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Ranboo sighed. It wasn’t likely that he would have fully abandoned this place, but he still didn’t like that he was back here so soon. The purple sheen of the Panic Room’s walls had become a little too familiar for Ranboo’s liking, but the purpose of the room was in its name. It was the best place to have a crisis as far as he knew.
“You okay, kid?”
Ranboo jumped. A new voice. This wasn’t the voice of Dream, mocking him for being so forgetful. This wasn’t the voice of Ghostbur, wondering if he wanted some blue. No, this was a voice that Ranboo had never heard before.
“Jesus, calm down,” the voice spoke again. “I’m not gonna hurt ya. It’s not like I can, anyways.” A floating figure began to materialize in front of him. Their form was misty and hard to make out, the only defining feature of their silhouette being two curled horns protruding from either side of their head.
“Who are you?”
The figure chuckled. “Not a great spot for introductions, but it’s what we have. I’m Schlatt. Y’heard of me?”
Ranboo nodded. He had heard from Tubbo that Schlatt was drunk with power — and in general — and ruled L’Manberg with an iron fist. Quackity had told him of their strained relationship. Fundy rarely spoke of him, but when he did, it was full of malice. He couldn’t quite believe that this same laid-back phantom had once hurt his friends so much. Schlatt had reached out to help him.
Schlatt sighed. “I’m gonna guess that what you’ve heard isn’t all that… well, it doesn’t paint me in the best light, but I like to think I’ve changed in the afterlife.” The man tugged on the ribbing of his sweatshirt, a powder blue, and nodded. “Is it okay if I sit with you for a bit?”
Ranboo nodded, and the ghost floated over towards him. Schlatt plopped himself down on the obsidian floor with a sigh, and turned to face the teen. He didn’t say anything for a while, he just stared.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you helping me?”
Schlatt scoffed. “Dude, you’re a kid. You’re out here on your own, freaking out about how your friends are gonna react to finding out you ‘betrayed’ them, but none of them are here. None of them are here to be a good shoulder for you to lean on. Figured I could give you somethin’ to work with.”
The boy nodded. “Thanks.”
A moment of tense silence.
“I’ve been watchin’, y’know.”
Ranboo froze. “Watching?”
“Yeah.” Schlatt nodded, taking a sip out of a spectral can that wasn’t there a second ago. “Being dead is pretty boring. Ghostbur has it easy, he doesn’t have to remember. He split his mind in two after the explosion, he didn’t want to remember, so he didn’t. He can just wander his little ghost ass around L’Manberg, tossin’ blue around, being all hunky dory, meanwhile I’m stuck being invisible with nobody that’ll listen. A former dictator isn’t exactly someone that people want to listen to, and I get it, but it’s still… it’s still lonely. But Ranboo, you’re special. See, you never knew me when I was alive. When I was… vulnerable. And you’re able to have a space where your mind is open — it might not be a super fun experience, but it lets you see me. It lets you hear me.”
He trailed off, taking another sip. Ranboo nodded.
“Well, I didn’t have anything else to do but watch, and let me say — they’re treating you like shit, kid.”
Ranboo wiped his face with his sleeve. “That’s how they treat any traitor—“
“ Bullshit. ”
He turned to face Schlatt. “What?”
“It’s bullshit. You were right when you said L’Manberg started as a drug van, y’know. It did. It only got as big as it did because they needed it to survive. A team working against a common enemy really helps boost the morale of a couple of underdogs, but once they get to the top of the food chain, they don’t have anything left to do.”
Ranboo nodded, his eyes burning. Schlatt continued.
“And instead of looking for something to fight for, they’re looking for a common enemy. Fighting for each other, their family, their friends, it doesn’t matter to them. What they care about is beating Dream. Sure, he’s an asshole, but he’s a powerful asshole, always has been. And you were never a traitor. You said from the get-fuckin’-go that you were loyal to your friends, not to flags, but everyone just took that as ‘he’s loyal to my flag since he’s my friend!’ And it’s stupid and I’m tired of it. You deserve better.”
“Oh.” Ranboo stared. “Thanks.”
“Yeah,” Schlatt waved a hand around. “Don’t mention it.”
They sat like that for a while, Schlatt sipping on his drink, Ranboo staring into the obsidian walls, analyzing each and every crack.
“Are people seriously saying ‘Glatt?’”
“Yeah,” Ranboo nodded.
“Jesus, fuck, that’s... that’s so fuckin’ dumb.”
Ranboo stared incredulously forward. He would have blinked if he could, which he notes.
“Can they not tell that I’m dead? You’d think it’d be obvious with the see-through bullshit, but apparently these fucks need the letter ‘G’ to remind them. ‘Yep! Schlatt is dead and a ghost! We gave him a quirky nickname just to prove it!’ Goddamn.”
They sat in silence once more.
“It’s a pretty stupid name, huh? Glatt. Imagine actually callin’ me ‘Glatt,’ in full seriousness, like you’re freakin’ out in your little corner and you go ‘Glatt, what do I do?’ It sounds stupid.” The ram thought to himself for a moment. “It’s fun to say, though. Glatt,” he murmured, as though feeling the word run through his mouth.
“How long will you be here?”
“What?”
“Dream’s voice always leaves, will you… do you have other plans?”
"I don't care," Schlatt snorted. “Take as long as you need.”