Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In a world where everyone chooses sides, no one has ever chosen Ranboo’s.

January is cold, but the snowy tundra makes the winter months nearly unbearable. It doesn’t help that Tubbo lives in a snowy taiga and Tommy lives in the one place he’s been consistently avoiding for months — since L’Manberg became L’Manhole. His own home is less than optional if he wants his friends to come out alive. Leaving him with either snow or… deadlier snow to choose from when spending time with his friends.

(Not that either of them can know he lives right next to Techno. Nope, that is a conversation he’s continuing to avoid.)

According to his memory book, Dream is in Pandora’s Box. And, based on the stories he can vaguely remember and the passionate way both Tommy and Tubbo have ranted about Dream’s dickish behavior, that’s probably a good thing. He’ll be real: he had no clue this server even had a prison. Is that bad? Was that more common knowledge he missed?

Whatever. He’s probably just overthinking again. 

It's Sunday, maybe four or so days since Dream’s imprisonment. Based on the whispers around the server, Tommy’s visit with Dream confirmed just how secure the prison was, with the check-in taking nearly half an hour, and requiring two respawns. Tommy complained about how Sam was acting “totally weird” for almost an hour after he returned, which resulted in Ranboo and Tubbo playing a game of how long can we play pictionary until Tommy realizes we’re not paying attention to him . The game ended shortly after Jack Manifold joined, as Tommy immediately lost his train of thought and tried to mess with Jack as much as possible.

Either way, Ranboo gleaned something from Tommy’s rambles: visiting the prison isn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision, especially with Sam at the head. 

So he’s not sure why he wants to visit. The prison seems terrifying, and it’s not like he needs to see Dream to settle some score or to renounce their friendship: as far as Ranboo knows (despite that voice’s lies) he and Dream have never actually spoken. 

Yet here he is, shooting Sam a message out of the blue, asking for a visit. The almost immediate, enthusiastic response nearly makes him drop his communicator. 

awesamdude whispers to you: Yeah I’m free right now! Just head over to the prison and I’ll meet you there :D

Despite the cheerful message, Sam is cold and professional when Ranboo greets him. His warden gear is large and imposing, highlighted with lapis and red stone. Even his sword has a shining golden handle, engraved with words mostly hidden by Sam’s gloved hand. The lapis enchantments make the black sword shimmer a glimmering purple in the light.

Even with all of that, he smiles sympathetically when Ranboo slowly puts his memory book into the locker. He never extends any comforting words, but he does give Ranboo a few seconds to still his shaking hands. Sam also passes him a skin-tight suit before they pass through the water tunnel. Ranboo wasn’t aware that Sam knew of his aversion to water.

As soon as they pass through, Sam takes it back, leaving Ranboo feeling weirdly naked. He shivers, feeling the ghosts of long-tried purple tears drip into his hair. Sam’s dark creeper eyes are ever present, always watching; Ranboo awkwardly shifts as they wait for the lava to finish its descent. 

The entire prison is terrifyingly secure: with more waivers than he’s ever seen in his life, and multiple water and lava pathways. Somehow, Sam has rigged the area so his limbs feel sluggish; Ranboo’s arms move slowly, as if he’s fallen into the lava under the nether hub again. There’s no way anyone could get out of here.

His fingers are twitching and he feels the odd desire to move one of the blocks nearby, even though it would take forever to shift it out of place, yanking it from the wall or pulling it from the floor. 

The lava is gone and Ranboo meets the painted-on eyes of that dreaded porcelain mask. 

Heterochromatic eyes shift to the platform, staying locked to the engraved stone as it transports him to the cell as he makes his way over. He can’t quite remember why he’s here, why he thought it was a good idea to visit Dream. 

Dream looks small without his glinting netherite armor and glowing sword. Just a hoodie, worn jeans, and painted-on smile. 

Dream’s cell is… small. Too small, but too familiar. He can almost see the purple dripping from the ceiling, soaking his hair and staining his suit. He reaches up to check — just in case — but his hair is as dry as bone. 

It feels inhumane to keep someone in such a small room — Dream only has a sink, a chest, and a lectern. No chair, no bed — not even a table. Just a place to pace and a clock to keep time. 

“Hello.” Dream says. He’s leaning against the wall, his clothes rumbled. Has he been sleeping on the floor? Has he been sleeping at all?

“Hi.” Ranboo responds politely. The silence sits in the air, the obsidian walls suffocating. Ranboo feels himself grow tense as the seconds tick by. 

“I’m gonna be real, Ranboo,” Dream drawls, “I have no idea why you’re here — we’ve barely even talked. What, do you want an apology for the whole telling Tubbo you’re a traitor thing?”

“N—no. No, I don’t.” Ranboo knows that, at least.

“Okay, then what do you want? Tommy has all my items, and as far as I know, I’ve never hurt you — directly, at least,” Dream’s voice has an edge to it, one that instantly elicits fear. Still, Ranboo keeps his voice firm.

“You’ve hurt more people than you think.”

“Oh, have I ?” Dream’s hand shifts, fingers twitching toward where his axe would normally be. He stands up abruptly, a contrast to his usual graceful movements. “At this point I’m wondering if my memory is going — with all the trouble I’ve apparently caused? A lot more people suddenly hate me; compared to — I don’t know, a month ago?”

“That sucks,” Ranboo automatically, then shakes his head, clearing the urge to be polite. “I mean, it’s totally deserved — you're kind of a jerk, man.”

“Yeah, but I was a jerk before and I wasn’t hated by the entire server.” Dream starts to pace. Ranboo has never, ever seen him this restless, this animated. “They were a family — I wanted them to be a family, to work together, but—but—”

Ranboo watches him, completely unsure what he’s supposed to do. Tommy said Dream was faking his remorse, to be wary of his words. This isn’t— he never expected...

“You— you hurt Tommy,” He says, slow. 

“I apologized.” Dream replies, dismissive.

“For what?”

Dream’s footsteps stutter. “For everything that I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah.”

“Like what?”

Dream’s normally pristine boots have become scuffed without their usual layer of netherite. Ranboo wonders how long it’ll take to wear through the soles. 

“You know.” Dream recovers, but Ranboo isn’t having it. 

“No— no, I really don’t. I don’t think anyone does. But I do have an idea, since I was one of the few people to actually visit Tommy. I don’t think anyone realizes how much you put him through— honestly, I don’t think Tommy fully gets it.”

Dream stares. Ranboo’s fists clench, but he keeps his voice level. 

“That’s what you want, don’t you? For Tommy to forget how much you’ve hurt him, hurt everyone. You can do that so easily, y’know? I watched you do it with Fundy; somehow, you convinced the son of Wilbur Soot you were in love with him. If you can do that, what’s tricking some kid into letting you out of this place?”

Ranboo finally stands up straight, letting his height speak for him. He’s only started doing so around Phil recently, since he doesn’t shy away from his stature, despite the half a foot or so between them. 

Before the Dream SMP — back when he fought for hours upon hours in Hypixel, exchanging his hard-earned points for food or shelter — he never let his full height show. He refused to rely upon his stature; not when in the midst of battle, and certainly not when stood upon the gleaming podiums that made him feel like everyone on the server had eyes on him.

Because hybrids are scary. Strange. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Especially hostile hybrids. 

Technoblade lessened the critical eye cast upon all hybrids — back when he ruled the leaderboards, uncaring of what others thought. But there’s a difference between Techno’s sharpened tusks and the eyes of an enderman — the piercing glare that makes its way into your very soul — and their instinctual need to take and take and take . 

He liked how accepting the Dream SMP was, both passive and hostile hybrids found throughout the server. But he still refused to stand up straight — it felt strange, almost disrespectful, with how trusting, how kind, people are. No taunts, no side-eyes — nothing. 

But that could go away in a second if he spoke up, revealed his instincts. Show them what he’s like when he isn’t the quiet figure in the back, but the screaming nightmare of a mob his genetics told him he was. 

But here…

Who cares what Dream thinks of him?

“I promise you, Dream,” Ranboo says, keeping his eyes trained on the mask, unblinking. “I won’t let him forget anything you did— anything. So know, deep down in that space where you pretend to have a heart, that if he forgives you, it's for everything— everything. And... who knows how long that’s gonna take.”

Dream stares. His hands are stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. 

“Is that it?” Dream asks, tilting his head mockingly. “You just came to threaten me? Did that make you feel better, yelling at someone who’s unable to leave? To attack you? Did that make you feel all big and powerful, Ranboo?”

Breath stuttering, all the confidence abruptly disappears as he glances at the lava. Sam, please make this the perfect time to come and ask if I want to leave —

“I have a theory about you, Ranboo.”

“What’s that?” Ranboo asks, hesitantly looking back toward Dream’s mask. 

“I think you remember more than you let on,” Dream says, his voice lowering. “What’s wrong, Ranboo? Cat got your tongue?”

Ranboo’s heart skips a beat.

“Guard! ” Dream calls. He hears Sam’s muffled voice behind the sea of lava, asking what the problem is. “Ranboo wants to leave.”

Ranboo doesn’t say anything, just silently waits for the lava to lower. He doesn’t register the walk out at all, doesn’t look back even though he can feel Dream’s eyes on him. 

The world blurs. 

——

Visited Dream in the prison. He knows. He knows. He knows. 

Protect Tommy, remind him of everything Dream’s done to him. Don’t let Dream get into his head. 

DREAM IS THE REASON. 

——

He avoids the prison, avoids the thought of going back there. Every day he coaches Tommy, reminds him to remember. Tubbo jokes that they ‘don’t need another Memory Boy around here’ when Tommy complains. 

Every day he watches Tommy enter the prison, wonders when Dream will tell him. When Tommy will glare at him and mean it. When the peace will shatter, just like it always does.

Every day that Tommy comes out and smiles, Ranboo nearly cries — metaphorically, of course — with relief.

——

“Hey, Ranboo— Ranboo, did you hear?” 

Ranboo blinks out of his daze, finding himself looking out over the frozen coastline of Snowchester. Tubbo is leaning against a fence post, a hoe in hand. The freshly-tilled farm sits behind him, Foolish quietly replanting the crops. 

“Hear what?” Ranboo asks. Tubbo bounces on the soles of his feet. 

“Apparently, Dream and Tommy got in a huge fight. Tommy tried to tell me about it, but I got a bit distracted, I’ll be honest. I think one of them got tossed in lava at one point! I think Sam had to step in and separate them?” Tubbo tilts his head in thought before grinning, bright and excited, “Pretty crazy, though, right?”

“Yeah...” Ranboo stares at the water. He feels himself pull out his notebook, opening up to the latest entry, dated two weeks ago. 

“Looks like Tommy’s gonna be free again. About time, honestly. No offence, but he’s way funnier than you.” Tubbo teases, then sobers. “That book you gave him — the one he’s been writing stuff down in? He told me it’s really helped him.”

Right — they had been helping Tommy, encouraging him to talk about his time in exile, to remember Dream as he was, as he truly was. 

“Oh. Ye—yeah, that’s cool. Glad I could… glad I could help,” Ranboo scratches the back of his neck. 

“He won’t tell you, but he’s really grateful,” Tubbo leans closer, voice lowering. “You did a good thing, Ranboo.”

He stares at the pages. Should he write that down? 

Considering Tommy hasn’t stormed up to him, demanding an explanation, a reason for his treachery, Ranboo thinks he’s safe. 

Did he help Tommy without ruining everything?

“Thanks, Tubbo.”

“No problem, Mr. Boo!” Tubbo laughs, bright and calm. He seems more relaxed now, aiding the collective instead of leading a government. Ranboo’s happy for him. 

The past two weeks have mostly been spent with Tommy and Tubbo — Techno and Phil have been busy on a ‘secret project,’ so he’s been avoiding them. He knows he’s always welcome at Snowchester, Tubbo ready to theorize about Ranboo’s possible abilities. Tommy likes having someone who will listen, someone who isn’t ride or die like Tubbo. It’s been good, staying with people who like him. 

(A traitorous thought whispers — if it was between you and Tommy, Tubbo would always choose Tommy. Every time. Who would ever choose you?) 

He stares at the pages of his book. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, right next to those traderious thoughts, is a simple question: Why didn’t Tommy tell him himself?

He knows it's a self-centered thought, but he can’t help but wonder; was the fight about him? Did Dream tell Tommy something? Prime, is there even anything to tell? His memory grows more faulty by the day, and he can never be sure what anxiety wrote up and what he’s actually done.

“Is there anyone visiting him anymore at this point?” Ranboo asks, hoping that Tubbo can’t read his thoughts. 

“Probably not,” Tubbo says, blunt as ever. “Honestly, I don't think anyone actually likes hanging out with Dream. He’s kinda like an annoying, green mosquito, he is.”

Ranboo snorts, relaxing. “Tubbo, I have no idea what that means.”

“Do you not?” Tubbo tilts his head. “Well, ‘cause, y’know, mosquitos are annoying and they suck your blood and leave welts that hurt for a long time and they usually live in swamps. Dream seems like the type of guy to hang out in swamps for fun.”

Ranboo shakes his head, laughing at Tubbo’s rambles. Dream does seem like the type to live in a swamp, all things considered. Swamps are large and lonely with way too much water. The only people who live there are witches — clerics ostracized from villages because of their obsession with the dark, with creating potions that harm instead of heal. 

Point is —  Dream’s all alone. No one to manipulate, to yell at. 

Is that good?

Is it bad that he feels weirdly sympathetic, under all his worry?

“I think...” Ranboo pauses, unsure how to phrase this. With a false bravado, he says, “I’ll let him know you said that.”

“Will you?”

Ranboo looks toward Tubbo, checking out his expression in his peripheral. Tubbo looks completely confused. 

“You’re visiting Dream, then? Again? What, you want to yell at him or something?”

“I don’t know,” Ranboo shrugs, staring at the page. 

Dream is the reason . 

“Or something, I guess.”

Chapter Text

The prison is unchanged when Ranboo visits again. Same high, blackstone walls, same weird aura which makes Ranboo’s hand move in slow motion. Same anxiety which sits in Ranboo’s stomach like a rock. 

When he presses the button to call down the guards, it’s Bad who greets him, smiling brightly when he walks through the portal. He seems so… unconcerned with the possibility of Dream’s escape that it, weirdly, settles Ranboo’s nerves. 

“Ranboo!” Bad greets, shoving his gleaming netherite sword into its sheath to shake Ranboo’s gloved hand. Ranboo tries to smile in response. 

“Hi, Bad. You on shift today, then?”

“Yup!” Bad points behind him. “I think Sam’s inside messing with some stuff. You need something?”

“Um, I was actually, uh, hoping to visit Dream.”

“Oh!” Bad blinks, then laughs a bright melody. “Sorry, you’re the first one to try since Tommy gave up, uh, six days ago maybe? You want to beat him up or something? Because Sam said no more beating in case Dream gets one of the weapons again.”

Ranboo blinks. “Uh, no, no, I’m good. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“He hasn’t really been in the mood for talking lately, so good luck. He’s in the courtyard because of good behavior.”

Bad makes idle chat as they check him in, screening his gear and assuring him everything will be safe. They let him keep his memory book this time, with the promise that it never leaves his pocket. Bad winks at him when he leaves, and Ranboo’s not sure if it’s because Bad’s in a playful mood or if he thinks the book is secretly a way to break Dream out and he’s giving permission. 

Maybe Ranboo’s overthinking this. 

Whatever. 

The spine of the memory book stretches out the front pocket of his suit, but keeping it anywhere else feels wrong. Without his netherite armor, or Bad by his side, leading him down, the hallways feel long and imposing. The obsidian reminds him of things he would rather forget. 

Bad had shooed him along a few hallways back, saying something along the lines of, “I’m sure you know the way from here.” Ranboo wasn’t brave enough to correct him. 

He’s sure in a few hours Bad will abruptly remember Ranboo’s memory problem and feel very guilty, but the idea of turning around and trying to find Bad in this confusing maze seems worse. 

Instead he keeps walking forward, and is eventually rewarded with a new cell. 

The courtyard, Bad had called it, seemed huge compared to Dream’s cell. It’s maybe ten blocks across, four high. Maybe enough room to jump around from bed to furnace to floor. 

There’s only a white bed in the room, unmade. The bed’s pillow is lying on the floor, right next to where Dream is sitting. From the position, and how messy the back of Dream’s hair is, Ranboo guesses that Dream had been laying on the floor. 

“You're back.” Dream says, voice waiving. Ranboo’s steps don’t stutter. They don’t. But his heart shoots out of his chest. 

“Yeah.”

There’s a line of iron bars separating them, making it hard to see Dream, so Ranboo continues along, following the sign labeled ‘ visitors ’. Dream’s eyes follow from beneath the mask. 

The room he enters is made of quartz, with one wall made entirely of glass. There’s a table and chair against the glass, and on the other side, inside of Dream’s cell, another table and chair mirror it. 

Ranboo sits awkwardly, clicking a button which opens the shutters between them, revealing to Dream the visitors room. Dream stares at it, at him , for a few seconds, unmoving. 

“Why are you here?” Dream asks. 

The room is bare. So bare. The floor, the walls, the ceiling — all obsidian. It’s lit up by sea lanterns, making everything seem clinical. It makes Ranboo recoil, the idea of being stuck here. 

And then there’s Dream, in the middle of it all. Armorless. Still wearing a green hoodie, white porcelain mask, fingerless gloves… and with bed-head. 

He looks so… small. 

Yeah, everyone looks small to Ranboo (especially Tubbo, Jesus that boy had so much energy in such a short frame), but compared to the Dream that screamed to everyone that Ranboo was a traitor , the Dream that broke Tubbo down to nothing, that brought Tommy to the brink of suicide—

This Dream seems... weak. 

And that pulls on Ranboo’s heart a bit. 

It shouldn’t. It really shouldn’t. He’s read the stories in Ghostbur’s library, heard some of them from Tommy and Tubbo themselves. Seen the way Dream weaves himself into things, attaching himself like a leech, sucking up all the positive feelings and replacing them with doubt, fear, and violence. 

Now- the slump of his shoulders, the wrinkles in his hoodie, the way he seems to hide behind an invisible wall, prepared for a hit that won’t come. Ranboo’s seen that before, over two months ago now. 

Tommy’s eyes lost their color in exile, the bright, sky blue turning a dull gray. He can’t see Dream’s eyes — doesn’t really want to, if he’s honest — but he has a feeling they’re losing their color. 

It could be a trick. Dream’s known for his tricks.

But... what’s a little compassion? A little kindness? The guy is already trapped in an impossible to escape prison, alone and bored out of his mind. It’s not like he’s going to help him escape physically , just, like, let him get out of his head for a bit? Maybe? 

“How are you?” Ranboo asks, trying to sound flippant. It comes out more stilted. 

Dream actually sits back slightly. “What?” Ranboo can’t remember ever hearing Dream sound so confused. “Wait, you’re seriously…” Dream gestures around him. “I’m locked in a prison; how do you think I’m doing?”

“Oh, right. Stupid question, sorry.” Ranboo clears his throat. He feels the eyes, so he looks at the wall instead. “I meant like, uh.” He looks to the ceiling. “You like obsidian?”

“...Yeah.” Dream says slowly. “I’m a bit tired of it now, but it’s still a good block.

“That's cool.” Ranboo nods. “I like dirt. Grass, you know? Maybe it’s my endermen side, I donno, who knows if block preference is inherited.”

“Okay.” Dream is holding onto his ankle rather tightly, curled into himself from his position seated on the floor. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

“Uh.” Ranboo blanks. “I heard about your fight with Tommy.”

He closes his eyes. Gosh, why does he always do this?  

“Come to gloat then?” Dream asks. His tone is carefully neutral, which makes Ranboo instinctually glance over. 

It’s in the slump of his shoulders, the curl of his back: Dream is upset and defensive, but he’s not throwing Ranboo betrayal in his face like he thought he would. Did he overthink? Did he jump to conclusions again? The voice is a liar, a dirty liar, why did he believe it?

Maybe Dream just isn’t mentioning it. Should Ranboo mention it? Confess his worries to someone who definitely shouldn’t know his worries -

“I don’t know why I’m here.” He settles on, interrupting his thoughts. “I don’t need anything from you Dream. I’m just… I’m curious, I guess.”

The stare is piercing, making his leg bounce erratically under the table. He’s already a bit awkwardly fitted, his legs slightly too long, so it takes a good chunk of concentration to make sure he doesn’t hit the table with his knee. He almost misses it, almost. But Dream-

Dream nods. “Okay,” he says quietly, going back to staring at one of the obsidian walls. “I guess I’m curious too.”

“About what?” What could Ranboo possibly know that Dream doesn’t?

“About you, obviously.” Dream says flippantly. “There’s something that makes you tic, Ranboo, but I haven’t figured out what it is yet.”

“Oh, well. Well that’s,” Ranboo laughs softly, “that’s not scary at all, nope.”

Maybe he imagines it, but he swears, for just a second, that Dream’s cheek twitches as if, underneath the mask, he’s smiling. Ranboo feels pride lick at his toes, making him sit up a bit straighter. It’s been awhile since he’s made someone other than Tommy or Tubbo laugh. 

“So, if you’re not here to yell at me: how do you want to do this?” Dream tilts his head towards him, but doesn’t look at him. 

“Do this?”

“ Talk . I’m getting a bit sick of being constantly interrogated by Tommy. Change things up, Ranboo.”

“Umm….” Ranboo’s leg bounces. “Let’s do 20 questions.”

He can feel the incredulity through the glass. “20 questions? Wha- what are we, 5?”

Ranboo shrugs. “You got a better idea?”

The silence speaks for itself. 

“I’ll start.” Ranboo says, false bravo in his voice. 

He’s always hated 20 questions — too many opportunities for the conversation to go south, or even die off. Why did he think this was a good idea? 

“What’s something you’re proud of that you don’t tell people about?”

Dream laughs. “Starting out deep, okay.” His head thunks back against the nearby wall. “When, uh,” he glances at Ranboo, “you can’t tell anyone about this, okay?” 

Ranboo nods quickly. Dream eyes him for a few more seconds, so Ranboo quickly says. “It won’t leave my memory book.” Which makes Dream laugh, for some reason. 

“Okay… so, for George’s 21st birthday, everyone got him these drinking gifts as a joke, you know? And he laughs it off and stuff, but over the next few weeks he slowly returned them to the store and stuff. But my gift wasn’t a joke: George is color blind, so I made him these white goggles with color-correcting lenses. I figured they might, you know, help him in battle or something.”

It takes Ranboo a few seconds to place George in his mind, but once he’s there, he realizes. “Are those the goggles-“

“That he always wears? Yup.” Dream sounds so smug, but Ranboo doesn’t find himself recoiling from the sound. “I never bragged because I didn’t want to make everyone feel bad about George returning their gifts, but seeing him wear them, watching him pull them on and smile…”

“That’s really cool.” Ranboo says, gentle. “I bet they remind him of you, how great of a friend you were.”

The silence is suddenly sitting on his tongue, and Ranboo wonders what he said wrong. 

“I’ll go, I guess.” Dream interrupts it. “Who’s someone on the server you would give up a life for?” Ranboo raises an eyebrow, and Dream shrugs. “I was clear about what I want from this. You don’t have to answer, but I answered your question when I didn’t have to.”

Ranboo sighs. “Fine, but I’m answering because I want to.”

“Sure.”

Ranboo thinks about it. “I would die for a lot of people, Dream. If I think someone would do more good with my life than I would, than I would give them my life.”

“Well that’s fucking stupid.” Dream chuffs. 

“Yeah, it is.” Ranboo agrees, embarrassment making his toes twitch. “But it’s the truth.”

Dream’s hums. It takes Ranboo a few seconds to remember it’s his turn. 

“Oh, right. What, uh, what do you and Tommy talk about when he visits. Or- used to.”

“He hasn’t told you?” Dream asked, surprised. 

“It hasn’t gotten brought up.”

In all honesty, Ranboo’s been afraid to ask. Tommy always seems so rattled after visiting Dream: either he comes out a bit too loud, a bit too rude, or he completely shuts down, quiet and distant. Only Tubbo can talk to him then (a fact which doesn’t keep Ranboo up at night, it doesn’t).

“Okay, I believe you.” Dream says, voice back to that infuriating neutral drawl. “He mostly interrogates me. Asks me about my motivations, how I know things, why I did things. He asks the same questions a lot, ‘ why did you do that? Why did you do that?’ Like I’m not telling him.”

Dream huffs. Ranboo doesn’t know him well enough to figure out if it’s a laugh or not. 

“You know me, Ranboo: I’m an honest guy. It’s not like I’m lying to him about it constantly, what would I even gain from that?”

“Actually, I don’t know you.” Ranboo frowns, perturbed. “But I do know people. You have a lot to gain from lying to him, Dream, especially if the truth permanently cements his hatred for you. Is that what happened? You said something that made him realize you’re impossible to save?”

“You really think that?” Dream asks. His voice shakes in a way that makes Ranboo’s stomach drop, anxiety choking his throat. “Do-Do you think I’m impossible to save?”

Ranboo closes his eyes. “I don’t know.” He confesses. “It depends on how real your sadness is, I guess.” He clenched his teeth, spitting out, “Did seeing Tommy in exile inspire you to give him a taste of his own medicine?”

There’s a silence.“I believe it’s my turn, Ranboo.” Dream responds evenly. And isn’t that an answer in itself. 

Dream stares at him. Ranboo can’t read his mind, but he can read the twitching of his index finger, the way he subtly tries to look around. His jaw trembles beneath the mask, and Ranboo can’t tell if he’s suppressing tears or rage. 

Ranboo sits back, gesturing for Dream to continue. 

“What has Tubbo been up to? Tommy never lets me talk about him, and it’s peaked my interest.” Dream says. Ranboo shifts slightly, letting the silence stretch as he considers the ramifications of answering. 

“What could you possibly want to know?” Ranboo asks, cautious. 

“Anything new, I guess.” Dream shrugs. “I know everyone on the server, Ranboo, but being stuck in here makes it hard to get updates. I doubt, you know, Purpled or Ponk has suddenly decided to build a new nation or start a war: they always prefer themselves to choosing sides.”

“They do?” Ranboo blurts. He’s barely interacted with either of them, besides when he visits Purple’s farm to get food. “Sorry, just- they always stay neutral? Do they just not care?”

“They care about the people in the conflict, but not the conflict itself. Tommy, Tubbo, and Purpled used to hang out all the time before the war, but once those walls got built…” Dream drifts off. “Ponk and Sam are good friends, too, from what I know. But Ponk isn’t Badlands. Or- he wasn’t when I was thrown in here.”

Ranboo’s thoughts race. They stayed neutral. People can stay neutral and, sometimes, keep their friends. Maybe you can tell them, tell Tommy that you don’t want to choose a side. Tell Tubbo that you live next to Techno, but not because you support him, or choose anarchy. Maybe things can be better-

There’s movement in the cell, causing multi-colored eyes to snap up and watch a chilling smile stare at a wall.

“It’s why Purpled avoids people, you know.” Dream says, voice low. “Why do you think he spends so much time in Hypixel? Sides change by the hour over there; the only true loyalty is friendship. I don’t blame him honestly: losing two close friends and watching them stick with each other after ditching you?”

Dream’s mask turns and stares. 

“Imagine how that feels.”

There’s an instinct that Ranboo’s heard about before, from Fundy and Antfrost mostly: the prey instinct. Fundy told him it’s like he’s frozen, waiting to either run or attack, every muscle tensed and waiting for battle. It’s uncontrollable, according to Antfrost, something passive hybrids like them have just gotten used to dealing with.

In all of his years, Ranboo has never, ever felt anything like that. Social anxiety, maybe. Fight or Flight is close. But this-

His tail is stock still, curved toward the floor in a black and white ark. He can’t move, he can’t look away. What’s- How’s

“You never answered my question. What’s Tubbo been up to?” Dream says, shattering the silence. 

Ranboo blinks, blinks again and again until his eyes drop burning. His tail swishes behind him, and his nails, which have lengthened into black claws, cut into his palms. He clears his throat, trying to push whatever-whatever that was behind him.  

“Oh, um.” Ranboo takes a deep breath, trying to think, “He created a small village called Snowchester, declared it as independent, like, the day after you got thrown in here. It’s technically a collective, not a government, so Techno probably won’t destroy the place.”

The room is getting lighter, so Ranboo tries to relax into the uncomfortable metal chair. Dream is still sitting against the wall, casual as anything. He hums.

“That’s a thing, then? People are just declaring themselves independent from Dream SMP?” Dream shakes his head, chuffing, “Is there even anyone left at this point?”

“Uhh,” Ranboo blanks. “I’m gonna be real, I don’t pay that much attention to which side everyone’s on at this point. I’m kinda just chilling in the wide-open, middle of nowhere; it’s great.”

“I’m sure it is.” Dream says with false sweetness. Ranboo sighs at the guilt trip, ignoring it in favor of searching for another question. 

“What’s, uh, what’s your favorite color?”

Dream barks out a laugh. “Oh Jesus.” He mutters. “We really ran out of good questions that fast?” When Ranboo only shrugs in response, he continues, “Green, obviously.” He says gesturing to his hoodie. 

“Like- neon green?” 

“Okay, maybe more of a forest green. Or, like, the color of flower stems?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you.”

For the life of him, Ranboo cannot remember what a flower stem looks like. 

“I guess I’ll return the favor: what’s your favorite color, Ranboo?”

“Royal blue.” He says without thinking. Dream’s chin juts up, clearly amused. 

“You knew that right away: how often are you asked that question?”

“When you’re friends with Tommy ‘I can’t do small talk’ Innit, surprisingly often.”

Dream laughs again, the bark of amusement drifting into a wheeze. Ranboo chuckles, half-smiling as he watches Dream laugh. Then he realizes it’s probably creepy to watch someone laugh, so he looks at the ceiling instead. 

This is weird, right? They aren’t supposed to be getting along. This is supposed to be all sneers and barrs and insults until Ranboo eventually storms out -- and yeah, there was a bit of that. It certainly hasn’t all been jokes and stories. But-But Dream is evil, there shouldn’t be any jokes and stories. 

Right?

There’s a crackle, interrupting Dream’s laughter suddenly and completely, then Bad’s voice floats over an invisible speaker. “Sorry to interrupt, guys! Ranboo- visiting hours are up. I’m coming by to grab you in a second, okay?”

“Okay.” Ranboo responds awkwardly, unsure if the speaker can even pick him up. There’s another crackle, then silence. Ranboo awkwardly stands up, pushing in the chair and waiting. 

“See you never, then.” Dream says. He’s settled from his previous laughing fit, instead staring at the ceiling, voice carefully neutral. 

Ranboo looks to the door, working his lip as he thinks. “Well, we never finished our game, did we?”

He feels eyes on him. He doesn’t look back when Bad ushers him out the door, but he does slow down when he gets to the nether portal, looking in the direction of Tommy’s house and wondering how many of Dream’s answers were truthful. 

——

I visited Dream today. He seemed more subdued than last time. We played 20 questions. He told me that he’s proud of giving George a gift. Maybe he still has feelings?

Tommy and Tubbo had another friend before. Purpled. They left him. Will they leave you? No. No you’re fine. I’m fine. You’re different. You’re fine. 

He knows things. Ask him questions. Find out about the other side of the story. 

Don’t forget: Dream is the reason. 

——

The Hypixel marketplace is as chaotic as Ranboo remembers it being. Red, yellow, and white decor, highlighted by bright signs advertising new tournaments. People run past him — mostly young, maybe eleven or twelve. Ranboo doesn’t judge: he first started competing when he was eight. 

There’s a few seasoned members that greet him as he passes. Captain Sparklez waves at him as he walks past, on his way to a meet and greet or something. He thinks he sees a glimpse of Hannah Rose, but there are a lot of people in the lobby, and she seems to be in a rush. Ranboo would hate to interrupt her just for a quick chat. 

It doesn’t matter anyway, he’s here for a reason. 

The Bedwars sign is eerily familiar as he walks past it, though a glimmering portal, which takes him straight into a grassy island covered in impossible to mine valuables. There he waits, sitting on a bench as crowds of people — some no more than 10, bright and bouncing with excitement, others walking with countless scars and a grim expression. All hoping to get a sliver of the prize. 

Money is tight in Hypixel. Always has, always will be. It’s the way the rulers like it. 

Ranboo stares at the scoreboard. During his time off spent in Dream SMP, Technoblade has fallen to third place, his first slot taken in his absence. Techno’s crown reflects the sunlight, the jewels inside -- red, pink, yellow -- highlighting the other colors of his outfit. His hair is longer in the statue than it is now, tied into a long, pink braid that brushes his knees. Ranboo’s grown used to Techno’s blue Arctic Empire outfit, his original red, royal robes almost nostalgic now. 

Ranboo himself still sits at a comfortable eighteenth, which, among the hundreds of thousands of residents, is high. When he left he was maybe at twelfth, so he’s surprised he’s not back into the crowd of thousands, way, way down the scoreboard. Especially considering Ranboo doesn’t even live here anymore. 

In ninth place, smirking with a sword frozen mid-strike, is Purpled. Wearing a loose purple hoodie and ripped black pants, he looks just like the other thousand teenagers who enjoy the PVP and violence of Bedwars. 

“They got my eyes wrong.”

Ranboo jumps out of his skin, whirling around. Purpled is leaning on his forearms, supported by the back of the bench. 

“My eyes are purple, right? That’s where I got my freaking name.” Purpled points toward his eyes indignantly, then gestures toward his frozen form on the scoreboard. “But look at that! They look freaking gray , what the hell? I don’t know who messed up, but once I get top five you bet I’m gonna complain until they make my eyes glow or something.”

“Top five?” Ranboo asks, incredulous. “Why would being top five be any different-“

“It just will . Don’t question me, Ranboo.”

“Okay, okay!” Ranboo raises up his hands in surrender. “Wait, seriously? That’s kinda- one question?”

Purpled stares. He’s right, the statue doesn’t capture their intensity. A deep, royal purple, one he didn’t think was possible on a human. Ranboo feels like he can’t even look away. It’s an echo of his conversation with Dream, nearly two days ago now. Is this what humans feel like when they look into the eyes of endermen?

“Okay, you can ask a few questions.” Purpled settles on. Ranboo opens his mouth, but Purpled holds up a hand. “ During a game of Bedwars. Come on, let’s play teams.”

Ranboo feels himself freeze. “I-I don’t know about—“

“Either you play teams or you leave. I’m not wasting daylight to answer stupid questions, Ranboo.” Purpled raises his eyebrows, impatiently waiting for an answer.

The scoreboard haunts his peripheral. He avoids looking at it, instead silently nodding. Ranboo follows him through the small lobby, keeping his head down in an attempt to escape the stares. A man in a suit stands by three open portals, handing out tickets for the next game. 

“How did you know I’m here to ask you questions?” Ranboo asks, hands pinching the skin of his fingers and palm. “How did you know I was here in the first place?”

“I get notifications for whenever a top 30 gets online.” Purpled pulls out his communicator. “It used to be top 50, but that got boring. As for the questions thing: you’re not the type of guy to come to Hypixel to fight, Ranboo.”

Ranboo laughs. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“I mean— look at your picture: you look miserable. ”

He can’t help it— Ranboo glances at the scoreboard, finally letting himself take in his frozen form. He’s wearing a suit, though the edges of his sleeves are dusted with gray, the remnants of dead players he hadn’t yet learned to wash off. His eyes are looking askance, and he’s tail is wrapped around one leg, as if ashamed. 

He doesn’t like looking at it. Hates that everyone else looks at it all day. This conversation all but confirms how obviously uncomfortable he looks. 

“I figured you were here to meet with someone, and then you head for the Bedwars lobby and stare at my statue for several minutes — you’re not hard to read, Ranboo.”

“Good to know.”

Getting back into the game is instinctual. He’s teleported into a green shelter, a wooden sword in hand and leather armor on his back. He grabs a handful of gold, buying an upgrade on the sword and a handful of wool. When he gets outside, Purpled is waiting for him on an already-built bridge. 

“So, what do you want to know?” Purpled asks. “I know I’m crazy famous or whatever, but I’m getting a bit tired of giving out tips. There’s only so many times you can tell someone to practice without sounding like an asshole, you know?”

“Yeah, sure.” Ranboo agrees, just to move the conversation along. “I’m actually not here to discuss Bedwars.”

Purpled snorts, throwing a fireball and leaping down to break the yellow team’s revealed bed. Ranboo hops down after him, quickly killing a yellow team member attempting to defend it. 

“I don’t do much else other than Bedwars, dude.”

“You’re on the SMP.” 

Purpled rolls his eyes. “Yeah, when I want to build a secret lair or make some quick cash. I go there to sleep and hang out with Ponk, man, I’m not involved in any of your weird wars.”

“No, no, neither am I.” Ranboo assures. Purpled shoots him a skeptical look. “Seriously! I’m just kinda friends with the people in the wars— on your left.”

Purpled swirls around, blocking a hit from a hidden yellow team member and quickly shoving them off the island. Yellow team has been eliminated. “Thanks. And whatever, man, I’m not one to judge. ”

“I just, uh,” Ranboo follows along as Purpled bridges to the next island jumping down to pick up the diamonds and emeralds, then quickly building back up. Purpled waits, clearly only half paying attention to the game. 

“Looking for tips on how to stay neutral? Play Bedwars and avoid Dream and Tommy.”

“No, no, that’s not-“

“Though, now that I think about it, Dream’s in jail, isn’t he? What’s Tommy doing; is he in jail or exiled yet?”

“No,” Ranboo says slowly, mouth twisting in confusion. “He’s just been building and hanging out with Tubbo, mostly.”

“Makes sense. Hey, you got a fireball?” Purpled asks. Ranboo shakes his head. “Dang. Well, what’s life without a little danger?”

Ranboo watches him jump, then regretfully leaps after him. He handles the two people coming towards them, easily falling back into the rhythm of hitting, moving to the side, hitting. Purpled gets the bed, and together they kill the two teammates. 

Red Team is eliminated. 

Ranboo hears the tell-tale sound, and is unsurprised when, Your bed has been destroyed, flashes on the screen of his communicator. 

“I’m surprised it took this long considering neither of us even put wool around it.” Purpled mutters. He’s building, precariously and fearlessly standing on the edge of their bridge to connect more wool. Ranboo looks around: Blue’s also lost their bed at some point, so its just about finding them. “Can you hurry up with the questions, Ranboo? I’m getting bored.” 

“It’s, uh, well my question is actually about Tommy and Tubbo.” Ranboo blurts. Purpled stops, turning to face him. 

“What makes you think I know anything about what they’re doing?” Purpled asks. 

Ranboo takes in a sharp breath. “It’s just— Dream, um, Dream told me you were friends with them. Before, I mean.”

“Before L’Manberg?” Purpled asks. His communicator buzzes. A member of the blue team fell out of the world. 

“Yeah. Is-Is that true?”

Purpled’s eyes narrow, and Ranboo kinda wanna to leap off the bridge and never talk again. He’s halfway through considering the idea when Purpled lets out a huff. 

“He’s such a snitch.” He mutters, doing a running jump onto one of the middle islands, walking over and picking up a handful of diamond and emerald. Ranboo watches him walk back to the red team base, awkwardly shuffling in place as Purpled starts to trade. 

“Can I ask what happened? Why did you…”

Purpled sighs. “I was hoping this was secretly your way of asking for an autograph or something. God, now I have to talk about the stupid SMP while playing Bedwars .”

“I mean, you-you don’t have to.”

“No, I’m going to.” Purpled waves him off, “You’ve forced my hand, Ranboo, making me promise you can ask questions before we started. Though, technically I never agreed to answer them.” Purpled hums, considering. Ranboo shakes his head again. 

“You don’t have to. I just— maybe I want some advice? I’ve been hanging out with Tommy and Tubbo a lot, and I’ve been struggling to figure out how to tell them I don’t want to pick sides anymore.”

Purpled looks over, eyebrows raised. “Huh. I guess history really does repeat itself.”

Ranboo looks to the floor. 

“Look— stop feeling bad, I can’t work with that, okay? Just…” Purpled looks to the ceiling of the red team’s alcove. “Don’t?”

Ranboo blinks. “Don’t what? Be friends with them?” Ranboo asks, half joking. Purpled sucks in air through his teeth, and Ranboo abruptly realizes he's hit the answer on the head again.

“Okay, that sounds bad.” Purpled head tilts as his face scrunches. “How do I say this without sounding like a tool. Tommy and Tubbo are... selfless, but only for each other.”

“I mean, yeah. I know that.”

“Okay, okay, good. Now stop hanging out with them.”

“I- why? ”

Purpled taps his foot against the wooden floor. “Because they can’t get as attached to you as they are to each other? If you want to get your soul broken, be my guest. But if history is seriously repeating itself, that means you will start playing in Hypixel again. Which is fine! But I’m trying to have a chance at getting top five, and with you competing that will be significantly harder.”

“I-I’m not going to stop being friends with Tommy and Tubbo because they care about each other! That’s- how would I even explain that?”

“By saying, ‘sorry, I gotta go off in the woods and never talk to you again. I hope you stop being selfish pricks?” 

Ranboo shakes his head stepping back. His tail curls around his leg, and he feels his fingers twitch with the desire to grab and place blocks. To just let himself get lost in the rhythm of running and placing without thinking. 

He looks up when the silence drags on, meeting inquiring purple eyes. Purpled tilts his head, scrutinizing him. 

“Look, Ranboo,” he finally says, slow and careful. “I’m not one to tell people how to live their lives, okay? But Tommy and Tubbo…” he drifts off, jaw clenching. “They’re just always going to choose each other, okay? So— be prepared for that.”

“I-I mean, I thought I was.” Ranboo says, looking at the floor. Beside them he hears the sounds of wool getting placed, but Purpled ignores it, so he does too. “I just— I don’t think somethings going to happen where they have to choose, you know? All the conflict seems to be over.”

Purpled sighs, pressing his lips together as he thinks. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Ranboo, but don’t be stupid.” 

Purpled steps closer, staring at him with intense, deep purple eyes. 

“I didn’t think L’Manberg mattered, okay? And at first it didn’t. It was just Tommy and Tubbo doing drugs for laughs. But then a war happened, and when they asked, I refused to join in. That’s what broke us, not a conflict tearing us apart, but because they felt betrayed I wouldn’t die for a nation they created without me.”

Ranboo feels his eyes burn. 

“Sound familiar?” Purpled guesses. He’s good at that. “Don’t be stupid, Ranboo. Always be prepared for the worst.”

Purpled abruptly turns, slicing his sword through the chestplate of a stranger, one right behind Ranboo. The stranger trips, falling backwards off the platform. 

Fireworks go off around them. They won. 

“Hit me up if you ever want to play again: you’re not that bad for someone who hates the game.”

Ranboo blinks, and finds himself back in the lobby. A message pings on his communicator. 

New friend request from Purpled!

He accepts it numbly. For someone who just won a game with one of the top players in Hypixel, he feels pretty awful. 

Chapter Text

He was telling the truth. Dream was telling the truth. Went to Hypixel to ask Purpled. He seemed upset when I asked. What does that mean? Do they hate Purpled? Does Tubbo hate me? 

He will. I know he will. He hates me. He’s going to hate me. He still doesn’t know about Techno, about the armor, about how I’ve never once been loyal. I betray everyone. 

Maybe… Am I worse than Dream?

No. No. No. No. Remember. Remember all the bad things he did. Remember. You have to remember. 

——

When Tubbo asks why he keeps going back, he tells him it’s curiosity. The morbid fascination of watching a man go through the same thing he forced a child to go through over a month ago now.

Which, honestly, is most of the truth. 

But the visits are definitely mixed with the desire to learn more about the place he thought he knew everything about.

He forgets sometimes, that he’s so new. He’s read Ghostbur’s books, he knows the history. But there’s things the history books don’t mention: places that never see battle, people who choose neutrality over slides. 

Ranboo thought he was alone in his thoughts against violence for so long, but really, L’Manberg just never cared to take note of people who thought like him. 

Maybe it’s wrong to keep going back, to push their game of 20 questions to a number far past just 20, but Dream knows so much. He’s been here since the beginning, and, as much as the fact disgusts and terrifies Ranboo, Dream knows everyone on the server. 

He likes hearing the stories from the “losing” side of history. Likes having the complete picture. Even though Dream’s side is biased, Ranboo knows Wilbur’s side was too. Take out the hatred, the curses, string in the details that one side skipped but the other glorified, and Ranboo finally has a picture. 

A picture that’s almost a memory. Or similar to the way Ranboo experiences memories, at least. It has all the emotions of a memory, the actions, the trauma. Maybe it would be Dream’s memory? Or maybe just L’Manberg’s?

Does it really matter?

It becomes a habit: forming memories with Dream. He loses so many, his book only has so many pages, and his hand can only write so much before the fingers sting and cramp. But through this, it’s more than just writing down events: this is stuff he needs to remember, wants it so bad it stings like rain and bites like fire. Is it so wrong to want to learn? To experience?

Ghostbur is gone. L’Manberg’s gone. Talking to the survivors about it is a catastrophe waiting to happen: either he gets attacked or they have a break down, only one of which Ranboo is prepared for. 

But Dream won’t break down. And even if he does, what’s the harm in that?

“So, wait, you’re telling me Tommy killed you ?”

“It was with a minecart.” Dream dismisses. “I respawned and everything was fine. See? I’m not the God they make me out to be.”

Ranboo sits back. Remember all the bad things he’s done. Remember . “I’m pretty sure you started that God rumor yourself, Dream.”

“Pff, what?” Dream scoffs. “Ranboo, I’ve never pretended to be invincible. I’m just... good enough to concern people. Especially people who are my enemies.”

Ranboo raises an eyebrow. “Am I an enemy?”

“No, no. You haven’t done anything to me, I haven’t done anything to you.”

“You were gonna kidnap my cat and hold her over me.”

“I was doing that to everyone . I won’t do it now. I never even got to do it!”

“You outed my betrayal to everyone.”

“You said you didn’t need me to apologize for that!” Dream rationalized. Ranboo sits back in his seat. “Plus, they’re your actions, I just pointed them out. I didn’t make you give Techno his armor back, nor anything else you wrote down in your book.” Ranboo opens his mouth, but Dream continues. “Plus, it all worked out, didn’t it? Tubbo forgave you, and you two are still thick as thieves. Right?”

“...right.” Ranboo stares at the table top, thinking. 

“See? If anything, I did you a favor. Imagine if those secrets had stayed hidden, just… festering in your brain.” Dream’s voice gets a silky smooth lilt, as if he’s telling a bedtime story. “Constantly worried about what they know and what they don’t. How they’ll react, how they’ll kick you out.”

Ranboo gulps. It doesn’t make the silence any more bearable. 

“Imagine that!” Dream interrupts. 

“Yeah, imagine.” Ranboo mumbles. 

“Thank god I revealed it when I did: there was too much happening for them to get mad. If it got revealed now ? Everyone would be talking about it.” Dream’s head tilts back, as if coming to a sudden, shocking revelation. “Who knows how that could’ve swayed Tubbo’s opinion.”

“Yeah, crazy.” Ranboo mutters. 

“Maybe he would’ve listened when Quackity told him to execute you.”

Ranboo’s head jerks up, thoughts skidding to a stop. “Quackity wanted to—“

Dream raises his hands up in surrender. “You can ask him yourself if you want: I’m sure Sam can point you in the right direction.”

“I…” Ranboo fades off. 

Just the idea of visiting Quackity already terrified him, what, with his recruitment speech after doomsday. But now, after finding out that Quackity wanted him dead?

He remembers the way Quackity stared at him during the festival. Brown eyes, normally so lively, nearly dead. Narrowed in suspicion, and otherwise a void of cold determination. The way he watched Ranboo, unblinking, while everyone else laughed together and played the games he and Fundy had worked so hard on. It made Ranboo second guess everything, made him want to flee to his panic room and cry .

It makes sense, he thinks, that Quackity would jump to kill him. He was on Schlatt’s administration, wasn’t he? The vice president. He was probably right there when Tubbo was executed at the last festival. Maybe he even knew about it.

How long had he been planning it? Did he smile behind that cheerful mask of his, thinking about repeating history, forcing another traitor a public death?

He could ask him. He could. He could see him right now: he still lives with Karl, if Ranboo remembers right. Could confirm Dream’s words so, so easily. 

But…

Dream was right about Purpled, wasn’t he? That, at least, got him an ally. By Quackity? Quackity, who hates him, who doesn't trust him, who, according to Dream, wanted him dead? Confronting him with the knowledge of the unfinished festival’s unknown finale?

“I’ll take you word for it.” Ranboo says, sure. 

Dream hums. The words sit in the air for a second, before Dream suddenly asks, “How’s Karl been doing? I hope he’s not too mad about party island getting destroyed: I tried to save as much of it as I could.”

The rest of the visit is a blur of questions and hazy answers. Ranboo leaves early, rushing through leaving so quickly he nearly forgets his stuff in his locker. His thoughts are so loud , he can’t concentrate on anything else. 

For the life of him, Ranboo can’t get Quackity’s burning glare out of his head. His breath comes out short, his hands shaking, and he’s back on the edge of the ice rink. The feeling of bugs crawling up his arms makes him shiver, and he closes his eyes, trying to block out a phantom lifeless gaze. 

A voice in the back of his head whispers: Tubbo was gonna kill you. If L’Manberg was still standing, you would be dead. Ask him. Ask him. See what he answers. 

The voice sounds so much louder than before. 

——

The sun is reflecting off the snow when Ranboo wakes up to Enderchest kneading his shirt. He sighs, petting the purring cat and blinking himself awake. He’s at home, for once, and it's late enough in the day to actually see smoke coming from Techno’s house. 

He shoos Enderchest away, standing up and stretching. He grabs his coat, putting on his armor over the suit. When he looks back, Enderchest has made herself at home in the warm spot he’s just vacated. 

So cute. 

He’s on his way to the nether portal, already planning out his day, when he spots a familiar forest green. 

“Oh, hey, Phil!” He calls. His voice carries across the tundra, reaching where Phil seems to be examining a lava lake. For a new project, no doubt.

Phil turns, his passive expression lighting up into a grin. “Ranboo!” He calls, jogging over. “Long time no see, mate. Where ‘ave you been off doing the past.” Phil trills his lips as he thinks. “Jesus, nearly two months! I’ve only seen you around here twice since your and Techno’s last totem adventure.”

“Oh, uh.” Ranboo plays with the cuffs of his suit, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t realize how busy I’ve been. It’s not intentional, I promise.” 

That’s a lie, you’re avoiding them because they’re keeping secrets from you. What are they planning? They’re gonna kick you out, I promise. 

Ranboo clears his throat, trying to dispel the intrusive thoughts. “What have you and Techno been doing?”

“Oh you know,” Phil tilts his head from side to side. “This and that. Fixing up the bee farm, building up my own base: I can’t mooch off Techno forever, you know?”

“He would totally let you.” Ranboo says. Phil laughs, nodding. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sweet kid.” He smiles to himself, then looks up. “What about you, mate?”

“Hanging out with Tubbo, mostly. Lots of Tubbo.” Ranboo rocks on his heels, debating whether he should continue. Well, they did work with Dream to blow up L’Manberg, sooo… “I’ve, uh, actually been visiting Dream. Learning stories about the SMP and stuff.”

Phil smiles, laughing. “I heard he got thrown in jail. How’s he doing?”

“Okay, right now.” Ranboo answers, smiling to himself. He’s missed Phil’s attention. “I think he was lonely. He might still be.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Phil says. The bag on his back is filled to the brim, and his wings are twitching. Thanks to the L’Manberg explosion, the wings are still merely echoes of the former thick, gray wings that Ranboo has only seen in the picture next to Techno’s bed, but Ranboo thinks they look like they’re itching to fly. Ranboo suddenly gets the feeling he should end this conversation. “I’m sure he’s happy to have a friend, Ranboo.”

“Yeah, I think so too.” Ranboo smiles, unsure of what he’s feeling. “See you later, Phil.”

“Bye, Ranboo!”

He watches Phil walk into the snowy tundra and wonders why he feels disappointed at Phil’s reaction. What did he want, disapproval? Disappointment? A big explosive fight? To lose another friend?

His feet carry him on a familiar path through the nether, then across a path of soul sand, until the biting chill of Snowchester makes his eyes water. 

(Not literally, of course. That would be painful. Ranboo’s honestly not sure what liquid his eyes are made of, but he’s too afraid to ask the universe in case Tubbo hears; he really doesn’t want more experiments done.

Especially since, sometimes, when he cries, the tears burn like lava, leaving marks on his cheeks that last for days. He doesn’t know what Tubbo would do with that information, but he definitely doesn't want to find out.)

Jack is on the roof of the nuclear base, messing around with decor. Ignoring that mess waiting to happen, Ranboo looks around, spotting and waving to Foolish, who looks to be adding more lanterns around the camp. Foolish looks up, wide eyed, then awkwardly pretends to hear someone calling for him. Ranboo watches him sprint away. 

Strange person, that Foolish. He should really formally meet the guy. 

“‘You seen Tubbo?” He yells up toward Jack, finding no way to avoid it and too lazy to look around all of Snowchester.

“Busy!” Jack shouts down. “Too busy for you. Or me. Come back later! Also- you’re not allowed inside the building. Don’t ask why.”

“...okay.” Ranboo says, voice neutral. He’s definitely confused, but getting in a debate with Jack right now just sounds exhausting. “Is there anyone else around?”

“Umm.” Jack stops whatever he was doing, the sound of stone hitting stone stopping. Then 3D glasses peak over the edge of the building, narrowing in on the hybrid immediately. “I think Tommy might be robbing Tubbo or something. Go bother him. Bye.” Jack says, curt, then goes back to whatever he’s planning for the roof of their weird, nuclear building.

When Ranboo goes and checks, Tommy is, in fact, pillaging Tubbo’s chests. 

“I thought you weren’t stealing anymore?” Ranboo asks. Tommy jumps a foot in the air, whirling around to look at Ranboo standing by the doorway. His eyes are wide, and he instinctively pulls out and swings his sword in Ranboo’s direction. Wooden chests hit his back as he instinctively dodges.

“ Jesus , man. Make noise when you walk! Christ.” Tommy shakes his head, brushing his hair back nervously. He looks chipper, despite the panic fading from his eyes, which makes Ranboo cautious. There are very few things that make Tommy that happy...

“Why are you stealing from Tubbo?” Ranboo asks, wary. 

“Pfff, stealing .” Tommy laughs awkwardly. “What gave you that idea, big man? The big one. Big R , that’s who you are.” Tommy rambles. Ranboo can’t help but stifle a smile.

Ever since Tommy’s stopped his obsessive visits to Dream’s cell, he’s grown more relaxed. Ranboo hasn’t seen him much, mostly because he’s been working on some big project close to spawn. Right smack in the middle of the place Ranboo has been avoiding. 

“Need supplies for your big project?” He asks, genuinely curious. He hasn’t heard much about it: according to Puffy — who passed through Snowchester to restock just a few days ago — there’s a big tarp blocking everything, with a huge fence around the area blocking any snoopers. As far as Ranboo knows, the only people who know what’s behind the tarp are Sam, who’s managing the build, and Tommy himself.

“Nah,” Tommy shrugs, looking weirdly self conscious. “Sam’s, um, Sam Nook’s been makin’ me get all the supplies me-self.” 

“Oh, okay.” Ranboo says, eyebrows raising. 

Tommy? Doing things for himself? Because Sam told him to? Not even Tubbo can make Tommy do things. Even basic things like mining and doing things for himself that aren't stealing. Speaking of—

“Does Tubbo even know you're here?” 

“‘Course he does.” Tommy waves him off, stuffing his hands into too-full pockets. “Does he know you’re here, hmmm ?”

Ranboo blinks. “Uh, no, actually.”

“Well, look at you! Being all hypocritical and shit— that’s my new word, hypocritical . Means you’re being a right dick.”

“That’s-That’s not what hypocritical means—“

“I’ve been trying to use more words, you know. Techno — back when I didn’t hate the guy’s guts, fuck that guy — would use big words all the time and people think he’s fuckin’ smart. He’s not, by the way, he’s a dumb bitch .” Tommy laughs at himself. 

Ranboo awkwardly listens to the rambles, wondering if he should stop Tommy from pocketing a bit more coal and a bunch of logs. 

“Well, if this isn’t for the project— Actually, what is the project?” Ranboo asks. Tommy, who had been muttering more insults for Technoblode under his breath, cuts himself off, bouncing on his heels as his excitement grows. 

“I’m building a hotel , Ranboo. Oh, it’s gonna be so great. You see, Sam Nook — you know Sam, creeper guy? He’s been being my Tom Nook lately. He’s really weird, that guy.” Tommy says, though it’s oddly fond. He still hasn’t stopped bouncing, and Ranboo can’t help but smile at Tommy’s pure excitement. 

He’s gonna be real, though, he has no clue who or what a Tom Nook is. 

“The Bois’ say you’re being weird and quiet. Why are you being weird and quiet, Ranboob ?”

“Don’t call me that.” Ranboo signs, frowning. It takes him a second to decode the rest of what Tommy said, until he remembers that Tommy has the thing Techno and Phil have: the voices in his head. 

(Ranboo has one voice, sometimes. No he doesn’t. Yes you do. No I don’t. Yes I do.)

There’s a surprising number of people like that here. Back in Hypixel, Ranboo can't remember meeting anyone with voices . Though, his memory is pretty bad. Maybe it’s just more common than he realized. 

“Uh, I’m just acting like myself. Maybe they just aren’t used to people who can be quiet once in a while.” Ranboo jokes. Tommy scoffs, but Ranboo can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Yeah, chat’s not full of Technoblade Lame-os , are you chat?” Tommy stares off into the distance for a second, then laughs. “That’s what I thought !”

Ranboo shifts in place awkwardly. Phil usually goes and takes a walk if he needs to talk to the voices, and Technoblade is always half monologuing when he talks anyway, so there’s no real difference when he talks to them or when rambles out loud as he gets something done: so even though Ranboo is aware of their existence, he still doesn't know how to act when the voices are acknowledged. Especially with how flippantly Tommy does it. 

“You’ve been visiting Dream lately, have you?” Tommy asks. Ranboo jolts. How does he—

“Uh, yeah. I have.” 

“Huh.” Tommy says, looking up at him fully. “You’re so fuckin’ tall— no, that’s not what I wanted— Ranboo.” Tommy shakes his head, then stares straight into Ranboo’s eyes. “This is important, so listen up,” Ranboo looks to the floor. 

This is it. This is where he tells you to leave. That you were a terrible friend and a worse person. That you will only be remembered by your failures.

Or, worse than that: he tells you exactly what Dream said to make him stop going. Haven’t you been thinking about it? What did he say that made Tommy so angry that you weren’t allowed to comfort him? That’s what you keep telling yourself, that he was too angry. But what if he wasn’t angry at Dream?

What if he was angry at you?

Tommy’s gaze still lingers, still stares. Ranboo shuffled uncomfortably, hunched in on himself as he waits for a blow he hopes won’t come. 

“You should stop.” Tommy finally says, sounding firm. Quiet. Tommy is never quiet.

“...What?” Ranboo’s eyebrows knit. 

“You need to stop visiting him.”

“Wh—Why?” Ranboo asks, half confused, half uncomfortable.  

“‘Cause he’s a fuckin’ liar , Ranboo. You know that. You’re one of the only people who know that.” Tommy looks so earnest, his eyebrows knitting and him mouth pursing in what might be annoyance. “You remember that, right? You wrote me all those letters, you had to have written something in your book.”

“No, no, I remember, Tommy.” Ranboo assures. Tommy visibly deflates. “I just- I don’t think Dream has actually… lied to me.”

The silence fills the room. 

“What. The fuck.” Tommy finally says. Ranboo half shrugs, his shoulders hunching. 

“I-I’m not saying he’s not a bad person, Tommy. I’m not. Dream-Dream did terrible things to you, but-but I don’t think he’s, you know, lying. To me, at least.”

Tommy stares. It’s weird to see him stare. Out of everyone, Tommy was the first one to pick up on his aversion to eye contact, so he never pressured Ranboo to meet his eyes like some other members, just settled for talking toward air and closing his eyes when he accidentally looked in Ranboo’s direction. No one… well, Hypixel wasn’t as polite. As kind.

Tommy doesn’t look like he’s feeling kind.

“Is he manipulating you?” Tommy demands. Ranboo blinks.

“I…” 

“Because I can’t think of a single other reason why you could be this stupid, Ranboo.” Tommy looks like he’s about to smile, and for a second Ranboo thinks the tension will dissolve. That he’ll be alright. Then Tommy’s eyes drift to the side, like he’s listening to something Ranboo can’t hear, and when he looks back his shoulders are tense again. “Unless... Unless you're working with him.

Ranboo steps back. “ What?” he snaps, shocked. “Tommy, what are you—”

“Why else would you say something so-so wrong? Dream lies about everything , Ranboo. He spins them like a fucking web, you just don’t know. You haven't seen it yet. I-I don’t know what he told you, Ranboo, but you can’t believe him. Dream doesn't do or say things out of the kindness of his heart.”

“What does that even mean?” Ranboo asks, shaking his head. “I’m not working with Dream , Tommy. Who reminded you of all the awful things he did before every visit? Who got you your own memory book? Who stayed by your side even when you were exiled?” Ranboo clutches his white undershirt, walking forward. “I’m your friend, Tommy. I’m loyal to you. I promise, Tommy, I wouldn’t do that to you or Tubbo, I’ve just been going... it’s more curiosity— it's not about— Tommy, are you even listening??”

Tommy stares at the floor. When Ranboo chances a quick glance at his eyes, he’s shocked to see the shine. Tommy— Tommy’s nearly—

Voice a chilling echo of exile, Tommy says, “You sound just like him.”

Ranboo steps back. They stand in Tubbo’s house, on opposing sides once again. Ranboo’s chosen a side, hasn’t he? Did he? Is standing up for yourself choosing a side?

“Don’t talk to me until you’ve stopped visiting him.” Tommy says shortly, staring at the ground. His lips are pursed, a frown maring his previous cheer. 

“Tommy.” Ranboo shakes his head, mouth firm. “You can’t make me do that.”

“Fuckin’ watch me.” Tommy mutters, turning around and walking into the cold. Ranboo watches him go. 

The tense air doesn’t settle for several more minutes, and it takes several more for Ranboo to realize his claws have sunk into his palms again. He unclenches them slowly, looking down and watching purple blood drip down his fingers. 

He’s outside, crossing the soulspeed highway, walking over the hills and following the path until he gets to the run-down community house. The white and gray, glittering portal still sits, even amongst the rubble. Ranboo ignores the itch the place gives him, keeping his eyes down as he crosses the barrier between worlds. 

The loud streets of Hypixel make his claws extend, but he doesn’t hide them like he does in the SMP. Instead he stands as tall as he dares, and shoots a message to his newest friend. 

——

“You’re late.” 

Ranboo rolls his eyes, too tired to be amused.  “You’re stuck in a cell, how do you know I’m late?” Ranboo asks, incredulous. Dream gestures to the clock behind him with his thumb. Ranboo sighs. “Right.”

Ranboo feels eyes track him, but he can’t find the energy to feel uncomfortable. He’s felt a lot of eyes the past ten hours— holy, he was there for ten hours? He blinks, but the clock on te wall doesn’t magically move. He finally looks away, shocked. Somewhere behind the glass, Dream hums. 

“Long night?” He asks. Ranboo shrugs, leaning forward so he can rest his chin on where his arms are folded, the table becoming a make-shift pillow. 

“You could say that.” Ranboo dodges. Dream chuckles, jutting his chin out.

“You still have dust on your sleeves.” 

Ranboo scrambles to sit up, checking the sleeves of his suit. They’re clean, the coal-black they should be. When he looks up, Dream has rolled, laying on his side as he clutches his stomach, cackling loudly. 

“Oh my— the look on your face —” Dream breaks into a wheeze. Ranboo shuffles in the chair, frowning. 

“Shut up.” he mutters, still checking his sleeves for player-dust. He knows he cleaned them off before coming here, he dealt with the water himself, but Dream’s comment still worries him. 

“Don't want anyone to know, right? That you went off and murdered kids in Hypixel?” Dream asks. Ranboo purses his lips. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Oh, thanks.” Ranboo says, half sarcastic.

“I mean, who would I tell anyway: Sam? Bad?” Dream scoffs. “Neither of them would care. Actually, nobody would care here: Ant travels to Hypixel to meet with his boyfriend all the time. Techno’s a ranked fighter there, and that’s not why people hate him. What’s with all the worry, Ranboo?”

Leg bouncing to an invisible beat underneath the table, Ranboo wonders how he got to this point. Where his only person to confide in is Dream . Even worse, the fact that he’s considering it. 

“You get in a fight or something? Start a war?” Dream cocks his head. Ranboo can’t decide if it’s mocking or curious. 

“Maybe.” Ranboo mutters

“Really! What is this, the second time you've done that?” Dream asks. Ranboo glares. “I'm only teasing. Tubbo and Tommy have started, like, six, so don't even worry.”

“I didn’t start a war,” he elaborates. Dream hums, and Ranboo’s mouth starts moving. “Just— got in an argument, is all. It’s fine .”

“Doesn’t seem very fine.” Dream stands up and, for the first time, walks to the table. It mirrors the one Ranboo sits in, just on the other side of the glass, and has remained untouched during their visits. Dream pulls out the chair, sitting down and relaxing. 

Dream looks different, up close like this. This is the closest they’ve been since their first visit, before Dream was moved to the courtyard. His clothes look filthy, and Ranboo finally notices two bracelets around Dream’s too-thin wrists. They look high tech, definitely the work of Sam. 

“What was it about?” Dream interrupts Ranboo’s thoughts. When Ranboo gives him a blank look, he prompts, “the fight, what was it about?”

Ranboo frowns. “It was… I was…”

“Hey, you don’t have to tell me. I can see it's personal.” Dream raises his hands up innocently. “Why are you so caught up on it? No offense, but normally you kinda… forget that stuff.”

“True.” Ranboo laughs, though it's more self-deprecating than intended. “Very true. Um, it’s about what they said, I guess. They-They said I couldn’t talk to them until I did something. But They can’t make me do that thing, so… so we’re not talking. Anymore. Possibly for a long time.”

Ranboo stares at the floor. That’s good, vague. He has no clue it's about him. Just a misunderstanding between friends that totally doesn't have to do with the probably-evil tyrant in front of you.

“Not Tubbo, I hope.” Dream tilts his head, looking over. Ranboo blinks. Is that care? Manipulation? Shoot, Tommy definitely got in his head.

“K-Kinda. Not really.” Ranboo says, wincing. Nice job, could you be any more obvious?

Dream hums, and Ranboo waits for the guess. It doesn’t come. “Do you think they’re doing that because they care or because they want to control you?”

“...what?”

“Well,” Dream’s tone lilts, half soft, half something Ranboo can’t identify, “if I said that to someone then it would be labeled as controlling. Evil . Is this any different?”

“ Yes , yes, it’s different.” Ranboo shakes his head, multicolored hair falling into his eyes. It’s gotten a bit long. Ranboo searches for an excuse, a reason. “He— They’re just worried, I guess.”

“Do you hate them?” Dream asks. Ranboo shakes his head. “Do you think they hate you?”

The silence feels too loud. 

“No one could ever hate you, Ranboo.” Dream assures, letting his head fall back. “Even with everything you’ve done, people still seem to love you.” 

Ranboo stomach drops. “...What do you mean, ‘everything I’ve ever done’?” 

“Oh, you know,” Dream’s smile peaks through the side of his mask as he stares at the obsidian ceiling. “You started the worst rivalry between a flower shop and an ice cream shop this server has ever seen.”

“Oh.” Ranboo sits back. “I thought…” He feels eyes searching for something he doesn't want found, so he switches the topic. “You know about that?”

“I told you, Ranboo, I pay attention. Just because you don’t see me doesn’t mean I won’t hear about it.” Dream says. 

Ranboo nods, and wonders why that sentence makes him feel so sick. He stares at the floor, grimacing as he searches for the reason acid is swirling up his throat and his eyes feel hazy. Then Dream asks a question, and things… blank out for a bit.

——

Tommy is very mad at me. No, worried. Worried for me. He wants me to stop visiting Dream. Went and saw Purpled in Hypixel. Dream knows so much, much more than originally thought. Why does he know so much? Why does he still know?

The visit was otherwise very nice :)

——

As much as he would like to pretend the increase in mining visits and trips to see Purpled have been completely coincidental, he can’t lie to himself. He misses Snowchester, he does, but missing it isn’t going to stop him from avoiding the people within it.

He hasn’t seen or talked to Tubbo since the Tommy incident five days ago. Since then he’s spent all of his free time at the prison, or killing newbies with Purpled. He’s nearly at eighth now, which makes Purpled roll his eyes whenever they pass the scoreboard, muttering about how Ranboo’s trying to steal my spot . Still, he looks weirdly proud, so Ranboo hasn't let the snide remarks get to him. 

But Purpled is busy today, building something in the part of the SMP Ranboo is now avoiding even more than he was previously. Sam has vistations closed, and Ranboo doesn’t want to spend another afternoon zoning out in the mines.

Honestly, his feet carried him here, not his mind. He’s on a cliff near Snowchester, one that overlooks the sunset, the ocean far, far below him. If he squints, he can make out the shadow the prison casts on the water. 

He’s kicking his feet as he thinks, letting his legs swing over the edge. He’s sitting, his hands in his lap and his back hunched, tail curled around his hips. He feels stuck, his body rooted to the ground.

Footsteps crunch in the snow, light and distinct. Ranboo stiffens, but he’s not brave enough to run away before the footsteps reach him. He waits, and eventually a pair of brown, fur-coated boots join him, swinging over the edge and starting their own small swinging arcs.

“Heard you got in a fight with Tommy.”

Tubbo sounds light. Non-accusatory. Ranboo barely trusts it.

“Didn’t mean to.” Ranboo kicks, letting his leg thump against the cliff. Dirt crumbles beneath the force. “‘You here to tell me you can’t talk to me either?”

“What? No.” Tubbo shakes his head. Ranboo looks over, looking at Tubbo in his peripheral. “I’m here because you’re my friend, and you look like you could use a shoulder to vent to.”

Ranboo laughs at the odd phrasing, low and more of a breath of air than anything, but it makes his shoulders slump and his legs stop kicking. 

“So you’re not choosing his side?” He asks, tentative. Tubbo is silent for a few seconds, staring at the clouds. 

“You know, someone I know taught me that, maybe, choosing sides isn't always the best idea.” Tubbo bumps his shoulder, smiling.

Ranboo’s mouth drops open without his consent, and he can’t get over his awe enough to close it. He stares at the brown haired boy, someone who’s become the closest person Ranboo has to a best friend. The person he always thought he would be the second best to. That, when it came to it, Tubbo would choose Tommy and leave him behind.

He laughs, awed and quiet. He wasn’t second best. For once, Ranboo wasn’t left behind.

“That person is you, by the way.” Tubbo stage whispers. Ranboo laughs louder, throwing his head back. When he settles again, Tubbo is smiling, full of teeth and, Ranboo thinks, pride. 

“I know, Tubbo. I know.”

“Glad you didn’t forget that, Memory Boy.”

——

“Ranboo?”

He blinks, looking up from the floor and taking in the glass wall between him and Dream. He smiles awkwardly. “Sorry, got lost in thought for a second; what were you saying?”

“Doesn’t matter, too hard to summarize if you weren't paying attention.” Dream stretches. He’s sitting on the bed today, instead of the floor, legs folded and boots taken off, hidden somewhere under the bed, likely. “I actually had a question for you, Ranboo.”

“Oh.” Ranboo says. The past few visits have been more idle conversations with stories from Dream: It’s been awhile since Dream’s had something he wants to ask. “Go for it.”

“It might be, um,” Dream hesitates. “Offensive, I think. I’m not totally sure.”

Ranboo blinks. “Okay?” He says, bewildered. 

“You’re, like— you’re a hybrid, right?” Dream asks, words stilted and careful. Ranboo nods. “You’re-You’re half endermen, you mentioned that on the second visit, that your favorite block is grass and you wonder if it might be genetic.”

“Yeah, I—“ Ranboo laughs slightly. “I guess I did mention that. Yeah, I’m half endermen.”

“Can I ask, uh, what’s your other half?”

“Oh.” Ranboo says dumbly. He guesses he should have expected this question at some point, especially since he’s constantly getting interrogated by Tubbo about the exact same thing. 

“Sorry, did I cross the line? Ant told me it’s not polite to ask hybrids about being hybrids, but it’s-it’s been on my mind a lot, and you’re usually so cool about stuff. So.” 

“No, no,” Ranboo assures. “It’s fine. It’s just— you're gonna get a lame answer cause I, uh, I don’t really know.” Ranboo scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry, that’s a lame answer, so you can ask another question.”

Dream pauses for a few seconds. “You really don’t know?” Ranboo shakes his head, grimacing. Hesitantly, Dream continues,“Why… why don’t you know?”

“Well,” Ranboo hums. “I know I’m half endermen because, you know, I look half endermen. But it’s also— I feel emotional pain when an enderman dies. It’s-It’s like if I saw Tubbo or someone die- die, you know?” 

Ranboo shivers at the reminder. Tubbo killed one in front of him the other day, asked him if it was his long-lost cousin while he did it, laughing as it screamed. Ranboo knows he doesn’t- that he doesn’t realize. Only Phil has ever apologized, making sure he has the chance to look away and plug his ears. Lets him at least prepare himself for the murder of his brethern. 

Ranboo clears his throat, blinking tears away, “I-I can talk to them, too, if they want to stop and chat. They’re comforting, like, like a family.” He smiles. A family. He can’t remember having a family, but… it’s what he imagines having a family is like. 

“Endermen do travel in packs.” Dream offers, neutral. “A haunting, I think it’s called.”

“A haunting.” Ranboo mutters, trying to commit the term to memory. When he looks up, Dream’s head is cocked. 

“So there’s nothing else that makes you feel like that? Not even humans?”

Ranboo shakes his head. “Nope. Nothing.”

The silence sits between them. It’s not uncomfortable, but as Ranboo sneaks glances at Dream, he feels like there’s something in the room that’s being unsaid. Dream just stares at the wall, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes visible from this angle. Ranboo stares at them, wondering what Dream is thinking about. Watches the way his index finger twitches, drawing back an invisible bow string.

His communicator buzzes: a message from Purpled. Look I know you’re done with your angst fest so you don’t need to visit to avoid anyone, but I need a partner for a tournament and there's no under rank 30s on. Can you join?

Well, that’s certainly a reason to leave early.

“I, okay, this is kinda a bad time to do this, but I actually have to go, so I’ve got to cut this short.” Ranboo gets up, pushing in the chair. He gives Dream a small, awkward wave, “Uh, it was nice talking to you, Dream.”

He’s nearly at the door, has his hands reached out to pull it open and everything, when Dream says;

“I could, uh, help you. If you want.”

Ranboo’s whirls around, his jaw slack. 

Still sitting against the wall, Dream is eerily still. He scratches patterns into his jeans. “Look, I’m aware of the shit hybrids go through, okay? I’ve never, ever participated in that bullshit, but I know about it: Ant you know? I get if you're not, uh, comfortable sharing that part of yourself.” Dream stops carving patterns, raising his hands up, as if defeated. “You have Tubbo and Tommy anyways, what do you need me for?”

Ranboo forces himself to breath evenly. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course I do.” The lie rolls off his tongue, and Ranboo faintly wonders if there’s any truth in it at all. “Thanks for the offer, though, Dream. It means a lot.”

“Sure, Ranboo.” Dream says, voice in that strange lilt again. “The offer’s not expiring, by the way. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Dream jokes, gesturing to the obsidian walls. Ranboo chuckles awkwardly, unsure of how to respond, so he doesn’t. 

The realm portal glitters in the community house, still unchained. And even though he’s excited to see Purpled, he’s not sure the light feeling in his chest, the way his tail is higher than it normally is, perking up and wagging like he’s a dog , is all because of the invite. In fact, he’s worried that his brain is truly just easily swayed by some interest and some encouraging words.

He does not need Dream’s help.

He has Tubbo. Yeah, Tubbo experiments on him, and seems to ask all the wrong questions and do things that are a bit further than just offensive. But Tubbo is his friend, and he just wants to help, right? And what’s Dream, just some bored guy who would rather complete the impossible task of decoding the genetics of an abandoned hybrid than go crazy in a tiny prison cell? At least Tubbo has a reason to help him. 

He has Tubbo. He doesn’t need Dream’s help. He has Tubbo.

Chapter Text

The weather is turning for most of the SMP: the transition from winter to spring is never quick. Any decorations left over from Winterfest have been taken down, making most of the houses seem strangely bare. Even Techno and Phil’s snowy tundra has started to grow flowers, vines creeping up the side of their cabin. 

It’s the first seasonal change Ranboo’s witnessed since his arrival, and he can’t say he likes it. Fundy’s been tentatively talking about decorating the ice cream shop for the Spring festival, but Ranboo has yet to agree. He’s afraid to, if he’s honest. 

(Things will never be as simple as before, when the biggest drama was between an ice cream shop and a flower shop) 

Thankfully, though, Snowchester’s spruce forest is ever unchanged. The snow still covers the banks, the houses are still standing, the farm is still growing. Maybe there’s a few more baby foxes running around, if anything. But Ranboo can handle a baby fox or two. 

He’s sitting up on Tubbo’s rafters, watching his friend titter about, crafting and enchanting a new set of armor. His legs are long enough for Tubbo to reach up and swat them whenever he walks by, shooting him a goofy smile when Ranboo tries to kick him in response. 

Days spent running around, causing chaos because they would rather be an inconvenience than do anything productive — those are fun. But it’s these quiet afternoons that Ranboo looks forward to the most. The wind softly rattles the shutters. The steps and muffled hums of the villagers below. The creaking sound of chests opening as Tubbo wanders, singing to himself as he works. 

It’s tender. Sweet. It’s a hurts-Ranboo’s-heart-if-he-thinks-about-it-too-much type of moment. But it’s also a reminder: things weren’t this good before. 

He envies his past self more than he should. Views his time in L’Manberg with rose colored glasses, romanticizing the small moments instead of remembering the bad. He remembers the tour, how gentle and forgiving Tubbo was when Ranboo kept forgetting things. Vaguely, he remembers decorating with Fundy for an event he barely remembers. Karaoke night with Tubbo— that memory is blurry, barely even a memory and more of a feeling. A sense of joy and freedom he’d never remembered feeling before.

But that’s not what L’Manberg was. Tubbo wasn’t L’Manberg. People that used to be his friends — Quackity, Niki, Fundy — they changed. The country corrupted them, shifting them toward selfish desires of destruction, all at the cost of their friendships. Did they ever really care for him as he did for them? Is he just always destined to sit in the back and watch his friends slowly grow to hate him? 

He feels Tubbo swat his leg. He doesn’t kick back. 

“You okay, big man?” Tubbo asks, stopping in front of him. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” Ranboo’s lips twist into a grimace. “Just, you know, thinking.”

“About what?” Tubbo asks, earnest and concerned. 

Ranboo’s legs swing back and forth, and he smiles when Tubbo bats at them like a cat. “L’Manberg. I’m trying to figure out what I still remember.”

“Well, you were our minutes man, I’m sure you have your notes.” 

“Notes are different from memories, I think.” Ranboo clenches his jaw. “Notes are reminders. I don’t remember notes, you know? And my memories…” he thinks about the panic room, the signs on the walls, a fire and his book clutched in trembling hands. “Those are hard to think about, sometimes.”

“I get that,” Tubbo says, laughing slightly. “Weirdly, I completely get that.”

“Do you?” Ranboo searches Tubbo’s face, searching for a crack. For a lie. Then blinks, shocked at himself. When did he get into that habit?

“Yeah, I mean, it’s hard to think about things I was proud of, that I took a long time to, you know, make or find, and then remember that it’s all gone now.” Tubbo laughs again, though it’s more hysterical than humorless. 

“Do you ever miss it?” Ranboo asks. He doesn’t know why, it’s none of his business, but the question burns his throat. Begging for an answer. “The original L’Manberg, with Wilbur, Fundy, and Tommy.”

Tubbo’s lips twist into a grimace. “Sometimes? I was betrayed, you know, by Eret? I mined with them for hours, and they were the one who built the walls in the first place—”

“They were?” Ranboo’s legs stop kicking. “But, Ghostbur’s books never mentioned—” 

“Oh yeah, Wilbur probably wrote all that out. He hated Eret for what they did, you know? He didn’t want to credit them for the walls, something he was so proud of. Honestly, too proud of— Schlatt was right, those things were constrictive as hell.” Tubbo laughs again, looking up to meet Ranboo’s eyes. 

“Wilbur—Wilbur changed history on purpose? ” Ranboo asks again, just to make sure. Tubbo’s brows knit in thought. 

“He also just might’ve forgotten. You have to remember: he wasn’t exactly all there when he wrote some of those books.” Tubbo reminds, blunt and gentle at the same time. Ranboo kicks him slightly, which makes Tubbo smile. “Come on, stop sulking: you’re making me all sad.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Ranboo pulls his legs up, scooting over to the ladder and climbing down. “What can I do to cheer you up?”

“Experiment?” Tubbo asks, hopefully joking. 

“ No , Tubbo.”

“Pl eeease , we could learn so much! How do you know that water kills you?”

“I don’t , but I have a good feeling that it does, and I’d rather not test the theory.”

“You’re no fun.” Tubbo pouts. Ranboo can see the dimples pinch his cheeks, though, and can’t help but smile back. 

He pushes Tubbo’s head away, smiling fully when he hears the indignant squawk that causes. He dives out the front door, laughing as he hears Tubbo’s footsteps charge after him. 

——

Knock, knock, knock. “Ranboo?”

His shed leaves him mostly open to the elements, causing Philza’s call to feel like it’s being shot straight into his skull. Ranboo groans into his pillow, snuggling closer to his cats. At least they’re warm. 

“Ranboo? I brought soup.”

Soup does sound pretty good. 

“Come in!” He calls. His voice comes out rough and groggy, same as it’s been for the last day or so.

Phil kicks the door open, hands full with a tray of soup, bread, and a few cut up apples. Ranboo looks up blearily, frowning at the presented food. 

“You didn’t need to make all that.” Ranboo mutters. Politely batting Enderchest to the side, Ranboo sits up, attempting to smile at Phil’s shadow. His shirt sticks to his back: how is he sweating in forty degree weather ? 

“Of course I did, I’m not leaving my neighbor to practically starve himself.” Phil huffs, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly. 

Even as guilt stirs in Ranboo’s heart, he can’t help but feel warmed by the gesture. It’s the kindest thing someones done for him in a while. 

Oh my Prime, that is a sad thought. 

“I’m not starving myself,” Ranboo denies, even while his hands reach out to take the tray from Phil. Said man shoots him an amused look. 

“When was the last time you left the house?”

Ranboo looks at the floor, searching his memory. When did he last leave the house? Yesterday? No, yesterday he slept the day away. Before that he has a vague memory of visiting Tubbo in Snowchester. 

Rubbing his forehead, Ranboo sighs. 

“You good, mate?” 

“Fine,” Ranboo assures. “Just had a headache the last few days, is all.”

Phil hums, frowning. “Maybe I’d do you some good to get away from the snow for a bit.” He says. At Ranboo’s face — a mixture of surprised-hurt-confused that he’s too tired to hide — Phil quickly elaborates. “Not that I’m kicking you out! You’re more than welcome here, we’re both happy to have a neighbor. It’s just,” Phil looks around with a funny look. “Your house isn’t exactly insulated, so staying here will just make you sicker. Maybe just… go for a walk?”

A walk. That doesn’t sound that bad. He needs to get out of bed anyway, right? He’ll throw his back out if he keeps losing the days underneath his covers. 

“Thanks, Phil.” Ranboo says, dipping the bread in the soup and nibbling at the soggy mess. 

“It’s no problem,” Phil assures, bowing a tad awkwardly. He walks backwards as he speaks, until his silhouette stands in the doorway. “If you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.”

For a reason Ranboo can’t explain, the words make him think of Dream. 

——

L’Manberg used to sing. Ranboo noticed it when he first moved to the server: everywhere else was normal, but in L’Manberg, it felt like there was a humming in the walls, the wind, the water. It drew Ranboo to the place in the first place, and kept him there. 

Why would he want to leave? The song wasn’t finished yet. 

From Ghostbur’s books, he found out that Ranboo wasn’t the only one to hear it: Wilbur, within all his crazy ramblings and impassioned plans, somehow wrote an orchestra into the very soil. Oh, how did he phrase it?

An unfinished symphony, forever unfinished. 

No one else seems to hear it. Maybe, in the dead of night, the residents could hear a few notes, the wind rustling their shutters in just the right way. He has a theory that Tommy heard it, once upon a time. He thinks Tubbo might hear it in his darkest nightmares. 

The music is what drew him into wanting to become president in the first place, he’s pretty sure. There’s no other explanation, really: he has never, ever enjoyed the spotlight. Too much attention, dozens of eyes focusing on him at once? That sounds like his worst nightmare. So why in the world would he want to become president of the most populated place on the server?

Dream was the one who came up with the answer. In Wilbur’s old diaries, he speaks of working with Dream, of being a vassal and destroying L’Manberg. Of course he had to double check those works with Dream, and one thing led to another and….

Apparently, Dream hears the whispers too. Wilbur used to, when he was alive. Dream thinks Techno and Phil might’ve as well, which is why they stayed far away. 

“They drove him crazy.” Dream had explained. Ranboo remembers the casual shrug, as if he’s not talking about a dead terrorist. “The whispers are desires, emotions, life. When people put too much into something, they don’t come out unscathed. Honestly, it’s kind of Wilbur’s fault that he died: he infused all of that into the nation as he built it, and he got the consequences.”

“Should—Should we really be speaking ill of the dead?” Ranboo had asked, hesitant. 

“What’s he gonna do, come back?”

Ranboo flinched at the laugh Dream let out, but didn’t say anything more. 

Now, the grass underneath him is still slightly damp from the morning dew. That conversation was two days ago, but he’s only now worked up the courage to visit. 

Someone lined the outside with a layer of glass. Ranboo isn’t sure why, but it does allow him a perfect view of the crater. 

Along with the complete silence that now surrounds it. 

He wonders, faintly, if one of the reasons Wilbur wanted L’Manberg gone so badly was to get rid of that version of himself. Well, three months later, it’s gone. Forever, likely. Ranboo doubts anyone wants it back anymore. 

The obsidian lines that Dream dropped TNT from are still there, creating an imposing shadow over the remains. Someone should really destroy that, it’s a huge eye sore. (Knowing the server, that someone will probably be him). He wonders if there’s still TNT in some of the disposers, if they could’ve inflicted even more damage.)

Is he a bad person?

He’s befriended the three people who blew up the one thing his old friends cared about. Blew it to smithereens while laughing maniacally. Ranboo watched, and did nothing to stop them. He even thought about running away from the battle field, when Techno had told him to. Why wouldn’t he?

Does that make him bad? Does caring about bad people make him bad?

… Wilbur was a bad person, wasn’t he? 

He blew up a nation. Betrayed all his friends. Yet… Yet when he hears them speak about him… they’re kind. Tommy loves Wilbur like a brother, yet Tommy’s still a good person. 

Mostly. Maybe. Okay, he’s definitely not a bad person. 

What does that make Ranboo? What will he become? Will he be remembered?

Will anyone even care?

“You seem lost in thought.”

Ranboo jumps, nearly falling flat on his face due to the angle of the hill. The voice lets out a startled sound. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay, Niki. I’m good.”  He turns, smiling reassuringly.

Niki looks… different. It’s been a bit since they’ve seen each other: not since they talked very briefly about the egg a few weeks ago. Even longer, months, since she burned down L’Mantree. Ranboo thinks, in a way, the symphony truly ended with Niki. By burning that tree, the last remainder of the original L’Manberg, she destroyed any hope that was keeping the country alive. 

Prime, he’s been spending too much time thinking about Wilbur’s books: he’s starting to sound like the guy.

“How have you been?” She asks, walking forward and sitting down next to him. Up close, he can smell the stale, musty air of caves, which seem stuck to her clothes. 

She’s wearing a large, ratty overcoat. One that’s clearly way too big for her. Ranboo frowns at it. It’s so stained. 

“Good, I think.” He says, tearing his eyes away. Niki hums. 

“I haven’t seen you around here in a while.”

Ranboo chuffs. “I haven’t seen you anywhere , Niki. Where have you been?”

“My base.” She shrugs. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“Organizing, planning, managing. You know, the fun stuff.” She jokes. Or, he thinks she jokes. “What have you been doing? I know you had a lot planned for L’Manberg, but do you have anything planned now that it’s gone?”

Ranboo blinks. “Does leaving count?” 

“You’re leaving?” Niki asks. She looks confused, and slightly concerned. “The entire SMP?”

“No, no, I…” Ranboo looks at L’Manberg. “I’ve just gotten kinda tired with all this type of stuff. Sides or governments or whatever . ”

He feels eyes search his face. The gaze burns more than when Tubbo does it. 

“You… You’ve been staying with Techno and Phil right?” Niki asks. At Ranboo’s wide-eyed look, she elaborates. “You told me last time, don’t worry! They’re fine with me knowing.”

Ranboo relaxes, pulling out his memory book to double check. He finds the brief mention from one of the earlier pages, dated way back in January. 

“Okay…” he says slowly. “Yeah, I—I’m living with them. Why?”

“Well… it’s kinda perfect, isn’t it?” Niki smiles, a sickening echo of her previous bubbly smile Ranboo can barely remember.  “I mean, you seem like you’re gaining some anarchist tendencies, and you’re with the only two anarchists on the server.”

“...huh.”

“Well, good news,” Niki gently nudges his shoulder. “I’m considering joining you all!”

“Really?” Ranboo raises his eyebrows. She’s been lost in her delusions for months, hiding out in caves and staying far away from everyone. “I didn’t think you were willing to live with people again. What made you change your mind?”

Niki hums, looking forward, beyond the rubble of L’Manberg. “Techno approached me a few weeks ago, offered me a spot. I had to think about it, but… I think I’m ready.”

“That—that’s great!” Ranboo lets out a shocked laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his multicolored hair. “It’ll be good to have you, Niki, honestly. So are you building your own place over there or..?”

“Probably, yeah.” Niki nods, smiling. It’s less maniacal than it was a few minutes ago. “Phil said I could build off from the meeting room, but since it’s supposed to, you know, be a secret and everything, Phil said I can just build wherever and he can attach me to you all somehow.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Ranboo assures. “Since Tommy went and broke in a few months ago, and Eret followed us back once, so most people know where it generally is. They just don’t know I live there, too, so keep it, uh, quiet, please.” Ranboo awkwardly laughs. Niki nods, though her face is marred with a confused frown. 

“Tommy— Tommy knows where the meeting room is?”

Ranboo frowns too. That’s the second time she’s said that, meeting room. “Uh, yeah, he lived with Techno for a few weeks.”

“It’s been around that long?”

“.... his house?” Ranboo tentatively asks, bewildered.

“No, no, the syndicate? Ranboo, I know your memory is bad, but usually you can stay on topic. Are you doing okay?”

“I—I— yeah, I’m fine. Uh.” He blinks. “Sorry, syndicate?”

“The anarchy syndicate that you, Techno, and Phil are a part of?” Niki raises an eyebrow. “The one that, apparently, everyone already knows about?”

For several long seconds, Ranboo attempts to backtrack through the conversation, wondering how in the world he got here . Finds snippets, retracing steps, and finally realizes: oh shit.

“The syndicate— shoot, sorry. Tommy and Eret know about-about the house.” Ranboo shakily smiles. Niki still looks concerned. “Yeah, just, kinda been uninvolved with all of that. Kinda avoiding the area, to be honest.”

“Oh yeah, Techno mentioned that the group was pretty lenient on rules and such. I’m surprised you haven’t been helping, though, with all your talk on hating sides and such: that’s really their entire thing.”

Ranboo hums nervously, feeling tears sting his eyes. His leg is bouncing up and down almost erratically now, and he needs to get out, get out, get out.

“Just… been busy, I guess.” He says. “This syndicate, how long did Techno say they’ve been planning it?”

Niki looks at him weird. “Well, he talked to me in early February, so it’s definitely been in the works for a bit. Why, when did they talk to you?”

It’s the middle of Spring. 

Months , months they’ve been hiding this from him. Lying to his face. Do they even care? Do they even trust him? What’s the point of choosing peace, choosing to stay away from the conflicts, if they're just gonna bring the conflicts to him. 

“Ranboo?”

“I have to catch Sam before he heads home.”

He stands abruptly, stumbling on the uneven slope. Niki stares at him, but he ignores her. “Oh, well, alright then. I hope to see you at the next meeting!”

“Mmm”

——

They lied to you. Techno and Phil don’t trust you. Do you trust them? 

Who do you still trust, anyway?

——

“Back again, Mr Boo?” Bad greets him, white teeth stretched into a terrifying smile. Ranboo has enough experiences with the demon to know it’s genuine, and it’s not intended to scare. “It's been a bit since I’ve seen you.”

“Has it?” He asks, looking around. 

Shoot. Memory gap. He’s been having more and more of those lately. This is the first time he’s been startled back into awareness in the prison. 

Ranboo looks around. The black stone looks more cracked than it did before. Or does it? He never really takes note of things like that. Should he? Dream always prattles on about the importance of observation. 

Ranboo.

Ranboo?

“Ranboo?”

“Sorry.” Ranboo blinks, focusing back on the demon. “Just— having an off-day, I guess.” He smiles, tentative 

“I get it.” Bad assures. “The Spring festival is coming up, are you helping with planning?” Bad asks, head tilting. His skin is made of shadows, so he can’t really emote through facial expressions. Ranboo finds it easier, if he’s honest. 

“Busy.” He politely dismisses, smiling awkwardly. He feels Bad’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t press any more, instead turning and starting down the path towards the courtyard. Ranboo follows him through the prison, relieved. 

“It’s been a bit since you’ve visited, according to the logs.” Bad says. He’s taken him further than he normally does, and now Ranboo knows why. “I figured you were just coming on Sam’s shift or something, but nope! What’s been keeping you busy if you’re not helping with the festival?"

Ranboo would love to answer, but he honestly has no idea.

“Uh, just been around, you know.”

“Come on, Ranboo! You can tell me.”

Ranboo’s conversational skills might not be the best, and he’s definitely a bit spacey today, but he is definitely picking up some weird vibes from Bad. The shadow demon’s pure white eyes stare at him, unblinking, not once glancing to check down the hallway. It’s eerie.

“I—I’ve been helping Tubbo with Snowchester, a bit.” Ranboo says. He’s been busy in other ways, too — fixing the community house, helping Phil fix up the dog house. “Been spending some time at home, I guess. Just… Didn’t feel like coming here.”

“You've been spending time with Techno, then?”

Ranboo trips over his own shoes, only just catching himself on a cracked blackstone wall. “Wha— How do you—”

“The egg knows all, Ranboo.” Bad says cryptically. He takes in Ranboo’s skeptical expression and laughs. “Techno paid me a visit not too long ago and mentioned you. You don’t need to worry, Ranboo! We’re all friends here!”

Ranboo awkwardly nods, lying through his teeth. 

“I think you’ve got it from here. Bye, bye, Mr. Ranboo!” Bad comes to an abrupt stop. Ranboo stutters his steps, awkwardly waiting. “Dream’s been awfully lonely with you gone. He’ll be happy to have you back!”

Ranboo stands still, watching Bad’s retreating back until it gets lost around a corner. He lets out a breath, his lungs aching. He doesn’t know when he stopped breathing, but for a minute there he wondered if he would forget entirely.  He shakes off the thought, continuing to the iron door still labeled visitors’ entrance .

‘Dream’s been awfully lonely,’ sits in the back of his brain, echoing unnaturally as he shuts the door behind him. Something sickly and heavy sitting in the back of his throat. 

“Sorry I’ve missed the last few days.” He blurts out before Dream can get a word in. The masked man only cocks his head from where he sits against the far wall. “Things got busy and I’m not sure why but I just wasn’t coming here and it's not your fault—”

“It's fine.”

Ranboo cuts himself off. “Oh,” he says dumbly. The feeling recedes, replaced with embarrassment that curls around his cheeks, tinting them with a purple blush. He tries to shake it off, pulling out his chair and sitting down. 

“You don’t owe me anything, Ranboo.” Dream says. There’s a pause, and Ranboo slowly shakes his head. “See? I’m just your,” Dream hums, “Good person points, I guess.”

“Oh.” Ranboo blinks. “Do you— Is that really—”

“Don’t bother with small talk,” Dream dismisses. “No one’s visited, and nothing ever happens here.” Something pangs in Ranboo’s heart, which makes him grimace. Don't empathize with the psycho. “Come on, it left off on my turn and I’ve been brainstorming. No more stupid questions like, what’s your favorite animal?”

“Wha— it’s a valid question!”

“It’s a boring question. Come on, settle down.” Dream gestures to the table and chair as he stands up, going to the chest in the far corner. Things have shifted inside the cell: Dream’s bed was made for once, and the thin layer of dust that had settled over most of the objects in the room was gone. 

On Ranboo’s side, though, things are entirely the same. The chair was still in the same position Ranboo left it in. Dust has settled further down the table, where Ranboo has never touched it. No new visitors, then. 

Dream comes back, walking up to the glass for the first time. Ranboo watches him, warry. He expects an escape attempt, for Dream to pound on the glass and explode into a fury of emotion. He tenses at the possibility.

Instead, the masked man holds up a notebook. 

“I’ve been writing down questions, so I won't forget them. My memory’s gotten worse since I got stuck in here.”

“Soon you might give me a run for my money.” Ranboo jokes. Dream doesn’t respond, busy flipping through pages. Ranboo bites his lip awkwardly as the silence sits. 

“What childhood memory do you think about most often?”

Ranboo lets out an undignified snort. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s better than ‘what’s your favorite animal’!”

“Not really…”

“Just answer the freaking question, Ranboo.” Dream huffs. Ranboo likes to imagine he’s pouting behind the mask. 

“Fine, fine.” He sits back, muttering, “What’s my favorite childhood memory…”

The more he thinks, the blanket his mind gets. It’s like scratching at a wall, one that goes all the way to the sky overhead. He scrapes his nails into the stone, gritting his teeth at the feeling. Small rocks slip through, falling onto his face. Dust stings his eyes. There’s no sun, nor rain, nor clouds. Just silence. Never ending silence. 

“I…” 

Words fail him. 

“You can just pick a random one, it’s fine.” Dream shrugs. “It’s hard to pick between so many, I get it.”

Ranboo closes his mouth. 

“Ranboo, you gotta answer the question. That’s the whole game.” Dream reminds. Underneath the table, Ranboo’s bouncing leg increases its rhythm. 

“I don’t…” Ranboo looks at the table. “You know I have a bad memory, Dream.”

“Surely you have one.” Dream prods. “You couldn’t have lost your entire childhood.”

“I…” Ranboo’s mouth opens and closes, before finally, “I’m still a kid, technically, doesn’t right now count as my childhood?”

The silence drags. “Sure.” Dream says casually, raising a hand as if waving off Ranboo’s gaze. “I don’t care, make up whatever rules you need.” 

“Okay, okay.” Ranboo sits back, still feeling oddly wired. His leg bounces erratically. “I, um, I guess, um.” He reaches for his breast pocket, wincing when he finds it empty. He hadn’t thought to ask Bad to sneak it through for him. 

“You can do it without your book, come on.” Dream says, leaning forward. “Come on, what’s your favorite memory of the server?”

Ranboo shifts, searching and searching. 

“I… don’t have one.”

“You don’t have one?” Laughter echoes around the enclosed space. Ranboo slouches in the chair. “Sorry, it’s just— I knew your memory was bad , but— you have none ?”

Ranboo shrugs. 

“Here, here, I’ll pick one for you. Can’t have you walking around without a favorite memory.” Dream leans forward, tilts his head. “What about your parents?”

“Nope.” Ranboo shakes his head, blinking. The spacey feeling still sits behind his eyelids, and this conversation isn’t making it better. “Something from the last few months would be good.”

“What about meeting Tubbo?” Dream asks. Ranboo shakes his head. “Burning down George’s house with Tommy?” Ranboo shakes his head again. “Ranboo, it doesn’t have to be a good memory. Just— a memory that’s stuck with you.”

What’s something that’s stuck with you?

What’s something that’ll never, ever leave?

“Ranboo?” 

“Hmm?”

Dream tilts his head. “You spaced out. Do you have a memory?”

“No, no, I’m just.” Ranboo shakes his head. “I think— yeah, I gotta leave. I don’t— maybe I’m tired?”

“Leaving early?” Dream’s voice lilts. “After not visiting for a few days. If I didn’t know better, I would think you hated me.”

Ranboo gives him a look. Dream raises his arms in surrender. 

“Kidding, kidding! Take care of yourself, Ranboo. Don’t want you to get sick or something.”

Ranboo hums, standing up. Running a hand through his hair, he heads toward the exit to the visitors booth. 

“ Dum, dum, dum, dum .”

Ranboo freezes in his tracks. The familiar tune sinks into his bones, makes the fog around his brain momentarily dissipate. Hearing it hummed, in that voice . 

“Oh, you're a fan of Mellohi?” Dream asks. Ranboo doesn’t turn around. “It’s my favorite of Tommy’s disc’s. If there’s one thing I hate about prison, it’s the lack of music. There’s something about that song…. Dum, dum, dum, dum…. ”

Ranboo closes his eyes. You’re here. You’re here. You’re not in the panic room, you’re fine . 

“It just gets stuck in your head, doesn’t it?”

Ranboo doesn’t respond. 

“Take a few days off, Ranboo. No worries. I’ll just be here.” Dream’s voice lilts in that too-calm way. “Get better, and all that.”

Ranboo leaves without looking back. The fog around his brain comes back with a vengeance, and by the time he’s left the prison, book in tow, he barely even remembers where he is. 

He walks past Tommy’s hotel, the path to Snowchester, but stops at Tommy’s house. He stares at the bench, the one that houses so many memories. 

T & T is carved into the back of the bench. Ranboo sits as far from it as possible, closing his eyes. 

He rubs his lids aggressively. What is wrong with him today? 

Is this what sickness is? It’s been so long, probably pre-Hypixel if he’s honest, he doesn’t really remember what it’s like to be sick. What should he do? Dream told him to go home, right? Get some rest? Get better? Is that… is that what you’re supposed to do? 

Is that what friends do?

——

Been sick. Got cold. Phil helped, he made me this awful soup. I feel better now, but that disgusting soup almost wasn’t worth it. 

Said to ask for help if I needed it. 

——

Maybe Ranboo is too stubborn for his own good, but he’s back at the prison within two days. Break? Who needs a break? Certainly not Ranboo Beloved.

Plus, being inside the prison seems to decrease his headaches. Maybe it’s the sickness that already permeates the air in here, or Dream’s never ending game of 20 questions.

Sitting forces himself to relax in the chair, trying to remember how he felt earlier. He can’t remember what he did, but the biting feeling of snow falling on his face, mixed with the strange combination of being settled and hyper at the same time. It’s something that he only feels around Tubbo.

“You’re in a chipper mood today.” Dream comments. Ranboo rolls his eyes. “No, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your tail that high.”

The purple tint on his cheeks burns anew. Glaring at the traitorous appendage, he wonders if it’s too late to just go back to feeling anxious around Dream. He clears his throat, attempting to change the subject.

“So you’re still in the courtyard, huh?”

“Apparently,” Dream’s chin tilts up, “Sam says I’ve been a very good boy lately.” Dream says, half mocking. Ranboo chuffs at the phrasing. 

“I’m sure you have. Anything new happen while I was gone?” Ranboo asks. Dream waves him off.

“It’s your turn, and I don’t think you want to bother with silly questions like that.” Dream dismisses. Ranboo feels another pang of sympathy, one significantly harder to ignore. 

The more time he spends here, the more his heart grows to accommodate Dream. Pushing at its limits to care about someone who has hurt so many . 

It hurts. It hurts like watching his pets die to a rain of explosives. It hurts like Tommy’s sharp words. He hurts like lies that dig deep into those he thought he trusted. Is it selfish to want to stop hurting?

“Why did you blow up the community house?” Ranboo blurts. 

All of his limbs lock up, and he does a full body wince. 

He expects the words in his nightmares to come true. For Dream to look up with a cruel, apathetic grin and ask, Don’t you mean why did we blow up the community house . For Sam to rush in, cuffs at the ready. Getting shoved in Dream’s old cell with nothing , not even his precious memory book. To be trapped in something truly inescapable. To be the villain he knows everyone sees him as.

Instead Dream just cocks his head, and shrugs. “I thought it was obvious: I needed the discs. Hasn’t Tommy told you the story?”

Ranboo’s not sure if he's joking, but he answers anyway. “He’s mentioned it.” he mumbles, searching for the memory. “Wasn’t it, like, really important to your friends? And possibly you? You built it with them, right?” He waits, and Dream slowly nods. “Then why destroy it?”

“Just so you know, that was, like, four questions.” Dream reminds. Ranboo waves him off.

“You can take the next four, then.”

“I’m holding you to that.” Dream jokes. Ranboo smiles, then waits patiently for Dream to continue. “Because it could be used against me.” Dream finally answers, shrugging. Ranboo hums, contemplative. 

“But—But who would use it against you?”

“My enemies.”

“Who— Tommy?” Ranboo chuffs. “He wouldn’t upset that many people just for you— well, he might, but Tubbo would stop him. Techno? He didn’t even know the community house existed, much less you cared about it. Well, until you reacted to it getting blown up, I don’t think anyone really knew.”

Dream doesn’t respond. It’s disconcerting: throughout all of this, Dream has always been quick with a remark, a rebuttal. Hearing him silently contemplate reminds Ranboo too much of the Dream from before. 

(What does that mean— from before? Is this Dream different? Is this a trick? Has Dream just always been like this? He did have friends, before he pushed them away: George. Sapnap. Ant. Bad. Maybe even Punz, in some weird way. 

Is this what being friends with Dream is like?)

When the silence has lasted a few dozen seconds too long, Ranboo prompts. “Why did you?”

And Dream, voice low, responds. 

“I had to destroy it.” His head thunks back against the obsidian. “I can’t have attachments, Ranboo. You saw that room: everyone cares about something. Imagine Techno threatens your cat — Enderchest — what do you do?”

“Uh—” Ranboo flounders. “Call Phil, I guess?”

“Exactly.” Dream looks almost smug. “Because Phil is his weakness.”

“Phil is his friend.”

“Same difference.”

“No, it’s not.” Ranboo shakes his head, bewildered. “Friends don’t make you weak; they inspire you to be stronger, if anything.”

“Well— look at L’Manberg!” Dream says. He’s sat up now, arms flinging out as his voice rises with a passion it previously lacked. “That was a nation founded on friendship: Look where it ended up.”

“Well, it was more founded on drugs—”

“Their leader blew it up, got killed by his own father because he completely lost it. It was corrupted from the start because of their weakness for each other, which shifted to a weakness for L’Manberg. Wilbur might have been nuts, but he was right to get rid of it.”

“I... actually agree with you on that.”

There’s a moment of silence, where Dream slumps and stares through his mask. Ranboo shrugs awkwardly.

“Not—Not the stuff about how friendships make you weak — you’re wrong on that — but the L’Manberg stuff. Yeah, I know Tubbo and Tommy have fond memories of it, but it shouldn’t have lasted as long as it did. That place…” he thinks of Tubbo, of Snowchester. How much lighter everything’s felt. “It wasn’t healthy anymore.”

Dream hums, curious. “You an anarchist or something?”

“I—I don’t know if I’m anti-government, per say, but I don’t think they’re—they’re anything good, or that they do anything good.”

“Huh.” Dream says, slow and soft. 

“But— Wilbur didn’t just go crazy for no reason, you know that right? I’ve read his diaries: he went crazy because he lost all his attachments. He thought he had been betrayed by everyone, so he destroyed the last thing he cared about: L’Manberg.”

The silence rests inside Ranboo’s lungs. One breath. Two. Three. Six. Twenty. He watches Dream stand, watches him pace the cramped room. 

“It said that? It said that exactly?” Dream demands, voice sharp. He’s facing Ranboo fully as he waits, battle ready.

“I—I mean, Wilbur was nuts, and I don’t think he was actively, you know, psychoanalyzing himself or anything—”

“So it didn’t say that.”

“It did, but it wasn’t, like, spelled out . It was in his actions, his motivations. Wilbur didn’t just decide one day to lose it . People have reasons behind their actions, Dream.” Ranboo reminds. 

“I know that .” Dream dismisses, but he’s pacing now. Ranboo watches him, unsure. 

“Okay…” Ranboo asks, slow. “So... if you knew how Wilbur reacted to losing everything, is that why you’re so worried about getting attached to things? You think that if you don’t get attached in the first place, there’s nothing to lose?”

There’s another silence. Dream has stopped pacing, his body completely still, unreactive. But Ranboo can see his jaw work underneath the mask, back and forth like he’s grinding his teeth. 

“Too close?” Ranboo guesses. Dream’s head snaps over. Even with the porcelain smiley-face hiding his features, Ranboo can feel the glare.

Ranboo signs, tapping out a rhythm on the table as he thinks.  

“When has anyone on the server even held something over you? Beside that time with Tommy. Has anything happened before then?”

“I mean— kinda?” Dream finally speaks. Ranboo’s eyes widen. 

“Really? What— no one mentioned having something to actually hold over you before.”

“Well, they didn’t hold it over me . You weren’t here yet, it was before your time, before the election even.” Dream relaxes as he speaks, staring through the obsidian, back toward something that Ranboo can't see. “Sapnap’s pets were stolen by Niki and Fundy.”

“They— what?” Ranboo feels his brain stutter. “That doesn’t sound like—”

“Maybe you don’t know them as well as you think.” Dream dismisses. “They had Sapnap’s dogs and fish in a secret vault. I had to step in, you know? I sorted it out, and Sapnap’s pets were all fine. But I learned from that. Sapnap didn't; just kept getting more pets, more things to lose. But I saw how he panicked, and I imagined being in his place. Having him be taken by someone else, have an axe held to his throat. And I realized...” Dream looks at the obsidian, then seems to shake himself. “I just had to put a stop to it before it could happen.”

Ranboo thinks about biting his tongue and stopping the words from tumbling out of his mouth. But there’s glass between them, what’s Dream going to do? 

“So you cared about Sapnap then?”

“Shut up.”

“Do you still care about him?”

Dream works his jaw, his arms crossing. 

“So you don’t care about Sapnap anymore.” Ranboo guesses, tilting his head. 

Dream hums. 

“Just like that? You just cut him off.” Ranboo asks. Dream hums. “How did he feel about that?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But surely you could see—”

“Have you picked up anything cool with your magic hands lately?” Dream interrupts. Ranboo sits back, a pit in his stomach growing the longer his mouth sits open, not a single sound passing through. Dream turns to look at him, staring through the mask. “It is my turn, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ranboo sits up again, staring at the floor. His jaw is locked, and he feels oddly ashamed. What right did he have to ask Dream anything? 

Dream respected his privacy, and this was clearly pushing a boundary. 

Still, Ranboo can’t help the desire to push and push until Dream relents. 

——

Vines have been popping up all over the server. Ranboo’s not entirely sure what’s up with that, other than Bad’s rambles about an egg and the red eyes some members of the server are currently sporting. It sounds like a mess, so Ranboo’s avoiding the area for now. 

Unfortunately, that means having to go the long way to get to the prison. He’s walking beside Eret’s museum, eyeing vines that split the earth. They’re a deep red, and Ranboo kind of wants to stomp on them and see what happens. 

He’s about to — foot raised and everything — when a crunch of dew covered grass sets him on high alert. He spins around, tucking his hands behind his back innocently. 

Dark, beady eyes stare back.

“Oh, Ranboo.” Fundy’s eyebrows are raised, and he looks half ready to bolt. Ranboo shares the feeling. 

He looks the same as he did three months ago. A mixture of red fur and brown hair atop his head, though maybe a few more white streaks then there were before. Stress, Ranboo attributes. Stress would also explain the wrinkles state of his clothes, and the dullness to his eyes. 

“Fundy.” Rambo greets, 

Surprisingly, Fundy untenses, giving him a hesitant smile. “I haven’t seen you around here in a while. You’re not avoiding me, are you?”

“Um.” Ranboo blanks. “Not intentionally?”

“Oh.”

“Hmm.”

“... You heard about the spring festival?”

Ranboo nods, grateful for the topic change. “Yeah, uh, Bad mentioned it not too long ago. My, uh, old place had something similar. What do you do here?”

“Oh, put up lights, mostly.” Fundy looks up at the sky. “Niki used to bake us stuff, and we would all meet up in the flower fields, which were neutral ground. Then we would watch the sunset. When Tubbo had bees, he would let them go and we would follow them around.”

“Was it just…” Ranboo fades off. Fundy gives him an imploring look. “Was it just L’Manberg?”

The silence rests uncomfortably between them. 

“Sapnap showed up sometimes.” Fundy mumbles, shrugging. “It’s not often he got access to Niki’s best treats, you know?”

Ranboo hums. “I’ve heard good things.”

“That’s right!” Fundy snaps his fingers. “You came here after— Oh my, you're missing out man. That shit was my childhood . It’s too bad Niki…” Fundy fades off. 

“I heard she was a lovely cook.” Ranboo assures, trying not to think about his old friend. She wasn’t herself anymore. She wasn't trustworthy. Memories meant nothing to the present.

The book told him to stay away, so he will stay away.

“What have you been up to?” Fundy asks. 

“Um, helping Tubbo, mining, visiting the prison, building up my house. A few of my pets died—”

Fundy shakes his head. “Way, way, way, way, wait , you’ve been visiting the prison?” Fundy’s hands, which had waved back and forth with the shaking of his head, fall, leaving the fox looking confused. “I— why? ”

“To… visit Dream?” Ranboo says, confused. “What else would—”

“Why the hell do you want to visit that mother fucker?” Fundy asks, looking genuinely confused.

“He’s been answering my questions.” 

“Ah,” Fundy rocks back on his heels. “A quest to understand this server's resident psycho , I see, I see. How’s that going?”

“That’s not—” Ranboo purses his lips. “I’m asking him questions about the server. You know, it’s history and stuff.”

Fundy’s eyebrows knit. “Why?” he asks, completely bewildered. “Don’t we have, like, books for that?”

“Uh, Wilbur did write some books, yeah.” Ranboo says, unsure if he should continue. “It’s just, uh, come to my attention recently that those books might not, uh, be totally trustworthy.”

“What?” Fundy steps forward. “Did someone tamper with them or something?”

“No— well, kind of?” Ranboo winces, voice getting high and choked. He clears his throat. “It’s just, uh, Wilbur, kind of, messed with them. When he was alive.”

“...What do you mean?”

“He— Fundy, you know he wasn’t exactly, you know, all there. In the end.” Ranboo scratches the back of his neck. The fox’s beady eyes dont stop staring into his soul. 

“So?” Fundy demands, voice grave. 

“It’s not— He’s not trustworthy. We can’t know how accurate it is without double checking all the information. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“You’re double checking information…” Fundy frowns. “Using Dream ?”

“Yeah.”

“You…” Fundy shakes his head, laughing humorlessly. “You realize you're surrounded by the people in those stories, right? The actual heroes? You could ask me, or Tubbo, or fucking Eret and get an accurate recount of events.”

“No, I would get their recount.” Ranboo shrugs. “I’ll talk to them eventually. I’m just... I’m getting Dream out of the way! Learning the other side of the story so it’s easier to piece together your side, you know?”

“What, you think you can trust him?” 

Ranboo feels like he’s walked into a trap. “... To tell his side of the story? Yeah.”

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought you were.” Fundy says, blunt. “Dream is feeding you lies.”

“They’re lies that are accurate to the history books.”

“He’s not a trustworthy person, Ranboo! It doesn’t matter how accurate he sounds.”

“I mean, he’s more trustworthy than Wilbur—”

“Fuck off!”

Ranboo flinches back. “He betrayed all of you to blow up your country, and you’re mad at me for acknowledging that?” 

“Just— Don’t talk about him that way.” Fundy says, his teeth clenched. Ranboo glares back.

“I’m just telling the truth! Your dad changed history to his benefit, he screwed people over and, generally, wasn't the greatest guy around. What’s so bad about acknowledging that?”

Fundy shakes his head. He’s shivering slightly, and his tail has gone ridged. “You—You didn't even know him. What gives you the right to—to say that shit?” Fundy snaps, arms punctuating his biting tone. Ranboo didn't feel the least bit intimidated. 

“I didn't have to be there to see the evidence: The mess he still left over is s till here. I helped fix it the first time around, remember? Fundy, how are we supposed to learn from history if we never learn the true story?”

“You don't get to learn it from him !” Fundy gestures in the direction of the prison. “He’s a fucking liar, Ranboo. I was married to the guy, I should know. He-He— Ranboo, you don't know him like we do. I grew up watching him manipulate everyone at every turn, and I still fell for it. Don’t be a fucking moron, Ranboo!”

“If I’m being a moron then you’re being a hypocrite.” Ranboo snaps back, sneering. Fundy takes a step back, eyes wide. Ranboo barely notices. “Why do you get to act so high and mighty? You, who's been a traitor more times than the books can count. Eret may have betrayed you all first, but L’Manberg wasn’t built on peace and loyalty, like you guys remember it: one way or another, all of you have betrayed each other. You’re all liars, conmen, and thieves. You realize that if you weren't the ones telling the story, you would be seen as the bad guys, right?”

Fundy shakes his head, so Ranboo steps forward, continuing. 

“Your father stole land and brought together a band of crooks to try and keep it. You know why? Because he wanted to sell drugs . I’m not saying that Dream’s the good guy — if I’m honest, I don't think there are heroes in this story — but you can’t dismiss his side of the story just because it's not the one your father wanted to tell.”

Fundy shakes his head, slower this time. “He’s in your head.” he whispers. “He fucking got to you, Ranboo. Aren’t you hearing yourself? You—You sound—”

“I’m not on Dream’s side, Prime.” Ranboo closes his eyes: not this again. “Are all of you just so caught up in your own story that you can’t step back and look outside yourself? The world isn’t black and white!”

The air is still after Ranboo’s shout. There’s no one else around, he doesn’t think, but his voice has echoed on the nearby structures enough to travel far beyond this little path. He takes a deep breath, stepping back. Fundy noticeably deflates. Then, surprisingly, a smile stretches the fox’s lips. 

“I mean,” Fundy laughs slightly. “That is… you know… kinda ironic, since you’re—”

“Oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood.” 

Ranboo shakes his head, smiling to himself. It fades as the silence sits between them. 

“Be careful, Ranboo” Fundy says at last. Ranboo gives him a tired look. “I know, I know, just—” Fundy awkwardly scratches behind one of his ears. “I’m not saying you’re wrong , per say, but, uh, watch yourself. Keep your head, and everything.”

“Sure.” Ranboo looks to the ground. Tiny, red roots peak through the grass, and Ranboo doesn't have the energy to be worried. “Maybe think about what I said too? Most of the records from Ghostbur’s library were lost in the explosion, but I think Eret might have a few copies in their museum? If you’re cool with them, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Fundy nods. There’s another moment of silence. Ranboo starts to slowly back away, wishing he could teleport like his distant relatives just to leave faster. “Hey, Ranboo?”

He stops. “Yeah?”

“You have my dad’s passion.” Fundy says, slow. “Be careful with where it wants to lead you.”

“... Okay, Fundy.”

“Okay.”

“See you.”

“Yeah, see you around.”

——

Everyone is against Dream. That’s what I wanted, right? Back when conflicts were more than stories and faded memories. But they’re also against me. Am I on Dream’s side? No. They’re just confused. You're fine. I’m fine. 

You need to learn from history. Everyone keeps making mistakes. The more you learn, the more you can protect them. Protect them. 

They're all you have.