Chapter Text
When Ranboo landed them out of town – a safe distance away from the police and heroes swarming around L’Manburg – Dream turned on him almost immediately.
“You idiot.” His brother hissed, stiff-backed and angry-eyed behind his mask, which hung crookedly on his face. One of the strings was fraying. “You’re– You’re an idiot, letting Tubbo, of all people, get the better of you.”
Indignation bubbled under Ranboo’s skin, but he did his best to stay calm. Dream wasn’t annoyed at him, not really: it was rare when he managed to earn the older’s ire for anything, when Dream could instead take all his anger and turn it on himself. He knew that was what he was doing now: Dream was angry at himself, not at Ranboo. It didn’t make this any easier to deal with. “He’s a good fighter,” he protested, “we knew we wouldn’t destroy it all. I mean, two of us against a whole city’s worth of heroes–”
“I’m an idiot for bringing you along,” Dream muttered, beginning to stride away. Ranboo, pausing, hurried to catch up after a resentful, hurt little scowl after him, “I shouldn’t have risked you. And we've exposed your power, too. I never should have risked any of this.”
“I mean, I think you’re an idiot for doing this in the first place.” Surprised by his own nerve, Ranboo caught up with his brother quick enough when the older stopped to stare at him. Under the heavy gaze, he felt himself crumbling. “I dunno what you were hoping to, like, do. All we’ve done is prove we’re as much of a threat as they thought we were! It’s gonna double the amount of people searching for us–”
“I would have killed Tommy if you hadn’t been at risk,” his mentor snapped back, “look, I–” With a steadying breath, Dream paused, ducking into a side alley and pulling Ranboo with him as sirens in the distance got louder. “My plan was to lure Tommy out and kill him,” he said shortly, “I knew you were strong enough to keep others away while I did. But you got beat by Tubbo, when I know you could have dealt with him. What? What happened?"
Ranboo ducked his head, bravado drooping, just a little. The memory of Tubbo, face hard and angry and scared, fighting against him to try and save his best friend– It left a bitter, bitter taste in his mouth. No matter how he tried to shake it off, the words Tubbo had hissed stuck with him—
Do you even know what you’re doing? Who you’re working for?
He hadn’t had time to process that during the fight. He sure as hell had time to process it now. Slipping down a side street back to their hideout, Ranboo’s resolve wavered as he recalled the angry, hurt expression on Tubbo’s face in his mind’s eye. He’d wanted to tell him — to pull off his mask, explain in a rush of tumbled excuses and desperate understanding, why he was on Dream’s side.
…He knew why. Because Dream had chosen to save him over saving himself. Because Dream always would.
His older brother now was pressing one gloved hand against the wall for support, clearly fatigued from the fight. Ranboo couldn’t blame him. He had been the closest he’d ever been to killing Tommy: the hero had been on his hands and knees, doubled over, bleeding– and Dream had stopped. Had turned around, let Tommy go. Dropped his weapons, his advantage, his chance to end the prophecy once and for all. Dream had stopped. For him.
Tommy would be dead if Ranboo hadn’t shown up.
Ranboo didn’t know how he felt about that..
The sudden caw-caw-caw of a bird passing overhead had him jumping back, adrenaline still sky-high from the fight, but they were hidden in this alleyway, creeping past abandoned furniture and worthless junk. They wouldn’t be caught, not after everything, but Ranboo’s nerves were shot after such a close call. He half expected Tubbo to come bounding round the corner with the whole of L’Manburg hot on his heels–
“Fuck.” The noise that left his brother’s mouth was heavy and angry. It sounded like it had tore itself free from his lungs, despite his best efforts. “Wait, stop. Slow down, just a minute.”
Halting sharply in place, Ranboo caught up with Dream, to where he was slouched against the wall of the alley with perspiration lining his brow behind the mask and pain wracking his form. In the dim light from the nearby city, his side was dark, splotchy and uneven, and now that he was paying attention…
Blood. Metallic, coppery, catching in the back of his throat. Ranboo stopped, dread building up in his stomach until he wanted to retch.
“You’re hurt.” He hated the way his voice sounded. Weak. Scared. “What– Dream, when– Why didn’t you tell me?”
When Dream pushed back his mask to breathe, his eyes were shut tight, a pinched expression overtaking his usual composure. The longer he took to answer, the more worried Ranboo became: and considering he was already terrified at the sight of the blood coating his brother’s side, that was saying something.
“Dream?”
“I wasn’t expecting him to actually land a hit,” Dream admitted, like it was physically paining him to do it, “it wouldn’t have even been as bad if I hadn’t been so sloppy. I, like– moved into it. I wasn’t even focusing. It’s nothing serious.”
It didn’t look like nothing. Dream was walking and talking, so clearly, the injury itself wasn’t lethal – but the amount of blood he must be losing might just have been. He’d never seen Dream so pale or haggard looking: with a frightening jolt, Ranboo realised Dream might not even make it back to their base without medical intervention.
“Hold on,” he said, numbly, “we’re– you’re, uh– you’re gonna be fine. Yeah. No, yeah, you’re fine.”
Being a wanted criminal responsible with destroying the most central Headquarters for heroes in the country had its perks. It also had its disadvantages: namely, the fact they were wanted, not by anyone who could possibly help them, but by the law, and by half the country that didn’t want Tommy dead. In fact, probably more than half the country. Definitely more than half the country. TommyInnit was a lot of things, but charming despite being infuriating was apparently one of them.
So yeah, no, nobody nearby could help. They had medical supplies back in their base, but Dream was losing blood fast, and Ranboo wasn’t confident in his own life-saving, skin-stitching skills to trust himself with his mentor’s life. He didn’t want to risk anything he didn’t have to.
That left the Syndicate. Techno and Phil, with their steadfast calm and years of experience. Niki, Jack. But they were so far away: getting to the Syndicate meant leaving the city itself and crossing over the snow biome, which normally, wouldn’t be so much of a problem. But in the dead of night, with Dream injured, and Ranboo’s own energy leaving him as the adrenaline began to die?
They wouldn’t make it.
…Not without a little assistance.
Without thinking too deeply about it, Ranboo came to a decision.
The world warped and closed in on itself, and he let the shadows eat them up.
When he arrived at the Syndicate, he was dizzy.
Teleportation was one of the – admittedly many – perks of his powerset, though not one Dream liked to utilize too often. “It’s good for an element of surprise, or for when we’re seriously stuck,” he had said, brow furrowed. The freckles on his face had been visible at that point, but even then, they’d been fading. It had been a while since either of them had been outside. “But I don’t want us to become predictable. The last thing we want is for the whole universe to know we can teleport.”
They hoarded enderpearls for a reason, Ranboo supposed: but even with Dream’s advice, he liked teleporting. Liked the little jump Dream would give every time he popped up behind him unexpectedly, liked the feeling of the whole world shifting him from space to space. It was his own private transport system, one he had full control over, and it felt nice to have the safety of traveling undercover.
But admittedly, it was a drain. Especially teleporting another person. Especially twice in one night. The world around him tilted on its axis, and Ranboo stumbled– and would have fallen, if it hadn’t been for a pair of strong gloved hands grabbing him as he tripped.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Philza Minecraft said, staring down at Ranboo. A crushing wave of relief passed through him. “Techno, get in here!”
Things happened very suddenly and very methodically after that. Ranboo found himself sitting at the kitchen table, with Jack to keep him company, while Niki, Techno and Philza moved in a whirlwind to support Dream, whose skin had turned from pale to an alarming shade of gray with pain and bloodloss. Ranboo barely had time to call out a frightened “be careful with him!” before Dream was gone, led to the makeshift infirmary at the back of the house. Before he could even think to move, the kitchen was quiet again, and his hands shook as he reached for Dream’s mask, lying prone on the table.
It was covered in blood.
“Ranboo, mate.” Jack’s voice was quiet and concerned. “What the fuck did you do?”
The mask warped and wavered in his vision as his eyes filled with tears. He was so tired.
“Everything went bad,” Ranboo croaked, pressing his eyes shut, “I wasn’t– I didn’t know how to stop him. He just told me that… that he was doing it. And I couldn’t stop him.”
The breath Jack sucked in was heavy. “Oh, fuck. He didn’t… attack L’Manburg. He didn’t.”
He did. He had. The silence sat thick with tension and uncertainty between them, a monument to Dream’s spiraling mind. It had been less than twelve hours since Ranboo had been eating with Tubbo in that cafe: thoughts of Tubbo didn’t help the overwhelming wash of emotions that hit him like a tonne. Tubbo, standing in armor over his pajamas, shouting at him in betrayal when he didn’t even know who Ranboo was. If he’d taken off the mask? If he’d seen it was Ranboo, and not a stranger? What then?
“Look… It’s going to be okay,” Jack said, nervous, “if anyone can keep a handle on things, it’s us. Well. Okay, not so much me. But Techno and Phil? They know what they’re doing. They’re not gonna let Dream do anything stupid.”
Like attacking L’Manburg hadn’t been stupid. Like they’d been there to stop Dream, like they could have stopped Dream, who has always been formidable even without that dangerous gleam of desperation in his eyes. Dream isn’t a wayward child or a stubborn man set in his ways: he’s a cornered animal, backed into a wall with nowhere to go but down, and Ranboo sees that now, more than ever.
Niki re-enters the room, just in time to hear the anguished little noise Ranboo lets slip out. Her face is more haggard and worried than he’s ever seen it, but it immediately morphs to something softer when she meets his eyes.
“Hey,” she says, gently, “it’s going to be okay. He’s okay. He’s resting.”
Ranboo can’t tear his eyes away fast enough. The relief is crushing. “Thank God.”
Crossing the room to sit between him and Jack, Niki’s smile is wan and weak. “Techno and Philza are with him now, sorting pain medication and health potions. You’re lucky we just stocked up.”
“Techno thought something like this might happen,” Jack interrupts, “we didn’t believe him. But…”
“But,” Niki finishes, “maybe we should have known better.”
Her eyes are understanding when Ranboo dares meet them, and though he looks away again, there’s something so knowing about Niki’s gaze that he can’t help but let cracks appear in the dam holding back the flood of words in his chest. He swallows, thick, heavy. Blood catches in the back of his throat.
“He’s getting worse,” he admits, voice strung thin, “and I– I don’t know how I can help.”
And so, it all comes out. Ranboo speaks for what feels like hours, about Tubbo and about Dream and about how he cares about both of them and about how he hates being stuck in the middle, hates caring for people that want the other dead. Not that Tubbo wants Dream dead for any other reason than to be safe: and isn’t it ironic, he asks, because that’s the same reason Dream wants L’Manburg gone, too! And he speaks, with difficulty, about his own terrors: about the horror of fighting Tubbo, about the fear of seeing Dream fight, about how Ranboo can’t betray either of them, not really.
For once, Jack is silent as Ranboo rambles, and Niki’s hand covers his own. Ranboo is pathetically, ridiculously grateful all of a sudden, for their company, and then feels a sharp sting of shame when he remembers that Dream is responsible for that, too. Dream has helped him so much, saved him from a hellish invisible existence – and tonight he’d let him down. He hadn’t kept him safe.
“It’s over now,” Niki says quietly, when silence stretches out, “this isn’t on your shoulders, you know. This isn’t on anyone’s shoulders. It’s a lot bigger than that.”
“I just wish–” Ranboo breaks off. Fights back a wave of new tears. “I wish we could be normal.”
Normal. What would their lives be like, if not for powers? If not for the prophecy?
Niki looks away, and Jack ducks his head. Normal.
There’s nothing else to say to such an impossible wish.
.
(Dream does not open his eyes. Not once, though the soft hum of voices don’t escape his notice, not when they’re right in his ear. The microphone he’d placed on the back of Ranboo’s mask works fine, even after the fighting and confusion.)
(Dream does not open his eyes. But he listens, intently, as voices and words spill from his earpiece, and finally, he begins to put the pieces of the puzzle together.)
(Dream does not open his eyes. But he does smile, thin, tight, before the medication pulls him off to sleep.)
(Under Ranboo’s mask, nestled cozily against his neck, the microphone catches everything.)