Four Kings
The morning- or what little remained of it- came far too quickly.
By the time Dream woke up, the apartment was cast in weak midday sunlight, and the clock on the wall read 11:37AM.
He had already woken up an hour prior to the meeting, took a shower, and got dressed. Dream made himself a cup of coffee and was waiting for Wilbur to wake up. When it was almost noon, that’s when Dream knocked on his door.
“Wilbur!”
Still nothing.
Dream sighed and knocked again.
“Hey! The power specialist is gonna be here any minute now and if you’re not wearing any pants I swear I will strangle you-”
“Five more hours.” A voice from the other side said.
Dream rolled his eyes. “Nope. Get up now.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“No.”
Dream leaned against the doorframe, sipping his coffee as he stared blankly at the painted wood in front of him. Now that he was looking at it closely, there seemed to be a dead bug that was painted over with it. He chuckled. Ah, yes, the landlord special.
“I will start reading your diary I found under the couch out loud if you don’t get up within the next second.”
A beat of silence. Then-
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Dream took a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Dear diary, today a twelve-year-old kid tripped me and I fell onto the pavement-”
The door flew open instantly.
Wilbur stood there, bleary-eyed and tragically shirtless, hair sticking up like a haystack that had been personally offended by the concept of brushing.
“Morning, sleeping beauty.” Dream teased.
“You are a menace,” he grumbled, already turning back around to grab a shirt off his dresser then putting it on.
“Always have been, always will be,” Dream said cheerfully. “Coffee’s hot. You can still pour yourself a cup.”
Wilbur ruffled his own hair a bit before making his way to the kitchen with Dream tagging along.
“You’re lucky you made me coffee or I would have killed you for reading my diary.”
Dream snorted and took another sip from his mug, leaning casually against the wall as he watched Wilbur grab his own mug and pour the coffee into it.
“You better be awake enough to deal with this guy. What do I even call him? Power Guy? Specialist Man? Spider-Dude?”
Wilbur flopped onto the kitchen stool. “His name’s Fundy.”
Dream blinked. “Fundy? Seriously?”
Wilbur nodded into his coffee, eyes still half-lidded with sleep. “Yeah.”
“That sounds like the name of a cartoon fox who teaches kids the meaning of fun,” Dream said, raising a brow. “What kind of name is that for a power specialist?”
Wilbur took a slow sip from his mug. “Says the guy named Dream.”
“Okay, rude. At least I didn’t pick my name off a Pinterest board, Wilbur,” Dream shot back.
Wilbur smirked behind the rim of his mug. “I bet your name was right next to Starshine and Luna.”
Dream scoffed. “You’re such a-”
A knock came at the door.
They both froze, exchanging a glance.
“That him?” Dream asked.
“Only one way to find out,” Wilbur set his mug on the counter and made his way to the door. He checked the door scope and then nodded to Dream.
Wilbur opened the door with his usual casual flair and greeted him. Dream got up from the wall and peeked over to see who this person was.
Fundy was a bit shorter than he expected, maybe a few inches under Dream’s height, with messy red-orange hair and sharp golden eyes. He wore a lightweight beige trenchcoat, a messenger bag slung over his shoulder, and- because this guy probably had a sense of humor- fox pins near the collar of his shirt.
Dream stared at him for a second longer than necessary.
The man didn’t seem like a villain. Instead, he just seemed like a regular civilian.
Wilbur stepped to the side to let Fundy in then shut and locked the door right after. Fundy gave a small, polite smile as he stepped inside.
“Hello. You must be Dream, I presume?”
Dream raised a brow and leaned against the edge of the kitchen counter. “You presume correct. So you’re the power specialist? The guy who helps people not explode or melt their insides with their own powers?”
“That’s… a very dramatic way of putting it,” Fundy replied with a small chuckle. “But, yeah. That’s the general idea. I’m sure you heard but my name is Fundy. It’s nice to meet you.”
Dream narrowed his eyes slightly. “You’re way too normal-looking. Shouldn’t you be some kind of crazy scientist with a floating clipboard or something?”
Wilbur made a face. “Why would a clipboard float?”
“Because that would be pretty cool,” Dream replied, waving him off.
Fundy just smiled and set his bag down. “Sorry to disappoint. No clipboard, floating or otherwise. I’m also a civilian, unlike Wilbur here.”
“Oh?” Dream blinked in surprise. “You know that-”
“Wilbur is Siren, yes, I know.” Fundy hummed. “I know many people because of my side business. From villains to civilians and… others.”
Dream hummed. “Okay.”
Fundy nodded, keeping his tone light as he walked over to the living room, taking a glance at the vinyls on the wall and plants hung near the ceiling.
“Why don’t you go ahead and take a seat on the couch, Dream?”
Dream glanced at Wilbur with an exaggerated expression of suspicion. “He’s not gonna like… hook me up to wires or open my third eye or anything, right?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. “Just sit down, drama queen.”
Dream huffed theatrically but did as told, sitting down onto the couch with his coffee mug still in hand. “Alright, power specialist, what’s next?”
Fundy chuckled. “Well, the gist of it is this- my power lets me read the framework of other powers. It’s sort of like… looking at your abilities. I can figure out how your power works, what it’s capable of, and if there are any limits or dangers you haven’t discovered yet.”
“Oh shit,” Dream said. “Are you gonna update my power to version 2.0?”
“No updates, unfortunately,” Fundy replied, amused. “But I can look at your current versions and tell you how to get better.”
“I don’t really need to ‘get better’ since my healing is pretty good. The only reason Wilbur called you is because he was curious why I haven’t received any repercussions when I use my power.”
“No repercussions? At all?” Fundy looked to Wilbur.
Wilbur, now leaning against the wall with his mug held in one hand, nodded slowly. “None. No nosebleeds, fatigue, nausea- nothing. He healed someone last time who was practically bleeding out and walked away like he just tied his shoes.”
Fundy turned back to Dream, his brows rising slightly in genuine intrigue. “That’s… not normal.”
“Yet, here I am,” Dream gestured vaguely. “Fully intact. A literal abomination to other powered people.”
“That’s not something to be proud of,” Wilbur muttered.
“Jealousy doesn’t look too good on you, Wil,” Dream shot back, sipping from his mug with a smug grin.
Fundy let the banter pass with a slight smile. “Alright, before I do anything, I need to ask you something.”
Dream looked at him over the rim of his mug. “If it’s about blood types, I’m pretty sure mine is just coffee.”
Fundy ignored the joke. “I mean this in all seriousness. When I use my ability, I’ll be able to see everything about your power. Its limits, its function, its laws… everything. But you won’t be able to see anything. Which means I’ll be saying it out loud, and Wilbur will hear it too.”
“...Oh.” Dream straightened up.
“Yes. I’m not a doctor or anything but I have a strict code,” Fundy continued, voice steady. “I don’t reveal anything private unless the client’s okay with it. Not to mention that you’re a civilian and Wilbur is a villain. So, I’m asking you- do you want Wilbur to stay for this?”
Dream went quiet, the humor draining from his expression. He looked over at Wilbur, who was still standing near the kitchen, sipping from his mug, eyebrows slightly raised in that casual, unreadable way of his.
“Your call, man,” Wilbur said simply. “I’ll take a hike if you want me to. I won’t be offended.”
Dream didn’t respond at first. He stared into his cup as if it held all the answers. After a moment of tapping his finger against the side, he gave a slow nod.
“Alright... Wil, could you step out for a bit?”
Wilbur blinked. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” Dream gave a tight smile. “I just… want to hear it first.”
Wilbur didn’t argue. He set the rest of his coffee down and gave a two-finger salute as he turned. “I gotcha. I’ll head to the grocery store then. Anything you want?”
“Maybe something sweet.” Dream replied. “Like those chocolate-covered pretzels.”
“Alrighty. Don’t sprout extra arms while I’m out.”
“No promises.”
Wilbur smirked faintly as he left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving a faint echo in the quiet apartment.
Dream looked back at Fundy, who had now taken a small notebook out of his bag and flipped it open, though he didn’t write anything yet. The fox pin on his collar caught the light, a glint of gold shone before he tucked the notebook aside.
“Can we start?” Fundy asked gently.
Dream gave a hesitant nod. “Yeah, I guess… So how does this work?”
“Right.” Fundy tapped his fingers on his leg. “So, my powers aren’t really that great. I can’t see people’s limits or powers or anything until I get their explicit permission to view it. That is why I started this as a business.”
Dream set down his coffee on the table in front of him and crossed his arms. “You need verbal consent?”
“Exactly,” Fundy said, voice calm and professional. “Just a simple ‘yes’ to my question would suffice. Once I have that, it’s like opening a book. I’ll be able to read your ability and find out things that even you may not be aware of. It’s painless, I promise.”
“That last sentence made me even more skeptical.” Dream chuckled.
“Ready?”
“Sure.”
Fundy straightened slightly, tone gentler this time. “Dream, do you give permission for me to read everything about your ability?”
Dream hesitated then nodded. “Yeah… I give you permission.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, Fundy closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, they were glowing faintly- a soft golden hue that pulsed with an otherworldly energy.
Dream felt… nothing. No pain, no tug, no sensation whatsoever. Just the normal weight of the air around him.
But Fundy? Fundy looked like he was reading something only he could see.
His eyes tracked slowly like he was scanning lines of text on a screen that hovered in the air next to Dream’s head- except there was nothing there. Nothing Dream could see, anyway. Dream stayed quiet, letting Fundy work.
At first, Fundy was calm, almost expressionless as he read. But then his brows started to lift, just slightly. Then his eyes flicked a little faster, moving back and forth. The glow intensified. His breathing grew shallow.
“Fundy?” Dream was watching him closely, noticing the change in his demeanor. “You alright?”
Fundy didn’t respond. He just kept reading- eyes widening even further. He took a step back in shock… Or fear. Dream couldn’t tell.
“Hey, dude,” Dream continued, trying to lighten the situation. “What’s up with-”
“This isn’t healing…” Fundy’s voice was shaking and he kept his eyes trained on the imaginary screen that Dream couldn’t see.
Dream tilted his head. “Okay, dramatic much. Then what is it?”
“It’s regeneration,” Fundy said, eyes still glowing faintly as he read the invisible framework of Dream’s power. “You’re not just healing people, Dream. Their wounds, their tissue, their cells- it’s like you’re rewriting the damage.”
Dream blinked, still confused. “...So I’m not a healer?”
“You’re something far beyond that.” Fundy’s gaze moved rapidly over the invisible data. “Healing powers usually just accelerate the body’s natural process. But you’re not accelerating anything. You’re replacing it. Regenerating tissue that’s been lost or destroyed- even restoring it to a far better state than it once was!”
Dream squinted. “Okay, but that sounds an awful lot like healing.”
“It’s not,” Fundy insisted. “Healing implies limits. Time. Strain. What you’re doing? There’s no limits.”
Dream leaned back slowly, taking in the information. “So… What about my backlash for using my power? Surely there’s something like Wilbur said?”
“Apparently,” Fundy murmured, still staring at the space above Dream’s shoulder. “Your body should be crashing every time you use your power.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound right.”
“No, it is right. My powers never lie. The only reason you’re not dying every time you use your powers is because of your ‘side effect.’”
“A side effect? To my regeneration power or whatever?” Dream asked, wary now.
“Yes.” Fundy said, squinting at the imaginary screen. “Your side effect is immunity.”
“...Say what now?”
“You’re immune to a lot of things,” Fundy said. “Poisons. Infections. You probably never get sick, do you?”
“Never had the flu. Not even a cold,” Dream replied with a shrug.
“That’s a passive effect of your power,” Fundy explained. “Your body’s adapted to regenerate others so efficiently, it’s evolved to prevent you from needing help yourself.”
“Oh fuck-” Dream laughed. “That’s basically two powers in one.”
Fundy didn’t laugh. He just stared.
“You really don’t realize how much danger you’re in if someone finds out, huh?”
Dream blinked. “Oh, you’re right. Should I start charging people five dollars per miracle and a punch card for the tenth one free?”
Fundy still wasn’t laughing.
“I’m serious, Dream” he said quietly. “You shouldn’t be showing your powers to anyone anymore.”
Dream hummed in mock thought. “You’re absolutely right. I should be charging ten dollars, not five.”
“You’re not listening.” Fundy finally looked away from the screen, his eyes still glowing faintly. “The power you have is rare, almost unheard of. And you don’t have any limits that others would have. You don’t pass out. You don’t weaken. You’re basically walking around with the most high-tier healing remedy that others would kill for and acting like it’s a party trick.”
Dream was quiet for a second, then muttered. “Okay, rude.”
Fundy sighed. “If you want to live a long life, Dream, you shouldn’t be living with a villain. Especially Siren.”
“Wow,” Dream flatly. “Way to judge Wilbur. He makes me pancakes on Sundays.”
“Dream,” Fundy narrowed his eyes. “You might trust Wilbur, but he’s in a position where he has many enemies. And enemies are opportunists. They’ll use people like you. Especially once word gets out about what you can do.”
Dream snorted. “So you want me to replace him with a goldfish? A goldfish can’t pay rent, dude.”
“I’m saying,” Fundy huffed. “You need to start thinking about your own safety.”
Dream rolled his eyes. “You’re starting to sound like Wilbur.”
But Fundy didn’t let up. “And there’s another flaw.”
That made Dream flinch back but he quickly tried to brush it off as he joked, “Flaw? Don’t tell me it’s another power-up?”
Fundy stilled, glancing at the imaginary screen then landed his golden eyes back on Dream.
“I think you already know what it is.”
Dream froze.
“And if you truly want to remain ‘uninvolved’ like you keep saying and if you truly want to stay safe,” Fundy’s voice lowered. “Then you need to take this seriously. You need to leave this city.”
Dream didn’t speak. His usual sarcasm, that casual grin- it was gone, tucked somewhere behind the heavy silence that followed. He sat there, shoulders tense, eyes focused on a spot on the floor that suddenly felt a lot more interesting.
Fundy finally let out a soft breath, like he hated being the one to say it. He shut the invisible screen with a blink- his eyes dimming and returning to their normal amber hue.
He grabbed his notebook and messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he moved toward the door.
“I won’t tell anyone what I saw,” Fundy said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. “That’s not how I work.”
Dream still didn’t look up.
Fundy hesitated, then added a bit more gently, “If Wilbur really cares about you, he would understand you wanting to leave. And… if I were you… I wouldn’t tell him anything about today.”
With that, Fundy opened the door and Wilbur was present.
“Oh, hey!” Wilbur’s chipper tone broke the heavy tension. He held a couple of grocery bags in his hands as he stood in front of the opened door. “Finished already?”
Fundy barely spared him a glance.
“Bye,” he said curtly, brushing past Wilbur with a clipped sort of urgency, his fox pin catching a glint of light as he moved.
Wilbur blinked as he watched Fundy disappear down the hallway. “Okay…” he muttered, confused. “Weird.”
Wilbur stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind him, his eyes flicking between the now-quiet room and Dream still on the couch, back slightly hunched, face unreadable.
“How did the appointment go? ” Wilbur asked, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter.
Dream didn’t respond and that seemed to draw even more suspicion in his direction. Wilbur looked away from the groceries and stared at Dream who was still sitting there, motionless.
“Dream?” Wilbur said more softly this time, concern creeping into his voice. “You alright? Did you find out something?”
The other opened his mouth to respond then closed it. He took a breath. Then, he looked up and met Wilbur's gaze.
Dream smiled.
“Nah, I’m just a regular healer.”
It was cold outside around five in the evening. Wilbur was walking beside Dream as they made their way to the bar, the city lights starting to flicker on as the sky turned a hazy blue-gray. Their footsteps echoed against the cracked sidewalk, the wind sharp as it slipped between buildings.
Dream shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill. Wilbur walked beside him, scarf wound tight around his neck, hands in his coat pockets too.
“I’m sorry, Dream. I really thought Fundy would find out at least something.”
Dream let out a small puff of breath, watching it curl into the cold air before answering.
“It’s fine,” he said casually, though there was something hollow tucked beneath his tone. “I wasn’t expecting much anyway.”
Wilbur glanced at him sideways. “You sure? You’ve just been kinda quiet.”
“Just tired,” Dream replied, flashing a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We had to wake up early today. Also, I can’t whip out a sarcastic comment every second of my life.”
“Well, alright. But… if there’s anything wrong, you can tell me.”
“I know,” Dream said, eyes focused ahead. “And I will. When it matters.”
Wilbur paused at that but didn’t reply back.
They turned the corner, and The Tipsy Callers came into view. The neon sign buzzed faintly above the entrance, throwing a reddish glow over the sidewalk. Warmth and distant music leaked through the cracks in the doorframe.
“You’re staying out of trouble tonight, right?” Wilbur asked, stopping just outside the bar.
“Define trouble,” Dream said, smirking.
Wilbur gave him a look.
“No healing strangers in alleyways. No confronting other people. No glowing hands.”
Dream gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Just drinks and sarcasm. My specialties.”
Wilbur gave him a quick once-over before nodding. “You get off at four, right? Don’t go anywhere without me.”
Dream saluted lazily. “Yes, Mom.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. Dream paused at the door, watching him go.
Then, Dream took a breath before pushing the bar door open with his shoulder, stepping into the familiar warmth.
The scent of old whiskey, polished wood, and deep fryer oil hit him instantly. Neon signs glowed faintly above the liquor shelves, and the soft hum of chatter mingled with the low thrum of music.
“Welcome back, kid,” Schlatt called from behind the bar.
Dream raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped his scarf. “Hey, Schlatt.”
“That’s the first time I've seen you with another person. Who was that?”
“Oh, just my roommate.” Dream shrugged as he made his way behind the counter.
“He drops you off now? Since when?”
Dream smirked as he hung up his coat and flicked a stray bit of lint off his sleeve. “What can I say? I’m high-maintenance. Needed a personal escort to make sure I didn’t get snatched by alley raccoons.”
Schlatt snorted. “Please. If anything, the raccoons would snatch up the trash before you.”
“Well,” Dream said, grabbing a bar towel and tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m pretty handsome and charming so it makes sense someone wants to steal me away.”
“You have a strong caffeine dependency and an attitude problem.”
“Details,” Dream replied smoothly, already wiping down the bar. “Besides, what’s a bartender without a little kick?”
“Dead inside,” Schlatt deadpanned.
Dream chuckled. “I’m thriving in this role.”
“You’re surviving. Barely.”
Dream gave him finger guns. “It’s called charm, Schlatt. Look it up- you may need some.”
Schlatt shook his head, chuckling as he slid an empty glass across the counter which Dream caught easily. “You’re lucky the regulars got awful taste in bartenders.”
“You’re just jealous.”
Schlatt leaned against the back counter, checking something on his phone before glancing up at Dream with a grunt.
“Speaking of awful decisions,” he said, “I gotta head out.”
Dream paused mid-wipe. “Wait, what?”
Schlatt grabbed his coat off the hook and slung it over his shoulders. “Don’t worry, I’m not abandoning you. Well, actually, yeah I am. It’s just for one night. I got something I need to take care of.”
Dream blinked. “You’re leaving the store in my care?”
“Yeah.” Schlatt moved to the register, popped it open, and pulled out a couple of twenties, muttering to himself before glancing back up. “You know how to close the store. I’m sure you can handle things, can’t you?”
Dream looked around at the small crowd forming in the booths and seats. It wasn’t that busy compared to most days but it still made him uneasy. “I don’t know, Schlatt… I might start introducing themed cocktails like ‘existential crisis on ice.’”
“That one might actually sell,” Schlatt said, moving toward the door. “You break anything, it’s on your paycheck. You get robbed, you fight ‘em off. Someone starts crying at the bar, give them a shot on the house.”
“Right, right. Guard the whiskey with my life.”
“Guard the register first, smartass.” Schlatt shot him a grin. “You’ll be fine. I trust you.”
With that, Schlatt threw a copy of the store keys to which Dream caught easily. The door shut behind Schlatt as he left. Just like that, Dream was alone behind the bar- bartender, manager, and chief provider of questionable life advice.
The hours passed slowly but they were manageable.
The regulars filtered in and out, mostly content with their usual drinks and half-hearted banter. Dream was comfortably in his zone, sliding drinks, cracking dry jokes, and keeping the vibes semi-decent.
Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.
Then the door swung open.
Dream looked up, expecting another regular- or maybe someone already half drunk- but instead saw a small group walk in. Five people in total. Four men in black coats, dark green shirts, and who immediately fanned out and stood by the wall like they were guarding something… or someone.
And that someone stepped forward and sat at the bar.
She had long, wavy brown hair that spilled past her shoulders like a lazy waterfall and sharp green eyes that scanned the room in one glance, catching everything. Her outfit was simple- dark green skirt, black shirt tucked in, black combat boots, and an oversized coat. The way she carried herself screamed confidence.
What made Dream pause was the reaction of the other patrons.
Half the room emptied under a minute.
No shouting, no drama. Just people suddenly deciding their drinks were done, their night over. A few regulars even avoided eye contact as they left- like they knew exactly who had walked in and wanted no part of it.
Dream frowned, glancing from the door to the remaining patrons, which were reduced to a sparse few.
The girl sat down on a stool right in front of Dream, a friendly smile plastered on her face.
“Well, you’ve got the entrance of someone either really important or really dramatic.”
She chuckled. “Why can’t it be both?”
“Fair enough,” Dream says as he puts down the glass he was originally cleaning. “Let me guess, whiskey neat?”
“Bourbon, splash of ginger ale. Tall glass.”
Dream turned to grab the bottle, casting a look over his shoulder toward the four ‘bodyguards’ stationed at the door. He poured the drink into the glass, humming to himself.
“Friends of yours?” Dream asks, nodding towards the four men behind her. He placed the glass in front of her.
“Something like that,” she said with a shrug. She took a small sip, then let out a hum of approval. “Not bad.”
Dream leaned back, folding his arms. “Glad I passed the taste test.”
She smiled, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Hannah.”
“Come again?”
“My name is Hannah,” she says, her eyes seeming to sparkle in amusement at Dream. “And do I have the pleasure to know your name Mr. Mysterious bartender?”
“...Dream,” he said reluctantly.
Hannah raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Yeah, I get that reaction a lot,” Dream replied. “Go ahead, get your jokes out now.”
“No, no,” she said, holding up a hand with a smirk. “I actually kind of like it. It’s got flair. Makes you sound like a poet.”
Dream snorted. “Yeah, or a sleep aid.”
Hannah laughed at that- a genuine sound that made the tension in the bar shift just a little. Dream couldn’t help but grin at the sound.
“You know,” she said, swirling her drink with a thoughtful glance toward the liquor shelves, “this place is a lot quieter than I expected.”
Dream gave her a pointed look. “I think you know exactly what happened. Half the bar scattered the second you walked in.”
She blinked, feigning innocence. “Really? I didn’t even notice.”
“Yeah,” Dream said, watching her with a hint of curiosity and wariness. “Weird, huh?”
“I guess people scare easily.” She hummed. “But not you?”
“Takes more than combat boots and four matching henchmen to scare me.”
Hannah grinned. “You’re fun.”
“You haven’t even seen the half of it.”
They talked for a while longer than Dream realized. Customers trickled in and out, a few giving Hannah nervous glances before quietly sitting as far from her as possible. But Dream stayed behind the bar, mixing drinks and keeping the flow going like any other night.
Something about Hannah was just… off. She was sharp and composed. The kind of person who walked into a room like she owned the whole building. Like she already knew the outcome of every conversation before it started.
And the most dangerous part? She seemed to find Dream amusing.
“So,” Hannah said eventually, tapping her nails on the side of her empty glass. “Tell me, Dream… what’s your power?”
Dream paused mid-wipe of the counter, the towel slowing in his hand.
She hadn’t asked it casually. It wasn’t a throwaway question, the kind strangers might blurt out after a few drinks. No. Hannah asked it like she knew something was up- or like she knew there was something worth uncovering.
He narrowed his eyes with a lazy kind of charm. “That’s a bold question, considering we just met.”
Hannah’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. “You didn’t answer it.”
“That’s because I was too distracted by the four men behind you who are now taking out guns and- oh- welp- there goes the rest of my customers running out of the bar.”
Hannah’s smile widened.
Dream tossed the towel over his shoulder and sighed, watching the last two customers scramble out the door, one of them nearly knocking over a chair on their way. The quiet hum of background music was now the only sound left.
“Well,” Dream said, glancing at the exit before shooting her a flat look. “Congratulations. You made me have the worst Happy Hour in history.”
She tilted her head. “Deflection. You’re good at that.”
Dream gave her a grin. “It’s a hobby.”
Another beat passed. Her green eyes stayed locked on his, intense but playful, as if they were playing poker and she was waiting to see if he’d bluff.
“Answer the question.”
Dream grabbed her empty glass and began to refill it. “I could say that my power is sarcastic remarks but you don’t seem like the type to laugh twice at a joke.”
“I laughed the first time,” Hannah replied evenly. “And that’s rare.”
Dream chuckled under his breath and slid her a fresh drink. “You gonna explain why half my bar thinks you’re the boogeyman, or are we gonna keep pretending we’re old friends?”
“Maybe I am the boogeyman,” she said, teasing.
“Then I’m raising your tab for emotional damages,” Dream huffed. “This bar’s haunted now.”
She let out another laugh, soft and genuine again. “You’re quick on coming up with something.”
“It’s either that or be trampled on by emotional drunks. I adapted.”
Hannah swirled her drink again, taking one last sip before standing. The air shifted again, just a bit colder now. The four men behind her straightened ever so slightly when she moved- like she was a queen rising from her throne.
“I have taken quite the fancy in you,” she said. “You’re a very interesting individual, Dream. Unfortunately, I must get going.”
Dream raised a brow. “That’s it? Already leaving? That’s too bad.”
She gave a shrug as she reached into her coat pocket. “I’ve got places to be. More bars to haunt. More bartenders to interrogate.”
“Ah, the glamorous life,” Dream said dryly.
Hannah smirked and dropped a few coins onto the counter. “Keep the change.”
Then she turned and walked away, her guards falling into step behind her like they were choreographed. Dream watched her go, the door swinging shut behind them with a soft thud. The bar was quiet again. Eerily so.
Dream stood still for a moment, staring at the door as it gently rocked closed behind Hannah and her entourage. The quiet that followed was strange. Not peaceful- just empty.
He glanced down at the counter where she’d left the pocket change. He just sighed and muttered, “Damn weird Underground people.”
With a quick swipe of his hand, Dream swept the coins into his palm and shoved them into his pocket without a second glance.
There was barely any business after that.
Dream grabbed the rag off his shoulder and started wiping down the counter again, stepping over a chair that had been knocked slightly askew. A couple of empty glasses were left behind by customers who’d bolted at Hannah’s entrance, and he made quick work of collecting them, stacking them up like muscle memory.
He locked the door. Turned off the music. Dimmed the lights.
One last sweep with the mop in the back, wiping footprints away and spills on the floor.
Dream sighed again and leaned against the bar, cracking his neck to the side. Then- he heard a knock at the door.
It was Wilbur.
Dream blinked at the knock, startled by the sudden return to reality. He looked to the door where Wilbur stood on the other side, peering in through the glass like a suspicious dad picking up his kid. Dream chuckled.
He made his way over and unlocked it with a soft click, swinging the door open just enough to lean his head out.
“You’re early,” Dream commented.
Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “You’re late. You were supposed to be out five minutes ago.”
Dream stepped aside and let him in. “Well, my boss left the closing to me. I’m by myself.”
Wilbur walked in, glancing around the empty bar. “By yourself? Anything happened?”
Dream shrugged, wandering back behind the bar to grab his coat. “Some girl came in. Real dramatic entrance, too. She freaked out half the customers.”
Wilbur blinked. “What?”
“Long story short- she was weird. Funny, though.”
“You get a lot of weird customers so I’m not surprised.”
“Oh, don’t remind me of the one who swore I was the devil incarnate. My boss had to deal with him.”
“That must’ve been fun,” Wilbur chuckled. “Alright, c’mon. Let’s go.”
Dream flipped the last light off and stepped into the cold night air beside Wilbur.
The air was colder than earlier, and the street lights flickered like lazy fireflies overhead. The city wasn’t loud, but it was far from asleep- cars passing by, the hesitant hum of music, and the occasional bark of a dog somewhere far off.
Wilbur fell into step beside Dream, hands stuffed in his coat pockets, scarf flapping just a little in the wind.
“Y’know,” Wilbur said, “I can’t believe your boss let you close alone.”
Dream snorted. “Probably means he trusts me enough.”
“Or that he doesn’t want to do it himself.”
Dream’s face became serious, a murderous glare being sent to the other. “Talk shit about my boss and I’ll throw you off a cliff.”
“Prime,” Wilbur jumped back. “I was kidding!”
“Good. Only I can talk shit about him.”
They both laughed and kept walking, crossing the next street. The cold made Dream tighten his coat around himself with a shiver. As he adjusted his clothes, something jingled faintly and then-
Clink- clink-clink.
A couple of coins tumbled from his pocket, hitting the pavement with dull metallic taps. Dream paused and looked down. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“I got it,” Wilbur says as he stops walking and crouches down to scoop them up.
He grabbed two of the coins in one motion, but when his fingers wrapped around the third- he didn’t move.
Wilbur froze.
His hand stayed clenched around it, body hunched over like he had suddenly forgotten how to stand. The night around them went quiet. Dream paused as he stood there, watching Wilbur’s eyebrows furrow deeper.
“...Wil?” Dream said, questioning him. “You good down there?”
No answer.
Dream took a step closer. “Wilbur?”
Wilbur shot to his feet like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes were wide now, almost wild. Dream took a step back in shock, caught off guard by the sudden movement.
“Where did you get this?!” he demanded, shoving the coin toward Dream.
Dream blinked, looking down at the coin. “What? What are you- Why are you freaking out?”
“Take a look, Dream.”
Wilbur held out the coin, palm flat. Dream squinted down at it, the streetlamp above casting just enough light for the details to glint.
The coin was different.
It was black, a deep obsidian black with a faint green shimmer. The edges of the coin were green and etched into the center was the unmistakable symbol of the Club- the same stylized design he had seen before.
Dream picked up the coin from Wilbur’s hand and turned it over.
On the backside was a rose. Not a delicate or friendly one, but one with sharp petals, drawn in thick lines- thorns coiling up the stem like barbed wire.
Dream’s stomach dropped.
“Don’t tell me that this is…”
“That is a token from the King of Clubs,” Wilbur answered, his expression hardening. “Now, not only do you have a token from the King of Diamonds, you also have the token from the King of Clubs. Dream… you didn’t just serve some random girl at the bar. You just made contact with another Mafia King.”
Dream looked at the coin in his hand, then to Wilbur, then back to the coin.
“...Shit.”