The Tale | Dream SMP

II - Chapter Thirty-Three

"Well this place is real, you needn't fret,
With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret,
It's a very big and not blown up L'Manberg."

Part 2 -- The Shift

Tommy crouched down next to the bright red flower and examined the bee perched atop of its petals. There was something surreal about being able to watch nature do its thing at so close up. Bees weren't his favourite, but he couldn't say that he hated them, either.

Living life one step at a time, taking in the small moments and being able to appreciate them, was amazing. Tommy had come to the Dream SMP to get away from the city and do something productive with his life, but after dying --- twice --- he had begun to stop and acknowledge the world around him.

In a way, it slowed time down. Tommy felt like he could get more out of living each day, which was good, because he had a feeling that he had developed a phobia of death. Every time he thought of the two encounters he had with it, his body went cold and rigid.

Thanatophobia. That was the name Dream had given it when Tommy talked to him about it. A big word that Tommy never thought would apply to him.

It felt nice to be able to freely talk with Dream again. Even if Dream had killed him twice, Dream had also revived him twice. He was a cool guy. Tommy knew he could learn a lot from him if he paid attention.

Half a month had passed since he had won independence for L'Manberg, and that half a month had been the most happy and content Tommy had ever been with his life. DreamXD had said that he only had one life left --- which seemed fair, since you were only supposed to have one life.

You'd think that having died twice before would make him less scared, but nooo.

"Tommy!"

Tommy turned at the sound of his name to see Tubbo running through the field towards him, a wide grin on his face. "Tubbo? Wait, wait, Tubbo!"

The boy skidded to a halt in front of Tommy, his eyes wide as he stared down at the bee that had somehow not been frightened by the loud noises. "A bee," he gasped.

Tommy fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, a bee. And I thought all that running would scare it away."

Tubbo grinned broadly as he sat down across from Tommy, still staring at the insect. "No way. Bees love me! I'm a bee whisperer, Tommy."

"Eh... I don't think those exist, Tubbo."

"They do now."

Tommy watched as the bee fluttered its tiny iridescent wings and took lift, flying up into the air. Pollen fell down from its legs and behind, a yellow shower of allergies.

"So beautiful," Tubbo sighed.

"What do you say to people who are allergic to pollen?" Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tubbo pursed his lips. "Well... they're allergic to the pollen, not the bees, right? I just say that I'm sorry for their allergens."

"You're kidding."

"Am I?"

Tommy blinked as the sun came out from behind the clouds, blinding him. He rubbed his eyes and glared at the sky. "We should probably be heading back. Wilbur said he had a good idea earlier and he wanted only us to hear it. If we don't get back in time he's probably going to throw something at us. Or start singing. Or both."

"His singing is good though," his friend said thoughtfully. "'He's in your bed and I'm in your---'"

"Come on," Tommy said, cutting him off. He grabbed Tubbo's arm and helped him up to his feet. "At least Wilbur sings better than you."

***

They found Wilbur staring at the framed Declaration of Independance, fiddling with a quill in his hand. He looked like a man with lots on his mind, someone who couldn't be bothered with small things like bee-watching. His hair was crazy as ever, brushed over one eye. He wore his L'Manberg uniform like usual, but with the new addition of a bright yellow flower in the chest pocket, probably from Nihachu.

"You two are finally here," Wilbur said as they stepped through the doorway of the caravan. "Good, good. I think we need an election."

Tommy's eyebrows disappeared behind his fringe. "An election?"

"Yes, an election," Wilbur said impatiently. "I feel bad that I made myself president without taking into account how the nation feels, and because a president runs for his people, I must let the people take vote."

"What if you don't win?" Tubbo asked.

"That's why we're closing the ballots before anyone else can run," Wilbur said, tapping his pen on the back of his hand, leaving pale ink splotches on his skin. "I will be the only one running, which means that I will win."

If possible, Tommy's eyebrows went even higher. "What happened to 'for the people?'"

"This is for the people," Wilbur explained. "Think about it, Tommy. Who else can run a nation? Who else can think for everyone and make sure that only good comes to L'Manberg? It would be best if I won."

Tommy couldn't dispute that. Wilbur was the best leader he had ever seen, even if the only other leader he had ever seen was Dream.

Tubbo fidgeted nervously, then spoke up. "Well... politics isn't really my thing, so I'm going to go check on my dock system. Jack told me that Eret messed with it. I just want to make sure that it's okay."

Wilbur nodded distractedly. "Sure, sure, you go do that. Tommy, let's talk about our campaign."

Tommy glanced over at Tubbo as he left, closing the door behind him, before turning back to Wilbur. "So, uh, why do we need a campaign if we're going to be the only ones running?"

"We have to at least try, right?" Wilbur said. "So a campaign. Ideas on a name?"

"POG2020," Tommy said without hesitation.

The man laughed. "Really? Sounds great. With a name like this, how could we not win?"

At least he still has a sense of humor.

Wilbur counted on his fingers, debating. "We'll hold the election in a couple of days. Find the quietest corner possible and just hide it there. Don't tell anyone about this, okay? And find Tubbo. Make sure he knows to keep quiet as well."

"Alright, Wilbur," Tommy said. "I will."

He agreed with Wilbur that an election would probably be good, but the way that Wilbur was going around doing it just didn't feel right. None of it did. Even Tubbo knew, and he had been smart enough to make a speedy retreat.

It wasn't like him to be a pessimist, but he had a feeling that something was about to go wrong.