Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chayanne woke up with a start. He’d had a nightmare about running through endless snow fields, passing out just before he reached a house. Chayanne could still feel the cold deep in his bones from his night terror. He shivered and curled further in on himself, the blankets in his bed warming up only his flesh, not helping the bone-deep chill that came from his mysterious dream. “Estoy frío…” he mumbled, wrapping the blankets even tighter around himself.

Chayanne must've fallen asleep like that, because next he knew, a warm hand rested on his shoulder, the stark contrast between its heat and Chayanne’s cold waking the child. He grumbled and shifted, causing the person above him to gasp. “Heh?” They exclaimed, shock evident in their tone. The hand removed itself from Chayanne's shoulder, the child immediately missing the warmth, and the person left, calling for another person to come. 

Who was that? Chayanne didn't know anyone with that voice. Had he been kidnaped? He shot up quickly, his eyes wide, the charcoal black sclera and soulfire blue irises scanning the room Chayanne had woken up in. It was wooden and minimally furnished, only the bed he was on, a nightstand, and a red curtain over the window.

Chayanne stretched out and stood up. He was wearing different clothes than his typical bed shirt. Instead of an oversized white t-shirt, Chayanne was wearing a dark robe that swamped him in fuzzy grey cloth, so long it trailed on the floor. Chayanne walked (read: stumbledーthe cloak was really annoying to walk in) to the window, pushing the curtains away and climbing up, sitting semi precariously on the sill which jutted out a few inches from the wall.

Outside the window were never ending fields of snow, much like the ones that he’d run through in his dream. Had that really been a dream, though? Like, he’d ended up in a house he’d never seen before (maybe the one from his “dream”?) and outside that house was an unending expanse of white (like the fields in the “nightmare”). Hmm…

“Oh, ‘ello mate! You’re awake!” Called a shockingly familiar voice, and Chayanne turned away from the lightly falling snow outside to the doorway where his papa Phil stood, smiling. He jumped off the windowsill, tripping over his robe and falling to the floor, his robe softening the already short fall enough that it didn’t hurt. “Ooh, are you alright, mate?” Papa Phil asked, helping him stand up.

Chayanne nodded and signed, ‘I’m alright, the robe caught my fall.’ Papa Phil just looked at him and blinked. He looked confused.

“Er, that sign language is different from what I know, sorry,” he apologised, looking genuinely sorry. But, last Chayanne knew (which was literally yesterday, might he add), his Papa Phil did know Los Signos de la Isla Quesadilla. What had happened?

Chayanne went to grab his knapsack off of his back, but remembered that it wasn’t there and started panicking. He didn’t have his signs, snacks, or weapons! He started frantically searching the room hoping that it, along with his duck float, was somewhere in the room. “Hey, are you  alright? You look panicked.”

Chayanne shook his head and sat down, defeated. The knapsack wasn’t here. He really wanted to explain, but speaking seemed even more intimidating now than it usually did. Phil crouched down in front of him, grabbing his hand and holding it. “Can you tell me what happened? Maybe I can help,” he offered, but Chayanne just shook his head, the lump in his throat and heavy tongue stopping him from speaking. “Can you not speak? I know you were using some sort of sign earlier.”

Chayanne shook his head and mouthed ‘I can speak sometimes, not right now,’ hoping that Papa Phil could lipread well enough to get it. Thankfully, luck seemed to be on his side and Phil nodded, understanding.

“Okay. Would you like a notebook or something to write in?” Chayanne nodded vigorously, the lump in his throat easing. He still didn’t wanna talk though, Papa Phil was acting kinda weird today; not knowing SIQ; not knowing about Chayanne’s aversion to speaking… Chayanne didn’t trust that this was Phil.

Chapter Text

Sunny broke the surface of the freezing water with loud splashing and broken gasps for air.

How the fuck had they ended up here? She had been sleeping peacefully in her bed and then woke up here, in the middle of some body of water — she didn’t know which exactly — that was frozen over, the areas closest to the shore completely covered by a thin layer of ice. Spelling of ice, Sunny was pretty sure that they would slip and fall if she tried to stand and walk on the area of ice she had pulled themself onto, her t-shirt, shorts, and pretty much every part of her body absolutely drenched and freezing . 

The ice was in her bones, Sunny was 120% sure. They couldn’t even shiver anymore. Their head was throbbing with a headache that probably went past just her brain. She really hoped this was a dream…

—

Tubbo left the attic in his cabin in Snowchester, waving goodbye to his son Michael and climbing down the ladder with a smile.

Today had been a good day, mainly just checking up on Foolish’s progress with the mansion and playing with Michael. It had been ages since the now 19-year-old (when had that happened, what the fuck?) had gotten to live out such a sickeningly domestic day like this that went by without any hitches. It really was the dream, huh?

The goat-hybrid grabbed his fur coat from the coat rack, throwing it on and buttoning it as he left the door. He ran down to the dock, barely giving a second glance to the world around him, mostly focused on the rowboat that he planned to use to get down to Las Nevadas for his job at McPuffy’s.

That was, until he saw an unmoving, humanoid form on the ice out of the corner of his eye. Now, Tubbo may be known for being badass, known for his nukes, known for his apparent apathy, but he wasn’t a monster . That being said, he ran over to the small, seemingly lifeless form that lay half on the thin ice coating the surface of this area of the ocean and half dangling in said ocean, and hastily pulled it onto land.

The person was small, presumably a child, with brown hair and blond highlights, much like how Tubbo’s had been during Manburg and his presidency. They were wearing a white t-shirt that said “My pa hit me.” and cargo shorts, as well as a pair of sunglasses and a pink crown that somehow had stayed on their head despite them having been presumably thrashing in the ocean before washing ashore.

They looked like a girl, but Tubbo knew not to assume gender based on appearance. After all, Ranboo had looked like a boy at first, but they had said they didn’t understand or like gender and prefer they/them pronouns. So, yeah, Tubbo wouldn’t make assumptions. 

Tubbo shook his head, as if the action would physically wipe his thoughts from his head and help him focus. This kid was freezing wet , for Prime’s sake! Uh- uh-! What should he do? How does one help a child who has hypothermia?!

Tubbo’s hands flapped as he panicked, feeling that familiar panic attack tension and mindset creeping in. He heard Puffy’s voice sound in his head, giving him grounding techniques. In, two, three, four; out, two, three, four. Inhale; exhale. What was another technique? 54321, was one, right?

Yeah, it was. Five things he can see… Ocean, sky, snow, boat, child. Four things he can hear: waves, seagulls, uh… his heartbeat, and… Tubbo supposes he might be able to hear his breathing as well. Three things he can feel. His hair on his face, the odd numbness of his burn scars, and the fur of his coat on his neck. Two things he could smell were the salty sea and his own cologne and one thing he could taste was… he couldn’t actually taste anything. 

That was better, Tubbo was much calmer now. So, what could he do about this kid? Well, he didn’t know how to cure hypothermia, so he should probably get outside help from someone who would. That prompted him to think: who would know about curing frozen children? Maybe Phil, but Tubbo didn’t particularly have a very good relationship with him. Maybe Puffy would know. She was a doctor, a therapist.

Okay, long-term plan acquired, now to make a play-by-play. Step one: put the kid in the boat. Step two: take them to McPuffy’s. Step three: explain the situation to his manager and ask for help. Step four: go from there. 

Phew, now that he had a plan, Tubbo felt much more relaxed and put together. Now to Follow through.