One New Roommate
Dream never planned on having a roommate.
In fact, he actively avoided the idea. He liked his space, his routine, and most importantly, his peace. But life had a funny way of throwing obstacles at him, and this one came in the form of sky-high rent and an underpaid job.
Dream lived in the big city of L’Manburg. Like all cities, there was the wealthy side that boasted towering skyscrapers, high-end restaurants, and gated communities, and then there was the side where people like Dream lived.
His neighborhood had a certain charm- old brick buildings covered in graffiti, police sirens almost constantly, and even the classic streetlights that flickered ominously at night. People who are from this side of L’Manburg called it the Underground. You can easily tell when someone grew up in the Upper where the rich folk lived or if someone grew up in the Underground.
Of course, there were also the heroes, villains, and vigilantes in this town. They were just another part of life in L’Manburg, like the subway station or the never-ending traffic.
The heroes were adored by the Upper- the shining symbols of justice, funded by corporations and paraded around like celebrities. They were the ones who smiled for cameras, had their own merchandise, and got paid to keep the rich safe. For the Underground, the heroes were nothing more than flashy celebrities.
Then there were the villains, and those people were unpredictable. Some were in it for chaos, some for revenge, and some just because they could. The worst of them didn’t care who got hurt in the crossfire. Others… well, some villains were just people who had been dealt a bad hand in life.
And finally, there were the vigilantes- the ones who didn’t fit in either category. They operated outside the law, not quite heroes, not quite villains. Most of the Underground respected them more than the polished, government-funded heroes, but that didn’t mean they trusted them.
Well- there was also the Mafia part of L’Manburg but everyone in the Underground, including Dream, knows to keep their head down and not talk about them much.
Most of everyone had powers, whether they were strong or not. With great power comes great resp- yeah, no. If you had a strong power, chances are- you were going to use it for your advantage. Whether you worked for the government, become a villain or vigilante, or even join the Mafia, you were definitely going to use your power to your advantage.
Dream had long since stopped caring about any of them or powers in general.
He was just a guy trying to live his life. He didn’t have a heroic backstory or a tragic fall from grace. He was just Dream- some random dude trying to pay rent in a city that didn’t care whether he sank or swam.
Rent had once been manageable, but with the city’s rapid expansion and greedy landlords, he found himself struggling to keep up. Dream could barely pay his month’s rent.
At first, he tried to make it work. He took extra shifts at his bartending job, cut out unnecessary expenses, and even started living off instant noodles more often than he liked to admit. But no matter what he did, it was clear he couldn’t afford to live by himself anymore.
That’s how he found himself scrolling through roommate listings, something he had sworn he’d never do.
Most of them were terrible.
“Looking for someone to lay in bed with ;)) Rent is cheap, but we’ll be splitting a single bedroom lol.”
“I have five cats, six birds, two snakes, and one dog. If you don’t like animals, don’t bother.”
“Looking for someone to contribute to my house vibes. No corporate drones.”
Dream nearly gave up after looking at the listings. He would rather sleep on the streets- wait, no. That would be a horrible idea in the Underground.
But then, he saw it.
“Looking for a roommate. Two-bedroom, decent sized apartment. No pets, no weird habits. Just pay your half of the rent.”
Straightforward. No unnecessary details, no weird expectations. Just what he needed.
Dream hesitated for a second before typing out a message.
DREAM :Hey, is this still available?
The reply came fast.
UNKNOWN # : Yeah. Come by tomorrow if you wanna check it out. Address is 9834 Maine St, Apt 11B. Don’t be weird.
Dream snorted. Alright, this guy’s either a total asshole or the perfect kind of roommate.
The next afternoon, Dream found himself standing in front of a slightly worn-out apartment building. The area wasn’t too busy- only a few people passing by here and there. He climbed the stairs to Unit 11B, knocked once, and waited.
The door opened a few seconds later, revealing a tall, messy-haired guy wearing an oversized sweater and round glasses perched on his nose. He looked Dream up and down, expression unreadable.
“You Dream?”
Dream nodded. “Yeah... Wilbur, right?”
“Yep.” Wilbur leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You a serial killer?”
Dream blinked. “...No?”
Wilbur shrugged. “Good enough for me.”
With that, he turned and walked inside, leaving the door open in silent invitation. Dream hesitated before stepping in, taking in the apartment. It was… surprisingly normal. A little messy- books and papers scattered across the coffee table, an empty mug sitting on the counter- but nothing bad. The place actually had some character- a few vinyls hanging on the wall and a couple of plants decorated around the room.
Wilbur flopped onto the couch, legs stretched out as he grabbed his phone.
“You get the smaller room which is on the left there.” Wilbur pointed to a small, narrow hallway that had three doors in total. “The bathroom is across from your door. Rent’s due on the first.”
Dream raised a brow. “That’s it? No interview? No rules?”
Wilbur turned on the television in front of him with a remote. “I don’t care what you do as long as you pay your share. Just don’t touch my stuff.”
Dream considered that. No fake niceties, no over-the-top friendliness. Just two people coexisting. It was perfect.
“Alright, deal.” Dream said. “Should I come back tomorrow morning with my stuff?”
Wilbur waved him off. “Sure, sure. I’ll also give you a copy of the keys tomorrow too.”
It was almost too perfect.
He should’ve known there was a catch.
Moving in had been surprisingly easy. Wilbur wasn’t the talkative type. He gave Dream the tour (which only took five minutes), pointed out his room, and then promptly ignored him for the rest of the evening.
Dream preferred it this way.
He got to keep his peace and pay a smaller amount of rent each month.
Wilbur wasn’t messy, wasn’t overly friendly, and most importantly, wasn’t loud. They settled into an easy routine- Dream went to work, Wilbur did… whatever Wilbur did. Dream didn’t ask questions. He figured his new roommate worked from home or had a night shift, given that Wilbur was usually awake in the middle of the night and disappeared for long stretches of time.
Not his problem.
At least, it wasn’t his problem until six months in when he found Wilbur’s big secret.
Dream was pouring coffee into his mug. He finally got a day off work, which was rare, and he’d been sleeping throughout the entire day. His peace didn’t last long.
Dream had just settled onto the couch, coffee in hand, when the news broadcast caught his attention.
“Breaking news- the villain Siren, one of the members of The Syndicate- seen escaping after a high-stakes robbery at the L’Manburg National Bank. Authorities are still searching for leads-”
Dream glanced at the screen, taking in the grainy footage of a tall, lanky figure in a dark trench coat and a mask. Siren’s signature power was the same as always- a voice that could twist minds, manipulate thoughts, and make people do things they never would.
The front door clicked open and Dream’s eyes darted from the screen to who stepped in. Dream paused, narrowing his eyes as he saw who stepped into the apartment.
Wilbur stood in the doorway, taking a deep breath as he kicked off his shoes. Strangely, he didn’t seem to take notice of Dream yet and opted to get something from the fridge. And that’s when Dream cleared his throat, announcing his presence and startling Wilbur.
Wilbur froze, his hand still on the fridge door, as the sudden sound of Dream’s voice sliced through the quiet apartment. His expression flickered, something between panic and concern.
Dream looked at Wilbur’s attire and then back to the TV screen.
“So, Siren,” Dream said, letting the name hang in the air. “That seems like a dangerous hobby to rob banks.”
Wilbur, or Siren, kept staring at him, waiting for Dream to move.
Dream did move.
But not to call the cops or scream- Instead, Dream took a calm sip of his coffee then leaned back on the couch with a certain casualness.
The news anchor filled in the silence- droning on about the scene where officers were scrambling, the other Syndicate members had fled, and reporters were interviewing people on the street.
Wilbur sighed, finally shrugging off his coat and tossing it over a chair. “So, what now?”
Dream raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“What?” Wilbur narrowed his eyes at Dream. “You found out your dear roommate is a big, bad villain. This is usually the part where you freak out, call the cops, or, I don’t know, demand I find a new place to live.”
Dream shrugged. “I guess I should be doing that, yeah.”
Dream stared at the television, where Siren’s masked face was plastered across the screen. The news anchor kept talking about the villain’s latest escape, going on and on about how much was stolen and the exact villains that were in on it.
Wilbur, still covered in dust and smelling faintly of smoke, crossed his arms.
“I’m a villain,” he said flatly.
Dream didn’t even blink. “Yeah, and? Do you want a medal?”
Wilbur paused. “I mean-”
“Like, do you want me to clap for you? Throw you a little party?” Dream gestured vaguely. “I can bake a cake. Would you like ‘Congratulations on being a menace to society and contributing nothing’ written in icing?”
“Uhm… Do you know other villains?”
Dream chuckled dryly. “No, not at all.”
“Then how are you so calm about all of this?!”
Dream sighed, rolled his eyes, then set his coffee down on the table in front of him.
“Dude, I’ve lived with you for six months. You sleep all day, disappear at night, and come home smelling like gunpowder and bad decisions. It doesn’t take a genius to make a couple of guesses.” He gave Wilbur a dry look.
Wilbur blinked. “Oh.”
“I thought you were either a criminal, part of the Mafia, or just a really weird dude. Turns out- I was right about two of those statements.”
There was a long silence that stretched between them.
Until Wilbur laughed, running a hand through his hair.
“Well, damn. Here I was, thinking this was gonna be a whole thing.”
“Yeah, well, I’m too broke to afford to care.” Dream stretched. “I think we should make some new rules though.”
Wilbur tilted his head. “Rules?”
“Yeah,” Dream got up from the couch, grabbing his mug and bringing it to the kitchen where Wilbur was standing.
“What… kind of rules?” Wilbur asked warily as he watched Dream start washing the cup.
Dream’s gaze was focused on the soap suds starting to form on the sponge as he continued talking.
“Rule one: no villains in the apartment. Keep your… associates out. I don’t want to deal with that kind of mess in this home. Got it?”
Wilbur’s smile faded just a little, his eyes hardening ever so slightly. “You think I want to drag my comrades here? In this shitty place? I won’t.”
“I’m serious, Wilbur. I’m not getting caught in any of this crap. You can do your thing, but don’t bring it into my space.”
There was a brief pause. Then Wilbur sighed, a reluctant nod following. “Fair enough. I can manage that. Anything else?”
“Second rule,” Dream continued, “I won’t tell anyone about you. I won’t go to the cops, I won’t rat you out- as long as you keep me out of it. No matter what- I’m not getting involved.”
Wilbur chuckled, tapping his fingers against his arm as he glanced at the television still playing in the background. “That’s reasonable. Is that all?”
“One last rule,” Dream finished washing the mug and put it onto the drying rack. He turned to face Wilbur as he started drying his hands with a small rag. “If the cops come knocking for any reason or if you get captured, I don’t know anything. I’m just a regular guy with a roommate who’s always a little… distant. I’ll deny everything, and I expect the same out of you.”
Wilbur’s lips twitched upward at the corners, though it wasn’t a real smile. “Deal. But is there really nothing else? I expect people to want more from me after finding out my big secret.”
“I want peace and quiet.” Dream replied, his voice steady. “You get your freedom to do whatever the hell you want- just keep it out of my life.
A silence stretched between them. Wilbur’s gaze softened, and for the first time, Dream saw something almost like respect flicker in the other man’s eyes. Wilbur had always been a mystery, a distant person in Dream’s life. Now, with everything he learned, Dream realized how much more complicated it had gotten.
“Gotcha’. Well, I’m going to take a shower then grab myself a cup of coffee.”
Dream nodded. “Have fun with that. I’m going to head to bed.”
Wilbur gave a small wave, his usual carefree grin back in place, though Dream could still see that flicker of something more serious behind his eyes. Maybe it was a subtle acknowledgment of the rules, or maybe it was the unspoken understanding finally sinking in. Either way, Dream couldn’t quite shake the feeling that things were never going to be as simple as they seemed.
He turned and headed for his room. Dream wasn’t sure how much he could trust Wilbur, but as long as the villain kept his distance then he could make this work. It would be hard to find another roommate or a place where the rent was so cheap.
The sound of the shower running echoed through the small hallway, and Dream settled into his bed, pulling the covers over himself. He stared at the ceiling, his mind replaying the conversation over and over.
He had his rules. Clear, simple rules. And if Wilbur stuck to them, Dream’s life could go back to being the quiet, uneventful existence it had been before.
As long as Wilbur stayed out of his way, Dream would do the same.
About three months had passed since Dream found out Wilbur was a villain.
Things had mostly gone back to their routine. Dream woke up, went to work, came home, and spent his evenings on his own or trying to avoid Wilbur’s occasional bursts of energy.
Wilbur acted differently ever since Dream found out.
But not in a bad way.
Wilbur’s behavior had shifted, but in a way that felt more like a curious truce than anything else. He was no longer the aloof, somewhat distant roommate that Dream had first met. Now, there was an odd sense of camaraderie between them. It was like the weight of the secret was no longer a burden, and while it didn’t mean they were best friends, there was a certain ease in the way they coexisted.
Wilbur would occasionally crack a joke during dinner, and Dream would find himself laughing. Dream would tell a few stories of some odd customers at the bar he worked at, and Wilbur found himself intrigued.
One evening, Dream came home after a grueling day at work- some drunk man about to fight Dream because he cut him off. It was about five in the morning and Dream had just pushed the door open but he was met with an unusual sight- Wilbur, sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, flipping through a folder of documents. The faint light from the overhead bulb illuminated his face, and Dream noticed the deep furrow in his brow.
“Hey, man,” Dream greeted, shutting the door behind him. “You good?”
Wilbur glanced up, his tired expression fading into a faint smile. “Hey, Dream. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”
Dream frowned, stepping further into the room. “What are you looking at?”
Wilbur hesitated, his gaze briefly flicking to the stack of papers before he closed the folder with a quiet snap. “Our new mission. It’s… not going to be exactly safe.”
Dream raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling Wilbur wasn’t going to explain much more, but Dream also didn’t want to pry. They had their unspoken rule- Dream stayed out of Wilbur’s mess, and Wilbur kept his villain life away from Dream’s own.
“So, you’re worried?” Dream hummed, opening the fridge and grabbing a can of soda. He tried to keep his tone casual, but a small, nagging feeling started to creep up on him.
Wilbur’s fingers drummed against the surface of the countertop. He looked tired, like someone who hadn’t slept in days. There was an air of restlessness to him.
“Yeah, a little,” Wilbur replied. He looked at Dream with a half-smile, trying to brush it off. “Nothing you need to worry about.”
Dream narrowed his eyes, sensing something was off. He could tell when Wilbur was trying to deflect, and right now, that was exactly what he was doing.
“Are you sure?” Dream asked, voice steady but filled with an edge of curiosity. “It won’t bring me any trouble, right?”
He half-joked at the last question, but Wilbur’s expression seemed to have fallen. There was a long, awkward silence before Dream spoke up.
“Dude, you know the rules. Don’t-”
“Don’t bring any villains home and make sure to keep you out of it. I know, I will.” Wilbur’s voice was quieter now, the usual playfulness gone.
Dream leaned against the counter, watching Wilbur closely. The tension in the room was thick, a quiet understanding that Wilbur was on the edge of something- something Dream wasn’t sure he could help with, but couldn’t ignore either.
“Another rule,” Dream says as he cracks open his soda, taking a small sip.
Wilbur flinched, looking up like he had been shot. “Y-Yes?”
“Don’t use your powers on me. Like, ever.”
Wilbur blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Yeah… okay. Fair enough. I wasn’t planning on using them on you anyway.”
Dream took another sip of his soda, then sighed. “I just want to be able to come home, eat my dinner, and not have to worry about some villainous showdown.”
“Right. No showdown. Heard.” Wilbur hummed. “Anyway, that’s enough heavy talk for tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” he said with a sudden, cheerful tone. “How about I cook us something nice?”
Dream couldn’t help but chuckle, his mood lightening again. “You’re cooking? You sure you won’t poison me?”
Wilbur snorted. “If I wanted to poison you, I’d probably do it with something way more subtle than eggs and toast,” Wilbur replied as he stood up from the stool and made his way over to the cabinets. “I’m not that amateur.”
Dream played along. “Right, well, I trust you. But if I suddenly wake up feeling weird, I’m blaming the eggs.”
“You’ll be fine,” Wilbur said, grinning as he pulled out a pan. “Trust me, I’ve got top-tier cooking skills.”
Dream opened the fridge next to him, pulling out the carton of eggs and setting them on the counter for Wilbur to grab. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t set off the fire alarm, okay?”
“I can’t promise that,” Wilbur replied, winking at him. “But I’ll try to keep it under control.”
The two fell into an easy rhythm, the awkwardness from before evaporating into the background. Wilbur hummed as he cooked, and Dream, despite himself, found himself laughing at some of Wilbur’s exaggerated, comical gestures as he flipped the eggs.
“Okay, so… no villainous plans for tonight, right? No secret missions or anything?” Dream asked casually as he sat on one of the stools, watching the other cook.
Wilbur glanced over his shoulders, giving a dramatic sigh. “No, just the boring stuff like staying home with you.”
“Wow, thank you kindly,” Dream chuckled.
“Anytime,” Wilbur smirked, shaking his head as he cracked another egg into the pan. “But seriously, it’s a nice change of pace.”
Dream studied Wilbur for a moment. “I bet. Must be hard balancing robbing banks for a living and not setting the kitchen on fire.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You have no idea.”
There was a short pause, the clinking of utensils and the sizzling of eggs filling the quiet space. Then, with an almost too casual tone, Wilbur asked, “By the way, do you have powers?”
Dream blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hadn’t expected it, especially not in the middle of cooking. “Powers?” Dream repeated, not sure if he heard correctly.
Wilbur, without missing a beat, shrugged as he turned the eggs over in the pan. “Yeah. Everybody’s got something, right? I’ve got mine, the whole ‘Siren’ thing. You… I’ve never really seen you do anything impressive. Usually, others would flaunt their abilities or brag about it. I’ve never seen you do anything of the sort.”
Dream was silent for a moment, taking in the question.
“I have one but it’s nothing spectacular. I’m just a regular guy overall.”
Wilbur gave him a look over his shoulder, clearly intrigued, but he didn’t push the subject further. He turned back to the stove, the sizzle of eggs filling the silence between them.
“Yeah, I figured,” Wilbur said lightly. “I was just curious.”
“Anyway, enough about me,” Dream huffed. “Are those eggs almost done?”
Wilbur chuckled and shook his head. “Be patient. You’re lucky I’m cooking for you.”
As they continued to banter, Wilbur finished cooking and put everything onto a plate. He placed it in front of Dream, utensils and all, then grabbed his papers and sat on the couch.
Dream dug into his eggs, the warmth and simplicity of the meal grounding him after the long, chaotic day. The taste was surprisingly good. Wilbur had a knack for making things feel normal, even in the weirdness of their situation.
He finally finished the meal. Wilbur continued sifting through the mission details, the flickering of the television barely registering as background noise. Dream thanked him before he made his way to take a shower and head to bed. As soon as he was ready to sleep, he shut the door softly behind him, pulling back the blankets and collapsing onto the bed.
The cool sheets felt good against his skin and Dream let his thoughts drift.
He did have a power, that was the truth. But it wasn’t something small or one where it could be ignored. Dream decided to not tell Wilbur what it was. He didn’t need anyone prying into his abilities when all he wanted was to live a peaceful and quiet life.
Dream let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into the bed and he let himself drift into sleep.
It was around four in the evening when he woke up. Dream groggily stretched, feeling the familiar ache of tired muscles, and got up from the bed. He rubbed his eyes, his feet hitting the cold floor with a soft thud.
He had work in an hour and needed to get ready.
Dream moved through the evening with ease. Though, for some reason, he felt that today was going to be different than most. He shook off that feeling as he put on the tuxedo uniform he always wore to work.
By the time he was dressed and ready to go, he stepped out of his room and noticed how quiet the apartment was.
Ah- Wilbur must be on that big mission then.
Dream grabbed his phone from the counter as he passed, checking the time- still about thirty minutes before his shift started. That was just enough time to start walking.
He hesitated for a moment, looking back into the empty apartment. The television was turned off, nothing seemed to be out of place. There was only the faint hum of the fridge and the distant noise of traffic outside. He shrugged off the uneasy feeling and made his way to work.
The walk was quiet, save for only a few drunks on the street and a couple of cars passing by.
When he finally reached the bar, the bright neon sign ‘The Tipsy Callers’ cast colorful reflections on the windows. Dream slipped behind the counter, the familiar smells of beer, whiskey, and the soft scent of stale cigarette smoke filled the air. The evening crowds were trickling in, and Dream quickly got to work, grabbing a towel and setting up his station.
It didn’t take long for the weird customers to start arriving.
First, there was the guy who insisted on ordering “something blue” because he “only drank the calming colors of the ocean.” After much confusion, Dream mixed up a blue margarita, which the man sipped like he just received the Holy Grail. He didn’t say much after that- just stared into the glass with deep contemplation, like it held all the secrets of the universe.
Then came the woman who complained about every aspect of her life as she just had her heart broken. Dream found himself caught in the middle of the conversation where she asked him if he believed in love at first sight or if she needed to “try harder.” He smiled politely and made her an Old Fashioned to move things along.
At the far end of the bar, an older man sat with a book, scribbling into a leather-bound journal between sips of whiskey. He had the demeanor of a philosopher, except for the fact that every few minutes, he would look up and mutter something about “the reckoning” and “impending arrival” before going back to writing. Dream wasn’t sure if the man was just having a weird night or if he was genuinely trying to warn the world, but it was all unsettling.
Then there was the couple who came in for their “usual.” The woman ordered wine while the man, who had his face buried in his phone the entire time, ordered a beer, never once looking up. The woman spent the entire time talking about her day, clearly more interested in venting than having an actual conversation. Dream quickly learned to just nod and keep refilling their drinks without saying too much.
As the night wore on, Dream continued to serve drinks and listen to snippets of their lives and incoherent conversations. It was nice to hear about other people’s lives. Although Dream prefers his peace at home, he had to admit there was something oddly comforting about the life around him. Each drink, each conversation, felt like a brief window into a story he wasn’t directly involved in but could still briefly witness.
Despite what others might say about his bartending job, he loved it. Even the weird people who stood out made his work more interesting.
When his shift ended earlier than normal at around two in the morning, Dream felt the familiar weight of exhaustion settle over him. He gave a farewell wave to his boss and made his way home.
The walk felt longer than it should have, the streetlights flickering as he passed. The streets were empty at around this time. Despite this being his usual routine, Dream still had an uneasy feeling as he got closer and closer to his apartment.
He shook it off, chalking it up to exhaustion and Wilbur’s worry from before. It wasn’t unusual for him to feel drained after hours of listening to other people’s problems while pretending his own didn’t exist. Still, the eerie quiet of the night felt heavier than usual.
When he finally reached his apartment building, he hesitated at the entrance. There was nothing visibly off- the lobby was empty, the elevator lights flickered like they always did, and the faint hum of practically empty vending machines filled the void of silence. But something was nagging him.
Dream exhaled sharply and shook his head.
Taking the stairs, he reached his apartment door and then stopped as he heard multiple voices.
Multiple voices. Not just Wilbur’s own.
Dream quickly unlocked it and stepped inside. His eyes grew wide at the sight before him.
Zephyrus was slumped on the couch, one of his black wings twisted at an unnatural angle, feathers bent and broken. There was another visible injury, very visible despite him wearing black clothing. There was a long slash across his chest as blood seeped into the fabric of the couch, pooling around him as his chest heaved with shallow breaths, His face was pale, sharp features contorted in pain.
Dream barely had time to process it before he noticed the rest of them.
Figures stood around Zephyrus, tense and on edge. They were all members of the Syndicate.
His eyes darted over each of them, noting how they all stiffened at his sudden arrival. A few reached for their weapons- instinct, reaction. He recognized some of them, their masked faces and piercing eyes analyzing him as if deciding whether he was a threat.
Then-
“Stand down.”
Wilbur’s voice cut through the tension, smooth but firm.
The others hesitated before following the command, hands slowly retreating from their weapons.
Dream, however, was still frozen in the doorway, his grip on the keys in his pocket tightening. His pulse pounded in his ears but he had enough sense to shut and lock the door before yelling.
“What the fuck is this?” He demanded, his voice sharp. His exhaustion was gone, replaced by the white-hot anger rising in his chest.
Wilbur- Siren- sighed, running a bloodstained hand through his hair. He looked tired, like he’d been dealing with this mess for hours. “Dream, I-”
“You can’t even follow one simple rule?!” Dream snapped, gesturing to the rest of the villains. “And why the fuck is he bleeding all over our goddamn furniture?”
Wilbur met his glare with something almost apologetic. Almost. “Listen, I wouldn’t have brought them here if we weren’t in a bad situation. I know I should have talked to you first but-
“You think?!” Dream scoffed. “There’s a fucking person bleeding out on the couch! Tell me, why did you think this was a good idea to break one of the rules I gave you?”
“Things got complicated.” Wilbur’s voice was controlled, as if he was trying not to lose patience. “We didn’t have anywhere else to bring him.”
Dream let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “So your first thought was our apartment? Are you fucking kidding me, Wilbur?”
A beat of silence. The others were watching carefully. Waiting.
Wilbur sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? But this was the closest place and the heroes and police are probably swarming everywhere else we could’ve gone.”
Dream’s jaw tightened. “That’s not my fucking problem, Wilbur. That's your problem.”
Wilbur exhaled, clearly trying to stay calm and not yell back. “Dream, I get it. I do. But I couldn’t just leave Zephyrus to die. He’s my… He…”
Dream narrowed his eyes. “So now you care about ethics? Aren’t you a villain? That’s rich coming from you, Siren.”
A few of the Syndicate members bristled at the name, but Wilbur didn’t react. Instead, he took a step forward, lowering his voice. “Look, I know you don’t want any part of this, and I respect that. I’ve always respected that.”
“Oh yeah? That’s why you brought half your little gang into our home? That’s why you’ve got someone bleeding out on our fucking couch?” He pointed at Zephyrus, whose breathing had gotten even shallower. “Don’t fucking stand there and tell me you respect my boundaries while actively breaking them, Wilbur.”
Wilbur’s patience visibly frayed. “I had no choice!” His voice rose slightly, and for the first time, frustration cracked through his usual smooth composure. Dream even flinched back as he never heard Wilbur get mad at him before. “Do you think I wanted to drag all of them here? This was the last place on my list!”
Dream paused, brow furrowing. “You did it anyway.”
The weight of that statement lingered between them, heavy and unshakable.
Wilbur’s expression darkened. “I trust you, Dream. I know you won’t turn us in.”
Dream clenched his fists. He hated that. Hated the way Wilbur said it like a fact, like it was obvious. Like he knew Dream would never betray him, no matter how angry he was.
And worst of all, he was right.
Dream inhaled sharply, pushed Wilbur out of the way, and grabbed a single can of soda from the fridge. “Don’t talk to me anymore.” His voice was cold, clipped.
Wilbur looked a little pained at that but gave a small, tired nod. “Alright… I’m sorry again.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Dream popped open the can, the slight sizzle being heard as he quietly watched the scene before him. He remained quiet as Wilbur turned and walked back to the group.
“Are you sure we can trust him?” One of the Syndicate members, a woman with a sharp gaze and a cautious stance muttered under her breath but Dream could still hear her.
She had a mask that covered her nose and mouth, but her brown eyes remained. She had pink hair that tied into a tight bun and her outfit looked almost akin to a lifeguard. Dream knew her as Tsunami and she was able to control water within a certain radius. She could be either really powerful or powerless depending on how close she was to a source of water.
Wilbur shot her a glare. “We can trust him. Just drop it.”
Tsunami still looked doubtful, but didn’t argue.
Dream’s eyes drifted to the others in the room and he recognized each of them as he saw a couple in the news already.
There was Inferno, a rather tall person with blonde hair and a heat-resistant hoodie and pants. As his name suggests, he could control fire. Well, ‘control’ was a big word. Inferno was erratic and sometimes had trouble reigning in his power. He was quite loud on the television and his wording sounded more akin to a teenager than an adult.
Kneeling down next to Zephyrus was Crimson but sometimes called ‘Blood God’ as he uses a constant phrase in the videos shown to the public where he yells out “blood for the Blood God!” He was wearing a boar-like mask and some kind of medieval-like outfit with a red cape.
Ender stood to the side, twiddling his fingers as he stared at Zephyrus’s wounds and muttering under his breath. He almost radiated worry and concern. Dream knew that Ender could teleport in and out of certain situations. He couldn’t teleport people but can teleport objects and himself.
Standing next to him was Shockwave, a shorter person compared to Ender. He had curly brown hair and wore a gas mask to cover his face. His power, like his name, was able to cause earthquakes, fissures, and even ground-shattering destruction.
Of course, there was Siren who Dream knew as Wilbur. He wore his usual long trench coat, black skinny jeans, turtleneck, and boots. However, his outfit was covered in dust and debris.
It must have been a big mission if all The Syndicate members were present, especially since their leader, Zephyrus, took a deep beating.
Dream leaned against the counter, sipping his drink casually. His gaze drifted lazily to Zephyrus, who was still slumped on the couch, his breath coming out in weak, uneven gasps. Crimson was working hard, trying to clean the wound but the results weren’t looking too well.
The others had gathered around, looking tense, their usual hardened exteriors on the camera cracking just slightly as they watched Crimson work silently.
Dream could recognize the signs- some of them were already grieving, their eyes flickering with something close to pain. A few members murmured soft words to each other, ones Dream didn’t bother listening to. He didn’t care. He wasn’t part of this. None of this was his problem.
Wilbur stepped forward, looked at the wound then to Crimson. “Is he going to be okay?”
Crimson remained quiet and that was already enough of an answer.
Zephyrus, despite the clear agony he was in, managed a weak, tired smirk. “Damn… looks like this is it, huh?” His voice was rough, nearly a whisper.
Inferno clenched his fists, taking a step forward. “No, don’t say that. We can still-”
“Toms,” Zephyrus interrupted, and Inferno stepped back like he had been burned. “We both know that’s bullshit.”
There was a strained silence. No one argued.
Zephyrus let out a rattling breath, his eyelids flickering. “Ah… you know, I always figured I’d go out in some big fight, taking down some hero in a blaze of glory. Guess bleeding out on some shitty apartment couch works just as well.”
The others didn’t laugh.
Dream did chuckle a bit and all eyes snapped to him.
Sharp, burning glares.
Dream stopped, rolled his eyes, and set his drink down with a loud clank against the counter. “Oh, come on- that was hilarious. I bet he’s going to start his ‘villain monologue’ soon.”
Wilbur shot him a warning look. Dream just sighed and pushed off the counter, stretching his arms above his head. His stomach growled, not loud enough for the others to hear, but Dream felt it. He shrugged as he began rummaging through the cabinets to grab a bowl and some cereal.
Tsunami scoffed. “Are you seriously eating right now?”
“Yes.” Dream didn’t even glance up as he poured cereal into the bowl. “This is my apartment so I can do what I want.”
Inferno bristled but didn’t say anything. Wilbur only sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off a headache.
Just as Dream had predicted, Zephrus started his villain monologue while Dream opened the fridge to grab the milk.
Zephrus inhaled slowly, clearly struggling just to get air into his lungs, before turning his gaze towards Wilbur and Crimson. His voice, though weak, carried enough weight.
“Listen,” He started, gritting his teeth through the pain. “When I’m gone, I need you two to take care of the others.”
Crimson’s hands, which had been working to patch up the wound, stilled for a brief second. Wilbur, who had been leaning in closely, could be seen visibly shaking.
“Don’t say that,” Wilbur muttered, his tone unreadable. “You’re not dying. We won’t let you.”
Zephyrus huffed a weak, humorless laugh. “I am. Just… Just promise me that you-”
“We’re running out of milk.” Dream announced to the entire room, lifting the milk carton.
Crimson stood up and shot him a murderous glare. The others had done the same while Wilbur just looked defeated at Dream’s interruption.
“Dream,” Wilbur sighed, “Can you stop for like- ten minutes?”
Dream huffed. “I already have a bunch of villains in my house, a guy bleeding out on the couch, and now, we’re running out of milk. My day can’t get any worse. But sure, let me just sit here quietly while you all mope dramatically.”
If looks could kill, Dream would be six feet under by now.
“Wilbur,” Crimson said almost too casually. “I’m about to kill your roommate.”
“Tech- Crimson- No, you can’t kill him.” Wilbur sighed. “I know he’s being an asshole but just leave him. And, Dream, can you please be quiet?”
Dream rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back against the counter, crunching on a mouthful of dry cereal as the room fell silent again.
Zephyrus let out a weak, wheezing laugh that turned into a cough, specks of blood appearing on his lips. Wilbur tensed beside him, his hands twitching at his sides.
“That was a nice distraction from the dying.”
“Thank you,” Dream said between mouthfuls of cereal, pointing his spoon at him. “See? He gets it.”
Wilbur exhaled sharply, ignoring Dream as he knelt beside Zephyrus. “Just hang in there, okay? Crimson is getting you patched up and you’re going to be just fine.”
Zephyrus’s smirk faded. “Wilbur. Techno.”
Wilbur’s words caught in his throat. Crimson twitched at the name. They both knew what was coming.
“Promise me. Promise that you’ll take care of your brothers and the others. Please.”
There was a beat of silence. Wilbur didn’t answer right away, his jaw clenching as if physically fighting the words. Crimson didn’t say anything either, but the way his hands moved- carefully, methodically- spoke volumes. But eventually, they both spoke.
“I promise.”
Dream narrowed his eyes.
He looked to Wilbur, his mask was gone and his head was down slightly in a silent prayer. Something about his expression and the way his shoulders hunched made Dream paused.
Dream hated it.
He hated the way Wilbur looked at the moment.
He hated how the others seemed to have given up entirely.
And he hated how he was about to break rule number two- staying out of it and not getting involved.
Dream rolled his eyes. He set his bowl down with a clatter, shaking his head like he was about to do something incredibly stupid. In hindsight, he was going to do something incredibly stupid.
Without warning, he stepped towards the group and started making his way toward Zephyrus.
Immediately, Inferno moved to block him, his stance screamed hostility. “Back off,” he growled. “Haven’t you done enough already?”
Dream simply sidestepped him. “Oh, relax. I promise not to make any more milk-related announcements. I mean, we do need milk but I guess I’ll go out and get that later.”
Tsunami scowled, stepping into his path next. “If you’re just going to be a dick, then get out.”
“Can I not pay my final respects to the man that’s dying on the couch in Wilbur and I’s apartment?”
Crimson scoffed. “I’d tell you to fuck off.”
Wilbur blinked the tears away, rubbing his eyes. “Dream, can you please leave?”
Dream clicked his tongue. “Not until I say goodbye to the man that’s dying in our apartment.”
The others gave up arguing with him, too exhausted from their mission and the sense of loss to deal with whatever nonsense he was about to pull.
“You couldn’t let me have my final ‘villain monologue’ be serious and epic?” Zephyrus tried to smile the best he could in his last moments.
Dream grinned as he knelt beside Zephyrus. “I think you need to practice it a bit more.”
“Yeah, right.” He chuckled weakly. “When I get another chance at my dying wish, I’ll make sure you’re not in the room to ruin it.”
“Now that is a solid plan.”
“...Dream, isn't it? Can- Can you take care of Wilbur? I’m afraid that dummy will starve himself if I’m not around.”
Wilbur let out a sorrowful laugh but he didn’t say anything to that. Crimson turned his face away, and the others braced for the inevitable.
Dream rolled his shoulders. “Hell no. He’s already a bitch of a roommate for breaking one of my rules- I can’t imagine having to remind him to eat. And now, he’s making me break rule number two.”
Wilbur paused, and blinked a few times before giving Dream a questionable look.
As casually as one might fix a crooked picture frame, Dream hovered his hand over Zephyrus’s wound.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, a soft golden light started to grow brighter beneath his palm, spreading out in slow, rhythmic pulses. The glow seeped into Zephyrus’s skin, washing over the wound with a quiet hum, mending flesh, knitting muscle, sealing the damage as if it had never been there.
Soon enough, the wounds were healed as if they were never there in the first place. Even Zephyrus’s wing that was once bent had fixed itself into place and had glistening, healthy feathers.
A stunned silence fell over the room.
Crimson took an instinctive step back. Inferno seemed to be frozen in place, same with Ender and Shockwave. Tsunami’s mouth parted in disbelief. Wilbur’s eyes were blown wide, staring at the newly-fixed skin.
Dream barely seemed affected. His face was neutral, almost bored as the light pulsed one final time before fading completely. He stood up and stretched then rocked back on his heels.
Zephyrus blinked, wide-eyed, touching his chest in disbelief. “What…”
Dream dusted his hands off his pants like he’d just finished washing dishes. “Well, I’m going to head to bed. I have work tomorrow.”
Wilbur’s mouth opened and closed, like he was trying to form words but his brain had short-circuited halfway through.
Crimson, on the other hand, was pissed. “You- you-” He hands balled into fists. “You could do that this whole time and just- just sat there eating cereal?!”
Dream tilted his head. “In my defense, the cereal was going to get soggy.”
Crimson’s eye twitched. “I am actually going to murder you.”
Zephyrus was still running his hands over his chest, feeling the spot where his fatal wound had been mere moments ago. He flexed his wings, staring in awe at the way they moved perfectly, painlessly. “Holy shit.”
Wilbur snapped out of his shock. “You have healing powers?!”
Dream gave him a blank look. “No, Wilbur, I just faked that entire performance for dramatic effect.”
Wilbur’s expression was unreadable- caught between rage and disbelief. “How long have you known?”
“That the milk was running out? About a few minutes ago when I was getting cereal.”
“No, not-” Wilbur groaned. “You know what I mean!”
Dream sighed. “A while.”
“A while,” Wilbur repeated slowly. “...Right.”
“He probably wasn’t going to tell you.” Crimson says, still glaring at Dream.
Dream gave a small shrug. “It’s not something I can casually mention in conversation. You know- like ‘Hey Wilbur, the internet is down,’ or ‘Hey Wilbur, I have the ability to miraculously heal fatal injuries,’ casual stuff.”
“He’s still a bitch,” Inferno muttered under his breath.
Zephyrus, still looking a little stunned, finally let out a weak laugh. “You know what? I’m not even mad. This is great! My wings feel even better than before I got attacked.”
Tsunami rubbed her temples. “I- I need a drink.”
“I can help with that.” Dream hummed. “I work as a bartender. And I can tell you that I make the best drinks.”
“Dream, not now.” Wilbur ran a hand down his face.
Shockwave, who had been silent this entire time, finally spoke. “So… we’re just not going to talk about the fact that Dream just defied all logic and reality? Shouldn’t he be feeling a little bit of a rebound from his powers?”
Dream waved his hand, already walking toward his room. “Sounds exhausting. You guys have fun with that.”
Just as Dream reached the hallway, Wilbur called after him, his voice tense, urgent.
“Dream.”
Dream stopped in his tracks, glancing back over his shoulder.
“Th-Thank you. Thank you so much.”
Dream watched as he bowed and the others reluctantly followed suit, bowing to Dream in respect and gratitude.
Dream huffed. “Don’t mention it. And Wilbur, the rules remain the same. This time was an exception but don’t do it again.”
With that, he disappeared down the hall, leaving them in a stunned silence.