Dream watched as the newly dubbed resistance of 'Pogtopia' continued to flourish. As Tommy expanded the tunnel to Manburg, Wilbur convinced Tubbo, now a part of Schlatt's government, to become a spy for them. In the span of a single day, Technoblade had built a large potato farm to provide Pogtopia with food. And of course, he had his weapons.
Tubbo was spying, trying not to get caught.
Tommy was working on a secret tunnel.
Techno was expanding their arms and food supply.
And Wilbur? What was he doing?
Dream had taken to following him around. Ostensibly, he was directing them all, but Tommy's job didn't need much direction, if he contacted Tubbo at the wrong time he would be found out, and Techno mostly did what he knew was needed and didn't really listen or acknowledge Wilbur as the leader.
So what was he doing?
Every day, Wilbur snuck into Manburg, and he hid in a small cavern he had carved out before they were banished. He just sat there and thought.
Not speaking, just remembering.
Maybe Wilbur could use someone who would cheer him up. Maybe one of Tommy's antics would get his mind off of what he had lost, but all Dream could do was watch. He wasn't good at comforting people. Sometimes he would persuade people to join a cause, or sacrifice something, but in the end he wasn't good with people.
Eventually, Wilbur started putting up signs.
All over the walls, signs. And written on them were the words of the Declaration of Independance. SUrrounded by these, Wilbur would mourn, and Dream would ponder. He would stand looking in, putting himself into Wilbur's shoes. Watching a nation, his nation, crumble from beneath him.
The land that he had built and made great by the sweat of his brow alongside his friends...
It gave Dream a sense of déjà vu.
What was it like for your own people, your friends, your brothers, in life and in arms, to turn against you? Dream had a sinking feeling that he knew all too well.
Iron bars. Obsidian.
Dream shuddered, and tried to keep the memories from flooding back. He had been trying to remember, but this was one memory that he didn't want to carry.
He pleaded. Not with himself, not with his mind. He didn't know who he was begging, but he begged for the memory to be taken away. If only it would be lost with the next breath of wind...
Dark walls. Dark floors. Dark expressions.
No, no, no. It was flooding back, too quickly. He had been in control, about to receive what he had always wanted. His plan was so close.
Then a flood of people. Flashing armor, some dark and some bright, filled the chamber. He was beat to death.
Once.
Twice.
Through it all he grinned. They couldn't know, but that had been his plan all along.
But in the middle of that lava... In that fire...
There he truly lost his nerve. It was all he could do to burn what he could. There was no one except who came to visit.
He would throw the clock into the fire, just to get the cold companionship of a hardened guard, who would hardly respond to him.
He had expected Tommy to kill him. Why hadn't he killed him? If only he had killed him...
He would have deserved it, too. He would deserve it... All the rage, taken out on him in a flash of bloody pain. The axe brought down on his head again and again, cracking his mask.
And then...
And then Quackity would come. Quackity would come with friendship on his hands and murder in his heart. He would come and beat-
"Dream?"
A voice cut through the madness and pain in his head. Dream looked up and found himself curled up against the wall, repeating the words of the Declaration of Independance again and again.
And he found Wilbur looking at him, confused.
Looking directly at him.