#doctorviolet

His not-son immediately breaks into a cackle so intense that he seems to be struggling to breathe.

“Since– how do you have fans?!”

Vio rolls his eyes and throws a small pillow at him. “Thanks, menace.” “You’re spending too much time with Day,” Aryll accuses, still giggling.

Zinn, Aver, and Toma emerge from downstairs. Aver is yawning, Zinn teasing him, “You'd think you haven’t slept in days.”

“I've been fuckin’ busy! Trade shit, getting new fuckin’ manufacturing methods up, starting to figure out orders for the Christmas ball– list is fuckin’ endless,” Aver whines.

Zinn squints up at the ceiling in a manner nearly identical to how Vio looked just a few minutes ago.

Toma asks, “You got a question?” Zinn hums, nodding a few times.

“...So, I'm gonna take that as a joke,” the Tubbo slowly says. “And not as you being a dick.”

He looks over to Aryll and relays, “Wants to know why you decided to be a doctor.”

Aryll perks up, his tail flicking with interest. “Oh! Well, it’s because of not-Dad. I saw him help others, and more specifically help Toma with knowledge…and I decided I wanted to do that, too. And it was a big help, once people started coming back.”

Aver flops down on the couch, and Zinn follows suit. Toma sprawls over both of their laps, getting a little laugh from all of them.

Aver's expression falls at the message he gets.

He's heard about the partially redacted message that Atlas got. Just like his friend had described, this one has something very blatantly covered up.

Atlas’ was just a brief blip. This one, though? It sounds like the bulk of the message has been replaced by static.

It sounds a lot like a TV that's been left on but isn't displaying anything.

“Uncle Aver?” Toma reaches up and touches his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. He sounds worried.

He smiles, ruffling the patchy hair on the zombie piglin’s head. “S’ fine, big man; just a weird thing.” Louder, sort of directed to the ceiling, he says, “Dunno what you wanted to say, couldn't hear most of it. Try again?”

OOC::

Here's the full question, for reference:

“Huh,” he says, head tilting to the side. Before the not-kids can ask what happened, he tells them, “I got…fanart.”

They all perk up, and he huffs and says, “Yes, I’ll let you see it. I think I just need to say that for it to–?”

Before the statement can finish, the other four get the popups as well.

Toma claps his hands in delight. “Grandad fanart!” Instead of correcting him, Vio just heaves a long-suffering sigh. 

So sue him; he has a soft spot for the zombie piglin child.

Aryll snickers, “The cold weather gear is too colorful for him, but otherwise…yeah, pretty much, that’s him alright!” “It’s not my fault I’m not built for snow! Snow wasn’t a fucking issue in the deserts and savannahs where I’m meant to be,” Vio reminds him.

The not-brothers and Toma laugh at that, while Vio rolls his eyes at them. “Yeah, yeah– yuck it up, you menaces.” “Hanging around Day too much, bossman,” Zinn cackles, “who wants to take bets on how long before you start calling us gremlins you love very much?”

The enderman hybrid points at him. “That’s what I said! He’s spending too much time with Day, which is hilarious because he stayed here to avoid him.”

“I don’t have a choice! I have a travel with him and Theo, and they talk a lot!” “Uh-huh,” Toma snorts, “That’s tooootally all it is.”

Aver furrows his brow, and the merriment quiets a little. “...Okay, and? If it’s not malicious, I don’t really fuckin’ care. Lots’ve us have secrets.” As if to prove his point, he gestures over at Vio, who looks wary at being dragged into this.“Monkey’s Paw ‘ere keeps his therapist a secret for…some fuckin’ reason?” 

“Because I feel like it,” Vio answers, sounding slightly affronted, “Let me have my mischief.”

“Yeah, see? S’ fuckin’ weirdchamp, but doesn’t really matter. If whoever’s lying to everyone or whatever isn’t doing it out of malice or to hurt people…then it’s not my fuckin’ business, innit?”

The alien pauses, looking a little concerned. “Someone is lying to everyone?” “Ehh, according to the– what, we’re calling them Observers? One of ‘em said that. But from what I hear, some of ‘em are dicks.”

Zinn narrows his eyes. “You said something about not being able to hear whatever they said, though.” “Mmh. Yeah, fuckin’ redacted to hell n’ back,” Aver sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s not exactly thrilled at being the one who has to decide if it was or wasn’t something important.

“Didn’t Atlas get something with a cut part, a while back?” Aryll’s question makes Aver nod. “Yep. Just a blip, though. This one was pretty much the whole fuckin’ thing. But…”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Pretty much everyone has fuckin’ secrets, yeah? Not my fuckin’ place to drag that shit into the spotlight.”

For all his insistence that it doesn’t really matter, he can’t help but feel uneasy about the situation.

The goat hybrid hums, fingers drumming on the side table next to him. “...Sure, I’ll take your word on that.”

Not when his life is willingly spent in a kitchen, with his friends (and fellow cookie-bakers), Michael, Michael, and Niki. He wanders, sometimes, drawn by the Snowchester Mansion giving a tug to greet new arrivals and offer them cookies.

…Cookies that somehow, along the way, became the currency in this place. Some people went a little…odd here, but frankly, Dream still doesn’t understand why they want to leave.

Outside is misery, pain, and loneliness. Inside is safety, comfort, and people who are there for you. Are some of them there to literally film you and everyone you know, or see how likely you are to be swindled out of your cookies? Sure, of course. Nothing is perfect. But those things are far better than the alternative–that being isolated, miserable, and afraid.

…He’s also found a way to make amends with everyone he hurt–and who hurt him–in here. The Mansion was…a little strange, and the people who stopped by every so often were odder, but–

The thought makes him pause. Ah, that’s where he knows that name from. The Sanctuary people are nice, though he suspects they could quickly become not nice if they wanted to be.

Lee is a sweet kid. He’s only stopped by in person a few times, but those were memorable occasions. It’s nice to hear the curious chatter of a kid, even if Dream was significantly less thrilled about the very unsubtle way that he and everyone else were watched to make sure nothing happened.

Then again, he doesn’t know what it’s like to be a dad or brother. Maybe that’s just how families are.

He hums softly to himself as he busies himself with making cookies. While he’s not positive exactly what Daz’s favorite cookies are, he thinks he remembers it being mentioned once. Dark chocolate and orange shortbread, he’s pretty sure.

Actually, he’s not sure if the guy had come over in person, or if he’s just been talked about by others. It’s not out of the realm of possibility; he’s heard quite a bit about several of the people from the other reality over the years.

Dream and the other Cookie Bearers have remained very happy about the influx of ingredients they otherwise wouldn’t have access to, as well as the high quality cookware and redstone contraptions.

Doing more of what he already had been doing (and what made him happy) in exchange for those is, as far Dream is concerned, more than worth it.

The familiar rhythm of measuring, mixing, and portioning the dough makes him smile a little. It’s a soothing ritual, one he wouldn’t give up for anything.

He makes cookies, and those cookies make people happy. Making people happy makes him happy.

As they bake, it occurs to him that he has no idea how the cookies are going to get to Daz.

He frowns slightly and withdraws his sturdy com to send a message out.

CookieDream: I got an order for Daz? It's pretty much done, but I'm not sure how to send them over. 

DrViolet: shouldn't you be asking whoever ordered them?

CookieDream: it was just a voice

DrViolet: ah. I see.

DrViolet: I'll send someone to get them, then.

That taken care of, Dream starts pulling the ingredients to make the next batch of cookies.

Another shiver goes through Day, this time far more pronounced. Dread sits heavy in his stomach as he asks, “What if–wait, do they know about all of it, about everything I–?” He cuts himself off, breathing picking up a little. Theo immediately grabs his face, forcing his attention to go to him. “Dad. Who or what ever it is, they don’t know you. You’re an idiot and an asshole but you’re still my dad. I’m the one who’s known you over a fuckin’ decade. Even if you can’t fuckin’ trust yourself, trust me. Yeah?”

The reassurance is enough to make the tension in the immortal’s body drain, eyes shutting as he presses his forehead against his eldest son’s shoulder. “...Yeah. Okay. I–I do trust you.” Theo frowns, wings and arms wrapping around him in comfort. “...Dumbass.” Day’s voice is muffled. “We knew that already, though.”

“We did, yes.” Both of them look over at their alien traveling companion, who shrugs a little. “It’s too early to tell how much they do or don’t know. I’m guessing not a lot, given that they told me to manually breathe. Which is funny because I can hold my breath for…quite a while.”

Theo stares blankly at him for a long moment. “...The fuck do you mean by a while?” Vio raises his eyebrows. His tone is a little amused as he replies, “You’ll run out of air long before I do. I’ve talked about the glass shard storms before; do you think it’s safe to breathe much in those?”

Day stares at him in fascination. “...Everything new I learn about what the fuck you are or your home planet adds a new layer to how weird you are.” Vio grins cheerfully. “I know. It’s why I rarely say much; it’s great to see everyone process the new information.”

The youngest in the room huffs a little, letting his dad pull away. “Fuckin’ amazing that you managed to reform anywhere, with how much you like causing chaos–” “Spite, Theo. It was spite. That and, of course, boredom. Both of which you should be familiar with, given you run on one of them.” Day lets out a loud laugh, eyes crinkling as he adds, “And the boredom feeds the spite! He gets bored so he decides to do something stupid, and then he gets caught or scolded, and then he gets mad–” “Fuck you both! What did I do?!” “Do you want a list? I can write one up, just give me a year or two–” “Double fuck you!”

He waits until he’s gotten back home to begin to answer the new question. If Theo is around, he’s not anywhere in earshot.

…Though he’s pretty sure his eldest has been getting slightly better at stealth. It can be hard to judge, sometimes; Theo rarely bothers with being sneaky when he can instead bulldoze his way through whatever was stupid enough to stand in his path.

The flight back had given him time to consider the question. “There’s been a few cases like that,” Day starts with. “The one that comes up the most is someone named Grian. I have no idea why he just seems to show up every so often. If he’s there, we know it’s a more or less peaceful world. Other than that…”

He tries to remember some of the others, though can’t recall anyone else who appears with any sort of frequency in the Dream SMP. Sometimes people who are usually present are missing, but it’s much rarer that the reverse is true.

The question is complicated by what exactly counts as the Dream SMP being an unexpectedly murky issue.

When he, Theo, and Vio get the pull, they don’t always end up in anything Day can definitively say is a server at all. Whatever causes their ender chests to remain static doesn’t seem like it discriminates; the contents have yet to change, no matter how many non-server realities or places that otherwise definitely aren’t the Dream SMP they wind up in.

At this point, all they can do is shrug and call it a weird quirk of the multiverse or executive meddling to make their job marginally easier.

“...I’d count Time, but I try not to potentially insult the entity who controls time and probably reality. We’re still not positive about that, and aren’t willing to stick our nose into their business to find out for sure. None of us are interested in pissing off someone who can unmake everything we know and love.” 

Idly, he raps his knuckles against the oak plank wall he’s passing next to. It’s a familiar superstition borne of a bone-deep terror at the idea of angering the deity. “In the event that they can see everything or are otherwise observing, that was meant as respectfully as possible.”

He shudders at the idea of invoking the wrath of a god who he still suspects created a reality from the tattered remnants of his own admin access.

For just a moment, his unease crests in a way he chalks up to the tangled knot of emotions around everything tied to his first life.

Things are better now, even if he wants to stop being one of the ones who has to shoulder the burden of keeping things that way.

Which is only going to get worse now that he has to try and navigate the idea of teaching Lee code. The idea of leaving any sort of vital education to Lucid makes Day break out in a cold sweat. The idea of leaving such an important part of his youngest son's education in his hands, though, adds near literal hives and roiling nausea to the mix.

Better is not perfect. Remorseful doesn't mean good. Day has sacrificed far too much to risk Lee being hurt in any capacity.

Given that nobody else knows code, that means that Day will have to try to figure out how the hell to teach it to a ten year old. It's not that he resents or even dislikes the thought of teaching his kids; hell, in most cases it serves as a good chance to bond with them.

It's just that code is incredibly complicated. Most of what Day knows is instinctual. Exposure to a wealth of new items, concepts, and needing to figure out how to fix crimes against morality have done a lot to increase his understanding, but…

Not for the first time, he wishes he had a sounding board for this sort of thing.

=========

Wherever it is that Theo is, it looks like some sort of workshop dedicated to bookbinding. The eldest Was-Taken sibling is slowly and methodically assembling a book with lovely, elaborate calligraphy and art.

While he's been caught off guard before, whatever it is he's making seems important enough that his only reaction for several moments is a soft twitch of his wings.

He gently sets his work down once he's at a good stopping point, and gives a long, steady exhale.

The sound makes Perce raise his head curiously. It's clear that he’s the one who did the calligraphy, though the art seems to have been by a third party.

He tilts his head slightly at his eldest brother. "...Something happen?" Theo’s wings ruffle slightly as he says, "Question about if we see people during fuckin’ travels that shouldn't be there. Which, yeah, sometimes. Multiverse is weird n’ whatnot. Still have trouble wrapping my head around how fuckin isolated shit is. SMPza was a shit place, but at least if you walked long enough, you'd end up in a different territory.”

Cosmic outlier cosmic outlier It was SO hard trying to act like we understood the weird stuff there– Yeah but D3 was technically an admin like, what, ten times over? Territory management, our beloathed.

“Dad was only admin ‘cause I didn’t want to deal with that shit. Besides, s’not the same as admins like Lucid is. Or…Lee, apparently,” Theo adds, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Perce, who at this point is used to only hearing half of a conversation, picks up on the general direction that the Fates are going in. “Or Daz,” he points out. Theo snaps his fingers and points at him. “Yeah, him too. Fuckin’ weird that he’s another one. Makes me wonder…” His thoughts trail off, brow creasing as he mentally goes back over when he had first met the now-obnoxiously bubbly Tommy.

Between what Daz had said and how the local Dream had acted, Theo now suspects that the later had not just known about Daz’s capacity for being an admin, but had needed it, somehow.

He hadn’t just been afraid, he had been terrified to the point of tears.

At the time, Theo had written it off as another instance of the unhealthy, unhinged obsession that has cropped up more often than he cared to dwell on during his traveling.

He mutters, mostly to himself, “Dunno why they aren’t both being trained, seems fuckin’ obvious.”

There’s a noise of disagreement from Perce, who flicks his wings slightly. “Too many cooks can fuck things up, especially if those cooks ever disagree. That’s even before you get into how easily things can get messed up, or that Daz can be talked into just about anything.”

But he’s a golden retriever! He just wants to make everyone happy! Yeah, exactly. If someone seemed upset enough, he’d go along with whatever they wanted him to do He’d summon infinite items for everyone He’d make it rain candy because that seemed like a thing people might like He’s not THAT dumb– Who have YOU been watching? He’s an idiot. Idiot is harsh. He’s just a bit… He’s got a different kind of smart, stop being mean–

“If you’re all gonna bicker about the guy, do it more fuckin’ quietly,” Theo says, rolling his eyes at the chorus of grumbled not-quite apologies from the cluster of voices in his head.

Or…the old voices, anyway. He’s still not sure what the deal is with the new ones.

His little brother snorts softly, hiding a grin at the exasperated annoyance Theo has for the Fates.

Which just makes him point threateningly, but otherwise not mention it. “People who aren’t usually part of the Dream SMP…the fuck is your criteria for that, anyway? If you mean fuckin’ baseline, we all see tons of fuckin’ worlds with oodles n’ oodles more people in ‘em. Servers aren’t always a thing, or sometimes they’re weird as shit. Other times people’re just fuckin’...there. One dude pops up every so often, uhh…Wheat or Bran or something like that. Flown with a few of ‘em ‘cause sometimes they have fuckin’ wings, usually help him pull off a prank or two, have acted as a middleman for Caper n’ Spark to sell some of them the schematics for glitter TnT n’ for him to sell them some shit I don’t remember the purpose of. Always a new one, always too much technical shit for my taste.”

He racks his brain for other instances of repeated but non-baseline players, but draws a blank. Perce points out, “Haven’t there been competition worlds?”

Tournament worlds are fun! Vio subbing in for a last minute injury was amazing– I still can’t believe they looked at THAT bastard, then at Day and Theo, and really thought he’d be the least OP out of all of us–

“First of all, we all fuckin’ agreed that he needed a world to let off steam. Second of all, he is not more fuckin’ OP than me–” “Dunno, he sure seems to kick your ass a lot–” Theo abruptly grabs a thick rubber pad and chucks it at his little brother, who leans out of the way of it.

Smugly, Perce tells him, “You’re too obvious. Gotta be faster if you want to win against the reigning king of manhunts–” “Oh, I’ll show you fuckin’ fast–!”

Theo launches himself over the table, but his little brother is already darting away and out the door of their joint workshop. Both of them sport wide, toothy grins that make it clear they’re using the bickering as an excuse to take part in the familiar bonding ritual of mostly friendly fratricide.

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

The last of the trio pauses in the act of reading out loud. He, along with Aver, are in Aver’s workroom. A sleeveless navy hoodie is being embroidered with dozens of tiny, shimmering stars in shades of silvery white and light blue.

There’s a noise of curiosity from Aver, but he doesn’t look up from the tiny, sure stitches he’s making. It’s not common that he does this sort of work himself any more, but Khons refused to let anyone but Aver have the thread spun from his wool.

Sure, the finished piece will be for Aster, and the thread was offered freely to him as a sign of Khons and Alephs’ friendship. Those didn’t magically erase his trauma.

Even now, Aver is always extremely careful to return any excess and to secure it in the meantime.

It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t think anyone would be stupid or greedy enough to take it even as a joke; the fact is that Khons, and by extension Aleph, have had issues with it being stolen in the past.

Aver, despite his fondness for causing light to moderate headaches, does genuinely want to help people learn to overcome, or at least learn to live with, the strife and misery that led them to end up in Sanctuary.

For all that Lucid is its admin, and all that the T3 are its shepherds, Aver will always be one of those who decided to dig his heels in to make it a home instead of a living hellscape.

The leader of that charge has been quiet for a few moments before he speaks again. “...A question about non-baseline people who show up in the Dream SMP,” he murmurs, looking thoughtful.

Aver is more than familiar with the faint crease of his brow, slightly narrowed eyes, and idle flicks of his tail.

His not-dad is trying to figure something out, but this is one of the rare times when he has no idea what he’s tripped up on.

“Talk to me, big man. You know I’m a good fuckin’ sounding board.” “...It feels like a weird question,” Vio says slowly, that furrow increasing.

“...Seems fuckin’ normal to me? Or not any weirder than any of the others you’ve mentioned.” “Yeah, exactly. I don’t understand why it feels so off.”

Aver hums, his stitching pausing for a few moments. Looking up at Vio without moving his head, he points out, “Might be weird eldritch radar. Dunno what you’d be picking up. God vibes?”

Vio visibly grimaces at the idea. “I don’t want to meddle in the affairs of the divine. I’ve heard enough horror stories from Theo to want nothing to do with any of that.” “Maybe you’re getting scoped out to be a fuckin’ prophet or some shit,” Aver says, mostly to see the way his not-dad’s face contorts in absolute horror.

If the alien had fur, Aver has no doubt it would be standing on end. As it is, he shudders violently. “Nope, no, do not tempt the universe with that sort of talk–” “Not that fuckin’ big of a deal, some of them are chill–” “Your experiences are not only not universal, but entirely unhelpful. Just because Lady Death looks kindly on you–” “Hey, Mumza is pog! Fuckin’ loves hearing about you, too, n’ is still bummed she can’t talk to you directly–”

“I wanted to molt a dozen times in a row being near Philza when he was used as her vessel. I don’t want to revisit that experience. I didn’t even know I could break out in hives, but damn if that isn’t what happened!”

Aver rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ drama queen. For someone who talks to gods semi-regularly, you’re awfully fuckin’ anti-divine.” “I’m not against divinity, because I’m not suicidal, I just want to remove every layer of my skin and disinfect it in lava by being near them. My body evidently decided that gods are too close to magic, which I am allergic to.”

“Your fatal fuckin’ flaw. That, or being a stubborn bastard.” Vio’s eyes narrow, and he points a finger at him. “Pot, kettle. You wouldn’t keep calling me your dad if you weren’t just as bad–” “Not-dad, get it right,” Aver chirps smugly.

“Fuck you,” Vio retorts flatly. Aver’s smugness only grows as he says, “Not my fault you can’t remember the joke.” “I’m physically incapable of forgetting the joke without severe memory loss, because Day and Theo take every possible chance to tell everyone we meet about it!”

The reminder makes Aver cackle with laughter. “Yeah, Theo thinks it’s fuckin’ hysterical. Can’t blame him there, ‘cause it is. N’ now you have to vanish for the week around fuckin’ Father’s Day, otherwise the whole fuckin’ server lines up to dunk on you.”

The immortal shrugs a little. “There have been a few. The multiverse is a vast and inexplicable place; there have been weirder things out there. It’s just that they’re usually well adjusted enough that they don’t need to come back here.”

Dream makes a face at Day’s answer. “I’m aware you’re being an asshole.” “Oh, good, I was worried that it wasn’t clear enough. I can never be sure how much you catch on to,” Day replies. He gets a glare from his sort of more or less younger self. “You know damn well I’m not an idiot–” “I mean,” Day interrupts, sucking air in through his teeth, “you kind of are, though. That’s been proven a few times over, so…”

“To answer the question,” Dream says, arms folding over his chest, “I’ve met the occasional one that comes here, but I’ve known about them from the first one they ran into. I get shown the weird worlds for the express purpose of the T3 finding my horror at the number of worlds where it’s just–nonsense! Fucking nonsense, what even were some of those?!”

Day looks smug at the frustration. “If we have to suffer, you do too. Fem Dreams aren’t necessarily weird, by the way–it’s just that there tend to be other things that go along with that. Like the one where she spoke only in rhymes, or the one where everyone had counters above their heads. The things being counted were seemingly random. I hated that one.”

“Day says that because his counter was for times he was an asshole. Theo realized it first and proceeded to almost pass out laughing because of it, from what I hear,” Dream says, more than a little smug. Day glares at him. “The counter was for times people were scared of me, actually.” “Scared of you because you were an asshole, yeah.”

“I swear to fucking Prime–” Dream continues, undeterred by the hissed words, “Vio’s was the number of times he considered the merits of just killing everyone instead of figuring out what the fuck they were meant to do. I’ve been told it got distressingly close to triple digits. Theo was how many times he tried to find the local Purpled, also a very high number.”

A red-orange cat winds himself around Day’s ankles, meowing loudly. He immediately bends down to scratch at the cat’s ears, smiling a little. “Yeah, yeah, the cats are pretty cute. Shame about their owner. Thanks.” He gets loud purring in response and a long-suffering sigh from Dream.

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

Much like Day and Dream Prime had been, Vio and Purpled Prime are in the same location.

It’s an office of some sort, and a fairly nice one at that. It seems like it’s Purpled’s, given the presence of various trinkets, a dog bed, and DogChamp. That’s clearly not Hero on the bed, because the dog gives no indication he heard anything–nor is he being unnerving in some way.

Purpled, much like Tommy, appears older and has a slightly different wardrobe. His hoodie is still the same bright purple, but the make is different than it was when he was younger and features a large UFO embroidered on the back.

They glance at each other, Purpled raising his eyebrows a bit. Vio sighs softly and answers first. “Not unless you count other versions of us. Or…the people I knew on my home planet. I didn’t exactly come here the usual way–no ship for me. Not all aliens, nor even all Purpleds, can be vaguely eldritch.”

“And thank fuck for that,” Purpled says, a little amused. “I met a lot of aliens. I was a mercenary even before I crashed here in the UFO. Pissed that baseline involves it getting blown up, but hey–the Quackity from here regretted his attempt. Amazing that he got exactly what he wanted–a legacy. Monkey’s paw here just made that legacy that Quackity’s very painful death is why everything became better. The power of spite, and especially Vio’s spite, isn’t to be underestimated.”

Vio scoffs softly. “You say that as if you weren’t right there, making him suffer and weren’t right there with the Bench Trio for the original Reformation Team.” “Never said I wasn’t. Yours is just impressive, when it gets activated. Makes sense why Tommy sees you as a dad,” the more humanoid of the two aliens retorts. Vio rolls his eyes at it. “You know damn well the joke is that I’m his not-dad and why I don’t just admit he and the other two are basically just my sons at this point.”

“Right,” Purpled says, grinning, “it’s out of spite.” The glare that gets would make most pause, but Purpled only grins more at it. He continues, “Spite and a frankly baffling hero complex that you’ve managed to develop. It was very funny to see everyone who was used to the old you get used to this you. Pretty sure Quizzy stopped breathing at one point.”

The answer to that is just shy of deadpan. “He did, yes. It took Atlas insisting that I was fine and not about to commit a murder for him to start breathing again. Caul kept asking when I went and developed a conscience–they still do, actually. Then Jacobs…” the name is said with a curious amount of disdain, but just gets a sigh from his alternate self.

The swapped world’s version of Karl is just as caustic and snarky as Vio, which meant they got along like a house on fire. They had somehow become friends long before Vio ended up in what eventually became Sanctuary, just…antagonistic ones. They had a long-standing habit of sending each other coffee strong enough that nobody else could stomach it and assorted junk of usefulness that depended entirely on how much they had pissed each other off recently.

Most people stopped betting on what the contents of the gift baskets were after it had been proven that Vio not only knew, he started rigging the bets so either nobody won or one of his not-sons won.