Chapter Text
“Ayup,” A voice calls.
Philip blinks. It was either a lifetime or just a moment ago he felt the void pulling at him from all directions. Not even blackness or dark, just a colorless and formless entity set on causing him the most agony possible.
“Hello?” He asks back. His voice sounds gentler, less raspy and less pained. The constant pain in his back and hips seems to have faded into a quiet hum.
“Welcome to hell,” the voice says. “I don’t recognize you, are you new to the SMP or something?”
“Pardon?” Philip looks around, there's still nothing, not even color. “I was- where am I?”
“I said Hell,” Philip feels his head spin. Why would he be in Hell? Why is Hell just a void of nothingness? Where’s the devil and souls of the damned? What might he even be punished for? He’d lived a good life, dedicated to helping people. He went to church when he could, he loved as much as the world would allow.
“Am I dead?” He asks.
“God you’re slow,” The voice murmurs. “Turn around,”
Despite his better judgment, Philip turns to the voice. It’s a man, wearing a trench coat and sitting on a non-existent ground. He shuffles through a deck of cards with practiced ease and careful fingers.
“I’m Wilbur,” The man says. “You might have heard of me,”
“I’ve heard of plenty of men named Will,” Philip walks over and sits down, meeting an invisible ground instead of falling. “I have a grandson named William,”
“You’re old,” Wilbur observes. He has long gotten over simple japes by practical children.
“Ninety something I believe,” Philip nods. “You look rather young,”
“I was twenty-five when I died,” Wilbur recalls. “But I’ve been in here for at least a decade, I’ve lost track,”
“A decade? ” Philip gapes. “When does it end ?”
Wilbur shugs. “Who knows? At least we’ve got a deck of cards. Do you know how to play solitaire?”
“I- I don’t want to play solitaire, I want to leave this place, go to heaven or back home,” Philip looks around the empty expanse. There’s no telling if he’s in the smallest of boxes or an endless space.
“I put up with Tommy fucking innit for two months here and somehow that was less painful than this conversation,” Wilbur sighs. “How is he by the way?”
“I don’t know a Tommy,” Philip shakes his head. “Is it just us then?”
“Nope,” Wilbur starts to lay out the cards into seven columns. “Schlatt and Mexcian Dream will show up eventually, they spend a lot of time wandering about as ghosts,”
“I’m sorry could you repeat that?” Philip asks. “I thought you might have said Mexican Dream, my ears are old and-”
“Yep, Mexican Dream,” Wilbur nods. “Good lad, pretty shit at cards though,”
Philip stares at the man.
He stares back.
Philip stares some more. “And you’re sure this is Hell?”
“Oh absolutely,” Wilbur grins. “We’re going to have a grand old time for a long long time,”
“This cannot be real,” Philip decides. A hallucination, a fever dream, some final fantasy his ailing mind has made up on his deathbed.
“God you’re fucking annoying,” Wilbur shakes his head. “Are you going to play?” He gestures to the cards.
“I suppose,” Philip sighs. Might as well, he wasn’t going to spend his last moments alone and confused. “I’ve only ever played solitaire on my own,”
“This guy isn’t trying to drag you into another fucking card game is he?” A third voice asks in their colorless void.
“Schlatt!” Wilbur calls with a smile. “Welcome back, how was the gym?”
“Fucking sucked,” He hears a faint pop and a man comes into view.
“Oh lord have mercy,” Philip breathes. The man, Schlatt, is wearing horns and is holding a wine bottle. He’s wearing a suit of all things. And the horns, maybe he truly is in Hell.
“Wilbur, why’d you bring a homeless guy into our void,” The last word echoes through the colorless expanse. “Jesus Christ are you okay? You look like you’re going to fucking die again, and that’s saying something,”
“ I beg your pardon? ” Philip clutches at his chest. “I am Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and husband to-”
“Corpse Husband,” Schlatt says and then cackles, throwing his head back and spilling wine onto the nothingness.
“Am I missing something?” Philip looks to Wilbur for answers.
“Don’t mind him,” Wilbur dismisses with a wave. “He’s probably drunk. He usually is,”
“Prince of what ?” Schlatt asks and manages to right himself, wiping a stray tear from his eye. “What the fuck is an Edward-burg? Is that what they’re calling L’Manburg now?”
“It’s been blown up three fucking times Schlatt,” Wilbur rolls his eyes. “I don’t think they rebuilt it again and renamed it again,”
“Who knows?” Schlatt asks and takes a swig of the wine. “Those idiots are crazy,”
“This is the strangest thing I could have ever conjured,” Philip says and shakes his head. He never knew he could be this creative.
“This is real,” Wilbur assures him. “Sorry to break it to you, but you’re gonna be stuck with us for a while,”
“Not me,” Schlatt insists with a grin. “Quackity is bringing me back,”
“ Quackity? ” Both he and Wilbur ask as one.
“What in god’s name is a Quackity?”
“How’d you convince him to do that?”
“My sugar pumpkin is torturing Dream as we speak,” Schlatt’s face is arrogant and smirking. “He’ll get the book, then he’ll bring me back,”
“Please,” Philip practically begs. “I’m so confused-”
“Shut the fuck up,” Schlatt scods.
“That is no way to speak to-”
“Yeah yeah, the Dude of Deadmanburg, no one gives a shit,” Schlatt walks over and sits in between him and Wilbur.
“How’s Tommy doing?” Wilbur asks.
“No idea, maybe if he visited my gym I’d have an answer for you,” Schlatt shrugs.
“I don’t think I like it here,” Philip mumbles.
“No one likes being in Hell,” Wilbur says.
Schlatt pushes a bottle into his hands. “But everyone likes to drink,”
“You put your mouth on that,” Philip pushes the wine away with a hand.
“I put my mouth on a dick too and Wilbur still lets me kiss him,”
“This isn’t true, Schlatt’s just lonely,”
“You know what?” Philip sighs. “Maybe this is Hell,”
“Took you long enough,” Schlatt says and takes another swig from the bottle.
“I really wasn’t expecting anyone else to show up here yet,” Wilbur says and begins playing the solitaire game on his own. “I can usually feel a space growing for them in the afterlife,”
“I feel a space growing for me in between your legs,” Schlatt flirts.
“I might be ill,” Philip says, closing his eyes for a few seconds. “This is beyond improper and rude,”
“My man,” Schlatt sighs. “Big P, Phill,”
“If we are so familiar as to call each other by our first names, you might call me Philip,” He supplies.
“Duke of No-One-Gives-A-Shit,” Schlatt burps. “I have no idea what the fuck is going on with you, I never saw you on the SMP, I never heard jack shit about you, and you’re kind of a buzz kill. If you’d so much as seen TommyInnit or Quackity or pretty much anyone on the server you’d think what we do here is tame,”
“Dear me,” Philip clutches at his chest.
“Aye man,” An unfamiliar voice calls out behind him. “What’s this pasty corpse doing in our barrio?”
“You call me dead as if it is an insult, but I do believe all of you are dead as well,” Philip says.
“He’s got you there,” Wilbur admits with a laugh.
“Besides, I would leave if I could,” Philip admits. “You all seem quite rude to-”
“The Duke of Go-Fuck-Yourself-Vile,” Schlatt says.
“Are you some sort of demon?” Philip asks. “With your horns and personality, it seems logical,”
“God I wish,” Schlatt laughs. “Do you know what I would do with a pitchfork? I’d finally keep my word on that promise to my ex-girlfriend,”
Philip blinks.
“Share the goods man,” The newest voice says. He becomes a form, walking in front of Philip to sit between him and Schlatt.
“God save me,” Philip curses. The man grabs the bottle of wine and lifts up the colored smile mask that covers his face. He takes a long, quiet sip. “And what is your name again?”
“Mexican Dream,” Wilbur supplies. “I told you that already,”
“God he’s fucking stupid,” Schlatt says and yanks the bottle from the man.
The dream man looks at Philip, mouth agape. “He just mugged me,”
“I don’t believe that is true,” Philip says, but at this point, what even is true anymore.
“Who the hell are you again?” The Mexican man asks.
“Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh and husband to her grace, Queen Elizabeth the second,”
“Oh,” Schlatt winces. “You’re into men too though, right?”
“No?” Philip answers it more like a question. What a strange lot he’s imagined.
Everyone in the circle seems displeased at his words, tugging on their collars, biting their lips or running a hand in their hair.
“That’s so weird,” Wilbur shakes his head. “Like sure I was with Sally for a while, but I got over that phase pretty quickly,”
“I’ve been happily married for… at least 60 years, probably more,” Philip smiles at the memories that are suddenly recalled in his mind.
“What the FUCK?!?” The Mexican Dream man stands abruptly.
“Gross,” Schlatt winces.
“Why?” Wilbur asks as he rearranges his cards.
“Well because I love her,” Philip says.
“And she’s a woman?” Schlatt asks. “And you're a man?”
“What are your pronouns?” Wilbur asks.
“I- is there something wrong?” Philip frowns. There must have been some very strange drugs at the hospital to make him hallucinate like this.
“There’s something wrong with you,” Mexican Dream says.
“Let’s not be rude,” Wilbur says with a frown. “He’s dead, not much he can do about it now,”
“I will not have this,” Schlatt shakes his head. “I’m gonna get Quackity to revive him too just so we can help fix him,”
Philip stands. He’s had enough of this. “I don’t know who you think you are but-” He barely has time to widen his eyes when Wilbur’s fist collides with his face.
“And you said he’s been married to a woman? For 60 years? ”
“Yeah, crazy bastard,”
“Maybe this will be for the better,”
“I guess,”
“I hope you know what you’re doing Schlatt,”
“I never have any idea what the fuck I’m doing. Anyway, I got to go help my sugar pumpkin go run some stupid casino. He’s lucky he’s got that fat of an ass otherwise he’d be helpless,”
“Good luck with that, I guess,”
“Good luck to you too, you know, finding Dream and all that,”
“He can’t be far,”
“You’d be surprised,”
When Dream wakes up, he has his fingernails back. All of the skin and parts of himself Quackity had ripped off with shears, pliers, swords, axes, anything with a blade, it’s all back.
When he wakes up, it’s very dark. And very, very cramped.
“Hello?” He calls.
“Oh my stars,” A woman’s voice says. A myriad of people gasp and murmur.
There are people, this is good. He can get lost in the crowd. If he’s got his fingernails and ripped skin back, he might be in better physical condition. He won’t be able to fight, but maybe he can run, find the nearest enderchest or secret base of his-
Light practically slams into his face, the door of blackness opens up.
“Philip?”
Dream sits up and looks at his body. Same hoodie, same mask, no weapons. He looks around, there’s a surprising number of people here all wearing black-
Is he in a coffin?