Chapter Text
The ash and smoke were thick enough that it was impossible to see even a foot in front of you by the time Ranboo chose to take his leave from whatever remained of L’Manberg. Not a single glance was spared to the ruins behind him. Even if it was possible to see the fallen country, he couldn’t bring himself to do so. In the end L’Manberg was a shadow of what he’d heard from the remaining citizens, and he was a traitor anyways. He couldn’t bear to spare a glance back. He didn’t deserve one anyways.
Around the edges of L’Manberg, the ground crumbled beneath his feet, burnt and shattered by the explosions and the wither. Multiple times he stumbled, scraping his hands and knees and irritating his pre-existing wounds. Tears pricked the edges of his eyes but refused to fall. He wasn’t sure if he deserved to cry anyways. Why should he be allowed to cry when his betrayal contributed to the fall of L’Manberg? He was just as to blame as Techno, Phil, and Dream were.
His fingers grasped at dirt as he climbed out of one of the pits he had contributed to making, blinking away smoke as it stung his eyes. If he listened closely, he could still hear stray former citizens talking behind him, all too numb to do anything but search the crater for any remains. He had to get away now while they were mourning their country. He didn’t want to know what they would do to a traitor once they reached the anger phase of the stages of grief. Maybe that was why Techno and Phil had taken off when they had the chance to.
It felt like hours before the ground was stable enough that he could walk without tripping or falling through, but he knew that it likely hadn’t even been more than a minute, a minute thirty tops. Through the thinning smoke, he spotted Manifold Land looming over him, untouched by the destruction it looked over. Swallowing the bile in his throat at the memory of Jack being struck down by Techno in the midst of the battle, he continued past, turning to follow the coastline.
With each step, he became more and more aware of just how awful he felt. Not only was he wracked with guilt by his actions, but he was just incredibly exhausted and almost everything hurt. Each time his left foot hit the ground, a jolt of pain shot up his leg. His ribs ached with remnants of withering and tattered bits of his shirt stuck in still-bleeding cuts and scrapes, irritating them further. His armor was slightly dented and bent at random points, digging into skin still slightly singed from being too close to explosions. Overall, he was a mess. He’d have to clean and bandage all his injuries now. And try to salvage his suit. And fix his armor. And—
He had stopped walking, he noticed suddenly, snapping himself out of his thoughts. The gentle waves just licked his boots, completely oblivious to the chaos and destruction not too far from them. Out here, the smoke was a lot thinner, allowing Ranboo to see the edges of obsidian beneath the water. The slightest bit of fear twisted at his heart, but it paled in comparison to the fear he felt when thinking of what the former L’Manbergians would do once they found him.
A strong grip tugged on the back of his chest plate, just as he was about to dive in. In response, he was yanked back, stumbling a bit and hissing softly as pain shot through his leg once more. With wide eyes, he turned towards his attacker, unsure if he was even ready to draw a weapon and fight or to accept his fate out of pure exhaustion.
The white mask that stared back at him was the last thing he expected. He thought Dream was still back at L’Manberg, surveying the damage with sadistic glee. Instead, the man was standing only a few feet in front of him, cocking his head to the side with what Ranboo could only guess was amusement or curiosity.
“Oh, uh, hey… Dream…” It was awkward and shaky, but what else was he supposed to say to the man who had just blown up his home?
“Hello.” The black eyes of the mask seemed to cut into his soul, feeling as if it was searing into his skin.
The silence that followed was even more awkward. Dream didn’t seem too talkative right now, appearing to wait for Ranboo’s to speak more than anything. On Ranboo’s end, he wanted to run, to take shelter in his panic room and just take a nap. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to sleep.
“Is there… is there something I can help you with?” he stuttered out, hoping to get this over as quickly as it had begun.
Dream seemed to ponder the question for a moment. “No. Well, maybe.” He shrugged. “You have been a very good helper so far.”
Ranboo’s heart caught in his throat. “What do you…”
Behind the mask, he could practically feel Dream’s smile. “Well, Doomsday wouldn’t have been possible without you!” The voice was too cheery, too happy for the mood of the day.
“I… what?”
“Ranboo…” Dream took a step forward, grabbing Ranboo’s chin roughly and seemingly observing his face, tilting his head back and forth with an unwavering stare. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”
“Forgotten… what… what have I forgotten?” He wanted to wrestle out of Dream’s grip, but the combination of fear and exhaustion kept him paralyzed. His head drummed with a newly set in fogginess.
Dream’s head tilted to the side. “What haven’t you forgotten, honestly?” He released Ranboo’s face abruptly, nearly causing him to stumble, not having realized he had started to lean into it. “Poor little Ranboo… can’t keep his memory straight. Can’t keep his friends straight.”
Ranboo rubbed at his chin, feeling where Dream’s fingers had dug in and where bruises would likely form later. “I…” He shook his head, trying to clear some of the fogginess from his brain. He needed to stay focused. Now was not the time to stay distracted.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” He took another step forward, forcing Ranboo to take one back to match. “I saw it in your eyes yesterday, Ranboo.” His grin was audible. “You don’t remember trusting me with your book. And look where it brought us. It’s kind of hurtful that you don’t remember your best friend.” He chuckled quietly, almost as if it was an inside joke.
“I… You’re not my best friend, Dream! Look what you did to L’Manberg! Look what you did to my friends!” He gestured to where the cloud of smoke was strongest as he spoke, where he knew L’Manberg had once been.
“Are they really your friends though?”
The question pierced Ranboo like a knife, destroying his brief escape from his own self-pity and dragging him straight back down. Dream was right after all. They turned on him so quickly in vain attempts to keep sides and protect what was theirs overall. Could he even consider them friends after everything? Or were they all just former citizens of L’Manberg and nothing else?
Dream folded his arms, taking another step forward. “You look tired, Ranboo.”
And he was right. The chaos of the day combined with his injuries seemed to finally be taking its toll. His body felt heavy, the fog preventing him from thinking straight. He couldn’t even bring himself to take another step away from Dream, to put some distance between the two. All he wanted to do was curl up and sleep right then and there.
He trusted Dream. Dream wouldn’t hurt him.
Wait, what?
He struggled against the fog and the exhaustion, looking back up at the man in front of him. He had taken his mask off, holding it loosely in one hand. Normally, Ranboo would be curious what he looked like under it, but, right now, he was more distracted by the glowing emerald eyes peering out from underneath his hair. He was almost so focused on the eyes that he missed the sharp fangs poking out from his grin.
Almost.
Panic sparked through his body but was quickly smothered by the fogginess, instead replaced by a feeling of safety and protection that he was almost certain wasn’t true. Regardless, he couldn’t fight it, far too weak compared to it.
“Rest, Ranboo,” Dream commanded, his voice cutting through the fog.
Who was he to deny the command? His eyes slowly began to close and he collapsed in response, only barely being caught by Dream. As he was laid down on the ground, the last thing he saw was the glint of fangs and the glow of green eyes.
It was alright, he reasoned, letting the exhaustion consume him. Dream would protect him.
He realized it was a lie a second later, as a scream tore out of his throat at the feeling of two sharp things stabbing into his neck.
The transition from the Nether to the Overworld was heralded not by the fresh air but by the smoke and ash spreading out from the L’Manberg crater. As Phil stepped off the obsidian frame, letting the tingling feeling from the portal fade, he noted that, if he still needed to breathe, he might have found the air quality incredibly annoying. Instead, he steadied himself, letting the cloudy air serve as a sign of a successful job done, of a corrupted country finally destroyed beyond repair.
He pulled his communicator out of his pocket, ringing Ranboo. He knew Ranboo had no other residence outside of L’Manberg. He had nowhere to go and that was one of Phil’s biggest regrets about destroying L’Manberg. Unlike the remainder of the country, he had no grudge against him. At the very least, Ranboo had been his neighbor, a nervous kid forced into a role in a country that devoured its citizens from within. He owed it to the kid to help him now that he had nothing left.
The communicator rang three times before popping up with a message that no one had answered. Phil frowned down at it, tucking it back into his pocket after a moment of hesitation. Jumping into the water around the destroyed community house, he readied his trident and a pearl, launching himself towards what remained of L’Manberg. After a moment of quiet anticipation, he popped into existence again near the edge of the crater in a flurry of ender particles from the pearl.
Staring into the blanket of smoke, he could just barely make out the edges of debris and destroyed houses, looking like a scene straight out of a horror story. The crater was eerily quiet and he wondered if anyone was even still there. He pulled out his communicator and dialed Ranboo again.
The communicator rang three times before displaying a message that the call had not been picked up.
Sighing, Phil began to make his way along the edge of the crater, tucking the communicator away again. Centuries of life (or, well, death, technically) had left him with a bit of grace, which allowed him to move stealthily along the disturbed soil, knowing exactly where to step on solid ground and which patches to avoid, which ones would collapse under his weight. He moved quietly. If anyone was still lurking around the crater, he’d hate to be the target of their anger.
Around the edge of the crater, he finally spotted them: a pair of footprints in the charred ground. He squinted up through the light rain, seeing Jack Manifold’s house towering over him. The footprints seemed to lead down past the docks. He frowned. As far as he knew, there was little down that way but the coastline.
Phil weighed his options. He could continue to search the crater in feeble hopes that Ranboo was still lurking nearby or he could follow the footprints, his only lead. If they led to Ranboo, they led to Ranboo. If they didn’t, well, it seemed like there was only one set of footprints, which meant one person. If they tried to go for him, he could probably take them. If they did or if they didn’t, he could still ask them where the teen was.
Making up his mind, he maneuvered his way up to solid, unmarred ground, following the faint footprints. He was right. They did dip down near the docks, forever an unfinished project but untouched by their country’s destruction. Continuing past, Phil struggled to keep track of the prints, disturbed by the faint movement of the waves. Whoever these footprints belonged to seemed to know where they were going. This wasn’t a case of someone wandering randomly to clear their thoughts. However, Phil wracked his brain and still couldn’t come up with what was down this way that they would be looking for.
A scream pierced through his thoughts, one of pain and fear above all. His quiet heart twisted in his chest. He recognized that voice.
Ranboo.
Without hesitation, he took off running, dully noticing that the footprints led in the direction of the scream. He hoped to Prime that Ranboo wasn’t hurt too bad, that he just got spooked by something, that he wasn’t--
Phil froze in his tracks.
In front of him, none other than Dream knelt, leaning over Ranboo’s limp form, face obscured, buried in his neck. Ranboo himself was barely conscious, eyelids fluttering and threatening to shut. He glanced weakly at Phil, the faintest hint of a glow present in his eyes.
Had Phil been a normal human, he would have been confused and horrified at the scene in front of him. Yet, he was instead a vampire and a fairly old one at that. The only new information here was that Dream too was a vampire, but that was a problem to be dealt with and questioned once the latter’s fangs were not buried in Ranboo’s neck.
“Dream!” he yelled. Before the word was even completely out of his mouth, he was storming forward, fully intent on attacking the other vampire if he didn’t leave.
Dream’s head shot up and he turned to look at Phil, eyes wide and blood dripping down his chin. He looked like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, confusion quickly morphing into horror at the elder vampire’s presence. Without another word on either of their ends, he dropped Ranboo (harshly, in Phil’s opinion), grabbed his discarded mask, and fled, a smart choice on his end as far as Phil was concerned.
He wanted to chase him down, strangle him and make him pay for harming Ranboo. The idea was discarded immediately when the smell of fresh blood hit his nose. He glanced down at the discarded human, who was lying completely still, blood slowly forming a puddle under him.
Phil was by his side in an instant, scooping the teen up in his arms. His chest still rose and fell, albeit uneven and shallowly. Blood spilled heavily from the bite in his neck and smaller patches were present on his clothes, half-dried. Phil realized with a tang of guilt that they were likely wounds sustained during the destruction of L’Manberg.
There would be time to feel regret later on. Right now, Ranboo needed help.
Judging by the faint glow he’d seen in his eyes and the fact that no healing factor had kicked in to stop the bleeding, he’d interrupted a turning bite. The bite was incomplete, too little venom flooding Ranboo’s system to begin the process of vampirification. As a result, the bleeding continued and, if he didn’t do something now, the kid was going to die from the blood loss. How many lives did Ranboo have again? He couldn’t recall being told and for all he knew, with Ranboo’s memory problems, he may very well not know himself. There was a very good chance that he would die and not come back. Even if he did, Phil didn’t know how the half-venom in his system would react with the respawn process. It might break it and the kid still wouldn’t come back, even if he had more lives.
The thoughts stung deeply. He didn’t realize how much he’d cared for a kid, only amplified by his first thought at the realization: he’d lost one son, he couldn’t lose another.
Oh, this was a terrible decision.
But the alternatives were potentially so much worse.
He hoped he wouldn’t regret this later.
Tilting Ranboo’s head slightly to the side, he bit into his neck, just around Dream’s own bite. The taste of the teen’s blood flooded his senses and he pushed aside how good it tasted in favor of focusing on the feeling of the venom injecting into his system. It was an odd feeling, one he hadn’t known for hundreds of years, ever since he turned Techno. He forgot how uncomfortable it was. He held the bite there, focusing on the venom and the unsteady heartbeat under him, carefully measuring how much was needed to jumpstart the turning process.
It wouldn’t be an instant transformation into a vampire. The first step kickstarted the healing abilities, sealing the wound and preventing death via blood loss first and foremost. From there it would take anywhere from a few days to a month for the remainder of the transformation, culminating in the fledgling's first feeding. It wasn’t even a surefire thing. While the healing would no doubt kick in and work, the body may reject the venom later on and the individual would not turn. Part of Phil hoped that Ranboo’s body did reject the venom later while the other half was gleeful at the idea of a new member of the coven, which currently consisted of just him and Techno. Regardless, all he cared about right now was kicking in the healing so Ranboo wouldn’t die.
He released his grip on the kid’s throat. That should be enough venom. Now all that was left was to wait with baited breath. He ran a hand through Ranboo’s split-colored hair, monitoring his breathing and heart rate, making sure he was still with him. After a few long, terrible moments, he reached up and ran his fingers over the bite.
All that he felt was the blood. The wound was healed.
He released a breath he didn’t need, gathering the kid in his arms as he stood up. For his height, Ranboo was incredibly light. He knew the two of them made quite a scene: his face dripping with blood and Ranboo unconscious and half-dead in his arms.
Only then did it hit him what he’d done. As much as he could try to reassure himself that it was to save Ranboo’s life, he had just possibly fated the kid to an existence mirroring his own, shying away from the light and feasting on blood in the dark.
He prayed to whatever god was out there that the transformation wouldn’t take. For Ranboo’s sake.