Three Mafia Members
A week and a half had passed since the ‘meeting’ with Philza and Technoblade. Everything seemed to be going back to their regular routine with Wilbur and Dream making light jokes, eating a meal together, or just talking in general. Of course, Wilbur does his villain missions on the side but Dream didn’t really notice since he was mostly at work.
Oh.
And the milk was stocked now. That’s an important detail in this story.
Right now, it was about two in the evening, warm light streaming through the window as the smell of delicious steak carried through the air. Dream sat on a worn-out stool, one leg tucked under him, elbows on the counter, and his eyes watching the other cook.
“Do you not have any repercussions from using your healing power?” Wilbur asked.
Wilbur was at the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair messily pinned back, searing the meat in the pan that hissed and sizzled like it was threatening to catch fire if provoked.
“No. I don’t,” Dream answered.
Wilbur shot him a look over his shoulder before turning back to the pan.
“Everybody has something, Dream. There’s no way you don’t have some kind of backlash. For example, I lose my voice for a couple of days if I overuse my powers. Philza gets back pains if he uses his wings too often.” Wilbur continued, “Techno’s strength boost gives him migraines if he pushes it too far. Hell, even Ender’s vision goes practically blind when he phases too much. There’s always a tradeoff.”
Dream tapped his fingers against the counter, watching the steak bubble in the pan. He looked thoughtful for a moment.
“Maybe I just got the deluxe package of powers,” Dream said, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“You’re saying you’ve never blacked out, gotten sick, passed out, lost memory- nothing?”
“Nope,” Dream hummed. “I heal. That’s it. No headaches, no mystery symptoms, no weird visions. My body acts like it always has.”
Wilbur turned down the heat, frowning. “That’s… not normal.”
Dream gave a lopsided grin. “It is for me.”
“There has to be something,” Wilbur insisted as he started putting a steak onto each plate. “That kind of power doesn’t come without any backlash.”
Wilbur gave one of the plates to Dream, who accepted it without hesitation. He was already drooling by the smell and he immediately started cutting into the steak with his fork.
“What do you want me to say? That my hair falls out if I heal too much?” He joked. “Or that I age forward every time I use my power?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes and sat on the stool next to him, still visibly unsettled. “It’s just strange. There’s always a cost. Always.”
Dream chewed a bite of steak and shrugged. “Maybe I’m just lucky.”
“Still… A power that has no limits? No price? It feels like there should be something.” Wilbur paused before asking, “Can you only heal major wounds? Like what happened with Phil?”
“No,” Dream shook his head mid-bite, mouth still half-full. “I can heal anything. Paper cuts, bruises, headaches- even the sick. I mean, I can’t bring anybody back from the dead but I can heal anybody back to their original state. Doesn’t matter how big or small- it just works.”
Wilbur looked down at his plate, poking at the steak as if trying to find the answers in the sear marks.
“Have you ever overused your power before?”
“I… don’t know,” he admitted.
Wilbur blinked. “You don’t know?”
“I mean,” Dream said, gesturing vaguely with his fork. “Even I wanted to know how many people I could heal before I got any repercussions but… I never felt any different. No nosebleeds, no dizziness, no chest pain, no blackouts. Nothing ever happens. So maybe I have overused it- but if there’s no effect, how would I know?”
Wilbur stared at him. “You don’t even get tired?”
Dream shook his head, stabbing a steak piece. “Only if I was already tired. Like, sleep-deprived tired. And even then, that could just be from being human, not the healing itself.”
Wilbur frowned deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter. “That doesn’t make sense. Powers are supposed to come with limits. They’re not endless.”
Dream chuckled. “Guess I missed the memo.”
Silence lingered between them, only the occasional scrape of fork against plate was heard. Dream finished his plate first, got up from the stool, and walked over to the sink where he started washing his dishes.
“So you’re saying that you are some kind of anomaly?” Wilbur asked.
Dream grinned as he put the plate onto the drying rack and started washing his utensils.
“Yup,” he said brightly. “A walking middle finger to super-powered individuals.”
Wilbur snorted. “Or you’re just a freak to nature itself.”
Dream pointed a sudsy fork at him. “A freak with perfect health and impeccable skin, thank you very much.”
“You know,” Wilbur mused between bites, “Maybe you are getting backlash, but it’s super subtle. Like your eyebrows get slightly uneven every time.”
Dream gasped dramatically as he put his fork down on the drying rack. “Wil- Oh my Prime, Wil- If my eyebrows are uneven, that would definitely be a crisis. I’d need a mirror and several hours of emotional recovery.”
Wilbur snorted. “That would be a national disaster.”
“Indeed. But… I’m serious though,” Dream added more quietly, taking Wilbur’s dishes once he saw he was done eating. “I’ve thought about it before. Wondered why I didn’t have any backlash like everyone else. I thought that maybe it’s going to hit me all at once but… nothing ever does. And I’m not gonna live in fear of something that might not even be there.”
Wilbur was quiet for a second, watching as Dream was finishing up the last of the dishes, then gave a small nod. “Fair enough… But if you could find out, would you?”
Dream put the last dish on the rack before turning around, and wiping his hands on a rag.
“And what would you suggest? For me to go to the hospital and heal everybody there until I collapse dramatically?”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “I was going to suggest someone I know, actually. But sure, if you want to pass out in a hospital, that’s your journey.”
Dream narrowed his eyes. “Someone you know? Wilbur, I don’t deal with other villa-”
“He’s not a villain,” Wilbur says much too quickly for Dream’s liking. “He’s a… normal civilian. And he’s a sort of power-specialist.”
Dream tilted his head. “Right… And I’m supposed to believe he’s just a ‘normal civilian?’ And what do you mean by power-specialist?”
“He runs a side business to help people achieve their full potential with their powers. He helps with side effects, mutations, or even long-term burnout symptoms. He’s good,” Wilbur said, “And he’d probably be able to help you find out if you have a backlash to your power.”
Dream leaned on the counter, mock-suspicious. “You’re not just trying to get me poked and prodded by some mad scientist with a clipboard, right?”
Wilbur snickered. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I’m telling you that this guy’s legit. He’s helped a lot of people figure out their limits or push them to their full potential.”
Dream thought it over. “You said that this is his ‘side business’ but I don’t think I’ll have enough money to pay for that.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Wilbur got up from the stool, “He owes me a favor so he’ll do it for free.”
“Favor? What did you-”
“I saved his ass from the apocalypse in world war Z42,” Wilbur interrupted, putting on the most serious face Dream had ever seen.
Dream blinked.
“...What?”
“I had to single-handedly fend off an army of time-travelers with nothing but a spoon and my unmatched charisma. We managed to get through enemy lines but the real challenge came when we had to cross the time barrier- you know, the one that prevents you from escaping the paradox once you’re inside it? But I pulled through and we crossed the wall but then we were trapped in this weird time loop. So I only had a limited time until the world was reset over and over again but then it hit me. The only way to get through the paradox was to counteract the time loops. And guess what I used to do that?”
Dream opened his mouth, but Wilbur didn’t wait for a response.
“The spoon!” Wilbur exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “The spoon, Dream! Because, you see, that certain spoon I had on me was the one thing that wasn’t affected by the time manipulation! It was literally the perfect time-bender! So I used it to bend time and space itself and saved both of our lives.”
Dream was silent for a long moment, just staring at Wilbur.
The silence stretched on until Dream quietly asked, “You’re talking about a video game, aren’t you?”
Wilbur grinned. “Yes, I am. I got him to level 70 so he owes me.”
“And here I thought I was the only comedian.” Dream shook his head, chuckling. “Turns out, you know how to make a few jokes too.”
“So, what do you say? Would you like to meet him?”
Dream paused, looking at Wilbur with a mix of reluctance and curiosity. The idea of meeting this so-called ‘power-specialist’ was… well, it sounded ridiculous. But then again, Dream had been wondering if there were limits to his powers that he didn’t understand and maybe this ‘specialist’ could help him figure it out. It was worth trying.
He sighed, nodding. “Fine. I’ll meet him,” Dream muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “But if he starts pulling out needles and shit, I swear to Prime, I’m leaving.”
Wilbur’s grin widened. “Great! I’ll text him right now! We can meet set up an appointment tomorrow.”
Later that evening, after a few more hours of random conversation and catching up, Dream stood up from the couch, stretching his arms. “Well, I guess I should get going.”
“Right,” Wilbur replied. “You’ve got work, don’t you?”
Dream nodded. “Yep. I should start heading out now before I’m late.” He grabbed his jacket that was hanging on one of the stools then his keys that were on the counter. “See ya’ later for that… appointment thing.”
“You bet,” Wilbur said, settling into the couch even more, kicking up his legs on the coffee table. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Alright.”
Dream pulled the door open and shut it closed behind him. He made his way down the stairs until he reached the lobby floor. There were only about two people hanging in the lobby but they didn’t pay much attention to Dream as he made his way outside.
The streets were quieter around this time, the usual business of the daytime starting to die down but there was still enough energy to remind him that the city of the Underground never truly slept. He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets as he was greeted by the crisp air, and walked briskly toward the bar.
The familiar clink of bottles and chatter from the bars ahead were familiar and he was used to it at this point. But as he walked down a narrow street, something caught his attention.
A group of three people were gathered in a dark alleyway, voices raised in heated arguments. The scene stood out against the laughing and chattering happening just a street ahead of him. Dream paused in his steps, a frown tugging at his features.
“We have to get you back to base- we’re not leaving you here!”
“There isn’t time!” Another voice hissed out. “You need to go!”
“Guys, guys- enough! This isn’t helping!”
Dream’s attention was fully drawn to the scene unfolding in the alley. The heated words bounced off the walls, the three figures standing in a tense triangle. One of them was standing up straight, while another was kneeling next to another guy who seemed to be holding the side of his chest tightly.
Ah, fuck. I shouldn’t get involved.
Just as Dream took a step back, his foot hit the ground a little too loudly and all three heads snapped in his direction. One of them immediately pulled out a gun and pointed it towards him.
Dream froze as, yet again, a gun was pointed directly at him. The last thing he expected to deal with on his walk to work was a confrontation like this.
“Look, man, I don’t want trouble,” Dream sighed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Just heading to work, okay?”
The man with the gun, his finger hovering just over the trigger, eyed Dream for a long moment. His stance was hostile, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He was tall with dark hair and had midnight-blue eyes. He was wearing a red turtleneck with a black trench coat and pants. Around his neck were a few golden necklaces. He gave off the vibe that he wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with.
“And who the fuck are you?”
Dream kept his cool, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just a bartender. I’m about to be late to my job.”
The man with the gun didn’t lower it, his eyes narrowing even further. The tense air between them felt thick, like it was only a breath away from snapping.
“Just a bartender, huh?” The second person who was kneeling down asked.
His outfit replicated the first guy: black and red with golden accents. He had black eyes and brown hair. Instead of staring at Dream in pure disdain, he seemed slightly more curious but still had his guard up.
“Yeah, I’m just doing my thing. Unless you want a drink or something then I can’t help much. I’ve got to get to work so…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, trying to convey how uninterested he was in whatever the hell was going on between these three people.
“You’re a civilian, then?”
What the fuck-
“Uhm- yeah? And… you guys aren’t?” Dream tilted his head.
The three people in front of him shared a look, and then the man with the gun gradually lowered it.
“Just get out of here, man.”
“Don’t need to tell me twice.” Dream turned to leave but he caught a glimpse of the man that was slumped on the floor.
He had blonde hair and blue eyes. The man was wearing a slightly different outfit from the other two but with the same colors and he had on a lot more gold, from piercings to necklaces and bracelets on his wrists. But that’s not what caught Dream’s attention.
There was blood.
A lot more than Dream had initially realized.
It stained the man’s hands and soaked through the fabric at his side, a deep crimson stain that pooled beneath him and reflected under the dim street lights behind Dream. The guy looked like he was clinging onto consciousness, eyes fluttering and breathing shallow, one trembling hand still pressed against the wound like he was trying to hold himself together.
Dream paused.
“Uhm- Is he alright?”
The guy who was slumped on the floor chuckled. It was a weak, broken sound- dry and short, like it physically hurt to do it.
“Do I look alright?” the guy rasped, his voice rough with pain but still holding the ghost of a smirk.
Dream hummed. “Okay, fair. That was a dumb question.”
The one that held the gun before stepped in again. “We’ve got it handled. You need to leave.”
“Do you want me to call an ambulance?”
The guy who was kneeling down next to the injured one shook his head immediately.
“Can’t do that.”
“What? Why not? He’s losing a lot of blood and-”
“We know,” the man that was standing glared at him. “We’re handling it.”
Dream took a slow step forward, glancing between the three of them.
“I’m sorry but unless one of you is hiding a first-aid kit and a medical degree under that edgy fashion you got going on, your friend’s going to die.”
The guy with the black hair who was standing, rubbed at his temple like this was more hassle than he wanted.
“Look, man, this isn’t your problem. You’re lucky we’re letting you walk away. Take that and go.”
Dream snorted, unimpressed. “Oh, how merciful of you. Letting the guy who just happened to be walking by live. I’m so touched, I could cry.”
The guy with the gun scowled. “You’re not taking this seriously.”
“I never take anything seriously,” Dream shrugged. “But your friend is seriously going to die if you don’t do something other than threatening a bartender like that’s gonna fix anything. I’m having a great night, thanks for asking.”
“You don’t even know who you’re messing with,” the kneeling guy muttered, glaring at Dream.
“And what exactly am I dealing with?” Dream asks, “A back alley street drama?”
The kneeling guy snorted like he couldn’t believe the audacity. The guy who was standing looked like he was ready to pull out his gun again and put a bullet through his leg just to make a point.
“We’re with the Mafia,” the gunman said flatly.
Dream blinked.
Then blinked again.
He never ran into the Mafia before, even with his whole life in the Underground, but Dream always knew to keep his head down and stay away from them. He heard people talk about them when he worked at the bar, mostly in hushed voices as if the Mafia could be listening in at every corner. And people like Dream? They make sure they don’t get involved.
But apparently, he lost that memo between being late to his shift and the bleeding mess in the alley.
All thanks to these assholes.
“Oh,” Dream said, nodding slowly. “The Mafia, huh? Well, that explains the matching outfits. Very dramatic. Love the gold. Super subtle.”
“You think this is a joke?” the gunman snapped, his patience hanging on by a thread.
“I mean,” Dream gestured vaguely at the scene. “You’re in an alleyway with your friend bleeding out all over the cobblestones like it’s a murder mystery dinner party. Each one of you are wearing matching red-and-black outfits like you’re about to drop the hottest mixtape of the year. So yeah, kind of hard to take it seriously.”
The blonde guy on the ground gave another broken little laugh, coughing a bit at the end. “He’s got you there, Sapnap,” he wheezed, lips curling into a painful grin. “You gotta admit it’s kinda cringe.”
“Shut up, Punz,” the kneeling guy hissed at him, visibly torn between keeping pressure on the wound and just smacking him for encouraging the other.
“C’mon, George,” The guy- apparently named Punz- chuckled weakly. “He’s hilarious.”
Sapnap, the gunman, turned back to Dream. “You think you’re funny-”
“I know I’m funny,” Dream cut in, stepping closer and finally getting a better look at the wound. “I also know that if you don’t do something, your friend here is going to pass out and probably never wake up ever again.”
“And what are you supposed to be? A medic?”
“Better,” Dream said, giving them a smug grin. “I’m a bartender.”
Sapnap scoffed. “Are you high?”
“No, this is just how I cope with absurd situations. Now, here’s the deal,” Dream held up a finger. “I’ll patch up your dying friend here-” he pointed to Punz, “-but in return, you three never come up to me again. Ever. No creepy notes under my door. No ‘we owe you one’ garbage. No showing up at the bar I work at acting all mysterious in the corner booth-”
“That’s oddly specific.” George deadpans.
“I get weird customers but that’s not the point,” Dream said, then waved a hand. “All you have to do is promise me that you won’t bother me and you won’t speak about what happened.”
George and Sapnap exchange a look to Punz. Their faces didn’t hide the desperation clearly shown. George’s hands were soaked in blood, his expression tight with worry. Sapnap was looking at Punz in a certain sadness that Dream had seen once before… Just like Wilbur looked like.
“...And if we say no?” Sapnap asked, voice low, testing him.
Dream shrugged. “Then you better start praying that your friend here enjoys his next life. Maybe he’ll get lucky and have a better sense of fashion.”
Punz wheezed a laugh again. “I’m dying and even I think we should take the deal.”
“Exactly,” Dream put a hand on his hip. “And there’s nothing to lose even if you do say yes. If I can’t help him then that’s that.”
George looked up, clearly biting back a thousand questions, but finally nodded. “Okay. You help him, and we forget this happened.”
Sapnap paused, his eyes flickering between Dream and Punz then nodded as well.
“Fine,” Sapnap bit out. “But if you make it worse then I’ll put a bullet through your head.”
Dream gave a satisfied clap. “Great! Now, step back for a minute.”
George reluctantly got up from the floor and stepped away from pressing onto the wound. Sapnap also took a singular step back but his eyes were growing concerned of Dream’s every movement. Punz still seemed conscious but his eyes were growing glossy.
Dream crouched down immediately and took a look at the wound. It was nasty- deep and jagged, like someone had gone at him with a very angry serrated knife. Blood had slowed but still trickled out, and Punz was clearly fading.
He raised his hand over the wound, and rolled his eyes before his hand began to glow a soft golden light- not bright, not showy- just a dull warmth that spread from his palm to the torn flesh beneath. The glow sank in slowly and knitted the flesh, muscle, and skin together in clean, seamless motions.
Not even thirty seconds had passed and Dream was finished, standing up and dusting himself off.
Punz blinked, then pushed himself up from the ground. He stared down at his torso like it was foreign, hands moving over his now untouched skin. “Wh-What?” he muttered, pulling up his torn shirt to get a better look. “Holy shit-”
“You’re welcome,” Dream said. “All fixed like it never happened.”
“What the fuck?” Sapnap stared in disbelief at Punz then his eyes flickered to Dream.
George stared at the now-closed wound. “You’re a healer?”
“I told you I was better than a medic.” Dream grinned.
“But you said you’re a bartender?”
“Precisely.”
“No, wait-” Punz was checking other parts of his body and Dream got confused as he watched him. “You… You healed everything.”
“Uhm- well, yeah? Of course I healed your wound. Wasn't that what I was supposed to do?”
“No, no,” Punz shook his head. “I mean you healed everything. From my past scars to bruises, even to the limp I used to have- Like, holy fucking shit dude. It's all gone.”
Dream tilted his head. “Oh, that. Yeah, that happens. I don’t really control what I want to heal- it just heals everything. Sorry if you had some badass scar you wanted to keep.”
Punz let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re apologizing for saving my life? That’s a new one.”
“Right, well, I would like to wrap this up now. I’m already late to my shift sooo-”
“What’s your name?”
“...It’s Dream,” he said. “Though I’m sure that’s not the name you’ll remember me by. It’ll probably be something like ‘the guy who saved my ass but made fun of my fashion choices.’”
Punz blinked, still processing the absurdity of everything (and Dream’s sarcastic remarks). “Alright… Well, Dream, thanks for not letting me die in a bloody alley. I owe you-”
“You don’t owe me jackshit.” Dream gave him a pointed look. “I’ve already said this before I helped you but I truly don’t want anything. I don’t want to be involved and I don’t want whatever you can offer. Just leave me alone.”
Sapnap’s gaze hardened.
With a smooth motion, he reached under his coat and pulled out the same pistol as before, aiming it squarely at Dream’s head.
“Too bad,” Sapnap said, voice threatening. “Because our group needs a healer. And you’re coming with us.”
Dream didn’t flinch, narrowing his eyes at Sapnap.
“Wow. You must be fun at parties.”
George inhaled sharply. “Sapnap, drop it.”
“He’s got powers,” Sapnap snapped, eyes never leaving Dream. “Ones we need. You saw what he did? I’ve met other healers before and even they couldn’t fix a half-dying man. And he even fixed up all of Punz’s old wounds that could have never been fixed! No regular healer can do that- And the guy looks completely fine as if he didn’t receive any backlash from his power! We can’t just let him walk away- not when we’re at war and we have people bleeding left and right.”
Dream rolled his eyes. “And this is how you convince people to join your little crew? Threaten to splatter their brains across an alley wall?”
“It’s effective.”
“I mean- sure, if you want a dead healer. Go right ahead then.”
“Fine, then-”
“Sapnap.”
Punz’s voice cut through the tension- rough but steady, more warning than plea. His eyes were sharp, focused and dangerous.
“Put the gun down,” Punz said, narrowing his eyes at the other.
“But, Punz-”
“I said stand down.”
Sapnap’s jaw clenched and, with visible effort, Sapnap lowered the pistol, his hand still tense around the grip. “Fine,” he muttered, sliding it back into his holster.
Punz turned to Dream. “Sorry about that. He’s just… We’ve lost a lot of people.”
Dream still eyed Sapnap warily. “Well maybe don’t aim a gun at the guy who heals people. Just a thought.”
“Right.” Punz nods. “But we still-”
“This never happened.” Dream cut in quickly. “And if any of you show up at my bar, I’m spitting in your drinks. Have a nice life and see you never.”
“Hold up- Take this,” Punz said, fishing through the inside of his jacket pocket. After barely a second, he pulled out a small token.
Dream looked down at it. “...A coin?”
“Sure,” Punz said, voice casual. “It’s a random coin. Don’t lose it though.”
Dream narrowed his eyes. “That’s exactly what someone would say if it wasn’t just a random coin.”
“It is just a coin.” Punz continued before he could get accused. “It’s not a tracker and I swear it doesn’t explode. It also won’t summon a death god if you flip it wrong. I just wanted you to have it as thanks.”
Dream’s eyes went to Sapnap and George who were looking at Punz in slight horror as he was handing Dream a coin. For some reason, he was starting to believe that this coin was much more than meets the eye.
Dream hesitantly took the coin from Punz’s hands, turning it over between his fingers. It was heavier than it looked. Smooth around the edges, but not perfectly so- like it had been passed from hand to hand, worn down by time and stories.
It was a matte black metal, not painted or shiny, but the edges of the coin itself were covered in gold. The front of the coin bore a strange insignia: a diamond shape with a circle surrounding it. It meant nothing to Dream, but it felt significant.
The back had no text. Just an imprint of a bird in flight- wings outstretched, talons curled as if in mid-dive. The kind of design people get tattooed on their ribs when they are drunk or grieving.
“Looks cursed,” Dream muttered.
“Maybe. And maybe not. You’ll know if it starts whispering.”
Dream gave him a flat look. “That better be a joke.”
“It’s not cursed,” Punz said, half-laughing. “It’s just a coin, I promise you. Just something I give out to certain people as thanks.”
Dream squinted at him, still unconvinced. “Right,” he drawled. “A totally normal thank-you gift from a person part of the Mafia while your friends look like you just handed me a live grenade. Nothing suspicious about that at all.”
“Don’t mind them, it’s just rare,” Punz said with a calm shrug, despite George still giving him an incredulous stare.
“Wonderful,” Dream deadpanned. “Let me guess- you won’t take it back?”
“Nope.” He smiled innocently.
Dream huffed and slid the coin into his pocket, already regretting every decision he’d made. “Well, thanks for the potentially cursed heirloom, Punz.”
“Have a fun night, Dream.”
Dream flipped them off with one hand then turned around and walked, heading towards the bar. He did hear a few whispers behind his back.
“Are you sure you want to give him that?”
“He saved my life.”
“Punz, even I know giving him that was too much-”
Dream continued on, ignoring them and trying to forget about them.
Dream pushed open the bar door, the familiar scent of whiskey, stale beer, and the hum of casual conversations hitting him all at once. The neon lights flickered above the counter, casting a harsh glow on the worn-out stools and stacks of glasses.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. This was the first time he had ever been late to work and it was all because of some dumb Mafia goons who held him back.
“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” a voice called from behind the bar.
Dream groaned and turned toward Schlatt, who was leaning casually against the counter, polishing a glass like it was the most important task in the world. Schlatt’s lazy smile was plastered on his face and it looked too smug for Dream’s liking.
“Yeah, yeah, I know I’m late,” Dream huffed, walking forward. “Got held back by some weirdos I met.”
Schlatt snorted, pouring a drink for a regular at the far end of the bar. “Is it worse than the group of lunatics who tried to steal our cash register?”
“Not quite. But close.” Dream chuckled as he hung up his jacket, and grabbed a nearby towel then busied himself cleaning a spill someone had left behind.
“Well, as long as you’re here in one piece then that’s good.”
“Aww,” Dream smirked. “Did you miss-”
“Your regulars have been bitchin'. Start working, kid.”
Dream rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Wouldn’t want to disappoint the drunks.”
As the hours passed and the bar filled with noise, Dream gradually started to forget about the guys he helped earlier that evening- the gun pointed at his face, the three Mafia members. It all faded into the rhythm of pouring drinks, wiping counters, and exchanging banter with the usuals.
The muscle memory took over. His hands moved faster than his thoughts, flipping glasses, sliding drinks, laughing at jokes he barely registered. Routine as always.
By the time the last call rang out and the final stragglers were shooed out into the night, Dream had put the event that happened earlier to the back of his mind as if it was some fever dream.
He stayed much longer than he was supposed to because he felt bad for being late in the first place. When he finally clocked out, he said a quick goodbye to Schlatt, and stepped into the cool air outside.
Familiar flickering street lights and the quiet hum of the city greeted him. It was about five in the morning now as Dream shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, pulling the collar up a bit higher as a breeze rolled by. His boots hit the pavement with dull, rhythmic thuds- each step a little slower now that the adrenaline and rush of work had worn off.
Dream finally made it back to the apartment. It wasn’t fancy with chipped bricks and mailboxes that never quite closed right but he was glad to have it. He climbed the stairs quietly, his legs moving on autopilot until he stood in front of his door. He fished out his keys, unlocked it with a soft click, and stepped inside.
He wasn’t expecting the light to be on.
“‘Bout time,” Wilbur said, leaning on the kitchen counter where he sat on one of the stools. “I was beginning to think that someone kidnapped you.”
Dream chuckled as he shut the door behind him, locking it before throwing his keys on the counter. “Nah, I just decided to stay a bit longer at work.”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Uh-huh. Sure. Not because you were avoiding me, right?”
Dream gave him a pointed look. “Wil, if I wanted to avoid you then I wouldn’t have come back home.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Anyway,” Dream stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I’m starving. What do we have?”
Wilbur leaned back slightly, an exaggerated look of contemplation on his face. “Well, I was thinking something simple… like cereal. Or we have some fruit? I could also cook-”
“I’ll make some cereal. Don’t get me wrong- I love your cooking- but I can’t have you cook every day for me. I think I’ll get addicted.”
Wilbur smirked, crossing his arms. “So you’re saying my cooking’s that good, huh?”
Dream grinned as he pulled out a bowl and poured the cereal. “I mean, I’m not saying it’s bad, but I’d end up expecting a five-course meal every night. And that’s not sustainable.”
Wilbur laughed, pushing himself off the counter. “Fair enough.”
Dream filled the bowl with milk before setting it back into the fridge. He sat down on the stool next to Wilbur, diving into the cereal. Wilbur grabbed his own bowl and sat back down in his seat. For a few moments, they ate in comfortable silence, the soft clink of spoons against the bowls the only sound.
“So, how was work?” Wilbur asked, breaking the quiet.
Dream shrugged, taking another spoonful. “Same old. Busy night. Nothing special. The usual crowd.”
Wilbur smirked. “Sounds fun. Any troublemakers?”
Dream chuckled. “Yeah, a bit. Two of them tried to start something, but nothing that my boss couldn’t handle.”
“Your boss must be a tough guy then,” Wilbur commented.
“Oh, he is. Even I wouldn’t challenge him in a fight. But yeah, pretty regular day.”
Dream took another bite of his cereal. As he moved his spoon to the side, something clinked against the ground.
They both looked down and stared at the coin that had fallen out of his pocket. The same coin that Dream hadn’t given much thought about.
Wilbur leaned forward. “What’s that?”
Dream glanced at the coin and then shrugged as he took another bite of his cereal. “Just a weird little coin that someone gave me.”
Wilbur didn’t respond. Instead, he stopped eating and got off the stool to grab the coin in question. He stared at it, his fingers curling around it, and did not say a word. His casual amused expression from before became unusually serious.
“You alright?” Dream asked, brow furrowed.
Wilbur didn’t answer immediately. He just kept staring at the coin, his eyes becoming distant and unsettling.
“Wil? What’s wro-”
“Where did you get this?”
Dream paused, putting down the spoon in his bowl. “...Why are you asking that?”
Wilbur’s gaze remained fixed on the coin, his fingers gripping it tighter now as if it were something precious… or even dangerous. His usual calm demeanor had slipped, replaced by something more guarded. Dream’s stomach twisted slightly from the change in atmosphere.
“I asked you a question, Dream,” Wilbur said, his voice low. “Where did you get this?”
Dream blinked, a bit thrown off by Wilbur’s sudden intensity. “Uh, I told you already. Some guy handed it to me earlier. I didn’t think much of it. Why?”
Wilbur’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Rule five.”
“Rule five?” Dream repeated then shook his head. “Why are you bringing that up?”
“If anything ever does happen, you have to tell me.”
Dream huffed. “You left out the part where I would tell you if I knew I couldn’t handle it. But I handled it just fine.”
“Dream!” Wilbur exclaimed, “Do you even know what this coin is?!”
“It’s just a coin,” Dream said with a nonchalant shrug.
Wilbur wasn’t having it. His eyes burned with urgency, and he shook his head, still gripping the coin in his hand like it was a ticking time bomb.
“This isn’t just a coin, Dream.”
Dream glanced at the coin in Wilbur’s hands then looked up to meet his eyes. “Are we looking at the same thing? Because I’m pretty sure that’s just a coin, dude.”
“This token is from one of the Four Kings.”
Dream blinked, his mind trying to process what Wilbur had just said. “Four Kings? I’m sorry but what the fuck is that?”
Wilbur’s grip on the coin tightened as he stared at it, his expression darkening.
“The Four Kings are the heads of the four largest Mafia families. They control almost everything- business, money, people. Just like in a deck of cards, each of the Four Kings has their own suit, their own territory, and their own way of doing things. There are four kings in total. From Diamond, Spade, Heart, and Club. This token is from the King of Diamonds. The only ones who can hand out these tokens are the Kings themselves.”
“Oh. Huh. I always thought the Mafia was just one big group.”
“They used to be but then the original leader disappeared. They called him the Kingpin but he just up and vanished about five years ago. No warning. No body. Nothing,” Wilbur didn’t smile. “People panicked after he disappeared. But to keep things from descending into pure chaos, his four top lieutenants divided everything between each other and each one took a suit: Spade, Heart, Diamond and Club. That’s how the Four Kings were born.”
“Some guy got bored and decided to dip?”
“No one is sure. He could be dead or off in another country. But he left an empire that was worth billions behind. Because of that- there is a constant war between the Mafia groups.”
“You know a lot about this.”
“I’m a villain, Dream. Of course I met a few Mafia members.”
Dream paused. “Then what’s with that coin?”
“You just received a token from the King of Diamonds. Having one of these means you’re protected- but not in the way most people think. If anyone tries to mess with you, the Diamond group will take care of it. But… it also means you’re marked by the other Mafia groups.”
Dream leaned back in his chair, casually spinning his spoon between his fingers.
“So, basically, that’s a VIP pass for some shady Mafia group’s protection plan?”
Wilbur’s eyes narrowed further, his lips pressed into a thin line. “The other groups won’t take kindly to you having a piece of their rival’s power. The Spades, the Hearts, the Clubs- they’re not going to play nice just because you got a shiny coin. They will want to figure out why you got that token.”
“I’ll just tell them I’m not interested. Or, even better, I’ll just toss the coin away.”
“You can’t toss it,” Wilbur says immediately and his tone was full of warning. “If you toss it, you’ll be marked as a target by all four families. You’ll be seen as someone who doesn’t respect the power it represents.”
Dream rolled his eyes, barely bothered by Wilbur’s warning. “Fine, fine. Don’t toss it. Got it.”
“...Dream, what exactly did you do?”
“Nothing! Listen, I don’t even know who this Diamond King is,” Dream shot back, still dismissive. “This sounds like some wild Mafia stuff that I don’t want to be involved in. I’m just trying to eat my cereal, man.”
“It's King of Diamonds. And the Four Kings have people everywhere- and I mean everywhere. They run entire sectors of the city, they control politics, supply chains, even the police.”
“And?”
“I want to help you but you have to tell me what you did.”
Dream hesitated, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Alright, whatever,” he muttered, clearly not thrilled to be explaining himself. “I didn’t mean to get involved with anyone. I was just walking to work and heard some voices in the alley and one guy pointed his gun at me.”
“Okay… and then what?”
“He lowered his gun after he realized I’m just a regular guy and I was going to walk away but then I saw this dude on the floor and he was hurt- like- really, really bad, Wil. He looked like a goddamn blood fountain and I-”
“Dream… please don’t tell me you healed him-”
“That’s exactly what I did.”
“You showed your healing powers to a group of Mafia members?!”
Dream winced, realizing how reckless his actions must sound now that he was hearing it out loud. “Okay, well, in my defense- I already used my healing powers in front of the whole Syndicate you are part of so-”
“This is different!” Wilbur let out a frustrated huff, rubbing his face. “You helped out the King of Diamonds without even realizing it! The Spades, Hearts, and even the Clubs are going to be looking for you, wondering why a ‘normal guy’ got involved with the King of Diamonds and even managed to get a token!”
“Not my problem if they’re all so touchy about a little thing like a coin.”
Wilbur groaned, sinking into his hands. “Dream, you can’t just waltz through life healing people and handing out your powers like party favors!”
“Oh, you’re right. Should I have given them a margarita too?”
“You make everything ten times worse,” Wilbur deadpans. “I’m going to guess you also used that sarcasm on the Mafia too.”
Dream grinned. “Hey, I can’t help it if I’m just that entertaining.”
Wilbur glared at him. “That’s it. I’m taking you to and from work from now on. First, it was Techno and Philza pointing a gun at you and now it’s the fucking Mafia.”
“Oh, so now I have a personal chauffeur?”
Wilbur crossed his arms, his expression unamused. “If it means keeping you alive and out of trouble, yes. You obviously can’t handle walking around without causing a disaster.”
Dream gave a lazy salute. “Yes, chauffeur, I gotcha. Should I pack snacks for the walk or is that part of the full-service package?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet, you still live with me. Must be my charm,” Dream replied, setting his empty bowl in the sink. “Wait- did you ever schedule that appointment with the power specialist?”
“Yes, I did.” Wilbur didn’t seem too happy to change topics that fast but continued on anyway. “The appointment is at noon today. He will be coming here-”
“He’s coming to the apartment?” Dream hummed. “I hope he’s not a villain because then you’re breaking rule number one.”
“He’s not a villain.” Wilbur exhaled slowly. “You’ll be fine.”
“Oh good, someone to tell me my powers could possibly be a biohazard- I can’t wait,” Dream muttered as he looked at the clock. “Ah- it’s almost six in the morning. That gives me about six hours to sleep so I’m going to go ahead and sleep now. Hopefully that Diamond King can send me a gift basket then. Have a g’night Wilbur.”
“Yeah, goodnight to you too, disaster incarnate,” Wilbur says. “Maybe the King of Diamonds will send me a coffin next.”
Dream popped his head back around the corner, a grin still plastered on his face. “Make sure it’s one with memory foam.”
Wilbur stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before speaking. “I’m putting a traffic cone on your grave.”
Dream paused. “Why a traffic cone?”
“So people know to proceed with caution,” Wilbur snapped.
Dream wheezed with laughter as he headed toward his room.
“That’s a good one- I might steal that.”
Wilbur just shook his head and sighed.
“I miss when my biggest roommate problem was him forgetting to do his laundry. Now he’s healing mobsters in back alleys… I swear if he gets assassinated while I’m in the shower-”
“Also, I left my laundry in the washer again! So if it smells like wet dog tomorrow, that’s on me.” Dream called from beyond the door.
Wilbur let out a long, suffering groan and seriously considered calling that power specialist to ask if there was a way to reverse Dream’s entire personality.