Chapter Text
George woke up in an unfamiliar room, in an unfamiliar bed, next to an unfamiliar boy. Groggily rubbing his eyes, he sat up, letting the soft blue comforter fall. Blinking heavily, he could just barely make out his immediate surroundings; arms, bed, chair. His t-shirt looked almost three sizes too big, the grey material bunching around his middle.
Where am I?
Squinting past the morning sunlight, George took a moment to examine the boy sitting in the chair to his left. He was tall and lanky, with tousled blonde hair that covered his eyes. The boy’s chest rose and fell slightly with every deep breath, and he was drooling a little in his sleep. George frowned. He looked tired, if the dark bags under his eyes were any indication.
A diamond sword lay across the foot of his bed. George grabbed it without a second thought and headed for the open door, leaving the strange room and the strange boy behind him. It was the first thing that felt remotely right, and he hefted its weight for a moment before carrying on. The grip was old leather, worn down but clearly taken care of.
The people of the town gave him strange looks as he passed, from excitement to confusion to raw, unfiltered awe. They all looked the exact same, a copy pasted face on a different body. George could feel his stomach twist, and he clutched the hilt of his stolen sword a little tighter as he walked.
Everything felt so old, so new. Wandering from store to store, house to house, George tried to find something, anything, that he recognized. The curling feeling in his stomach was fear, he came to realize. As far as realizations go, it wasn’t a pleasant one.
The houses were adorned with red banners, and a flickering flame insignia filled the streets. Most, if not all of the villagers were clad in reds and blacks, but the most unsettling part of the village was the iron statue in the center of the town’s square, depicting a mighty warrior with long hair and a fierce grin. Gifts and offerings lay around the statue, flowers and talismans.
A weird feeling tugged at George’s gut. He couldn’t place the warrior’s face, but he should be able to, shouldn’t he? His breathing quickened for a moment. Why couldn’t he place the statue’s face? He was sure he had seen it before.
George could feel his heartbeat quicken, brain working overdrive to try and figure out exactly what piece slotted into the gap in his mind. His eyes darted around nervously, acutely aware that all eyes were on him at this moment.
The people around him were beginning to blur, their voices and muttering overlapping. George stumbled back a couple steps, until he felt the cold kiss of stone on his back, and his knees buckled.
“Stay back,” he warned, voice barely louder than the villager’s muttering. His sword wobbled dangerously in his hands.
His knees bloodied as they hit the ground. He barely felt the sting.
“You’re up!”
The voice cut through his thoughts like butter. George flinched, looking up to find a tiny child squirming through the crowd, pushing people aside. Unlike the way they had parted before him, the kid had to force his way through the people, huffing slightly.
The boy came to a stop in front of him, beaming at him with something akin to relief on his face. His brown hair was messy and curly, and two curved horns were nestled in his dark locks. More importantly, he looked nothing like the rest of the people of the town. Panting slightly, he gave George a toothy grin. “You’ve been sleeping it off for days now, we were starting to get a little worried you wouldn’t ever wake up!”
What do I say to that? George just nodded at him, unsure. The villagers swarmed around them, a mess of green eyes and oversized noses. Their stares were oddly judgemental.
At his reaction, the boy’s smile faltered slightly. “George? You- are you doing alright there, big man?”
Looking around him, George shrunk a little further into the wall behind him. Finally locking eyes with the boy in front of him, watching the confusion and worry pool in his big brown eyes, George let out a rattling, shaky breath. “Who are you?” he whispered, watching the boy’s hesitant grin slide off his face.
“Don’t joke around, George,” the boy said, sounding like he was trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re not as funny as Dream thinks you are.”
George just shook his head, as if to clear it. “I’m not joking around.” The people around him were stirring, mumbling. Their gazes had turned almost predatory.
The brunet glanced at the surrounding villagers warily, before grabbing George’s hand. He looked deathly serious. “If you’re telling the truth, you need to come with me right now.”
It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, but George allowed himself to be yanked to his feet, the child all but dragging him through the crowd of people. This time, they parted before them, allowing George to stumble awkwardly after the strange boy with the horns.
Tubbo, as he had introduced himself, dragged him out of the village immediately, not even speaking again until they were deep within the spruce forest. “You really don’t remember anything?”
George looked down at him. “My name is George. I don’t live in that village.” He hesitated. “I think.”
Tubbo just huffed out a breath. “Well, at least that’s something. I suppose you could have forgotten walking, or talking. As for where you live, you’re right. You don’t live in that particular village, you live in the Dream SMP territory, George, with the rest of us.”
As he looked around them, George nodded, distracted. None of what the child said sounded familiar in the slightest. A wall was visible on the horizon, shimmering a hazy black in the dying sunlight. There was so much he wanted to understand, bubbling and simmering inside of him. He kept a lid on it, looking around for something, anything, that he recognized.
“You know,” Tubbo finally said, “You’re taking this rather well.” He sounded suspicious.
George glanced over at him. “Should I be reacting differently?” he asked.
Tubbo bit his lip. “Honestly? I’m not sure,” he confessed with a sigh. “You were always so closed off, no one could ever get through to you except for Dream and-” his eyes widened. “Dream.”
“You mentioned him earlier. Who’s Dream?” George inquired, feeling a sense of peace overtake him as the moon began to rise in the sky, the orb shining a pure, bright white. Everything around him seemed heightened now, the bugs chirped a little louder, the wind rustled a little more, the entire forest seemed alive with an energy he hadn’t felt until now.
“Who’s Dream? Oh, who’s Dream?” Tubbo muttered to himself, running his fingers through his hair. “Oh this is bloody brilliant, you don’t even know who Dream is.” He looked over at George. “Dream was the one who was supposed to be watching you while you slept everything off.”
George frowned at that, thoughts doubling back to the sight of the blonde boy by his bedside. “He was supposed to be watching me?”
Tubbo nodded wordlessly. “We all wanted to take shifts, but no, he said, he would handle it. Was he missing when you woke up?”
“I think he was asleep,” George replied cautiously. “I took his sword.”
“Y-you took his…” Tubbo let out a bark of a laugh, shaking his head. “He’s going to wake up in a village, at night, with no sword.”
George cocked his head, thumbing at the hilt of the weapon thoughtfully. What would leaving Dream without his sword do? Maybe the villagers would harass him. “Oops.”
Tubbo just waved him off. “Naw, he’ll be fine, it’s just funny. I can’t believe he fell asleep, though, that’s supposed to be your job, big man!” He poked at George’s side with his elbow, as though this was some sort of inside joke between the two of them.
Crickets chirped. George stared at him.
“Right.” Tubbo nodded awkwardly. “Memory wipe. Okay, so you know how everyone in that village looked more or less… completely identical?”
“What the fuck is that about?” The question bubbled out of George’s mouth before he could help himself, but Tubbo only let out another laugh.
“We’re not sure, honestly. They’ve been around longer than we have.”
“And how long have... we been here?” George asked him.
“It varies,” Tubbo replied. “But you and Dream were the very first.”
Dream again. His name… George’s head hurt. “How does it vary?”
Tubbo let out another half sigh, tilting his head. “Well, to the best of our knowledge, when you spawn into this world, some people spawn in as villagers, but some people spawn in… different.”
“Different?” George pressed.
“Stronger. We can do things faster, better, we’re smarter. We all have our own little quirks as well, abilities that they just don’t possess, things they don’t have the capabilities to do. We look different, not like the rest of them. We don’t age much, but then again, I don’t ever see them aging either. They kind of worship us.” Tubbo scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, wrinkling his nose. “That’s apparently why you and Dream moved away, made the Dream SMP territory.”
“They worship you?” George focused on that part. One strange, world altering statement at a time.
“Well, less so me, but yeah. That village we took you to so you could heal? They worship Sapnap. He saved them from a raid or something. To them, we’re gods. We’re so much further ahead of them that they couldn’t even comprehend us being mortal.”
George sucked in a quick breath. “And are we? Gods?”
Tubbo’s laugh was stale, and he gazed up at the open moon not with the same adoration George did, but with hatred. “Not even close.”
He nodded, a strange feeling twisting his insides into knots. He felt like he was missing a piece, hell, he felt like he was missing the entire puzzle. He was just sitting there staring at the picture on the empty box and wondering where all of the pieces had gone. Usually, he’d find an end piece, make the outline, work his way in from there. Now? He wasn’t sure.
“You know, I did try my best to heal you,” Tubbo said, regret lacing his words.
“What?” George asked him, looking back over at him.
“While you were sleeping. I mean, we have potions for that, but you were already knocked out, and it had been so long... We were worried.” Tubbo sighed. “Usually, when you get hurt too badly, you can just sleep it off, regenerate. It’s kind of one of your ‘things.’ This time was different, though… We couldn’t wake you up. Dream wanted me to try, everyone wanted me to try.”
“Oh,” George replied dumbly. He couldn’t remember any of that. Obviously. “So healing is one of your things.”
Tubbo nodded cheerfully. “Only surface level wounds though, physical stuff. I’m no good with anything up here.” He tapped the top of his head. “People apparently pray to me for healing and new life, as well as about interpersonal relationship growth.” He laughed, kicking a tiny stone at George’s almost impressed look. “Yeah, I’ve got all the bases covered pretty well.”
“What about me?” George asked him. “What do the villagers…?” He trailed off.
“What sort of god do they consider you?” Tubbo filled in quietly, and he nodded. “Honestly? Mostly they pray to you for calm nights, good sleep, and dreams. You’re their Midnight King.”
“They pray to me for dreams?” George was doing his best to connect the dots, but he felt like he was holding a string made from spider silk, it kept breaking whenever he tried to stretch it.
Tubbo nodded. “You’re good with dreams. It’s another one of your things.”
He didn’t elaborate, and George didn’t ask him to. They walked in silence a moment longer, listening to the sounds of the night. The walls were getting closer. They looked taller up close.
“So what else can you do?” He blurted out, eager to fill the silence. The young boy startled slightly, skipping a step. “Sorry,” George muttered. “Curious.”
“As anyone would be in your situation,” Tubbo replied with a small smile. “It’s probably for the best that I was the one to find you first, I tend to be a lot more level headed than, well, anyone else here, really.”
George gave him a strangled smile.
“As to answer your question, apart from the whole healing thing, I can talk to nonhuman creatures sometimes, and I can speed up and slow down growth.”
“Hence the villagers considering you the god of healing and new life,” George guessed.
“Yeah, I get a lot of farmers and medics praying to me,” Tubbo replied with a grin.
“That makes sense,” George replied, “but I don’t see how the whole friendship thing fits in.”
There was a bit of a pause. Tubbo sighed a little, eyes drifting away. “Life isn’t the only thing that needs healing sometimes,” he finally settled on.
There was a story there, and George probably already knew what it was, which was the most infuriating part. “Right,” he replied, frowning a bit at his own measured reaction. Apart from the slight scare in the village, he’d been taking this whole thing surprisingly well.
“Right-o, we’re here!” Tubbo announced, changing the topic. As they walked through the big entryway, George inhaled quickly.
Where the village had been simple, unified, bland, this place was practically the exact opposite. Sprawling buildings of all shapes, sizes, and colors went on as far as he could see, and then kept going. The cacophony of disorganized order worked in the strangest way, a disjointed mishmash of styles and time periods. “Woah.”
Tubbo laughed at the look on his face. “I was like that my first time, too,” he admitted. “You actually were there when they showed me around. You’ll get used to it.”
“Did I spend a lot of time here?” George breathed out, craning his neck to look at what appeared to be a full on UFO scraping the skyline.
Tubbo’s smile faltered for a minute before it was back full force. “You lived here, George. This was your home. It’s all of our homes.”
A small, blonde blur darted past George and tackled Tubbo, sending him crashing to the ground with a surprised laugh.
“Tubbo!” It shrieked, drawing out the “o” sound. “What is up, big man?”
“Tommy!” Tubbo greeted him just as enthusiastically. “You’re here! I didn’t realize you guys were back!”
“Yeah, Phil didn’t really tell me why, but we’re visiting for a bit!” Tommy’s eyes then flicked over to George and he scrambled up off the ground, a devilish look crossing his face. “Gogy!”
George was already stumbling back, away from the child. He wanted no part of this. “No, no, no, no-“
Tommy moved to tackle him, but Tubbo grabbed him by the green bandanna around his neck, tugging him back.
“Hey, what the fuck? Not cool, dude!” Tommy pouted, overexaggerated. “I always give Gogy a big hug and a kiss on the cheek when I see him!”
George’s face twisted up in disgust.
“Tommy,” Tubbo’s tone was serious. “We have a problem.”
George watched as the look on Tommy’s face faded, a flicker of something unplaceable in his eye. “What?” The blonde boy asked.
“George…” Tubbo hesitated. “Is a little discombobulated.”
“Why? What happened?” Tommy looked over at George, who was awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.
“You’ve been gone a while,” Tubbo said regretfully. “You missed a lot. I’ve missed you a lot.”
“What did I miss?” Tommy asked. Then, “I’ve missed you a lot too.”
“Why did he leave?” George echoed.
Tommy gave him a weird look.
“Something happened to George while you were away, and he went to sleep it off, like usual,” Tubbo began to explain.
“Well, seeing as he’s standing in front of me now, I’m assuming it was successful,” Tommy said, looking him up and down.
“Not exactly-” Tubbo replied.
“Well what do you mean, ‘not exactly’? He’s standing there, isn’t he?”
“I feel like I would have remembered someone as annoying as Tommy,” George said to Tubbo with a sigh.
Tommy turned to him with an offended scoff. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” he replied.
Tubbo was stifling laughter. “Tommy, please. George can’t remember anything.”
That put a real damper on the conversation. George’s, and even Tubbo’s smiles faded slightly as the real issue at hand came into play.
The blonde sounded uncertain. “Like… anything anything?”
“Anything anything,” Tubbo clarified with a nod.
Tommy was staring at him.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” George advised the teen, embarrassment slightly flushing his face. He knocked his knuckles across one another lightly just to give his hands something to do.
“So you don’t remember me? Or Tubbo?”
George shook his head.
“Or Dream? Or Sapnap? Or Techno and Phil and Wilbur, and-”
“Nothing,” George replied, surprised to find a hint of bitterness in his tone. “I remember that I’m George, but apart from that…” he made a noncommittal, squiggly motion with his hands.
“Wow,” Tommy breathed out, eyes wide. For once, he sat in silence, processing. George had achieved the unachievable; he'd shut Tommy up.
“Yeah, I’d say he’s handling it pretty well,” Tubbo said with a nod.
“Dude, if I were you, I’d be like, freaking out right about now,” Tommy said.
George shrugged again. “Maybe it’s just the kind of person I am?”
Tommy thought about it for a moment. “Maybe,” he finally agreed. “You’ve always been one for internalizing your freak-outs.” Then, his eyes brightened. “Hey! If you don’t remember anything, that means I get to reuse all of my old jokes on you!”
“I can’t wait,” George replied dryly, running his fingers through his short hair and locking eyes with Tubbo, who was smiling again.
“Come on!” Tommy said, “I’ll give you the tour while I’m here, Big Man, we can walk and talk!”
The teen began walking at a quick pace and after a moment of hesitance, George followed him, falling in line next to Tubbo.
“Shouldn’t I really be the one giving the tour?” Tubbo asked, “Seeing as, you know, I’m the only one of us who still lives here?”
“Shut up, Tubbo,” Tommy replied warmly, a big grin stretching across his face. “I’m so much better looking. I’m giving the tour.”
Tubbo rolled his eyes affectionately. “You’re going to miss all of the new stuff,” he protested, no real sway in his words.
“Impossible. I can’t. Women love me.” Tommy gestured to their right. “So over there you can see the original Church of Prime.”
“I just don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Tubbo muttered, but he looked to the right with George.
“Original?” George asked, looking over the purple and white church, admiring the way the light glinted through the stained glass. Bathed in moonlight like this, the whole world was exquisite.
“Yeah, the first house of worship. We made it as a joke, but the villagers recreated it, redecorated it, you name it. Everyone put their own spin on the design. We accidentally invented religion for them.”
“Oops,” Tubbo chimed in.
“But do they worship just one god, or do they worship all of you?” George wondered.
Tommy made a little ‘meh’ sound. “It varies. Depends on who they see the most, and who they need help from the most. It’s kind of weird, I won’t lie.”
Tubbo nodded.
“But the rule is no weapons in the church, so unless you want to put that down-” Tommy nodded at the blue blade in George’s hand, “-we’ll just move on.”
“Let’s move on,” George replied, turning his gaze from the church and back to the worn path below their feet.
Something was off. Not wrong, just off. He could feel a prickling sensation on the back of his neck.
Tommy and Tubbo were bickering now, their voices fading slightly as his focus on them dropped away. Very slowly, George turned around. He spotted him immediately.
The blonde man from earlier that day stood a few paces away, a shaky smile on his face. It took George a moment to realize that his emerald eyes were swimming with unshed tears, and his hands were trembling slightly.
“Uhh, hi,” George said, looking up at him. His brain was short circuiting, trying to figure out who the man was, why he looked so familiar, how he didn’t know who this person was. The man was important, George was sure of that much. He gulped. He couldn’t remember. Why couldn’t he remember?
He felt the closest thing to panic he’d felt since he’d woken up.
Tubbo and Tommy had stopped talking, voices trailing off into nothing. For a very long time, none of them said anything at all, too hesitant to break the shaky silence that had fallen over the four of them.
When the man spoke, his voice broke on the first syllable. “Hey there, George,” he croaked out, “It looks like you’ve got my sword there.”