Five Reasons
“Not just one but two tokens, Dream!”
Wilbur was pacing around the living room in the apartment, coat still on, scarf hanging off one shoulder like he hadn’t even realized he was indoors. His steps were sharp, erratic, like each one was trying to stomp his stress into the floorboards.
Dream, in contrast, had flopped onto the couch, laying back like he hadn’t just collected interest from two different mafia factions in less than two days.
He took a sip from the soda can he popped open a while ago.
“Well,” Dream said, raising the can lazily. “I’m glad I’m finally popular.”
Wilbur stopped pacing to glare at him. “This isn’t funny!”
“It’s a little funny,” Dream argued, shrugging. “Like, in a sense of ‘haha you’re definitely going to die but at least the plot’s interesting’ sort of way.”
“Dream!” Wilbur snapped.
Dream held up the two coins and it glinted in the pale light of the lamp near him. He placed one coin onto the table and held the other one in his hand.
“Two tokens,” Dream hummed. “Do I win a prize if I collect all four? Maybe a free latte?”
Wilbur looked seconds away from combusting.
“You’re not understanding!” he said, pacing again. “One is already enough to get you noticed by the Four Kings. But two? From different suits? You’re just a walking target!”
Dream raised both eyebrows. “So what you’re telling me is that I’m special.”
Wilbur groaned like he was physically in pain. “No. I’m telling you that you’re in danger.”
Dream twirled the black coin with the green-edge rose between his fingers and glanced at the other glinting coin on the coffee table.
“Okay, but hear me out. What’s so wrong about having two tokens? Now both groups will protect me, right? Isn’t that good?”
Wilbur froze mid-step and stared at him like he’d just asked if fire was cold.
“You absolute moron,” he said flatly.
Dream blinked. “Okay? Rude.”
“Dream, these tokens are sacred to them. Symbolic. If you have one, it means you’re under their direct favor. So tell me- how do you think it looks like when someone from the King of Diamonds has also been gifted a token from their rival group?”
Dream hesitated. “...They shake hands and become besties?”
Wilbur just stared.
“You’re being claimed. And when two kings claim the same piece?”
Dream paused, sighed, and leaned back as he muttered, “It’s war, isn’t it?”
Wilbur dropped onto the armchair like the sheer weight of Dream’s stupidity had finally crushed him. He scrubbed both hands over his face and muttered something that sounded like a desperate prayer.
“Yes, it’s war.”
Dream rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I asked for their dumb coins. And how did Hannah, the King of Clubs apparently, know about me? How would anyone know that I even have the tokens? It’s not like I was flaunting them around like a medal.”
Wilbur dragged his hands down his face again, slower this time- like was trying to pull the stress out of his skin. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave Dream a look that was equal parts exhausted and dead serious.
“They always know, Dream.”
Dream scoffed. “What, are they psychic now?”
Wilbur pointed at the coins on the table, his tone sharp. “Do you think something like that gets handed out without the entire system knowing about it? When a King gives out a token, it’s a statement.”
Dream frowned slightly, glancing back at the glinting metal.
“The second the King of Diamonds gave you that token in the alley?” Wilbur continued, voice rising. “The other groups would have gotten word almost immediately. Maybe not your name at first but they’d know that a token was given. Then the King would make a declaration saying that a certain person was off-limits.”
“The King of Diamonds told them my name?”
“How else would they tell the other groups that you were off limits? Would they have to guess who? Maybe they didn’t say exactly what you did but they would have to say your name.”
Fuckers. They were supposed to stay silent.
Dream looked down at the coins again like they personally offended him.
“Okay, but what if I give them back? Like… politely. No sarcasm or whatever. Just ‘Thanks for the shiny coin, but no thanks’? Maybe attach a gift basket too.”
Wilbur grabbed the throw pillow on the armchair and threw it at Dream. “You can’t just return a Mafia King’s token like it’s a library book!”
Dream had caught the pillow and huffed. “I didn’t ask for the damn coins. I’m just a bartender, Wil. I didn’t exactly sign up for a villain and Mafia crossover.”
Wilbur let out a strangled noise. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”
“Hey, I’m taking the whole possibly-being-hunted-by-multiple-mafia-factions thing very seriously. I just also happen to be very good at multitasking- like, worrying while also thinking of my next new signature drink.”
Wilbur stared at him. “This is serious.”
“I know it’s serious!” Dream finally snapped. “You’ve only said it fifteen different ways in the last hour! You think I want to be in this mess?”
Silence hung in the air for a moment. Then Dream slumped back again, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“I just… I never asked for this.”
Wilbur’s voice softened. “I know you didn’t. Sorry, I… I wasn’t trying to blame you.”
Dream exhaled. “So what now? I just sit around and wait for someone to shoot me?”
Wilbur shook his head. “No. You let me handle it. For now, just keep your head down. Don’t use your power. Don’t accept anything from anyone you don’t know. And above all?”
He picked up the two coins on the table and held it between his fingers like it was a snake.
“Don’t let anyone else give you a third.”
A week had passed since the incident.
Dream had officially been placed on Mafia Lockdown™️.
Wilbur- now self-appointed bodyguard, chauffeur, and full-time headache distributor- walked him to and from work every single day. No matter what was currently going on with the Syndicate, he still made time to take Dream to and from work.
Others would say that it was nice that someone cared so much.
To Dream, it was the equivalent of being on a leash held by the world’s most annoying, overprotective, owner.
“You can’t just keep walking me to work like I’m a lost elementary student,” Dream complained as they strolled down the sidewalk together, the sun already set and the night being called around them.
“Elementary students don’t collect Mafia Tokens like Pokémon cards.”
Dream groaned. “You make it sound like I was going door to door asking for spare change.”
Wilbur gave him a look. “Dream. You have two tokens. I’m only trying to prevent you from getting a third.”
“Yeah,” Dream said with a sigh, “and you still won’t let me make a joke about collecting all four and unlocking the secret boss fight.”
“Because the secret boss fight is you getting shot and me dragging your bleeding body back home.”
Dream winced. “Okay. Yeah. Fair.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, the only sound being the buzz of a nearby vending machine and the distant screech of a subway train underground. Dream kicked a stray rock down the sidewalk, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.
“Well, it’s been a week,” he mumbled. “No one jumped out of a shadowy van. No riddles written in blood. Maybe they forgot about me?”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. “The mafia doesn’t forget, Dream.”
“...Right.”
At The Tipsy Callers, life went on mostly as usual. He didn’t tell Schlatt about the incident and they worked together, casually cracking the next sarcastic remark or joke. Some nights slow, some nights full, and Dream handled it just fine.
Dream even taped a sign to the register that read:
“NO TOKENS, NO CRYPTIC MESSAGES, NO MYSTERIOUS NOTES.”
Underneath it, in smaller handwriting:
“Tips still welcome. :)”
Schlatt just shrugged at the sign and let him keep it there.
Today was a slow night. Dream found himself in his usual rhythm: serving drinks, wiping counters, and making a couple of light jokes to the regulars. Everything was calm.
Until Schlatt made him take out the trash.
“It takes two seconds.” Schlatt rolled his eyes.
“I hate getting my hands dirty,” Dream countered.
“Yeah, well, I hate dealing with your sass, but here we are.” Schlatt shoved the bag into Dream’s hands with a grunt and turned back toward the bar. “And if you don’t take it out, I’m telling your roommate you tripped over a chair and fell flat on your face.”
“That was because I was distracted!” Dream shouted after him, already walking toward the back door. “You better not tell him! He will make fun of me for a whole month!”
The alley was just as grimy and dramatic as always, steam hissing from a nearby vent and a cat meowing somewhere out of sight. It was almost the perfect set for a horror film.
Dream moved forward, lifted the lid of the dumpster, and chucked the bag in. He turned back around-
And stopped.
His eyes landed on two figures.
They were dressed in black and deep blue, the kind of sleek, intimidating outfit combo that screamed ‘yes, we are important and dangerous and probably don’t file our taxes.’
They stood there silently at the end of the alley, like they’d just spawned in from a cutscene. One of them, the taller of the two, took a slow step forward.
“You’re Dream, correct?” the taller one said, voice calm but firm.
Fuck no.
“Nope. I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Dream shrugged.
“You need to come with us.”
Dream blinked. Then blinked again. He glanced to either side of the alley like maybe someone else named Dream was standing behind him. But nope- they were talking to him.
“I should warn you,” Dream took a single, cautious step back. “I have a solid two-star Yelp review in self-defense.”
“We don’t want to hurt you,” the tall one said, tone flat and not even slightly comforting. “But we do need you to come with us. Whether by choice or not.”
The shorter figure shifted slightly, stepping just enough into the light for Dream to see the faint outline of something shiny under their jacket. It didn’t take a genius to know that it was a gun.
“Okay, first off, super creepy way to start a conversation. Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’? Second- can we backtrack to the part where you explain who ‘we’ even is?”
“We’re with the Hearts,” the shorter one said.
“Oh, cool,” Dream said casually. “Soooo I’m not going with you. But I get it. I’m charming, devastatingly attractive, and clearly a magnet for mafia drama. Unfortunately, I’m a little busy right now. I’ve got trash to take out. Floors to mop. And a very angry roommate who does not want me to add another coin to Mafia Bingo.”
The tall figure stepped forward again. “You’re coming with us.”
Dream pointed at him. “Do you hear how ominous that sounds? I feel like the next sentence for this drama you’re filming is gonna be ‘you’ll never see the light of day again.’”
They didn’t move. Neither laughed. Not even a smirk.
“Yikes,” Dream said under his breath. “Guess my jokes aren’t hitting like they used to.”
The moment Dream took another step back, both figures shifted- sharp and sudden. The tall one moved first, gloved fingers curling into a fist as if ready to grab him. The shorter one reached into their coat- definitely going for the gun.
Dream flinched back, hands raised in surrender. “Alright! Alright! No need to jump straight into kidnapping! We can talk! Maybe over therapy? You two look like you need it!”
The alley’s shadows flickered.
With a sudden whoosh, a burst of fire exploded between Dream and the two attackers, slamming into the ground. The heat hit Dream’s face instantly, nearly singing his eyebrows off.
Both men staggered back in surprise, arms raised to shield their faces from the flames.
Dream stumbled too, falling back with a surprised yelp.
The flames hissed, crackling against the damp alley walls, casting the brick in flickering orange. Dream barely looked up when a new voice rang out- smooth, steady, and unmistakably cocky.
“Back off.”
The fire split, parting like a curtain as though it was doing a grand reveal.
And there stood Inferno.
Tall, lean, and utterly unconcerned by the chaos he’d just caused. His boots clicked as he stepped through the smoke, hands still aglow with faint embers. His hoodie shifted with every step, the flames curling around him like a living thing.
The two Hearts froze, still standing, the gun now visibly in the shorter one’s hand trembling just slightly.
Inferno tilted his head, looking them over with the kind of disinterest that only made him more terrifying.
“I really hate wasting a good evening on babysitting, but unfortunately…” He pointed a gloved thumb back toward Dream. “That idiot is under Syndicate protection.”
Dream blinked. “Wait- what?”
“Wait- what?” The two Hearts matched Dream’s surprise.
The alley went quiet, save for the faint crackle of fire still licking the edges of the stone and the distant whir of city noise. Although Dream couldn’t see it behind the mask that covered his whole face, he could tell that Inferno was doing an eye roll.
“Do I need to repeat myself? That guy there,” Inferno nodded towards Dream, “is under Syndicate protection. So that means you two need to fuck off.”
The taller Heart clenched his fists, jaw tight. “The King of Hearts won’t take kindly to this. The Diamonds and Clubs have already given that guy a token- and with the Syndicate joining in, this makes three.”
Inferno’s flames surged just a bit higher, licking his sleeves like a warning. “And that’s three reasons not to touch him.”
There was a pause- a long, heavy beat where the alley seemed to narrow, press in, tense like a held breath.
“If The Syndicate is willing to go this far for one person,” The taller Heart narrowed his eyes. “It makes me wonder what he’s hiding.”
Inferno’s hands sparked brighter at that, a flicker of orange flaring up and turning white-hot at the center. The very air around him shimmered like a mirage.
Dream, still on the dirty alley floor, muttered, “Okay, note to self- being the center of everyone’s dramatic storyline is exhausting.”
Inferno didn’t so much as blink as he replied to the other two. “Wonder all you like,” he said, tone low. “But if you try anything else, you’ll be leaving this alley in ash.”
The shorter Heart shifted uncomfortably, clearly less sold on the idea of a barbeque ending.
The taller one wasn’t so easily shaken. “The Hearts will be back. And you better hope it’s not our Ace.”
Dream blinked at that. The fuck is an Ace?
“You can bring a whole army next time,” Inferno replied, stepping forward once- just enough to remind them who controlled the flames. “But you’re not getting him.”
The two finally retreated, slipping back into the darkness without another word.
Dream let out the loudest breath of his life, slumping forward. “Holy shit.”
Inferno turned back, flame dimming to embers as he stalked toward Dream. “You good man?”
“I just saw my life flash before my eyes and it was mostly ramen and late-night sitcom reruns,” Dream said, standing up with a sigh. “So no, not really.”
Inferno huffed. “You’re lucky Wilbur asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“...Wilbur did?”
“Yeah,” Inferno nodded. “Wilbur. Tall, dramatic, always complaining? Yep, he’s the reason I’m out here playing babysitter instead of setting heroes on fire.”
Dream blinked. “I don’t think you should be doing that anyway.”
Inferno shrugged. “Villains gotta do what villains gotta do.”
Dream narrowed his eyes. “You’re kinda sassy for a flaming murder man.”
“I take inspiration from your survival mechanism,” Inferno shot back, “Sarcasm seems to be the only thing keeping you alive.”
“It’s just my way of coping. And- Wait- hold on- That guy said something about an Ace? Is that part of their group? Like, do I get to meet them? Maybe politely explain that I’m not worth a war?”
Inferno just stared at Dream.
“If you ever meet the Ace of Hearts, you won’t be doing much talking.”
“Oh good,” Dream groaned. “Add that to the growing list of things I definitely didn’t ask for this week. What is an ‘Ace’ anyway?”
Inferno let out a low breath, the fire around him completely disappearing. His voice dropped to something more serious for once.
“The Ace,” he began, “is the King’s right-hand.”
Dream raised a brow. “Like, their assistant? They help with scheduling? Maybe book the murder appointment?”
Inferno shook his head. “No, dumbass. The Ace is their enforcer. Their shadow. The one who does what the King won’t dirty their hands with. Assassinations. Threats. Clean-up. Whatever needs to be done, if the others couldn’t do it, the Ace handles it.”
“We can’t just talk it out?” Dream asked.
“They don't send the Ace to talk. They send them to end things.”
“Wow. Friendly people. Love the professionalism.”
“They’re the worst kind of professionals,” Inferno muttered. “Loyal only to their King.”
“I thought Aces were higher in rank in cards?”
Inferno snorted. “You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But in the Mafia world, Kings rule. Aces obey.”
“Great,” Dream muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Does every King have an Ace?”
“Wow, you really don’t know anything, huh?”
“Oh, sorry, let me just pull out my Mafia manual,” Dream shot back, hands thrown in exasperation.
Inferno huffed. “Whatever. But yeah, every King has an Ace. Four Kings. Four Aces.”
Dream exhaled, clearly tired of learning about the shitty way the Mafia works. “I’m gonna die. I’m going to die in an alley with a bag of trash and a man who uses fire like it’s a toy.”
Inferno tapped his foot against the ground. “You could be less dramatic.”
“Says the guy who showed up with a fire explosion.”
“You’re lucky I showed up at all.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Dream hummed. “Thanks, Inferno. Really. I mean it.”
Inferno blinked, surprised by the sincerity. “Oh- uh- it’s nothing. Don’t mention it. It’s the least I could do after you saved my dad.”
“What?” Dream’s head snapped to him, expression pinched in confusion. “Did you just say I saved your dad?”
Inferno sighed and reached his hands up to take off his mask. The mask got removed and revealed a very young boy with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a couple of scars on his cheek.
“Name’s Tommy. And Philza, or Zephyrus, is my dad. I thought Wilbur and Techno told you?”
“No! They didn’t tell me you were their brother! And you’re a child-”
“Fuck you bitch! I’m not a child!”
Dream scoffed. “Says the one who just used the phrase ‘I’m not a child’ with the energy of someone who definitely still eats dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.”
Tommy pointed at him, offended. “Those nuggets are elite. You just have no taste, you ignorant crustacean.”
Dream blinked. “Did you just call me a crustacean?”
“Hey! I’m not here for a vocabulary contest! I literally saved your life five minutes ago!”
Dream chuckled, “Alright, alright- Let’s call a truce, tiny fire gremlin.”
Tommy grumbled something under his breath that sounded like ‘I should’ve let the Hearts kidnap you,’ before muttering louder, ‘stupid Wilbur for making me watch out for the dumb bartender.’
Dream grinned before asking. “So… you’re seriously Philza’s kid?”
Tommy nodded, putting the mask back on. “Yeah. And Wilbur and Techno are technically my older brothers.”
“Are there any others I should know about?”
Before Tommy could launch into a rant about his family tree, the back door of The Tipsy Callers creaked open behind them. Dream turned, already wincing.
Out stepped Schlatt, looking disgruntled and mildly irritated- standard Schlatt expression, really.
“Dream, what the hell is taking you so-”
His words froze as his eyes landed on Tommy, now back in full Inferno gear. The alley was still thick with the aftermath of smoke and scorched brick.
There was a long pause.
Just wind. A distant siren. The meow of the same gremlin cat that seemed to haunt this alley nightly.
Schlatt blinked.
Dream waved. “Hey, Schlatt.”
“Dream.”
“Yes?”
“Why is there a villain beside you?”
“Oh, a villain?” Dream looked to Inferno then back to Schlatt. “Huh. I didn’t even notice.”
Schlatt stared at him.
Dream gave him the most innocent look, which was hard to pull off while standing in a scorched alley next to a kid glowing faintly.
“You didn’t notice?” Schlatt repeated slowly, like he was trying to process this with what remained of his sanity. “You didn’t notice the six-foot human flamethrower standing two feet from you?”
“I mean,” Dream shrugged. “I was too busy taking out the trash to notice the villain beside me.”
Tommy scoffed. “Is that really what you’re going with?”
Schlatt dragged a hand down his face, eyes flicking between the scorch marks on the wall, the faint lingering smoke, and the two people in front of him.
“I send you to take out one bag of trash. One.”
“Well, don’t you worry about that,” Dream said, pointing to the bin proudly. “That task was completed.”
The garbage bin was on fire.
Schlatt blinked again. Slowly. As if he was rebooting.
“Alright, that’s it. You,” he pointed to Tommy, “go home before the fire department shows up and starts asking questions.”
Tommy raised his hands like he was surrendering, already stepping backward. “Fine by me. I was planning on leaving anyway.”
He shot Dream a last, judgmental look, then made his way down the alley, turning a corner before disappearing entirely.
Dream and Schlatt stood there in silence for a moment, watching the dumpster gently burn.
“So,” Schlatt said, deadpan. “Anything else you’d like to say before I go back inside and reevaluate every hiring decision I’ve ever made?”
“Yes, actually, I have five reasons why I’m the best hire-ee you ever hired,” Dream said with mock pride. “Let me remind you, Schlatt, that I am the glue that holds this establishment together.”
Schlatt crossed his arms.
“First off, I’m the reason half your regulars come back- either because they love me or because they’re invested in seeing me fail.”
Schlatt did not look convinced.
“Second, I provide ambiance,” Dream continued, gesturing to the flaming dumpster behind him. “Look at that. Warmth, lighting, drama. That’s high-end mood setting.”
“Dream.”
“Third, I work great under pressure. I’ve been humiliated, overworked, joked at, but I still serve the best drinks known to mankind.”
“Dream.”
“Fourth, I’m a multitasker. I make drinks, charm customers, and flirt with death on a weekly basis, and I do it all in my bartender uniform.”
“Dre-”
“And most importantly- most importantly- I haven’t set the interior of the bar on fire. Yet.”
There was a long silence as Schlatt just… stared. He inhaled slowly. Exhaled even slower.
“Let me give you five reasons of my own.” Schlatt began, voice flat. Then he held up one finger. “One. I get constant complaints about your attitude and sarcastic remarks on a daily basis.”
“It’s not my fault they can’t take a joke.”
“Two. You have an ongoing bet with the regulars about how long it’ll take before I fire you. And don’t act like you didn’t know about it because I know you joined in.”
Dream cleared his throat. “Technically that was started by someone else-”
“Three,” Schlatt cut in, third finger raised as he was running out of patience. “You talk back more than you work. If I had a dime for every time you tried to talk your way out of working, I would be rich.”
Dream raised a hand like he was about to object.
“Reason four,” Schlatt didn’t let him. “You have caused at least three minor property damages, two very suspicious electrical shorts, and one health inspector sent crying down the street.”
“That was not my fault.”
“And five,” Schlatt said with finality, raising all five fingers on his hand. “The dumpster. Is. On. Fire.”
Both of them turned to look at the gently blazing trash bin like it might chime in with a musical number any second.
“Dream.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re laid off for two weeks.”
“...Understood.”
“Your boss fired you?” Wilbur asked, confused.
Dream walked beside him, giving a long sigh. “No, he didn’t fire me- It’s a ‘temporary leave.’ Like a vacation but with no pay.”
Wilbur raised an eyebrow as they turned the corner, the soft glow of street lamps casting long shadows. The city was quiet at this hour- only the occasional passing car or faraway nightlife breaking the calm.
“And you’re fine with this?”
“Oh, fuck no. This is my nightmare! A bartender who can’t attend their own bar? That’s like you who’s not annoyingly dramatic! It defies natural order.”
Wilbur rolled his eyes. “You are so full of it.”
Dream sighed again- dramatically, with his whole chest this time- as they passed a closed corner store. “He said I needed time to think about my actions, but I didn’t do anything! I was just taking out the trash until your brother showed up!”
“Techno?”
“Tommy.”
“Shit-” Wilbur winced at that. “Sorry about that, Dream. Uhm- what did he do exactly?”
“He did save me, I’ll give him that. But he also burned half the alley down and set my boss’s dumpster on fire. So when my boss walked outside and saw me standing next to a villain- well- it didn’t end great. I mean, my sarcastic remarks didn’t help the situation either.”
Wilbur gave him a sideways glance. “Tommy saved you? From who?”
“Ah, I guess he hasn’t told you yet.” Dream shrugged. “Some guys from the Hearts tried to get me to go with them. Obviously, I said no but they tried to kidnap me anyway.”
Wilbur stopped in his tracks. “The Hearts?”
“Yep.” Dream kept walking. “They even said something about sending their Ace.”
Wilbur caught up in two long strides and grabbed Dream by the sleeve, pulling him to a stop.
“They said they’d send their Ace?”
Dream blinked at him. “Yes, that’s what I said. Are you buffering or something?”
Wilbur’s grip tightened. “Do you have any idea how bad that is?”
“Okayyy- Judging by your reaction, it’s somewhere between ‘mildly alarming’ and ‘should start writing my will’ and I’m thinking it’s the latter. But relax, dude, Tommy told me everything about Aces. I’m practically an expert.”
Wilbur ran a hand through his hair, looking like he aged five years on the spot. “I have to tell Phil.”
“Why?”
“Out of all the groups, the Hearts are the far worst among them. Sure, the rest are not exactly nice but…” Wilbur lowered his voice, scanning the dark street like someone might overhear them. “The Hearts are brutal, Dream. They don’t negotiate, they don’t bluff, and they sure as hell don’t want to talk. They’re all about control.”
Dream whistled. “Damn. That’s a lot for a group named after a body organ that symbolizes love.”
Wilbur didn’t laugh.
Dream glanced over. “This is the part where you’re supposed to laugh.”
“They’re cold-hearted bastards,” Wilbur says.
“Well, of course they are. They’re the Hearts. It’s ironic branding.”
Wilbur gave him a flat look.
“What?” Dream chuckled. “It’s a missed marketing opportunity. The Hearts? You expect chocolate and flowers, not death threats and secret assassins.”
Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re making jokes. Again.”
“It’s my default setting.”
“You’re lucky Tommy was there.”
“I’m aware. Still processing the whole ‘bartender can’t bartend’ thing.”
Wilbur sighed. “Why do I even try with you? …You know what? It’s good you got laid off.”
“Excuse me?”
Wilbur tucked his hands in his coat pockets, ignoring the offense on Dream’s face. “It means you get to stay home until everything calms down. I’d rather have you stuck at home than working a shift while Mafia members keep popping out from the shadows.”
“I don’t see what’s the problem with me working.”
“You almost got kidnapped.”
“But I didn’t get kidnapped.” Dream shot back.
Wilbur huffed. “That’s because Tommy stepped in.”
“Whatever. I had it handled.”
“Sure you did.” Wilbur gave him a pointed look. “Which is why, starting tomorrow, you are not allowed to leave the apartment without me or Techno.”
Dream scoffed. “Are you serious?”
“Maybe once you stop being a magnet for chaos with terrible instincts, then I’ll reconsider. But for now, you’re staying at home.”
“I have excellent instincts.”
“I bet you tried to distract the kidnappers with your sarcastic jokes.”
Dream went quiet, watching as the apartment building finally came into view.
Wilbur gave him a knowing side-eye. “That’s what I thought.”
Dream grumbled under his breath something about ‘tactical humor’ and ‘people with no appreciation for comedy,’ as they climbed the last couple stairs to their floor.
Wilbur unlocked the door, pushing it open. Dream followed him in and-
Both of them immediately froze.
Sitting on the couch like he owned the place was Tommy, still in his hoodie but now maskless and curled up with Dream’s chocolate-covered pretzels in his lap, munching on them without a care in the world. Dream’s mouth dropped open in horror.
“Oh, what took you guys so long?” Tommy looked up mid-bite, crumbs on his face.
“Tommy,” Wilbur says, shutting the door with a click. “What are you doing here?”
“Thought I should do a quick check up on y'all. You’re still alive so that’s a plus.”
“Wilbur,” Dream clutched his chest, taking a step forward. “First, he gets me laid off from my own job. Second, he’s breaking rule one. Third, those are my chocolate-covered pretzels.”
“Oh? These are yours?” Tommy asked while shoving a couple into his mouth. “Sorry about that bro- maybe you shouldn’t have left it out.”
Dream’s hands turned into fists and Wilbur sighed.
“Dream, don’t. I can buy more-”
“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, TINY FIRE GREMLIN!”
Dream lunged forward and Tommy scrambled off the couch, dodging him with the pretzel bag clutched like a lifeline.
“GET BACK HERE!”
“NO! THESE ARE MINE NOW!”
Tommy and Dream were already chasing each other around the coffee table then to the kitchen counter. Wilbur watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, shaking his head in disappointment.
However, there was a slight smile appearing on his face.
“You two are idiots.”