Chapter Text
Dream and Fundy stand hand in hand atop the grassy hill. Pleasant beams of sunlight shine down on them, reflecting against the ritual runes that surround them on the ground.
The two of them are going to die today. It’s certainly not the first time they’ve died, and it won’t be the last, but still. Their fingers interlock, and they grip each other just a bit tighter.
The whole crew has had a lot of time (years and years and years years years neverending-) to learn things. The seven of them know more magic than most people will ever get to in their lives. Dream and Fundy, especially, have taken advantage of this. Liches are supposed to be unpredictable forces of malice, losing all humanity in exchange for power, but the two of them know that’s only because no one has ever done it right before.
The runes activate with a blinding glow. Though they prepared for this all they could, they can’t help but scream at the sensation of their souls being torn from their bodies. The singular experience of every atom in their bodies being shaped into a matter new.
A couple agonizing seconds, and just like that, it’s over. A figure scrambles up the hill from where they were watching at a safe distance. Wilbur is at their sides in seconds, nearly tripping over where Dream and Fundy’s corpses lay lifeless on the ground, and nervously stares at the two newborn liches hovering above.
“You, uh, you guys good?” Wilbur asks, reluctant in a way he doesn’t even bother trying to hide. “Y-You’re not feeling evil or anything…?”
There’s a beat of silence, before Fundy’s voice echos out, “I have the sudden urge to pour my milk before my cereal.” Immediately followed by Dream snorting and playfully hitting his arm.
Relief instantly floods Wilbur’s face. “Damn, guess you did turn evil. We’ll have to- to kill you both then,” he laughs. “I’m- no, okay, legitimately, I’m so glad you guys are okay. That’s- please promise this is last time you’re performing necromancy rituals on yourselves? You’re both doing all my chores for the next two cycles, I swear to the gods.”
And the thing is, Dream and Fundy can feel it. Of course know Wilbur loves them dearly, but this is different. When he talks, when his voice breaks and he looks at them with worry, they can feel it resonating within their souls. Warmth and power surrounds them, tugging at their cores and keeping them present. The liches hold hands again, and everything in the world fits into a perfect clarity.
It’s unheard of, for a lich to retain their sanity, but the two of them have had decades to perfect their craft. Dream and Fundy are the first liches to bind their souls to their bonds. Their love for their family, and most of all, their love for each other both feeding their magic and keeping them stable.
They both felt bad for worrying Wilbur like that, and they were not looking forward to the reactions of the rest of the crew, but they needed to do this. The Hunger was getting closer to catching them every cycle. They need more power, more time, and lichdom would give them that even if they died for that year.
“I still can’t believe… how were you two so confident that would work?”
“Oh, c’mon, you’ve seen the all-nighters we pulled researching this. We quadruple checked every aspect of the spell.”
“Yeah, dad. we’re us, have a little faith, man.”
(Dream and Fundy turn to each other, and they know. deep down, some cheesy little part of both of them just believed their family’s bonds would be enough to keep them alive. And it was, it is.)