Dream SMP Headcanons and Oneshots

Enter The Void

TW! Drinking, swearing, blood

Schlatt woke up in the dark void. His chest still burned from the heart attack he just suffered. He gripped his shirt right above his chest and stood up. "Ah fucking hell. Where am I now?" He asked the void. He looked around and saw a few crates sitting around a slightly bigger crate. Squinting, he stumbled his way over there, where Spanish music was blasting from. Eventually, he was staring directly at Mexican Dream's mask and right then, he knew exactly where he was.

"AYYYYE WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE, FOOL?! SURELY I'M NOT STUCK WITH YOU IN HERE?!?!"

Schlatt squeezed his eyes shut and sighed, "Shut the fuck up. Where is the alcohol?"

Mexican Dream was about to say something before a bottle or two of whiskey showed up on the crate. Schlatt didn't question it and got straight to drinking.

A few hours later in afterlife time, or a half hour later in real time, Wilbur showed up in the void. He was knelt over, clutching his stomach that was bleeding red. He had just felt the sword plunge into him by Philza's hand. Wilbur stood up shakily and looked around. "What the fuck...?" He whispered as he made direct eye contact with Schlatt. The two men screwed their faces in disgust.

Mexican Dream yelled to Wilbur, "AYE MAN, GET OVER IT, YOUR DEAD, AND WE HAVE LIQUORRRRRR!!"

Wilbur hobbled over to the crates, still clutching his stomach. He sat down on the only empty one, not acknowledging Schlatt. A bottle of red wine appeared and the three of them started drinking heavily.

After they were adequately drunk, Schlatt and Wilbur got to...catching up? It was more disingenuous and snarky than two old friends would act.

"So who did you in, pretty boy?" Schlatt's speech was getting more and more slurred. Guess the afterlife served the strong shit.

Wilbur ran his hand back through his hair. He had taken his beanie off at some point. "My old man did. Philza fucking Minecraft. But to be fair, I did ask him to."

Schlatt snorted. "So that's what it meant." The half ram knew he had to elaborate when the young man was giving him a look. "When Phil and I used to actually talk to each other, I asked him to look after Tubbo, my son, for me. To raise him alongside you and your brothers." Schlatt let out a series of giggles when looking back on the memory. "After he and I talked that day, apparently someone told him that he would be his own creation's downfall. Guess they were talking about you after all, you cheap motherfucker."

Wilbur chewed his bottom lip between his teeth before taking another drink. "I'm a cheap motherfucker? Then why the hell did you just dump your own kid on my dad? You couldn't raise someone and look after yourself, could you?"

Schlatt leaned his head back and sighed. "I have a heart, fucker."

Wilbur rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure you do, buddy." His tone was laced with sarcasm.

Schlatt looked Wilbur dead in his eyes. "Why are you here anyways? I died, you could've had L'manberg back."

Wilbur returned the look, completely serious. "It wasn't L'manberg, Schlatt. Not after you tainted it with your bullshit. It needed to go up in flames."

Schlatt lost most of the harshness in his tone. "Did you really blow up L'manberg?" Then it came right back as he reached across the crate and grabbed a fist full of Wilbur's trench coat. "Did you really fucking blow up L'manberg?!"

Wilbur snarled back at the half ram clenching his coat. "Yeah, so what if I fucking did?! You aren't coming back to it anytime soon!"

Schlatt huffed and sat back in his seat. "So what the hell did I die for? For you to be caught up in your own selfish ways? For you to die by your father's hand?"

Wilbur didn't answer. He was too busy fixing his trench coat. Schlatt let go of the argument, but couldn't stop rolling over the questions in his mind.

Did I really die for nothing?