slightest bit too pale.

No, Tubbo wasn't calm at all. He was desperate. Worried. Worried about Tommy's safety.

Philza let out a slow exhale, allowing his tense wings to relax. "Alright. It was a potion mishap."

Tubbo blinked. "A. . . potion mishap?"

"Tommy was making a potion," Philza said shortly. "Dream surprised him and he threw the half-finished bottle at him. Got himself caught in the effect."

"So it wasn't because someone was trying to kill him," Tubbo said.

Philza shook his head. "As far as I know, no."

Tubbo nodded. For a single moment, he relaxed, slumping ever-so-slightly forward, letting his presidential façade crumble. Philza was reminded, suddenly, that Tubbo was still a teenager. A teenager who carried the weight of a nation, and then some, on his shoulders.

But just as quickly as it had fallen, the façade returned. Tubbo drew his shoulders back and then Philza was once again looking at the Third President of L'Manberg.

"Thank you," was all he said. Without another word, he turned and left. Philza stood watching in the doorway until he disappeared from view, then retreated back into his house. Shutting the door, he closed his eyes and rested his forehead on the smooth wood.

The bedroom door creaked open behind him. "Phil? You good?"

". . . I don't know, mate. I don't know."

83. (credit to curry_powder)

"Welcome to The Clinc!"

"The-- the clink?" Ranboo asked.

"The Clinc," Tommy snapped. "Look at the sign, boob boy."

Ranboo looked at the sign pasted at the top of the large wooden stall Dream and Tommy were situated behind. ". . . is that supposed to be French or something?"

"No, it's clinic without the second i," Dream informed him. "We removed it because it was unnecessary."

Ranboo nodded slowly. "I see. And, uh, what exactly is The Clinc?"

Tommy scoffed. "A clinic, duh."

Dream coughed. "Would you like an appointment? We take payment in cobblestone."

Ranboo stared at them, then glanced at his inventory. He just happened to have a stack of cobblestone. "Uh. . . how much for one appointment?"

"Ten blocks." Dream grimaced. "We forgot to put that on the sign. So you want an appointment?"

Ranboo sighed and dropped ten blocks of cobblestone on the counter. "Sure, why not?"

"I'll take 'im," Tommy declared, pushing himself to his feet and swiping the blocks into his counter. "One appointment with Doctor Innit, comin' right up!"

~~~

"You're too tall," Tommy declared. "My tallness is threatened."

Ranboo winced. "I, uh, I can't really do anything about that."

"I can," Tommy assured him. "We have surgery for that."

"S. . . surgery?"

"Surgery," Tommy confirmed. He pulled out a clipboard with a diagram of a stick figure and presented it to Ranboo. "See, we'll just cut right across here. Easy-peasy. You'll be shorter in no time."

Ranboo smiled nervously. "Uh. . . I don't think. . ."

"If you're worried about the cost, it's completely free," Tommy assured him. "And you'll also be free of your chronic tallness."

"I-I'm good. Thanks."

Tommy snorted and shoved his clipboard back into his inventory, trading it for an axe. "Bold of you to assume you have a choice, bitch."

Ranboo, predictably, ran for his life.

~~~

"You're bald."

Jack stared blankly at Dream. ". . . I know."

"You're bald," Dream repeated. "Bald."

"Yeah, so?"

"It makes you too powerful," Dream said gravely. He pulled an eye-searing neon rainbow wig from beneath the counter and held it out to Jack. "You must wear this to counteract your powerfulness."

"What the fuck? No!"

~~~

"You're in denial," Tommy said.

Fundy blinked. "I-- I am?"

Tommy nodded sagely "Uh-huh. You're denying your true self."

Fundy's eyes narrowed. ". . . is this because you think I'm a furry?"

"I don't think you're a furry, I know you're a furry."

"I'm not a furry!"

Tommy patted his shoulder. "See? There's the denial."

"I'm not," Fundy stressed. "I have a human face--"

"But you're a furry at heart."

Fundy took a deep breath, ears flattening against his head. "I. Am. Not. A. Furry," he gritted out.

"You gotta learn to accept yourself, Fundy. Self-denial isn't healthy."

Fundy let out an enraged scream and tackled him.

~~~

"I diagnose you with potato obsession."

". . . Heh?" Technoblade deadpanned. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Potatoes are disgusting and your love for them is blasphemy of all that is good and holy."

Technoblade narrowed his eyes. "See, there's a problem with your argument-- potatoes are amazin', and your opinion is obviously biased."

"Like yours isn't?" Dream shot back.

"Touché. My point still stands. What exactly do you find disgustin' about potatoes?"

Dream scowled. "Oh, I don't know-- the starchy texture, maybe, and also the fact that they either taste like dirt or nothing at all?"

"First of all," Technoblade said, "You obviously have never had french fries or potato chips. Second of all, potatoes are delicious. Your taste just isn't refined enough to appreciate the complexity of their flavor."

Dream crossed his arms. "Eat raw potatoes every day for a year straight, then look me in the eye and tell me they taste good."

"I did, actually."

A pause. Dream stared at him. "I-- what? When?"

Technoblade stared at him, dead-eyed. "I had no time to cook during the great potato war, Dream."

Dream stared at him. "So-- so you just. Ate the potatoes."

"I ate the potatoes," Technoblade confirmed.

". . . and you still like them."

"Yep."

"There is something wrong with you."

"Dream, I have literal voices in my head. If liking potatoes is your standard for wrongness, then we need to have a serious discussion."

~~~

"You're old."

"Nothing we can do about that, mate."

"You're ancient."

"If you say so."

"What if you fall and can't get back up?"

"I regularly spar with Technoblade. I'll be okay."

"You could keel over and die at any moment."

"Tommy, I'm physically 33."

"You're prehistoric."

Philza Minecraft sighed. "I'm not old, you're just a child."

"I am nOT A CHILD, YOU PRICK--"

~~~

"Eyyyyy man! How you doin', man?"

"Nope nope nope nope nope," Dream hissed. "No. Go away."

Mexican Dream pouted. "Can I get an appointment?"

"We reserve the right to refuse customers."

"Should've put that on the sign, man."

"It is on the sign. It's just written in invisible ink."

Mexican Dream eyed the sign dubiously. "If you say so."

"Dream, you will not believe what Philza Minecraft just d-- wait, is that MD?!"

Mexican Dream beamed. "Tommy! Eyyy man, how you doin'?"

Tommy grinned. "Absolutely fuckin' epic! You want an appointment?"

"Sure, man!"

"Tommy," Dream groaned. Tommy flipped him off.

~~~

"I diagnose you with tiny."

There was a moment of silence. Slowly, Tubbo met Tommy's gaze. Then he smiled, sweet and absolutely fucking terrifying.

"You have three seconds to run."

"Fair," Tommy admitted before he bolted.

84. (credit to Smallest)

Wilbur ran a hand over the wall of the passage. "Tommy, when did you find the time to do this?"

"Snuck out when you were sleeping," Tommy lied. Dream had actually been the one to remake the Final Control Room, since he currently had a lot more free time than Tommy. He'd taken the liberty of using an excessive amount of cobblestone (at Tommy's request), and also dusted the floor with glitter (because why not). "Anyways, I've been messin' with some redstone, boys, and I have some epic weapons for you."

Fundy stopped in his tracks. "Wait, is this why you asked me about TNT launchers last week?"

"TNT--" Wilbur turned to Tommy. "Tommy, this is a prank war."

"I know," Tommy scoffed. "What, you think I'd actually fill the launchers with TNT?"

A pause. "Wait, so there actually are launchers down there?"

"See for yourself, big man."

The revolutionaries exchanged glances before following him.

The narrow corridor soon opened into a dimly-lit room, lined with chests. A couple of wheeled, canon-like objects were pushed up against the far wall. Fundy stared at them.

"Are those the TNT launchers?" he asked incredulously. "You-- how did you downsize them?"

"I'm just that good," Tommy said smugly. Fundy huffed and rolled his eyes.

The creaking of hinges rang through the room as Wilbur opened one of the chests. "Tommy, there's. . . nothing in these chests."

Eret frowned. "There isn't?" He, too, moved over to another chest and pulled it open. ". . . Yeah, it's. . . empty."

Tubbo turned to look at him from his own chest. "Tommy?"

". . . Huh, interesting," Tommy said flatly. He slid his hands into his pockets and casually took a step back. A loud click echoed through the room as his heel made contact with the button hidden in the floor. "Wonder how that happened."

Tubbo's brows furrowed. "Tommy, what--" The rest of his words were drowned out by the grating of cobblestone against cobblestone. A section of the wall slid up, revealing the Dream Team. Before the shocked L'Manbergians could react, they were on them, pelting them with water balloons. Eret went down as a balloon caught him in the face.

"ERET!" Fundy shrieked. "ERET, NO!"

Sapnap turned and lunged at him, and Fundy was forced to retreat. Tommy watched, grinning, as the four remaining revolutionaries were driven towards the corridor. "Take the L, boys," he called. "This was really fuckin' stupid!"

Dream fumbled with the water balloon he had been about to throw at Wilbur's fleeing form, head snapping around. "The fuck-- "

Tommy snorted. "You really thought I was gonna steal Eret's line? I got originality, Dream, unlike some people."

In the distance, a water-drenched Wilbur sneezed. Loudly.

85. remix, pt. 4

"Dream."

"Hi, Technoblade."

"Do you remember what I told you when you woke up?"

"Yeah."

"And what was it?"

"To stay indoors because I almost froze to death."

"And where are you?"

"Outdoors."

"So why, after I specifically told you not to go outside, did you go outside?"

". . . It's snowing. I don't get to see snow a lot."

Technoblade huffed. "If you want to see snow, look at it through the window. Now get inside before you freeze again."

"Aye aye," Dream muttered, letting Technoblade usher him back into the house. He shook the snow off his boots and unclasped his fur cape, tossing it onto the hook by the door.

Technoblade moved straight for one of the potion stands, leaning over and tapping the glass bottles with one long, pointy nail. "All good," he grunted, then straightened and jabbed a finger at the kitchen. "Go eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Technoblade leveled him with a flat stare. Dream raised his hands. "I'm going, I'm going."

"And eat your carrots this time," Technoblade called after him. "You need the nutrients."

~~~

"The Butcher Army," Ranboo said, eyeing the posters plastered all over the walls. "Bit. . . on the nose, don't you think?"

"Ranboo," Quackity deadpanned. "We literally have a list of people we're going to kill. We can't have some cutesy nickname."

Ranboo flushed, tail waving nervously. "That's not what I meant! I was-- I just thought it was kinda. . . aggressive."

Quackity rolled his eyes and waved him off with a hand, then spun the hit list around the table and stuck his finger on the name at the top. "Anyways. Technoblade's our first target. Are we all on the same page here?"

"Kinda hard not to be," Ranboo muttered. Quackity snorted, then snapped the hit list shut. Without warning he pulled a diamond axe from his inventory and slammed it on the table. The other three jumped.

"The plan is simple." Quackity looked around the room, meeting their eyes with a steady gaze. "We find and we kill Technoblade. We bring him to justice." He paused. ". . . The only issue we have right now is how the fuck we're gonna find him."

Fundy managed to pass his snicker off as a very unconvincing cough. "Any-- ahem-- any ideas?"

"I think. . . Philza," Tubbo said. "He's been-- he's good friends with Technoblade, isn't he?"

Quackity's eyes narrowed. "You're telling me," he said slowly, "That Philza Minecraft, a citizen of L'Manberg. . . has been conspiring with Technoblade."

Tubbo shifted. "I mean. . . I've seen him sending out books and things. With his crows. Dunno who else he'd be sending 'em to."

Quackity stared at him for a tense moment. Without warning he spun on his heel and stalked towards the hidden door. "I'm going to knock his door down," he seethed.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Tubbo slid in front of him, slightly panicked. "Wait, Big Q! If we just barge in there, we'll freak him out!"

"What the hell has he been doing with Technoblade?!" Quackity demanded. He tried to step around Tubbo, but Tubbo threw his arms out.

"Wait," he repeated. "If we go in there calm and collected, he'll be more likely to cooperate with us."

Quackity stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled sharply and lowered his axe. "Fine. We'll talk to him. Peacefully."

Tubbo slowly stepped aside, watching as Quackity turned back to the others. "Is everyone ready? Got your gear?"

"I, uh, don't have an axe," Ranboo said. Fundy handed him his own without a word. "Thanks."

Quackity surveyed the room one final time, then nodded sharply and jerked his head towards the door. "Let's move out."

Loop Notes

81. An astonishing number of people failed to recognize Dream when he changed his outfit. Tommy laughed at his misery.

83. Even after many, many loops, Tubbo remains absolutely terrifying.