Since Iskall left, the server had remained relatively peaceful. No, not peaceful but... quiet. Eerily quiet for a server known for unreasonable and preventable wars and its godforsaken land. There were no more wars, no more fights, no more... well... anything and it all happened because one person had been taken out of the equation for the foreseeable future. With Tommy gone from the server, and Dream having disappeared for a full week, it was eerily silent. Despite the major threat being gone, Fundy spent every single hour paranoid, hiding, daring not step his foot in plain sight.

How could he when Dream was hunting him?

He hadn't seen the man in a day but he knew. He knew that he was being hunted down and he was barely scurrying away like a little fox does from a pack of wolves.

Since the day he saved Iskall from a painful fate in prison -he had seen it in his ex-fiance's face, ever covered by that creepy porcelain mask: that unforgiving, cold look of a grudge. The air had grown thick, his aura darkening to a dangerous degree. He'd been lucky enough to have had been spared where he and Iskall had stood but as it did everytime, his time had run out.

In a way, Fundy was releaved that his luck had finally decided to desipate into thin air because all that time, he'd been gnawing the edges of his claws wondering when it would all be over. So, he was thankful to an extent. Dream being after him was not something he was happy about.

Their first encounter after that day had been a quick one. No armor, no visible fued but Fundy had spent enough time with Dream to know that the green-clad man had an itch underneath his skin. He had seen the way his fingers twitched ever so slightly, discreetly, trying to wrap around the handle of a blade that hadn't been there. He had seen the tiniest tilt of his head, the hairs at the back of his neck had stood up in the thick atmosphere Dream had brought with him. The man had only wanted to extract tiny pieces of information about Iskall and Hermitcraft, nothing more, nothing less. Then, he'd left without so much as a "goodbye", just a look and a wave that left Fundy petrified on his front porch.

It was only a matter of time until he'd deem him a threat.

Their second encounter had been their last. That one had seen Dream at Fundy's doorstep once more. However, he'd had the purple glimmer of netherite on him. It hadn't been a pleasant conversation and neither had it been a fast one as Fundy had hoped. It'd dragged on for too long and Dream had been asking too many questions about Iskall and Hermitcraft for Fundy's comfort. Like he'd be any help, he barely knew the man! Putting aside all the friendly chatter, the helpful advice and the heart-felt conversations that left butterflies fluttering in his stomach, they were no more than acquaintances; they had a professional relationship as he told Dream.

The admin had left with a scowl that day, an intimation for something bad.

If Fundy knew Dream -and he's most certain that he did-, the next time they'd meet on his doorstep would end in blood; Fundy's blood. He didn't want to stick around to figure out whether he'd be tortured or not before Dream would claim his life so, like a wise young-adult, a once strong soldier, he decided to run away. To hide. To go far, far away where no one would be able to find him and pray that whatever the mess he'd gotten himself into would resolve itself given enough time.

He'd left only a note behind him stating his reasons for his mandatory leave. He had only given a basic outline of his position and his suspicions of Dream, sleeping the hastily written letter under Quackity's doorstep. Hoping that Tubbo, Ranboo and Quackity would understand, he fled. It only took him a few days to exit the land of New L'Manburg which Ghostbur had been helping design and build and another one or so to step foot outside of claimed territory. Thankfully, no one had gone looking for him too early.

He found shelter in the darkness of spruce trees and in the blinding white sheet of snow. He set up camp, threw together a quick tent made of white wool to blend into the environment and attempted to find dry sticks in the wet and cold climate. He had brought with him little other than tools and a weapon; he had figured that he could be self-sustainable and he had proved it to himself many times. Hunting was in his genes, his ears pointy and capable of catching onto the tiniest of sounds, and his steps light and silent, barely crunching the snow.

However, Dream was an experienced hunter himself. A scent, a whiff of something, like a bee he could be attracted to the flower it'd been looking for easily. All he needed was a place to start and Fundy had left behind him a house and a note, both out of his reach and control.

It was inevitable and he had forseen this in many nightmares on the nights he'd let himself sleep.

Dream found him. Fundy ran.

He didn't hear him, he didn't see him, he didn't smell him. He'd only felt a sword go through his shoulder, cutting and tearing the skin and muscle before Fundy could jump away. Had he stayed rooted for a second longer, he would've had been dead.

Instead, he ran. He ran with as much strength as a massive surge of adrenaline could lend him. Dream was on his trail, hiding in the shadows, taking his sweet time in savoring the kill. There was no need to rush things, Fundy guessed, as there were no perying eyes so far out, no witnesses to his death other than the silent snow owls and skittish deer. Death would be upon him soon, he knew.

Why? What was the reason? Some grudge? No, it wasn't just that; Dream wouldn't kill for a mere grudge. Fundy could only guess, honestly. Perhaps he had lost his value as a resource, as some soldier on his side against whatever was happening with the hermits. Or maybe, he had feared that Fundy would choose the other side or tattle to the Hub Mods about his abuse of power.

Whatever the reason was didn't matter when Fundy could feel the beat of his heart in his throat, the muscle itself attempting to free itself from his body. Ears pinned against his ginger hair, brown eyes darting here and there, paranoid, and still, he could hear the admin calling his name from somewhere. His tail had stayed tucked between his legs for some time but he had let it loose when the idea of using it like a broom to conceal his tracks had come to mind.

It's cold, freezing, merciless blows of wind banged against him and with each movement, he could feel the wound on his shoulder tear a bit more. With each passing second, he could hear Dream's mocking laughter and crazed taunts resonate in his ears; whether the admin was nearby or not, he couldn't tell.

Soon, his feet felt the first aches of thudding against snow. He felt tired, heavy, his shoulders burdened by his fur-trimmed coat. It was a present from Wilbur before the revolution, the little pin forgotten in his chests back home, a little memory of the good, hopeful days. Sadly, it was weighing him down and he couldn't run faster when the adrenaline was starting to wear off.

He burried the coat underneath a pile of snow, trying as hard as a deadman could to conceal it. The leather was too thick to cut with his bare hands, so he resorted to tearing a strip of his longsleeve instead to wrap around the wound. It was a good move, he'd deemed, to leave that coat there, hidden, out of sight as he continued to run, weaving through spruce trees with the agility only a fox could muster as he could pass through the thinnest of gaps without it. In the little break, he rubbed basil and whatever other green herb he found on the soles of his feet and all over his body. He couldn't risk Dream getting a dog to find him.

It bought him some time, some distance was put between him and the admin as the laughing and taunting grew more distant. He let himself relax and, perhaps, that was a mistake.

Fundy was still moving but considerably slower than before. His sprint turned into a run, into a jog before descending into a fast walk that gradually slowed as well. Hands wrapped around himself in an attempt to grasp a semblance of warmth, he roamed the darkest thickets of the spruce forest, tail tucked betwee his legs and ears twitching at every little sound and howl of the wind. The tips of his hair had been overcome with frost and as the wind blew, he shivered.

Alone and scared, he walked. He continued onwards with hope. The wind carried Dream's distant threats of maiming but he could barely keep his eyes open to care. His hunter had changed course, he could spare a second to rest for a short while. Rest sounded perfect to him; quite like a dream. Maybe it was the bloodloss talking and not his reason but the black of the void was calling to him, lulling him as he stumbled over fallen branches and rocks burried under the snow.

He didn't know, he didn't care.

A sharp pain went through his knees and straight up his spine when his legs gave out from underneath him. His pantlegs grew damp but the skin underneath was already cold and numb. His heart slowed and a loud ringing overcame his ears but he couldn't care much about it. He hunched over, held his wounded shoulder tightly as he listened to his teeth chittering. His body slowly warmed up or was it just his forehead? He couldn't tell.

A particularly strong shiver made him fall into the soft snow and he curled up there in a fetal position. He laid in the cold snow, his limbs slowly turning blue as he realized his fate. He did not make an effort to stand. His feet were shaking, he had lost too much blood; even if he somehow managed to stand, he wouldn't make it far. The howling wind breezed past him without so much as an ear flick from him.

It's a better fate than the torture and Hell Dream would put him through. It's a better fate than dying to him and giving him the satisfaction of it and that was the only comfort he had in the wasteland he'd found himself in. A train derailed from the tracks is bound to crush after all. He smiled; just the tiniest hint of movement on his face. It hurt to move but that information barely registered in his nerves.

Dream could return to New L'Manburg, lie to everyone who would be worried enough to not look for Fundy but he would always scratch an itch he couldn't quite get.

A flake of snow landed on Fundy's nose, gentle and soft. Many others followed and he realized- he realized that it was snowing. He almost wanted to laugh, even if it would cost him a lung and a wind pipe. He'd be missing; a corpse invisible through the snow pile.

The last of his bravery, he thought, left with the feat of acceptance. Deaf to the world, to the snowstorm roaring and blind to the snowfall of the sky, he laid there...

Deathly silent.

Φ

"No sign of him here", Techno told Phil as he walked away from the newly-built houses of New L'Manburg. About fifty tamed wolves were following him, loyal and upbeat in comparison to their owner's demeanor.

They sniffed around the neighborhood with the scent of fox in their noses.

Fundy was nowhere to be found in the town. The two of them found his house a mess, runsucked and looking nothing like either of them remembered. It was clearly abandoned when Dream had passed by for a quick look. The fox-hybrid had left in a hurry, it seemed and none of the residents had not seen him around in about a week; not even Quackity and Tubbo who had formed their political party with Fundy didn't know where the ginger had run off to.

At least, they pretended not to know. Phil let it slide, however, figuring it was for the best to not get the two mixed up in the mess they'd been dragged in.

"He left", Phil idly stated, an expression of... nothing on his face. Techno solemnly nodded, raising an eyebrow at the blond man. "He was chased", and he drew a path around the house with a finger. He was searching, Techno realized; he was searching for clues as to where his grandson had gone, where he had hid.

"He grabbed the neccessities and ran for the hills. Smart kid"

Phil's eyes lit up at the words, just a bit of a twitch of his wings. A certain emotion overcoming his saltwater eyes that Techno couldn't quite put his finger on.

To the hills they went.

The trip was quick and short as it had started raining soon after their departure from New L'Manburg. They used their tridents to fly through the dark sky and the wolves followed by land, chasing after them like MVPs they were. The pack didn't stop when they had to swim across a half-frozen river. A loyal pack they were; Techno made a mental note to give them extra treats after they complete their little quest.

They were running through the hills of the nearby spruce forest in no time, fifty white wolves bounding around, searching for the trail of Fundy's scent. It had started to snow, so they had to be quick. If there were any tracks, they'd be covered by the new snow and the any remnants of scent would be blown away or covered fast. Phil and Techno split off to cover more ground and widen the boundaries of their search.

Techno took a step into a small opening and his boot sunk into the snow. It reached just above his calf. Phil's bottom lip threatened to quiver; he could only imagine the condition of his grandson in such a harsh environment. Sure, he was a fox but only a hybrid. By no means did he have the fur to stay warm and he hadn't experienced low temperatures like in that forest in... quite a while. He's alone, scared, gods know what else, with the real threat of death in either the hands of Dream or in nature's cold wrath.

Quickly shaking his head, Phil banished the thoughts and searched. The thought of his grondson dying spurred him on and his feet moved faster despite the ache in his bones. Damn the cold, he thought with a hiss, and he continued trudging through the snowstorm and the spread white sheet.

The path he took led him to a camp... or the remnants of one. There was a white tent that had collapsed in on itseld, a thin layer of snow that was barely visible against the fabric was the one to blame for it. That ot the rods that had snapped in two. The embers of a campfire had been swallowed, almost absorbed into the white. Phil was frozen for a solid second, only then realizing that his heart had picked up speed and his breaths were coming out quick and short, fingers trembling from the cold.

A second later, he was rummaging through the camp with fast movements, looking for his grondson.

"Techno! I found his camp!", he called out, panic evident in his tone despite his attempt at keeping himself calm and collected.

Oh, who's he trying to kid? He wasn't even trying. For all he knew, Fundy had been hit by a fallen brunch and was burried underneath where they stood! Or a bear had found him, or a pack of wolves had startled him, maybe he had hit his head on a disguised rock- A hand on his shoulder, calloused, rough and familiar pulled him to reality. He looked down at his hands; the tips of his fingers were beginning to turn blue and he had small snowflakes resting innocently in his palms.

"He isn't here", it was Techno. Phil stood up -he hadn't even realized when he had fallen down- and allowed himself a second of reason. "I found this a little ways away, no mob remains or anything"

Phil took the fur-trimmed coat from Techno's hands. It was cold, probably burried for a good while and he was sure that it was the coat that Wilbur had given his son. His son talked about it in a letter he'd sent back home, describing the exchange in great detail. Only the L'Manburg pin was missing but the few ginger and white hairs inside the hood solidified the fact that it belonged to Fundy.

His eyes locked onto one detail. There was a big tear in the fabric and a huge bloodstain surrounded it.

Phil remained silent for a moment, holding the coat in trembling hands. That coat and blood were evidence of Dream's lies and true intentions, though they had suspected something like this from the start. However, when the two of them had set out, they were doing it for Tommy. It got much more personal for Phil with the phsical evidence of a wound on his grandkid's body.

He would not allow some green bastard to murder his grandson.

"If he lays a finger on him, I'll kill him", he seethed. Techno pat him on the back.

"You can do that after we find Fundy", he told the old man.

The avian let huffed, angry and frustrated, vengeful, and kicked a bit of snow before he let Techno drag him to the waiting hounds.

Bumping into Dream somewhere along the way was unavoidable, especially when there was a pack of yipping and yapping wolves bounding around you. They spotted him further away in a makeshift camp of his own. Techno was the one to approach him, as Phil would surely attempt to strangle him if he got too close or the admin hit a specific nerve accidentally.

They learnt that he had not found Fundy, despite the ruined, blooded coat. That was fine; it was enough to put their mind at ease; Dream did not have Fundy and he had somehow lost him in the snowstorm...

The snowstorm... without a coat... wounded... Phil's heart dropped.

They continued the search after that, Phil with renewed vigor. The hounds found a bloodtrail which didn't go too far before being disturbed by the new snow and the wolves lost the last trace of Fundy's scent soon after.

==============
Okay, question, how was Fundy's part? Because I felt a few tears spring to my eyes and I'm the one who is supposed to be the soulless author here! Also, I pushed this one today because I haven't updated this one in like... a month? Two months? I've gotten super inspired for the vigilante fic though so I'll focus on those two for a bit. Thanks for understanding and being patient, you're awesome :)

Also x2, I'm cutting this into two parts! The reason? Well, it is currently 1am and I have school in 7 hours, so I need sleep to make it to the end of the day without passing out in class. Next part might be  shorter than this one, we'll see ^^