chryscheshire2

[chryscheshire2]

Bad Dreams Go Away, Don't Come Back Another Day

Prompt: How about Yogurt taking care of Fundy who's just tired and sleep deprived?

Prompt by: purplaint

Characters:

Fundy

Yogurt

Type:

Fluff and Sickfic

TW: Implied Nightmares

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37956421/chapters/95346592

“No! Bad dada!” Yogurt had his arms stretched wide, barring the door. “No go!”

He stumbled against the carpet, an arm darting towards the wall to catch himself before his face ended up slamming against the front door. Fundy’s eyes were barely open, his breath heavy and his skin a sickly white. It had been… who fucking knows how long it’s been since he’d had a decent night’s sleep. He’d stayed up with coffee and cigarettes - which he smoked outside, and when Yogurt was asleep - but exhaustion was clutching at his mind, shaking him so that the world spun each time he tried to take a single step forward. “Dada will buy you a treat, Yogur—”

“NO!” The kit shrieked, “DADA STAY WITH YOGI!”

With that, the kit lunged, grabbing Fundy’s hat and scampering further into the house. Fundy’s feet nearly crashed into each other as he tried to attempt a dodge, but really it was a miserable attempt, seeing as he’d done it a few seconds too late. His shoulder banged against the wall, not that Fundy could even feel the pain with how much his body ached for sleep. Eventually, he got his feet to work and he headed back inside the house, a hand gripping at the wall. He passed the kitchen, empty - except for the remnants of their breakfast, in which there was still leftovers for him to clean up - and headed into the hallway which had one door: the door to their bedroom. It was slightly ajar, and Fundy could see a flurry of white fur pass every so often through the crack.

“Yogurt, please, I have to get to work. You don’t want Uncle Q to be upset, do you?” He poked his head through the door, eyes squinting as he adjusted to the dark. “Give dada his hat back.”

He stepped deeper into the room, and as he went to rub his eyes, the door slammed shut behind him. Fundy spun around, surprised to find that there was now a plushie by the door. He felt a light weight settle on his pant leg, and he looked to find Yogurt, his son clinging onto him tightly.

“Dada…” Yogurt’s icy blue eyes were wide and filled with tears, his mouth turned into a small and trembling pout. On any other day, if Fundy had been more awake, he would have playfully teased the kit but would not have indulged his son’s wants. Today, with his head ready to fall off his shoulders, Fundy gave in and scooped up the kit into his arms. He headed towards the bed and collapsed, face first, into the warm sheets - careful not to squish Yogurt beneath his weight.

The kit squirmed underneath him, finding an escape route eventually as he wiggled his way out of Fundy’s arms. He watched as Yogurt jumped off the bed, doing the best he could to lift Fundy’s legs which were still dangling off the bed. Fundy had to move to the middle of the bed.

He reached down for Yogurt, but the kit had darted to the door, eyes glaring at Fundy as though in warning before pointing to the plushie on the ground. Fundy couldn’t help but giggle - maybe he was beginning to go insane, who knows - as he realized that the plushie was guarding him. The door opened, and Yogurt slipped outside, returning a few minutes later with a plate. It took Fundy a second to realize that it was the leftover breakfast that, admittedly, he had barely taken a bite out of. The kit placed it on the bed, pushing it towards Fundy who gingerly took it into his hands. His stomach rumbled at the sight of pancakes - not as good as his dad’s, he could never really… he could never really replicate his dad’s pancakes (not having a passed-down family recipe helped with that). He looked over to thank his son, but the kit was gone again. He sighed, picking up a spoon before taking a bite out of the pancake. Somehow, it tasted much better now.

Fundy had nearly finished with it before he noticed that Yogurt was back in the room, the door firmly closed - and locked, if Fundy’s eyes weren’t deceiving him. The kit had placed a cup of water by the bed, and was currently curled up beside Fundy, eyes focused entirely on him. He swallowed down the last bite with a guilty gulp. He didn’t want his son to be looking at him like that. With so much worry. It was Fundy’s job to worry. Fundy placed the plate down on the table, reaching for Yogurt who quickly evaded his hands and reached for the fluffy blankets instead.

He directed his attention to the cup of water instead, taking slow and steady sips until it felt like he could properly breath again, his muddled mind beginning to focus once more. This time, he could see the tear tracks on his son’s cheeks, and the crocodile tears that he thought were in Yogurt’s eyes before suddenly turned real. Fundy hastily put aside the cup, pulling Yogurt to his chest as the kit finally began to sob. He could feel his own tears sting his eyes, and this time he let them fall. It felt nice to have someone care for him this much, and he didn’t want Yogurt to worry this much. Fundy couldn’t remember the last time someone had cried for him, had cried for his well being. “Dada’s sorry, Yogi. Dada… Dada will get better. I promise. I’ll get better.”

“Pwomise?” Now that he had a bit of food and water in him - that and Fundy was beginning to entertain the idea of sleep - he felt horror rise in his chest. Fundy didn’t want to think how Yogurt must have felt that morning. He’d woken up, and his dad was a mess, falling and stumbling against air. He hadn’t spoken to Yogurt that much in the morning, during breakfast, and he had barely eaten… the pancakes were burnt so he barely even cooked. Fundy pressed his son closer to himself. He’d seen this before except… he used to be the child who would watch as his sleep-deprived, always busy dad lost time to take care of himself, much less his own young son.

“I promise.” Fundy pressed a kiss to Yogurt’s cheek, cuddling the kit closer to himself until the sobs turned into little giggles. His son squirmed out of his hold, squeaking indignantly - he was still learning how to growl - and turned back towards the blankets. Yogurt pulled them over himself and Fundy, little hands turning to push Fundy into the bed. “Okay! I’ll go back to sleep.”

He settled his head against the pillow - and it was impossible not to relax. Fundy had bought the best sleeping materials that he could - he had hoped it would stop the nightmares - but he felt the spike of dread again, and his breath began to quicken. Then, a soft kiss pressed against his cheek.

“Itz okay, dada.” Yogurt curled up beside him. “Yogi will keep the bad dweams away.”

[chryscheshire2]

After the War

Prompt: Fundy introducing lil yogi to SBI

Prompt by: jaesse_nymphus

Characters:

Fundy

Yogurt

Tommy

Technoblade

Phil

Wilbur

Type:

Fluff

Angst

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37956421/chapters/95287123

“Congratulations, you got laid.”

“Tommy! It’s not like that!” Fundy clasped his hands around Yogurt’s ears, the kit unaware of his dad’s embarrassment as he proceeded to chew on a few berries that Tommy had given him. He hadn’t meant to visit his uncle, and he never meant to introduce Tommy to Yogurt, but on their way out of the Essempy, they’d met along the Prime Path. Tommy looked better, he looked younger… Well, he looked his age now. With Dream dead, the Eggpire gone, the nukes dismantled, Las Nevadas in ruins, and the Syndicate disbanded, there were no more fights to be won or to be lost. They were free. They were finally free.  “Yogurt’s adopted. Say hi, Yogurt.”

“Hello!” The kit waved a tiny hand at Tommy, fingers stained with berry juice, which he quickly wiped on Fundy’s white shirt. Tommy muffled a laugh at the sight of Fundy’s clothing, directing his attention to the small arctic fox who had run up to him. “Dada said that Tum’s very cool!”

“That’s cause I’m the great TommyInnit!” The teenager reached down to pick up Yogurt, the little kit reaching up to pull at his curly blond hair. Tommy winced, but tried to brush it off as scrunching up his nose. Fundy quickly reached for Yogurt, taking the child from Tommy’s arms despite the small protests. He placed his son down, sighing in relief when the kit noticed a butterfly and began to chase after it. “He looks healthy. You kept him safe during… everything?”

“I had a yacht… the S.S. Sally, I—” He felt his face heat up, shame rising in his chest. Tommy’s look wasn’t cold, if anything his gaze was soft, forgiving. Fundy swallowed down his embarrassment, focusing on the little smile on his son’s face and the happy giggle that he let out as he failed to catch the butterfly again. He’d made a choice, and it saved Yogurt. That was nothing to be ashamed of. “Before shi— Before the fighting began, I rushed to the yacht with Yogurt. We stayed out in the open sea before I… before I felt it was safe to come back again.”

“At least someone got out of it unscathed.” It was soft, a mere hiss underneath Tommy’s breath. Fundy would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the new scars on the teenager’s skin, and despite being free, they would still be burdened by the chains of their past. For a moment, they stood there in content silence, watching Yogurt continue to chase the butterfly before settling on attacking an oxeye daisy. Yeah… Fundy would never regret running away. He won’t regret betraying Las Nevadas or Quackity. He won’t regret his actions because it means that Yogurt would never know the pain of what they’d gone through. He’ll keep his childhood. He’ll keep that smile on his face, untouched by any war, pain, or death. “Were we ever that young, Fundy?”

“Maybe.” He sighed, wishing he could smoke. But he’d stopped. “We were kids once…”

“Crazy, innit?” Tommy shook his head, blonde hair nearly covering his blue eyes. They were beginning to look alive again. Fundy turned his gaze to the streak of white hair in the teenager’s hair, a little bit awed that he and his uncle were closer in appearance but sick in knowing what it meant. Then, Tommy turned to him, mouth set into a thin line. “A little warning, stay away from Las Nevadas, Quackity might hold a grudge. You never know. I don’t want anyone dying, not after everything’s finally over. And it’s over… No more resurrections we have to worry about?”

“No. No more.” Despite the seriousness in Tommy’s eyes, he could see the doubt playing in them. The unanswered question and fear. Fundy had no idea how Dream died, and what happened to the revival book, but from the lack of nightmares, he knew it was destroyed. The dead were dead, except for those still living. A smile formed on his face, matching the growing and assured grin on Tommy’s. At that moment, Yogurt clambered back towards them, holding a crushed oxeye daisy in both of his hands. The kit reached up, and for a second Fundy thought that the flower was for him, but Yogurt’s sparkling eyes were focused only on Tommy. The teenager gently took it, tucking it underneath the tattered green neckerchief that he wore. Tommy must have seen the mock betrayed look on Fundy’s face because he let out a loud cackle, Fundy ignoring him as he picked up his unapologetically smiling son. “What? Dada gets no flower?”

“Dada had flowers yeterday! Bad dada! Gweedy!” The little kit swatted at Fundy’s shoulder, huffing, his tail puffed up behind him. Fundy gave a look of shame, before nuzzling into the kit’s hair, Yogurt letting out a series of giggles against the sudden tickle ambush. In the corner of his eye, he could see Tommy watching the scene with amusement, hand pressed against the petal of the daisy. Fundy stopped once the kit finally got his hand on his cheek, pushing him away. “No!”

“Okay, dada will stop.” He pressed an apologetic kiss to the kit’s forehead, letting Yogurt squirm out of his arms. Tommy was giving him a look, and Fundy couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t want to baby him, we both know how much of a disaster that would end up being. Just look at me.”

“A shitty mess.” Tommy laughed, shaking his head slowly, “Are you staying?”

“Yogurt needs a better home.” Fundy gave him a bittersweet smile. “And it’s time I moved on.”

“I won’t miss you, furry.”

“I won’t miss you either, you little shit..”

—

“I will not acknowledge how you obtained a child.”

“Techno, not you too!” It was not what he’d expected from the warrior, but Techno had spotted him by the edge of his territory and had come over. Fundy had grabbed Yogurt, expecting an ax to the face, but the piglin hybrid merely snorted at the display. He refrained from running once he saw the lack of weapons on Techno. “Yogurt’s adopted… that doesn’t make him an orphan!”

“You are correct, but Fundy, you’re an orphan.” He narrowed his eyes, but Techno let out a deep chuckle that still caused a tingle to run down Fundy’s spine. Unlike his dad, however, Yogurt had no semblance of fear or wariness towards Techno, reaching up a small hand to pat at the small sack of potatoes that was tied to the piglin hybrid’s belt. The kit sniffed at it, nose scrunching up in distaste and disappointment. The only reason they’d stopped near Techno’s territory was because Yogurt had wanted berries, but the snow had buried most of the greenery. Fundy reached out for Yogurt, pulling him away. Techno grunted, almost apologetically. “It’s a— I was joking.”

Fundy forced out a laugh. So did Techno. And the air filled with an uncomfortable tension.

“Tommy told me I’d have to train for a hundred years until I master the art of… comedy.” Techno’s ears drooped, and Fundy wondered why he was being told this. “I need more practice.”

“You… you can try on Yogurt.” Fundy raised Yogurt up to his arms, the kit squirming angrily until Fundy nuzzled at his cheek. He didn’t like putting his son anywhere near Techno, unsure of what the piglin hybrid thought about him, but Yogurt hadn’t been scared of him… and that meant something. He held his son closer to Techno, the child turning his attention to Techno, icy blue eyes regarding him with contempt. Techno had no berries, and therefore, the kit automatically did not like him. “He laughs at anything. You could do a funny face, ha! That’ll be something.”

“Are you insinuating that I can’t?” He lowered Yogurt a fraction, his face heating up in embarrassment and horror. He wasn’t insinuating anything… but Techno was— Fundy’s thoughts halted once he felt Yogurt squirm in his arms, the kit giggling up towards Techno who had tilted his head, scrunched up his nose, and had his ears flicking up and down. If he was honest, Fundy didn’t find it funny, but Yogurt di— “This once was the peak of comedy for you.”

“Wha—?” His thoughts came to a halt, a memory of a past long gone coming back to him. Right… he hadn’t exactly been born in L’Manburg, his first home had been somewhere in the cold antarctic, when he’d gone by a different name. Techno - his uncle - had spent some time watching over him before Wilbur had had the bright idea to move away. “I was someone else.”

“You have grown into a… heh… respectable young man.” Somehow, Yogurt had gotten out of Fundy’s grip and had launched himself at Techno, the warrior catching him easily. Fundy had no doubt that Techno had noticed Fundy’s absence in the final war. He planned for every person and for every possible event just in case. What philosophy was it? Sun… chew? Fundy didn’t know, and he didn’t really care. What Techno probably wanted to say was that Fundy had grown into a coward. He looked up at his uncle, but Techno was staring down at Yogurt. “He… He is a child.”

“He gets to be one.” He hadn’t meant to, but his voice had raised at the last word, almost daring Techno to criticize him. The warrior’s crimson eyes bore down on his shivering form, and shook his head. Not out of pity or disappointment, but almost to dissuade Fundy’s own doubts. Yogurt had crawled up to the piglin hybrid’s shoulders, hands gripping at the pink strands, careful not to pull. The only hair that Yogurt had developed the habit of pulling on was Fundy’s. He had to teach the kit not to do it to other people because who knew that even gold golems had really pullable hair. “Yogurt didn’t see anything! He never di— I don’t want him to grow up like me.”

“I know, Fundy. This is not a life that everyone should ever have to live.” Techno reached for the child, taking him off his shoulder before placing Yogurt back in Fundy’s arms. The piglin hybrid looked behind him, towards the silhouette of his and Phil’s cabin. He couldn’t help but jump when Techno turned his eyes back on him again, eyes squinted, wariness crossing his usually neutral features. “You do not live in this area. Why are you here? If you’re looking for Wilbur—”

“No!” It came out too quickly and sounded too angry in his ears, even Techno flinched, or maybe that was because Fundy had nearly wailed when he’d said it. Yogurt looked up, eyes wide, and the kit placed a hand on Fundy’s chest. His son nuzzled up to him, curly white hair scratching the bottom of his chin. He felt sorry that Yogurt was worried for him. Sons shouldn’t have to worry for their fathers. He pressed a kiss to the kit’s cheek, uttering a few words of assurance before meeting Techno’s gaze. “We’re leaving the Essempy. I don’t want Yogurt to grow up here any longer than he has to… I want to say goodbye to Phil before we go. He… I want him to know.”

 “You could stay. You could move closer to where we live. I heard you worked for Quackity before the war, and I do not trust him near you after that strategy of betrayal you committed.” His face heated up. Right, there was also another reason why Fundy was leaving. Quackity was good to him, but Fundy didn’t— No, he couldn’t bear to see the hatred on Quackity’s face once they met again. It really wouldn’t be the first time someone despised him for “betraying” them.

“I don’t want to raise my son here. Too many memories… and no offense, Technoblade, but… I don’t forgive you for blowing up my home to bedrock and I don’t think you’ll ever let me forget the… Butcher Army… thing…” It had been a stupid plan anyway, they had known that, but they had tried it and look at where that had brought them. Techno’s eyes were steely, but they melted into a warm crimson. The piglin hybrid let out a deep sigh, his head nodding slightly. “Maybe we’ll come back… maybe by then you’ll have moved back to the antarctic… I want Yogurt to know where we came from eventually, but right now I want him to have a stable and safe home.”

“I understand. Come, I’ll take you to see Phil.”

—

“I’m sorry that I ran away.”

“Better than nearly dying, mate.” Phil let out a forced laugh, bandaged wings curled behind him, nearly defensively as Yogurt reached up a hand to poke at the black feathers. The kit was starstruck, and Fundy could swear he could see stars in his eyes. Phil wasn’t the first Avian that Yogurt ever met, but he was the first Avian to let him touch his wings. “You look better, Fundy.”

“The nightmares stopped… I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but they stopped.” His grandfather nodded, taking a long sip of warm tea. After Techno had led them to the cabins, Phil had offered him a cup of tea before he and Yogurt left the Essempy for good. Phil had been outside, seated in one of two chairs by a small table that was underneath a green umbrella - which Fundy thought was useless against the snow. “He likes you. I told him stories about you.”

“Thank you.” The kit clambered up to Phil’s lap, purring against the blue fluffy cloak that Phil wore. Phil placed a gentle hand on the child’s hair, ruffling it slightly. “I would have thought…”

“I’m not angry at you.” Fundy couldn’t be angry at Phil, and he had betrayed his grandfather’s trust… though he was a little bitter at Phil destroying New L’Manburg. Unlike Techno though, Phil felt like the only family that Fundy had. Tommy… they’d drifted apart, a long time ago. Techno hadn’t been in his life that much anyway. Phil was his grandpa though. He was different.

“I know, Fundy.” Phil continued to run a hand through the kit’s hair, murmuring sweet words each time Yogurt giggled and reached out a hand to tug at Phil’s clothes, wings, or… hair. Well, looks like Fundy was no longer the only exception to the no-tugging-at-other-people’s-hair rule. Fundy smiled, taking a short sip of the tea, nose scrunching up at the bitter taste. It was minty… Okay, Fundy didn’t know the name of the tea and he would probably end up guessing the wrong plant anyway. Honestly, he was gearing himself up for it. Techno hadn’t told Phil why Fundy was visiting, the piglin hybrid had only told Fundy to wait before he left and had disappeared inside his cabin. Despite everything, Fundy had to wonder how Wilbur had said his goodbyes.

“Phil, I— Promise you won’t freak out?” His grandfather raised a brow, lips pursed as his eyes narrowed into thin slits. Okay, that might sound bad, and Fundy should have probably just blurted it out. He placed the cup of tea back down on the table, slamming it unnecessarily hard against the wood. “We’re moving! Yogurt and I— We’re leaving. Not forever. But… ya know.”

“You’re leaving… on foot.” Phil cast a doubting look at Fundy’s clothes, at Yogurt’s clothes, and Fundy knows he fucking messed up. Wilbur probably even had no problem saying goodbye to Phil when he and Fundy had left for the Essempy. He;d had a gods’ damn van with him. Of course Phil wouldn’t have worried. It’s not like Wilbur had showed up to Phil’s front door step one day, a young kit with him, and said they were leaving! Fundy would have taken the yacht but… another reason they’d had to go back to the Essempy was because the yacht had stopped working! His ears pressed to the top of his head, shame filling his stomach. “No, no, mate! That’s… You’re allowed to leave but— Walking through the wilderness is dangerous, Fundy…”

Fundy, admittedly, has never actually been in the wilderness. When he’d disappeared from the Essempy for a year, after his home had been torn down to bedrock, his friend had arranged for a train to take him to the City of Cogchamp. He’d taken the same train when he went back to the Essempy. He had wondered whether he should take Yogurt there. It was a good city, and it was the safest place Fundy had ever known. The problem was… it was in a desert, and that couldn’t be good for Yogurt. Las Nevadas only ever worked because Quackity, for gods’ knows what, had decided to build a desert in the middle of the arctic. It was cold, and Yogurt likes the cold. Cogchamp was not an option. Fundy had wanted to travel until they found a safe place, but Phil’s worry was infectious, and could Fundy trust himself to fend off the monsters in the wilderness?

“Wilbur might lend you his van. He might go with you too. There’s nothing for him here now, and I know Wil, he’ll be ready to leave the moment the opportunity strikes. He’d be happy to go with you. I’m glad you two have made amends.” Phil had given Fundy a smile, a knowing smile, but Fundy could only look at him with a pale face. Yogurt looked between the two of them, confused, but he’d scrambled off of Phil’s lap and raced towards Fundy. The kit held onto his hand, whimpering slightly. Fundy silently promised to himself that today would be the last day he’d make his son worry so much about him. He ran a hand through Yogurt’s hair, avoiding Phil’s slowly crumbling smile. The old man huffed, rising from his seat to stand next to Fundy. He could feel the avian’s sharp gaze on the back of his head. Fundy couldn’t help but clutch Yogurt closer to himself, avoiding the inevitable. “You two have made amends, right? Fundy…”

“If he cared for me he would have looked for me, but he didn’t.” He snapped, burying his face in Yogurt’s hair, keeping his tears from falling. He refused to cry in front of his son. “So why should I? He clearly wants nothing to do with me, and I want nothing to do with that no-good—”

“Fundy.” It was enough to shut him up. He looked up, meeting Phil’s stern but kind eyes. Yogurt moved to sit up on Fundy’s lap, hands clutching at his jacket as he nuzzled against his shirt. Fundy ran a hand against the kit’s back, trying to assure his son that he was okay. That he was even if he felt the urge to scream and cry and curse at Wilbur who wasn’t even there, not that he was ever there. “Wilbur… I can’t say anything for him, and I can’t apologize for him, Fundy. I advised him once, to apologize to those he felt he’d done wrong to. I can’t explain why he never looked for you, and… Mate, it’s hard. He’s my son! But I… I can’t apologize for him. Listen, Fundy, I will say this… You don’t have to talk to Wilbur, at all, but he does owe you that van.”

“Wait, wha—?” From the corner of his eye, Fundy saw Techno emerge from the cabin, his arms carrying a bag filled with potion and golden apples. The piglin hybrid stood at the terrace, watching them. Fundy quickly turned back to Phil who had a hint of a nostalgic look on his face.

“From the day you were born, up to the day you two left, Wilbur always said ‘my little champion deserved the world.’ Well, I’ll tell you what, mate. Wilbur can’t give you the world. He can’t give you a country. But he can give you a van… If he refuses, come back here and I’ll tell him off. Although, mate, I doubt Wilbur would let his son and grandson off into the wilderness by foot.” There was a twinkle in Phil’s eyes, and Fundy had the slight feeling that the old man wasn’t lying. As funny as it would be to see Wilbur get told off, Fundy didn’t want to impose any more than he had. Especially not when Techno had headed down the terrace and had handed Yogurt a golden apple, placing the bag in Fundy’s arms despite his protest. “Try to talk to him.”

With a heavy heart, Fundy and Yogurt headed towards Paradise.

—

“Phil told me you were selling burgers.”

Fundy didn’t feel guilty as Wilbur scrambled awake, nearly falling out the van’s window in his haste to stand upright. Yogurt giggled in his arms, hands pressed to the cool surface of the metal counter, waiting patiently for his promised lunch. It took a moment before recognition dawned in Wilbur’s eyes, and it did sting inside, to know that his own dad had to take a minute before even recognizing his son. Fundy couldn’t blame him, not when he first thought that the man sleeping on the turned off grill was a hobo that broke into Wilbur’s burger van. The man stared down at him from the window, face blank. In another life, Fundy might have hated that look. “Fundy…”

“An’ Yogi!” The kit interrupted, squirming in Fundy’s hold until he was seated at the edge of the counter, boot-covered feet swinging carelessly beneath him. Wilbur froze, his impassive face somehow shutting down even more, and Fundy was worried that the man was going to keel over and die. Instead, Wilbur slowly edged his way out of the window’s sight, disappearing to the right of the van. He thought for a second that his dad had run away, but the door swung open, and there he was. His dad looked older, more exhausted, but he still had that same commanding posture that made Fundy want to straighten up and fix his uniform… but he wasn’t a little boy anymore, and that uniform had burned to ashes a long time ago. “Mmmm… hungy! ‘M hungy!”

“I thought you sold burgers.” It was clear that the last thing Wilbur wanted to do was go back inside and make a burger, but Yogurt continued yelling - for he’d been promised burgers and he wanted burgers now - so Wilbur conceded and went back inside. Yogurt let out a happy cheer.

It was painfully awkward watching his dad cook a burger, eyes focused on everything but Fundy. Wilbur had taken the time to look at Yogurt, and his eyes had filled up with something for once. Curiosity, joy, dread, pain, jealousy, regret… Fundy wondered how it felt to be Wilbur right now.

He sucked in a deep breath, “I need your van.”

Wilbur nearly dropped the patty on the floor. “What?”

“We’re leaving. Phil told me we can’t go out in the wilderness on foot.” This time, it was Fundy who couldn’t look Wilbur in the eye. He focused on Yogurt instead. “I need your van, Wilbur.”

“You… You can’t be leaving! Where would you go?! Why would you go?! I don’t even know who this child is!” Wilbur gestured frantically towards Yogurt, the kit wrinkling his nose and growling ever so slightly. Surprisingly, Wilbur had stopped talking, finishing the burger before placing it on a paper plate and handing it to Yogurt, who didn’t look hungry anymore. Wilbur disappeared into the van, only to emerge from the door, this time the door slammed against the side of the van. Fundy nearly jumped when Wilbur raced towards him, but the man’s hands were on his shoulder. Wilbur looked frantic, even shaking Fundy as he spoke. “Why would you want to go? There’s nothing here! There’s nothing! You shouldn’t go! Why would you go?! It’s safe, isn’t it? You can’t go! How would you survive out there?! Do you even know how to cook—?!”

“Fuc—” Fundy stopped himself, casting a glance to Yogurt who was chewing carefully on the burger, a suspicious look thrown towards Wilbur. For a moment, he began to feel guilty. “I want to raise my son in a better place, not… here. It hurts too much to be here. Too many memories.”

“Your son?” Wilbur turned to Yogurt, and it looked like his worst fears had just been realized. But there was a longing look on his face, a far-off look that made Fundy think he wasn’t really looking at Yogurt. The kit stared up at him curiously. “Does he…? Does he know who I am?”

“No… I’m sorry.” And, he was. He was sorry. Wilbur looked crestfallen, and Fundy felt sorry that he’d let his own anger take over his stories. Fundy had told Yogurt about their family… it’s just that he’d rewritten Wilbur out of the narrative. It had felt right at the time… it had felt right to him. Wilbur had rewritten him out of his story, so why shouldn’t Fundy? Why shouldn’t he say that Wilbur was nothing to him? That he was nothing in his story? But really… wasn’t that what had led them to where they were? Honestly, Fundy didn’t want to rewrite his history. But Wilbur hurt him. Talking about him hurt him. When Wilbur had been revived, Fundy had wanted to go look for him, but he hadn’t. And Wilbur didn’t want to look for him so… Fundy felt sorry. Yogurt deserved to know who Wilbur was to him. “Wilbur, I… Can I please have the keys—”

Mutely, Wilbur scoured through his coat pocket before handing him the rusted key. Fundy ignored the small fox plushie that had been used as a keychain and turned to pick Yogurt up from the table. He walked past Wilbur, his shoulder brushing against the man, and headed towards the van door. Yogurt was squirming in his hold, turning his head to look at Wilbur who looked like a kicked and abandoned puppy. Fundy had every intention of getting his son into the van and driving far away from there as soon as he got the key into ignition, but Yogurt had other plans.

The kit jumped from Fundy’s arms, dodging his frantic grabs and slipping past Fundy and towards Wilbur who looked skeptical, but opened up his arms anyway. Yogurt clung to the stranger’s coat, claws digging into the cloth. Fundy looked stunned, and he quickly headed for his son, pausing once he realized that he would have to go near Wilbur. The man looked stunned himself, holding onto the kit with a gentle hold. Yogurt was nuzzling against Wilbur’s yellow coat, little mind racing, and coming to a conclusion. Fundy could only stare helplessly as Yogurt looked up and pointed at Wilbur with his tiny finger. “Wan’ keep him! Can we keep him, dada?”

Unfortunately (fortunately?), Yogurt was very smart, and he could smell that Wilbur was family.

[chryscheshire2]

Can the Future Change?

Prompt: Can you do one where Yogurt begins to have nightmares like fundy's nightmares? I don't really have anything other then that, specification wise.

Prompt by: TheFairFeline

Characters:

Fundy

Yogurt

Type:

Fluff

TW: Nightmares

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37956421/chapters/94901911

Screams were common in the Dy household.

But not in the middle of the night. Fundy awoke almost immediately, hands scrambling for the lamp switch. The dark glow of the redstone lamp casted the small bedroom in an eerie red glow, nearly overshadowing the slither of silver from the moon outside. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, sweat clinging to the nape of his neck. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but he had, and he had lost himself in a nightmare once again. Except… he wasn’t the one who was screaming.

He gently shook Yogurt awake, the little fox kit jumping up and into his arms as soon as his eyes fluttered open. He felt tears dot his shirt as he continued to hold his son, whispering reassurances until the kit’s sobbing turned into hiccupping gasps. There was a deep pit in Fundy’s stomach as he began to wipe away his son’s tears. Yogurt was shaking, the blanket still wrapped around him as though cementing himself to reality. Fundy knew all too well how nightmares could drag you so far that when you returned to the waking world, it almost felt like a lie. He wrapped the blanket closer to Yogurt’s shoulders, holding him close until the small hiccups had stopped and all that served as a hint that Yogurt had been crying were his slightly reddened eyes. Fundy continued to hold him as he rose from the bed, heading towards the door. Neither of them would be sleeping for a while, and if he was horribly right, Yogurt might refuse to sleep again tonight.

“You want some berry cake, yeah?” Fundy was reluctant to do so, but he placed down Yogurt on the table, running a hand through the kit’s sweaty white hair. “You can have anything you want.”

“... mowe bewwies.” Yogurt sniffed, rubbing at his eyes. Fundy nodded and went to grab the leftover cake they’d had for dessert a few hours ago, adding more berries so that the top layer of frosting was nearly concealed by it. He placed it down on the table, giving Yogurt a spoon. His kit could eat as much as he wants, especially if Fundy was right in what he dreaded. He sat down on one of the chairs, mind reeling with fear and doubt and anger. Yogurt was adopted. Why the fuck would he get cursed like Fundy? Was it even genetic? Did Wilbur have these nightmares?

“Nightmare?” The kit paused, mouth caked with berry juice and frosting. Fundy hated bringing it up, especially when Yogurt had seemingly forgotten about what had happened and was happily enjoying the cake. Fundy would have pretended to join in and would have gotten himself a slice, but he felt too nauseous for that. His son pursed his lips, berry cake momentarily forgotten. After a while, he slowly nodded his head, tears springing up to his eyes again. “What did you see?”

“It was vewy hot! Lotsa sand…” Yogurt paused, stuffing more cake into his mouth. Fundy didn’t like where this story was headed, but he had to hear it. He moved the seat so that he was beside his son, ready to wipe away any tears that might fall. The kit was shaking, ears pressed to the top of his head and his tail was wrapped around his leg. Fundy reached up, plucking the kit from the table and placing him on his lap. The kit whimpered, pressing his face to Fundy’s shirt, smearing berry juice on the white cloth. “Yogu— Yogi was hewe, but dada was not… Went out and there were bunnies! Lotsa bunnies! Mmm… hungy… Um, Yogi was alone but Yogi looked awound for dada but dada was not there! Then there was a man, scawy man! He was in black, and he was vewy scawy! Chased Yogi all awound! He was smiling, and Yogi heard shinies falling! Didn’t see any shinies though… But then… dada woke Yogi up and saved Yogi! Dada saved Yogi…”

“Did I? Dada’s glad.” If only he could have saved Yogurt from the nightmare ever happening in the first place. The kit wiggled in his arms, fear forgotten as he scrambled back up the table and towards the cake. Fundy smiled despite himself. Yogurt didn’t understand, and he hadn’t had that cycle of waking but never waking. It was the same nightmare, the same figure, and that same smile. Fundy wasn’t an idiot, he knew that smile. He stood up, the kit barely noticing as Fundy left the kitchen and disappeared into the hallway. It was dark, the light left off even as Fundy stood at the center, eyes focused on the locked front door. He’d stood by that door this morning, entertaining a visitor. He let out a low whisper, “What do you want, Quackity? Why me? Why?”

Well, the more pressing question was: how did Quackity find him? He didn’t even tell Phil or Eret where he was… It didn’t matter at the time, and he had barely left the cabin after he found Yogurt, unless it was to gather berries. Fundy would rather not think that Quackity had been spying on him, but he had gone to look for Fundy. He would be lying if that didn’t send a flutter of happiness in his chest. Someone… had looked for him. He had yet to decide, and sleeping on it doesn’t work if nightmares took up most of his mind. He had planned to think about it during the night. He had planned not to sleep tonight, and yet Yogurt had begged him to stay. His kit wanted cuddles and a bedtime story. Was falling asleep a sign? Was Yogurt’s nightmare a sign?

His hand was on the knob before he could stop himself, but the door remained closed. Fundy could almost hear Quackity’s voice in his ear, the truth and the dream mingling until he was unsure which was true. Quackity had visited him again in his dreams, crueler and unkind. Had Quackity been that way? Fundy couldn’t remember anymore. He couldn’t tell what was true anymore. Quackity had… he had wanted Fundy to join him… hadn’t he? Yes, that was true, in both reality and the dream… But why? Why had he looked for Fundy? He placed his head against the door, eyes closed as he dredged up the memory… but it was muddled… lost to him…

“Dada?” His hand jolted away from the door handle, as if burned. Yogurt had wandered into the hall, ice blue eyes bright against the black. The kit stared up at him nervously. “Where dada go?”

“Nowhere.” He stepped away from the door, reaching down to pick up his son. Sometimes, he forgot how tiny and young Yogurt was, especially since the kit was a little menace during the mornings. With his son in his arms though, he could see those innocent eyes staring up at him, scared. He knew that look. He’d worn it when he was young too. “I’m not going anywhere, kit.”

He moved back into the kitchen, the cake completely devoured. He’d have to make another one tomorrow or the next day… Fundy’s thought was quickly cut off by Yogurt’s yawning, berry-stained mouth opening wide as his eyes fluttered close. After half an hour of trying to wrangle Yogurt into a bath, and then chasing the kit around to put him in a fresh pair of pajamas, they were finally settling back into bed. The kit cuddled close, eyes half-closed as Fundy closed the lamp light, casting the room in shadow once more. “Dada won’t… won’t go with scar man?”

It took him a moment to understand what Yogurt meant, and by the time he had, the kit had fallen asleep, little hand gripping at his shirt. Fundy laid back down, but he couldn’t sleep despite the exhaustion creeping into his bones. Yogurt shifted, but only nuzzled closer, purring happily. The question nagged at him. Quackity. Quackity had said something… he had… a casino? Yes… Quackity had mentioned a casino and that Fundy should join him… He remembered his nightmares, how Quackity had been in both, and now Yogurt had the same visions. It gnawed at him, like the answer to his son’s question was profound. Fundy glanced down at his son, so small… He’d been like that once. But he rarely ever got this. This never wavering support and presence. Fundy gave his answer, “My father wasn't around. I swear that I'll be around for you.”

Fate shifted. That night, there were no nightmares. And after, there would be no more.

=============================================================

Clarification: Am I saying that if Yogurt got premonition nightmares then it would have changed everything? Sort of. I just think Fundy would actually think about the nightmares more and just come to a different choice than what he did in canon. Also yes I am aware that technically Fundy only saw Yogurt as a son when Tubbo pointed it out and that was after he joined in LN, but since they're both fox hybrids here, Fundy would know that Yogurt is a child XD.

I am aware that Wilbur was there for Fundy when he was younger and that he was a good dad, overbearing and condescending maybe, but he was there. But with the way Fundy talks about Wil, I imagine the good memories have been overridden by the bad ones which is why he mostly thinks of Wil in a sort of negative light here.