Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ruins of L’Manberg still reeked of smoke, even years after its fall.

Philza adjusted his cloak, pulling it tighter against the sharp night air. His camp wasn’t far—just past the skeletal remains of the walls, tucked into the shattered remains of an old underground bunker. A good hiding place. A necessary one. The world wasn’t kind to survivors.

Wilbur sat beside the fire, flipping through an old, half-burned notebook. Tommy slept near the back, one arm flung over his face, while Technoblade perched on the ledge above, crossbow in hand, watching the dark.

Then came the knock.

Three slow taps against the bunker’s outer door.

Philza was on his feet in an instant, blade drawn. Wilbur froze. Tommy stirred, muttering under his breath.

Techno shifted, his voice carrying softly from above. “That’s either a dead man or a desperate one.”

Philza opened the door an inch, just enough to see the stranger outside.

Dream.

His mask was cracked, hanging lopsided on his face. His cloak was torn, stained with dirt and blood, and there was a fresh wound on his arm. He looked like he had been running for days, barely holding himself together. His fingers clutched a dagger, not raised, just there. A last defense.

Philza exhaled through his nose. Of course it’s him.

“Phil.” Dream’s voice was hoarse. “Let me in.”

Silence. The fire behind Philza crackled, casting shadows over the stone walls.

“Not my problem,” he said.

Dream swallowed, swaying on his feet. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Wilbur shot Philza a look, smirking like this was some grand twist of fate. Tommy groaned from his spot on the floor, still half-asleep. “Just let the bastard in so I can sleep.”

Philza clenched his jaw. He should say no. He should turn Dream away like the world had done to so many before him. But he didn’t.

“Fine,” he muttered, stepping aside. “One night. No trouble.”

Dream nodded once and stumbled inside.

Philza didn’t know it then, but this was the moment everything changed.

Chapter Text

Dream barely made it three steps inside before his knees buckled.

Philza moved fast, catching him before he hit the ground. The man was burning up, his body trembling from exhaustion and fever. Up close, Philza could see just how bad the wound on his arm was—deep, poorly wrapped, and probably infected.

"Wilbur," Philza called, already pulling Dream towards one of the empty bedrolls. "Get the med kit. Now."

Wilbur hesitated, then sighed, pushing his notebook aside. "We just let him in, and now we're playing nurse?"

"Just get it."

Wilbur went without another word, while Tommy—now fully awake—sat up and squinted at the scene. "Great. Another stray. You have a habit of picking up weirdos, Dadza."

Philza ignored him, focusing on unwrapping Dream’s wound. The fabric was stiff with dried blood, and when he peeled it back, Dream hissed in pain, barely conscious but still reacting.

"Deep cut," Philza muttered, inspecting the jagged wound along Dream’s forearm. "Not clean. Could've been a knife, maybe a piece of metal."

"Or a fight," Techno added from his perch above. He hadn't come down yet, still watching Dream like he was waiting for an excuse to put an arrow in him.

Philza didn't answer. His gut told him the same thing. Wounds like this didn’t just happen—they were inflicted.

Wilbur returned with the med kit, dropping it next to Philza. "If he dies, I call dibs on his supplies."

"Jesus, Wil," Tommy muttered.

Philza got to work, cleaning the wound with careful, practiced hands. Dream flinched but didn’t fight him, his breathing uneven. Up close, Philza could see the dark circles under his eyes, the way his ribs pressed against his shirt. The guy had been on the run for a while.

"How’d you get this?" Philza finally asked.

Dream’s eyes cracked open, unfocused. "Ran into the wrong people."

Philza frowned. "Who?"

Dream hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "Raiders. They don’t like it when you steal from them."

Wilbur snorted. "Oh, great. So he’s not just a stray—he’s got enemies."

Philza didn’t respond, just wrapped the wound tightly. "You’re lucky they didn’t kill you."

Dream let out a weak, dry laugh. "Yeah. Lucky."

Philza tied off the bandage and sat back. "Get some rest. You move, the stitches come out, and I won’t fix them again."

Dream didn’t argue. His body was already giving in to exhaustion, eyes slipping shut.

Philza stood, rolling his shoulders, and turned to the others. Wilbur still looked skeptical, Tommy just seemed intrigued, and Techno… Techno was unreadable as always.

"He’s hiding something," Wilbur said.

"Probably," Philza admitted. "But he’s too weak to be a threat right now."

Wilbur sighed. "Fine. But if this comes back to bite us, I’m saying 'I told you so.'"

Philza didn’t answer. He just looked back at the stranger sleeping near their fire, wondering if he’d just made a mistake.

Outside, the storm finally broke, rain hammering against the shelter's roof.

Chapter Text

The storm raged outside, rattling the half-collapsed bunker like a beast trying to claw its way in. Wind howled through broken windows, and rain dripped through cracks in the ceiling. Inside, the fire flickered, casting shadows against the walls, the only warmth in the cold night.

Dream hadn’t moved much since Philza stitched him up. His breathing was steady, but shallow. Every so often, his fingers twitched, like he was gripping something in his sleep—maybe a weapon, maybe a memory.

Philza sat by the fire, sharpening his knife, but his gaze kept flicking to the stranger.

"You're staring," Wilbur muttered, stretched out on his bedroll.

Philza didn’t look away. "He’s a wild card."

Wilbur snorted. "Yeah, no shit. You really think letting him in was a good idea?"

Philza didn’t answer right away. His gut was still undecided. Dream had skills—he’d clearly survived a long time on his own—but he was hiding something. And secrets were dangerous in a world like this.

Techno, still perched near the entrance, finally spoke. "We could just kill him now. Save us the trouble."

Tommy, sitting cross-legged near the fire, rolled his eyes. "Oh my God, Techno, can you chill? The guy’s half-dead. What’s he gonna do, cough on us?"

Techno shrugged. "I dunno, betray us when we least expect it?"

Wilbur smirked. "Wouldn’t be the first time Philza’s made a bad call."

Philza sighed, running a hand through his messy blond hair. "I don’t trust him," he admitted. "But if we killed every stray that came through here, we wouldn’t be any better than the raiders out there."

That shut them up for a moment.

Then Dream groaned, shifting slightly. His breathing hitched, and before anyone could react, his hand shot out, grabbing the knife from his belt and swinging it wildly.

Philza moved on instinct. In one swift motion, he caught Dream’s wrist, twisting just enough to make him drop the blade. Dream gasped in pain, eyes snapping open. For a split second, they were wild—panicked, feral.

Then his gaze landed on Philza. The tension in his body eased, just barely.

"You’re safe," Philza said, not letting go yet. "Calm down."

Dream swallowed hard, blinking away whatever nightmare had pulled him under. He was still burning up with fever, his body fighting exhaustion and pain. "Where...?" His voice was hoarse.

"L'Manberg ruins, in a bunker. My group." Philza let go and sat back. "You collapsed. I patched you up."

Dream's fingers twitched like he was still expecting to fight. "Should’ve left me."

Wilbur scoffed. "Yeah, we considered it."

Dream’s eyes flicked to the others, scanning them like he was assessing threats. When he spotted Techno, he stiffened slightly, but didn’t say anything.Dream exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face.
He looked exhausted, but he also looked like a man who knew he was running out of options.

Finally, he said, "I used to run with a group. The kind that took what they wanted. No rules, no mercy."

Silence.

"Raiders?" Tommy asked, suddenly looking less amused.

Dream’s jaw clenched. He didn’t confirm it, but he didn’t have to.

Wilbur let out a low whistle. "Well, shit. Phil, you really know how to pick ‘em."

Philza’s expression didn’t change. "You’re not with them now." It wasn’t a question.

Dream shook his head. "No. Not anymore."

Wilbur crossed his arms. "And we’re just supposed to believe that?"

Dream met Philza’s eyes. "No. But I wouldn’t be here if they didn’t want me dead."

That, at least, sounded like the truth.

Philza held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. "You can stay. But if you lie to me, if you put my people in danger—"

"You’ll kill me," Dream finished. His lips curled into a weak smirk. "Yeah. I figured."

Philza stood. "Get some rest. We’ll talk in the morning."

Dream didn’t argue. As he lay back down, Philza turned to Techno. "Keep an eye on him."

Techno smirked. "Was already planning on it."

Philza sat back near the fire, watching the flames dance.

Trust was a currency in this world. And right now, Dream was broke.

But maybe, just maybe, he could earn it back.

Chapter Text

Morning in the SMP never truly felt safe anymore.

It was atleast a week after Philza let Dream stay. The storm had passed sometime before dawn, leaving the land damp and silent. From the roof of the ruined outpost—once a watchtower near what used to be L’Manberg—Philza could see the fog rolling low across the fields, clinging to broken paths and half-buried stone.

He didn’t like fog.

Fog hid things.

He descended quietly, boots familiar with every creaking step. Inside, the others were stirring. Wilbur was already awake, scribbling notes into a weathered book filled with maps and half-crossed-out plans. Tommy sat near the fire, poking at it with a stick like daring it to go out.

Dream lay where Philza had left him.

Still alive.

Philza checked the bandages first thing. The wound was angry but clean. No blackened veins. No spreading discoloration. Good. If it had gone bad, they would’ve known by now.

Dream shifted, eyes fluttering open.

“You’re up,” Philza said quietly.

“Wasn’t really asleep,” Dream replied, voice rough. He looked around the room, gaze lingering on the walls, the exits, the shadows. Always watching. “Didn’t hear anything last night.”

“Neither did we,” Wilbur said. “Which is either very good news or very bad news.”

Tommy groaned. “Don’t say it like that, Wil.”

Philza ignored them and crouched beside Dream. “You feeling steady enough to talk?”

Dream nodded once.

Philza straightened. “Yesterday you told me you ran with people who didn’t care who they hurt. In this world, that narrows it down—but not enough.”

Dream exhaled slowly. “I was with them before the world finished breaking. Back when alliances still meant something.” His jaw tightened. “They adapted faster than everyone else.”

Wilbur looked up sharply. “Adapted how?”

Dream didn’t answer right away. His fingers curled into the blanket. “They learned where not to go. When not to move. What noises meant death.”

The room went quiet.

Tommy stopped fidgeting.

Philza didn’t push. He knew that tone. Everyone in the SMP had things they refused to name.

“And you left,” Philza said instead.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dream met his eyes. “Because they stopped avoiding the things out there.”

That was enough.

Wilbur swallowed. “Right. Brilliant. Love that for us.”

Philza stood, decision already made. “We’re moving today. Techno and I will head toward the city ruins—near the old prison route. We need ammo and food.”

Dream pushed himself up slightly. “I can help.”

“No,” Philza said immediately.

Dream frowned. “I know those paths.”

“And you’re injured,” Philza replied. “You slow down, you make noise, and noise gets people killed.”

Something sharp flashed across Dream’s face—not anger, not quite. Frustration. Helplessness.

Philza softened his tone just a little. “Rest. That’s an order.”

Techno appeared at the doorway, already armed. “Perimeter’s clear. For now.”

“For now,” Wilbur echoed.

Philza grabbed his coat and weapons. Before leaving, he glanced back at Dream. “Stay inside the markings. Don’t wander. And if the fog comes back—”

“I know,” Dream said quietly. “You don’t go looking for what doesn’t want to be found.”

Philza paused.

That was… specific.

He nodded once and turned away.

-------------------------------------------------

The outpost felt different after they left.

Too quiet.

Dream sat near the fire, staring at the faded insignia carved into the stone floor—an old symbol from a nation that no longer existed. Wilbur noticed his gaze.

“L’Manberg,” Wilbur said. “Or what’s left of it.”

Dream hummed. “Places remember things.”

Wilbur studied him for a moment. “You’ve seen them too, haven’t you?”

Dream didn’t ask who they were.

“Yes,” he said.

Tommy hugged his knees closer to his chest. “They won’t come here, right?”

Wilbur forced a grin. “Not if we’re smart.”

Dream didn’t smile.

Because smart didn’t always save you in the SMP.

Sometimes, it just made you live long enough to remember.