A Prince, Long Forgotten (Discontinued)

The Camarvan

A few days had passed since the boys escaped the tunnels and gained a new companion. In that time, they had traveled several miles, unsure of where they would end up. The trio of humans (plus one cow) knew they needed to find a place to settle, away from the tunnel, in case an enemy pursuer stumbled across it. But, they couldn't risk being followed by an enemy.

Wilbur, unsure of which direction to head, left it to chance. He'd found branches of three types of trees: Birch, oak, and spruce. He tied them together in a bundle before looking at his brothers. "I'm going to toss this in the air. If it lands spruce side up, we go North. If it lands birch side up, we head East. And if it lands on oak, then we head West." The boys nodded and watched as Wilbur launched the bundle of sticks into the air. The bundle seemed to float in the air before it hurtled towards the dirt path they stood upon. The sticks landed with a thud, bouncing several times before landing spruce side up. "Looks like we're heading North, boys!"

They set off, forging their path through the thick trees of the forest around them. They marched through the foliage, laughing and chatting as they went. To keep up morale, Wilbur had begun improvising songs about whatever came to mind. The three boys boisterously sang, forgetting they were on the run and forgetting they were now technically homeless. Tommy and Tubbo would take turns riding on the back of Henry, who didn't seem to mind the weight of the 8-year-old boys. As late afternoons drew upon them, they would make makeshift camps. No one knew how to set up the tent that Philza had packed in Wilbur's bag, so they opted to lay out under the stars, using their bags (or Henry in the case of Tommy) as a pillow.

The morning of their fifth day of travel started like any other day. Wilbur would wake up before Tommy and Tubbo to scout for food for that evening. However, unlike most mornings, Wilbur didn't just find food. As he stumbled through the foliage, cursing as thin branches and thorns clawed at his bare ankles, something metallic glinting in the early morning sunlight caught his eye. Raising his hand to block the shimmering light from blinding him, Wilbur cautiously made his way towards the unknown object. Pushing aside a low-hanging branch, Wilbur let his jaw drop.

There, in the center of a clearing, stood a sizeable metallic contraption. Wilbur had read of machines from the old world. Surely this was one of them. He stepped into the clearing towards the rusted and vine-covered vehicle. As he got closer, he recognized the vehicle as a Camarvan. Something Phil had told him about ages ago. Despite these contraptions being nearly a century old, this particular specimen seemed relatively intact, even after being exposed to the elements for as long as it had been. Wilbur slowly made his way around the camarvan, taking in every detail. Running his hand across the rusted surface, Wilbur spotted what looked like hinges and a handle. He hesitated before gripping the handle and tugging against it. Once. Twice. Three times before, the rusted lock gave way, causing the door to swing open unexpectedly.

The space within the camarvan was hot, the heat having been trapped inside the oven-like room. However uncomfortable the sweltering heat was in the day, it could be life-saving at night, especially as Summer was drawing to a close, soon to be overtaken by Autumn. Wilbur stepped inside, the wooden floor creaking beneath his weight, but not to the point of breaking. Sighing in relief, Wilbur explored the interior, scavenging for anything useful. Searching through the cupboards, he found expired foods that could potentially be the home of trillions of diseases. He quickly disposed of those. Next came the closet. Throwing the door open, he found several odd items, including an old disk with the words "Hamilton" written across the surface of its case. Shrugging, he set the disk aside, digging through the closet.

Several minutes later, and Wilbur had arranged his treasures out on the dusty countertop. The Hamilton disk, some musty blankets, a nearly brand new guitar, several books on chemistry and potion-making, and finally, a battery-powered CD player (as the box it came in called it). Wilbur smiled, gazing down at his discoveries. He had no idea what some of these things were, but he couldn't wait to show Tommy and Tubbo. "Oh shit!" He should have gone back for them by now. Grabbing one of the books, Wilbur ran for the door.

He bolted out across the field, back the way he'd come. As he ran, he made a mental map of his surroundings. He knew he had to bring his brothers to the camarvan. It felt... it felt safe. Safer than he could have hoped for. It was a chance to start over. They could stay in the clearing along with the camarvan. There was a pond with clean water, and they wouldn't have to be exposed to the elements thanks to the van. This place... this would be their new home.

•

TW Mentions of Torture/Physical Harm

Phil slumped against the rough brick wall; his head hung between his shoulders. Phil's wrists ached as they rubbed against the metal clamps above his head. His remaining wing lay limply from his back. The once pristine and shiny feathers were now dull and damaged. His restraints prevented him from preening the fragile limb. The steady dripping of water falling from the ceiling and hitting the stone floor was maddening. However, Philza had a smile on his face. Despite his predicament, he knew he'd succeeded in protecting his family. Dream could kill him, but at least his boys were safe.

Footsteps echoed down the hall, growing steadily louder before stopping in front of his cell door. The sound of the door unlocking caused Phil to snap his head up, meeting the cold, lifeless gaze of the masked dreamon. If looks could kill, Dream would have been long dead. Phil scowled, his brows furrowed in anger as Dream leisurely strolled into the room. "Good morning, Philza." If it weren't for the venom lacing every word, it would have been a pleasant greeting.

Phil rolled his eyes, "Skip the formalities, Dream. Let's get this over with."

Dream rolled his eyes before stepping closer to Phil. Without warning, Dream punched Phil in the gut, causing the man to grunt and cough from the sudden pain. "You're the one who wanted to skip to the good part... at least try to endure it." Dream spat, smirking beneath his mask as Phil attempted to catch his breath. "Now. Let's try this again, shall we?" Dream grabbed Phil's chin, forcing his face upwards, "Where is the Rubrum Prince!"

Phil stared blankly up at Dream, "I already told you. I don't know! Get your hands off me!" Phil jerked his face away from Dream, yelping as Dream punched him again.

A feral growl emanated from within Dream's chest, "We're just going to keep doing this, huh?" Dream grabbed Phil by the throat, pinning him against the brick wall. "Do I have to sharpen my blades for you, Philza? Or are you going to stop being difficult?" Phil glared up into the eyes of Dream's mask before slamming his knee up into Dream's chest. Dream grunted but didn't let loose his grip on Phil's neck. "Sounds like we're doing this the hard way then...." Dream released Phil, who took quick gulps of air, his breath rattling in his chest as he began to cough. Dream opened the door, allowing a hooded individual into the room, pulling with them a cart. Murderous tools lay across the surface of the metallic surface of the cart. Selecting a particularly sharp-looking dagger, Dream turned again towards Phil. "I'll ask one more time."

Dream stalked back to Phil, tracing the tip of the blade over Phil's skin. He added a little pressure, letting the point bite into the man's skin, a little blood beading from the cut. "Where. Is. The boy?"

Word Count: 1,369