121. the adventures of dreaxter, pt. 7 (credit to Black_as_White) 

TW: Implied/Referenced Torture

Tommy plucked halfheartedly at the weeds, glaring at them like they'd personally offended him. "Build a hotel, they said. It'll be fun, they said." He yanked a dandelion out with unnecessary force. "But noooo, I have to pull the same fucking weeds a hundred fucking times!"

"Tommy," an echoey voice said behind him. Tommy groaned, throwing his weeds down and turning around.

"Hey Dream, whhhAT THE FUCK!"

The ghost offered him a wan smile. The vibrant bruises on his cheek scrunched disturbingly. "Yeah. I got a wardrobe upgrade."

"What the fuck," Tommy repeated, voice reaching a squeak. "Go back, undo, whatever the fuck just-- no!"

"I don't know how."

Tommy pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and took a few deep breaths. Then he looked Dream over, forcing himself not to flinch back at the sight of the orange jumpsuit. "Okay," he breathed. "Okay. What happened?"

Dream flickered like a shaky TV signal. When he stabilized, several ugly gashes had opened up along his arm. "I talked to Sam."

"Right, that'll do it." Tommy's eyes drifted to the green blood staining his sleeve. "Are you okay?"

"It doesn't hurt."

Tommy bit the inside of his cheek. "Not what I was asking."

". . . Yes. No. I don't know." Dream twisted his fingers together. Tommy cringed as they cracked loudly. "Listen, I-- I need to change back. George and Sapnap are waiting for me-- Sam wouldn't talk to them, so they sent me into the prison to find him, but if I don't get back soon-- I can't let them see me like this and I didn't know what to do, so I just--"

"Went looking for me."

"Yes."

"Right, okay. Right. Um--" Tommy wracked his brain. "Maybe it's connected to your emotions or some shit? You gotta calm down, man."

The ghost scowled at him. The mask pushed to the side of his head cracked, a smear of dark green creeping up the edge. "I would if I knew how!"

Tommy was half-tempted to say 'breathing exercises', but one look at Dream's glowing eyes was enough to tell him that they wouldn't work this time. Instead he said, "I wanna redecorate the prison."

Dream blinked. ". . .What?"

"I wanna redecorate the prison," Tommy repeated. "Next time we loop in after the final confrontation, we're taking creative liberties. With or without Sam's permission."

"I. . ." Dream frowned. "What would you do with it?"

"Make everything pink. Baker-Miller pink. Scientifically proven to reduce aggression, and Sam could use some help with that." Tommy eyed Dream's hoodie, which was conspicuously glitter-free. "And add glitter. A ton of that shit, just-- everywhere. Pile it up in the corners so people step in it and get glitter all over themselves."

Dream's form stabilized, flickering edges solidifying once more. "Wouldn't that just make him more frustrated?"

"But it would be funny. His face, Dream, remember that one time we replaced the lava with glue--"

"The time with the feathers, or the time with the catnip?"

"I was thinking about the feathers, but the catnip one was fuckin' hilarious." Tommy snickered, relaxing slightly as Dream's fingers straightened out. "Highest-security prison on the server, and it couldn't hold up against cats."

"To be fair, they were invincible cats. And motivated by catnip."

"But cats! It took Technoblade a month to put together a plan to get you out, and the cats did it in three hours!"

Dream chuckled. The dark green receded and the gashes stitched themselves up. When Tommy blinked, the ghost was back in his hoodie - slightly ragged, but a massive improvement from the jumpsuit.

"Better?"

"Better," Dream confirmed. He ducked his head. "Sorry, I didn't expect. . . I should be over it by now--"

"Shut the fuck up. You have a right to be mad, so stop worrying about it." Tommy barreled on before Dream could protest. "You need to head back now, right?"

"Yeah." Dream sent him a wry smile that told him he knew exactly what Tommy was doing. "Mind helping me? I can't seem to remember how I got here."

"Fuck your stupid ghost-amnesia bullshit," Tommy muttered, but he turned on his heel and strode down the path. "If I somehow end up in the prison again, I'm blaming you."

"You'll be fine!"

~~~

"--and we're not leaving until he comes out and talks to us--"

"For the last time, Sapnap!" Bad's tail lashed back and forth, nearly whacking Antfrost across the knees. "We can't let you in! There's no point in waiting out here-- just go home."

Sapnap bared his teeth, eyes glowing dangerously. "Look, dad," --Bad flinched back-- "I don't care if Sam sent you guys out to chase us away. We're not budging until we get some answers."

"To what?" Antfrost demanded. "What could you possibly need to see Sam for?"

"To know why Dream's dead!"

Both guards recoiled. "Dead?" Bad echoed, eyes widening. "I-- what? No, Sam would have told us if he. . ."

George crossed his arms. "Well, he obviously didn't."

Antfrost shook his head. "Look, even if Dream is dead we can't let you in. Warden's orders."

Sapnap snarled and took a step forward, only to stop in his tracks when a voice rang through the entrance hall. "Uh. . . bad time?"

Tommy stepped into the hall. He winced as four wary gazes fell on him. "I'm just, uh, bringing Dreaxter back."

As if on cue, the ghost floated into view. He beamed. "George! Sapnap!"

Sapnap blinked, ignoring the choked noise Bad made behind him. "Dream, what-- I thought you were looking for Sam?"

"I was! I found him, actually, and. . ." the ghost frowned. "I think I told him you were outside? He wouldn't go out, so I asked him how I. . . how I. . . don't. . ." he shook his head. "Anyway, I blinked and I was outside, and I didn't know where I was or how I got there, but then I saw Tommy far far away--"

"--so he whined about it until I took him here." Tommy rolled his eyes. "You're welcome, by the way."

Dreaxter beamed and patted Tommy on the head in an almost condescending manner. "Thanks, Tommy!" Tommy scowled and batted his hand away.

"Thanks, Tommy," George echoed, much more genuine. He turned to the ghost. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah!" Dream thrust his hands forward, revealing that they were covered with glitter. It trickled between his fingers like sand in an hourglass, leaving sparkling trails on the floor. "I even got more glitter!"

"Dream?"

"Dreaxter," the ghost corrected, turning to Bad. The demon took a step back-- rather comical, seeing as he loomed a good three feet over Dream. "Hi Bad! How are you?"

"You're dead," the demon said.

"I am," Dream agreed. He held out another fistful of glitter. "Want some glitter?"

"You're--" the trident slipped from Bad's fingers, clattering to the floor. "You're a ghost!"

"Yeeees? I thought you already knew that."

"Sam didn't tell us," Antfrost murmured. His tail lashed back and forth with sharp, agitated movements. "Why didn't he tell us?"

"He didn't tell anyone," Sapnap snapped.

Bad seemed to fold into himself. "Dream, I-- how did. . . how did you die?"

Dream shrugged. "Don't remember."

"Which is why we're trying to get in there," George said. He crossed his arms. "So are you going to let us in?"

Antfrost and Bad exchanged glances, their inner conflict clear. Sapnap took a step forward, opening his mouth to say something when--

"Oi, what the hell is going on here?"

Heads turned towards the entrance of the prison - all except one. Tommy, standing forgotten in the corner, instead looked towards Dream, who was staring at the man standing silhouetted in the gateway.

Quackity scowled back at them, his gold tooth gleaming. "Well? Why the fuck are you all standing around?"

122. cosplay competition, pt. 4 (credit to Smallest) 

TW: Implied/Referenced Torture

Quackity took a deep breath as he stepped onto the platform, folding his shaking hands behind his back. His gut churned with a volatile mix of giddiness and disgust. His heart pounded with adrenaline, addicting and revolting. Over a month after the first visit, the feeling hadn't worn off. It wouldn't for a while yet.

Sam pulled the lever and retreated silently into the shadows, expression hidden behind his mask. The platform rumbled beneath Quackity's feet and he forced himself to calm, folding his hands behind his back and painting a more civilized smile across his face.

That was the thing that set him apart from Schlatt. Schlatt didn't try to hide his madness. Quackity did.

The platform ground to a halt at the edge of the obsidian. Quackity stepped off, idly running a finger over the dull edge of the shears as the netherite barrier came down. Dream lay facedown on the obsidian floor, his features obscured by a mop of dirty blonde hair.

Quackity rolled his eyes. "Dream."

Dream didn't respond. Quackity felt his lips pull into a sneer. So this was how he was gonna play it, huh?

"Dream," he repeated, stalking over to the man. Something niggled at the back of his mind, a strange insistence that something wasn't quite right with the scene, but he brushed it aside. "Get up."

Dream groaned. It sounded. . . off, like the pitch wasn't quite right. Quackity chalked it up to him screaming himself hoarse the day before and nudged the prisoner with the toe of his boot.

"Last chance, Dream. Get up."

Dream continued to imitate a rock. Quackity rolled his eyes and kicked him in the side with enough force to roll him over. The prisoner's face came into view, half-obscured by dirty blonde hair.

Quackity's heart plunged into his stomach. This wasn't Dream.

"T-Tommy?"

Tommy lay splayed out on the prison floor, dressed in a slightly undersized, bloodied prison jumpsuit. Quackity dropped down next to him, alarm bells going off in his mind. Dream had escaped. Somehow, he'd gotten out, and replaced himself with Tommy. Sam didn't know yet-- nobody knew yet. Dream was out there, doing who the fuck knows what, and--

Quackity gritted his teeth, swallowing the rising wave of panic. "Tommy, Tommy, can you hear me?" He reached out to touch Tommy's shoulder. "Tommy?"

Tommy's eyes slid open into thin blue slits. He glared at Quackity.

"'M taking a nap, leave me alone."

He proceeded to turn over and snore loudly, leaving a flabbergasted Quackity to gape at his back.

~~~

Puffy hummed a cheery tune as she strode down the path, kicking her heels against the ground. The sun rippled across the water on either side of her, tossed by a light breeze. Perfect weather for a stroll through the server.

She stepped into the Community House, still humming, only to stop when she spotted the figure at the far end of the building. They were rummaging through the chests, and bore a familiar red-and-white t-shirt.

Puffy beamed. She hadn't seen Tommy since his miraculous resurrection; he'd made a habit of avoiding everyone post-revival. He certainly looked a lot better, which was a relief. Best announce her presence, though, so she didn't accidentally scare him.

"Tommy?"

The person that looked back at her was decidedly not Tommy. Sure, his eyes were the right color, but his facial structure was all wrong. Puffy stared. ". . . Dream?"

"Um," Dream squeaked. And when Puffy said squeak, she meant that his voice reached Alvin and the Chipmunks level. "Who's Dream?"

Puffy rubbed her eyes, hoping that she'd stop hallucinating. Unfortunately, Dream remained in all his. . . blonde-haired glory. Was he wearing a wig?

Dream was still watching her. Puffy exhaled.

"Dream, I. . . how did you break out? Why are you. . ." she waved a hand towards his general person, not quite sure how to verbalize his appearance.

"I'm not Dream--"

"Dream, I've known you for eight years. I've seen your face enough times to know what it looks like."

"Not Dream," Dream insisted. "I'm uh, NotDream123. You can ask Tommy, he'll tell you I'm not Dream."

Puffy blinked. Raised a hand to her face. Took a deep breath.

"I'm going to go to the prison," she told Dream, "And tell Sam that you broke out. And I'm not going to ask you any more questions, because I'm pretty sure I don't want to know."

With that said, she turned on her heel and hurried away. "Broke out of what?" Dream called to her retreating back.

Puffy walked faster.

~~~

"Well, Quackity thought I was you for a full minute--"

"You just laid on the floor and played dead the entire time! I actually had to talk!"

"At least I fooled Quackity--"

"I fooled Puffy too! And my costumes were more accurate than yours."

"Right, because you stole your costumes-- at least I actually made mine!"

"Not all of us have sewing skills!"

They glared at each other, neither willing to concede. At last, Dream sighed, tugging his blonde wig off.

". . . Let's just call it a draw, yeah?"

"Fine," Tommy sniffed. "But my George cosplay was still better than yours."

"You take that back--"

123. (credit to Sad_Apparition)

"Useless piece of shit, I'm gonna burn this entire fucking library to the ground--"

"Any luck?"

Tommy looked up from the book he was tearing apart to glower at Dream. "Does it look like I'm having any luck?!"

"No," Dream admitted. He eyed the shelves of the stronghold library, half of which had been cleared, the books which used to occupy them now lying in various states of disarray on the floor. "Can I ask why you're destroying that book?"

"It offended me," Tommy deadpanned. He dropped the mangled book on the floor and kicked it behind the shelves. "Guessing you didn't find anything either?"

"Nope."

Tommy groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Look man, this is the-- what, sixty-something-eth stronghold we've found? We've only gotten vaguely time loop-related shit from like, seven of them, and none of it's been helpful. Can't we just stop going through libraries?"

"It's not like we're actively looking for strongholds anymore, and if there's a chance, it's--"

"--worth a shot, yeah, yeah."

Dream snorted, meandering over to peer at a neat stack of books, a contrast to their brethren strewn across the room. "What's this?"

"Stuff that's kinda time or dimension travel related," Tommy said. "Mostly fiction, from what I can tell."

"So the usual." Dream swiped the book at the top of the pile, leafing through the pages. "Hey, this one has pictures!"

"Oh yeah, that one's a kid's book. I think." Tommy peered over his shoulder. "The art's cool, but the aliens are fucking weird."

"Weird, but their colors are pretty." Dream squinted at the runes inscribed on the yellowed pages. "And so. . . the five young Te. . . Temp. . . this calligraphy is hard to read. What rune is that?"

"Dunno."

Dream huffed. "And so the five young Temp-somethings left their. . . homes, ready to ex. . . explode--? No, no, explore . That's reið. Explore the worlds." He side-eyed Tommy. "How is this related to time travel?"

"Dimension travel," Tommy corrected. "They go to like, three different universes and fuck shit up. Then they all end up dying because they were stupid. Except for one guy, he survives 'cause he stayed out of things."

Dream slowly shut the book. ". . . I thought you said this was for kids?"

Tommy shrugged. "It is. Teaches them things, ey? Don't get involved, and you won't die."

"Huh." Dream set the book down on the pile. "So if we just run away every loop--"

"We've already tried that, didn't do shit." Tommy crossed his arms. "And we're not following a fuckin' children's book. They're not even humans, and we're not trying to not die here, we're trying to get out of a fucking time loop."

Dream raised his hands. "Just saying."

A moody silence descended upon the room. Tommy glared at the remaining shelves, gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

"The rest of these are probably useless," he grumbled. "We'd be better off doing something else."

"Like?"

". . . I was thinking--"

"You do that?"

Tommy flipped him off. "You know how Connor told us that there was another time traveler, like, five loops ago?"

"Yes?"

"They obviously didn't wanna be found, but they might've been scared of us or some shit. I was thinking, if we-- y'know, tried looking for them again, we could do it in a. . . less serious way?"

Dream straightened, interest piqued. "Got anything in mind?"

~~~

Technoblade woke up to pounding at his door and screaming in his head.

"What?" he muttered, rolling out of his bed and making the arduous journey down the ladder in darkness. The voices were unhelpful as always, providing exactly no information about whatever might be waiting outside his house now. They weren't screaming for blood, though, so it probably wasn't a threat.

He was about five rungs off the ground when the knocking began anew, this time with much more force. This was then followed by an ear-splitting "FBI, OPEN UP!"

Technoblade promptly fell the rest of the way down the ladder. "Ow," he groaned, pushing himself to his feet. He didn't think anyone was dumb enough to actually impersonate the FBI (which was liable to get you imprisoned, if authorities in the North America server ever got wind of it), so this was probably a prank of some kind. One he would have gladly ignored, if not for the voices cackling in his head and the fact that he would like to sleep, thank you very much.

He hobbled over to the door and slammed it open. "What," he ground out. Then he paused and did a double-take.

Dream and Tommy stood illuminated in the dim starlight, dressed in. . . surprisingly realistic FBI costumes. Technoblade had no idea where they even found the references for an FBI costume in a server that was far removed from most kinds of internet, but they were decent reproductions.

What was not a decent reproduction was the loaded crossbows that they wielded. Though guns weren't produced on this server, so he guessed that they had to improvise.

"Hello," Dream said, in a pleasant tone of voice that completely belied the shouting and attempts to break his door down that Technoblade had experienced literally a minute ago. "We are the Federal Bureau of Investigation into Temporal Anomalies. We would like to inquire as to any experiences you have had with time travelers?"

"What?" Technoblade asked blankly.

Dream's crossbow disappeared in a flash of light, replaced with a pen and notepad. "We would like to inquire as to any experiences you've had with time travelers."

"Time travelers," Technoblade repeated. Part of him wanted to question this charade, but the rest of him was so tired that he was willing to go along with this so he could go back to sleep. Actually, he was about eighty percent sure that he was still asleep, and this was some amalgamation of a fever dream his sleep-deprived brain had conjured up. He knew he shouldn't have drunk the suspicious soup Phil made. "Uh. . . can't say I've had any."

"I see." Dream clicked his pen a few times (wait a second, that was a quill, how was he clicking a quill--?) and scribbled something down in his notepad. "Then can you tell me about any strange experiences with suspected time traveler Ranboo Beloved?"

"Ranboo? You think-- you think that guy is a time traveler?"

"I'm sorry, that information is classified."

Technoblade took a deep, deep breath. "No, I haven't had any weird time-travel-esque experiences with Ranboo, and no, I don't think he's a time traveler. Can I ask what you're doing?"

"That information is also classified." Dream clicked his. . . quill. . . a couple more times. Technoblade stared at it, eye twitching. If that wasn't confirmation that he was dreaming, then he wasn't sure what was.

Still, he was tired. The voices were being annoying. He was getting cold, standing in the doorway to the arctic in nothing but his pajamas.

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

Dream and Tommy glanced at each other, nodded, and looked back at him in sync. It was kinda creepy, actually. "Thank you for your cooperation."

~~~

Technoblade jerked awake, staring up at the wooden ceiling. He lay there for a moment, mind puzzling over the fuzzy recollections he had of his dreams.

His dreams, which had felt. . . oddly realistic.

Technoblade sat up. "Chat," he said aloud. "Was I dreaming?"

No, Chat answered with unwarranted glee.

"Hm," Technoblade said. He got up, got dressed, and promptly headed over to Phil's house to ask if he'd put any hallucinogens in the soup last night.

124. remix, pt. 7 

TW: Implied/Referenced Abuse

Tubbo took a deep breath. He donned his presidential mask, forcing his shoulders to straighten as he strode forward. Quackity sent him a sidelong glance but didn't comment.

The L'Mantree soon came into view, and with it, a very familiar figure.

"Tommy!"

Tommy turned around. The smiley mask had been pushed to one side of his head, revealing his bright grin. "Tubbo! Big man, how are you?"

Tubbo felt himself relax. Tommy was acting more like he used to, before the whole Dream debacle. Maybe he'd just been having an off day, with Dream's disappearance and everything. "I'm. . . things have been okay."

"Great, great. And big Q!" Tommy beamed at Quackity. "Haven't seen you in a while!"

He held out his hand. Quackity clasped it in a handshake, grinning back. "Good to see you too, Tommy. How's the freedom?"

Tommy blinked. "Huh?"

"From office," Quackity clarified. He mock-shuddered. "Fuck, if I'd known there was gonna be that much paperwork. . ."

Tommy cackled. "Power and responsibility, big Q. Power and responsibility." He took a step back, crossing his arms. "So you guys said you knew something about Dream?"

The mood plummeted. Quackity and Tubbo glanced at each other, before Quackity reluctantly stepped back. Tubbo took the lead.

"Yeah, uh. . . I ran into him this morning--"

And then Tommy was right in front of him, eyes burning with something dark and excited, an unsettling smile carved across his face. "You found him?!"

Tubbo jerked backwards, his heart pounding in his ears. An unreadable expression flashed across Tommy's face before his countenance rearranged itself into an easy grin. "Sorry," he said. "You said you found him?"

"More like he found me," Tubbo answered. He took a few discreet breaths, willing his heart to slow. He wasn't scared. This was Tommy, for Prime's sake. "He, uh. . . said some things."

Tommy snorted. "What, did he monologue about his evil plans for world domination or something?"

"No, uh. . ." Tubbo bit the inside of his cheek. There wasn't really a way to tiptoe around this, so. . . "He said you blackmailed him into exiling himself."

Tommy blinked. "Huh?"

The confusion was a good sign. Tubbo's fingers loosened from their tight grip behind his back. "He said you, uh, threatened to hurt George and Sapnap if he didn't give up. That you blackmailed him."

Tommy hesitated. "Well. . . I wouldn't call it blackmail."

Tubbo's budding hope withered and died. ". . . What?"

Tommy shrugged. "I didn't blackmail him. I just nudged him in the right direction, yeah?"

Quackity had gone still beside him. Tubbo very deliberately kept his gaze fixed on Tommy. "So you wrote the message on the. . . picture?"

"We talked before the trial about some stuff. I was just making sure he didn't forget it." Tommy's mouth thinned into a neutral line, and the look in his eyes was so cold that Tubbo felt a chill go down his spine. "Is that gonna be a problem, Tubbo?"

"I. . . . it's, um, it's not. . ."

"What did you talk about?" Quackity cut in, his voice flat. "George and Sapnap?"

If anything, Tommy's gaze grew even colder. "Look, big Q, I came here because you said you had intel on Dream-- not so you could interrogate me."

"Dream said--"

"I don't care what Dream said. Whatever shit he's feeding you, don't believe it." Something cracked at the edge of Tommy's smile. "He's just looking for attention."

Tubbo frowned. The words felt familiar. He'd heard them before, but not from Tommy. Not from Quackity either. Who--?

Oh.

(Tommy laughed, shaking Tubbo's hand off his arm. Tubbo narrowed his eyes, grabbing Tommy's hand again. "I saw it," he insisted. "Tommy, you don't need to hide--"

"Not hiding anything," Tommy said. He tried to tug his arm away again, but Tubbo maintained a firm grip. Ignoring Tommy's protests, he reached out and pulled the green bandanna away.

A bracelet of red bruises circled Tommy's wrist. Tubbo traced them with his eyes, pulling up a mental comparison with the one around his own bicep and the one currently decorating Quackity's face.

A handprint.

". . . He was just roughhousing," Tommy said. "He forgets how strong he is."

Tubbo swallowed bile. "Wilbur's supposed to be better."

"Better?"

Better than Schlatt, Tubbo wanted to say. But before he could speak, the door slammed open. Both boys looked up to see Wilbur in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Tommy's wrist.

"Ah, Tommy!" His gaze flicked up again. Dismissive. Like he hadn't made a fucking bruise on Tommy's arm. "Just the man I needed!"

"Wilbur," Tubbo started, but Wilbur held up a hand.

"Ah-ah," he tutted. "I need to talk to Tommy. Alone."

Tubbo could feel his teeth grinding together. "Wilbur, Tommy's arm-- he said--"

Wilbur snorted. "Don't listen to what the gremlin says. He's just looking for attention."

"Fuck you," Tommy protested, but there was no heat to it. He sent Tubbo a half-hearted wave. "It's fine, Tubbo. Go uh, file Schlatt's tax returns or some shit. I got big man plans to make with Wilbur."

Tubbo shifted, uncertain, but Wilbur was watching him with mistrustful eyes and Tommy was pleading for him to go--

So he left.

They never brought the incident up again.)

Tubbo stared at Tommy. Tommy raised his chin, the ice in his eyes cracking apart to reveal burning, fiery rage.

Tubbo was going to be sick. "Tommy," he whispered. "Tommy, did you-- are you--"

"Tubbo!" A distant cry caught their attention. Fundy barreled down the path towards them, skidding to a stop just shy of running into Quackity. "Tubbo," he panted. "Technoblade's in L'Manberg!"

Quackity cursed, reaching for his inventory. "Where?"

"Philza! He's-- he was heading towards Phil's house, I don't think he saw me. Dream's with him--" his gaze landed on Tommy. "--T-Tommy?"

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Tommy's face. "Dream's in L'Manberg, huh? With Philza?"

"Don't," Tubbo blurted.

Tommy sneered at him before he pulled the mask over his face. With a careless wave and the sound of a shattering ender pearl, he was gone.

125.

Fundy kicked the lever, eye twitching. "Work, dammit."

The contraption failed to light up. Fundy narrowed his eyes at the circuits, crouching and running a finger across the redstone. "Not disconnected, hmm. . ."

"AHA!"

Fundy shrieked, leaping to his feet. Dream, who had popped out of fucking nowhere, beamed down at him. The man was sporting an eye-searing outfit combination of pink shirt and orange pants. Actually, wait, the pants looked a bit like the bottom half of his jumpsuit-- wasn't he supposed to be in prison?!

"Good thinking, Boots!" Dream declared. "You were right! Swiper was right here!"

Fundy whipped around to see Tommy, who looked normal - save for his red rainboots and his wide-eyed, manic grin.

"Wh-- Tommy?" Fundy glanced back and forth between the two. "Why is-- why is Dream out of prison? What are you doing with him?"

"Say it with me!" Dream chirped.

"What the fu--" Fundy started, only to be hit with a rolled-up piece of paper.

"Hey, this is a kid's show," Tommy hissed in his normal voice. "Watch your language."

Fundy peeled the paper off his face. "But you curse all the t--"

"We've got to stop him!" Dream shouted over him. "Say it with us! Swiper, no swiping! Swiper, no swiping!"

"Fine, okay, f-- agh! Fork! Yes! I'll stop stealing your sh-- stuff-- will you stop hitting me with that?!" Fundy snatched the paper from Dream, then stared at it. "Why the fuck does this have googly eyes?"

"Oh no! Swiper has swiped the map!"

"The m--?" Fundy unrolled the paper to find a poorly-drawn map of the Dream SMP. "What the fuck."

Actually, 'poorly drawn' was too generous. It was sketched with the ugliest crayon color he had ever seen. The labels were horribly misspelled. "L'Menbarge" had been downgraded to a shapeless blob.

"Not the map!" Tommy cried. "We've got to get it back! We can't go anywhere without it!"

Fundy's eye twitched. "You're telling me this--" he jabbed a finger at the monstrosity, "--is supposed to be an actual map?"

Both lunatics ignored him. Dream turned to what appeared to be empty air. "Swiper's hidden it!"

"It's literally right here--"

"Quick, do you see the map?"

"Who the fuck are you even talking to?!"

Dream paused. ". . .Where?"

Fundy strained his ears, trying to pick out another voice. Nothing answered him except the wind.

"That's right!" Dream cheered. He swiped the 'map' from Fundy's hands. "Hooray! We've gotten the map back!"

"Hooray!" Tommy sang.

Fundy decided that he'd reached his limit for craziness for the day, spun on his heel, and speed-walked away. If Sam wanted to drag Dream back into prison, he could deal with the insanity himself. Fundy wasn't touching that mess with a 20-foot pole.

Loop Notes
123. The two loopers spent the rest of the loop either knocking down people's doors at 2 AM or lurking ominously in the background, scribbling who-knows-what in their notepads. Whenever approached or confronted, they would whip out newspapers and pretend to read them. Said newspapers were often upside down and/or in another language.
124. I literally searched up "villain tommy" fanart to get the vibes for this.
125. Du-du-du-du-du-Dora! Du-du-du-du-du-Dora! Dora, Dora, Dora the Explorerrrr~!