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Ranboo sighed as he crafted some more tnt, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Things had been tense on the SMP lately, ever since the news of Dream’s death at his former best friend’s hands.
Ranboo had always thought that the news of Dream’s demise would be cause for celebration, for joy and newfound freedom on the SMP. The death of a tyrant, a weight off of the backs of the rest of the server.
But George had not looked at all happy when he left that prison, and the news he gave, rather than lifting a weight from them all, only added to it. Apparently someone had been torturing Dream. No one knew who, or why, or how they managed to get past Sam so frequently. George didn’t give a whole lot of details—only speaking to tell them that Dream had begged him to kill him, to take his last canon life, and thanked him when he did so. It was a mercy kill, George said bitterly, before breaking down in tears.
Everyone was horrified. Sapnap and George took it hardest of course, but even Tommy had been unnerved by the news. They had all collectively decided to, at the very least, grant the man an honorable death—he had suffered enough, and deserved a proper funeral.
His body was buried with some of the things he had valued in life—spirit’s leather, his mask, a collar belonging to a cat Tommy claimed Dream had grown attached to while in prison, even some of his armor. A few weeks later, though, it was discovered that his grave had been ransacked—the items inside remained untouched, but his body was missing, presumably stolen by whoever had caused him such torment in prison. There was nothing they could really do, so the server fixed up his grave to the best of their ability and all moved on with their lives. Ranboo himself wasn’t sure how to feel about it all—he had hated and feared the man in life, but still couldn’t help but pity him. No one deserved to die such a pitiful death.
And in addition to that, there was a part of him that felt genuine loss at the man’s death—foreign grief that he knew came from his other self, who had been one of Dream’s few remaining friends in life, though it was strange to think about.
Enderboo had shared a lot of Dream’s opinions and ideals, as Ranboo had learned through careful experimentation and communicating with his other self through writings left behind. But, Ranboo reflected, now wasn’t the time to think about that. He pushed those dark thoughts to the back of his mind, and continued with his task.
He was blast mining, gathering resources in order to pay Foolish for his work on their house. He’d been mining normally for the past few days, but that was exhausting and time consuming, and when he’d complained about how hard he was working to Techno, the hybrid had gone and given him an entire in depth lesson on using explosives to mine quickly and efficiently. It had saved Ranboo quite a bit of time.
After a few minutes of this, he had cleared out a few caverns, and had six stacks of diamond to show for it. He sat back, taking a few minutes to rest and drink water, depositing the treasure he’d gathered in his end chest. Then he went right back to the grind, setting down tnt in a few select areas that looked promising, igniting them, and rushing back a safe distance to watch the fireworks.
Except, this time, along with the familiar noise of gravel falling, he heard the thick crunch of breaking obsidian. He froze. Had he destroyed someone’s nether portal on accident—?
Ranboo blinked in surprise when the smoke cleared, revealing a half destroyed wall made of dark obsidian. there was a hole in it now, caused by his explosives—it looked like, rather than a portal, he had accidentally demolished a portion of someone’s secret base. He stepped forward, already planning to leave an apology note and patch up the hole with what materials he had on hand, when—
The stench hit him first. A strong, thick, cloyingly metallic smell, leaving the aftertaste of iron in his mouth. Blood.
Dread filled him slowly, but he continued forward, curiosity outweighing fear. Then his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, and he felt his stomach drop so fast it left him nauseous.
Dream stared back at him, eyes wide and unseeing, small and afraid and so, so horribly injured. There was a jagged scar running over his right eye, and several across his sallow cheeks, the bridge of his nose, his lips, his neck.
His eyes were a milky white, and he was clearly blind—his terrified, searching gaze passed right over Ranboo as if he wasn’t there. His arms were chained to the wall, forced into uncomfortable looking positions, and he had a gag stuffed in his mouth, muffling his pleas—for help? For death? Ranboo didn’t know.
But that wasn’t the worst part—the worst part was the open, festering wounds all over his torso and arms, flesh peeling and rotted, pus and dried blood sticking to his skin in long trails, crusty and flaking away. He was missing several fingers, and all of his nails had been torn out—and his hair was long and choppy, like someone had gone at it with shears.
Ranboo was frozen—he didn’t know what to do. This was too much—way more than he had ever prepared for. He could feel his other self screaming in outrage in his head, fighting to be let out, and for once, he welcomed Enderboo’s presence, letting him take over gladly. Maybe he would know how to deal with this—Dream’s terrified expression, his injuries, the smell—it was all too much, too overwhelming for Ranboo to handle. Ranboo retreated to the back of his mind, falling gladly into darkness and sleep.
They leapt to the forefront as soon as the other left, rushing forward urgently. Their friend was here, was alive, and they were so so glad of this, but their friend was hurt, and scared, and they hurt for him. Whoever had done this would pay— no one deserved this, not friend or enemy, and they would get revenge if it was the last thing they did. But first, they needed to be gentle, kind—rescue first. Revenge later. Picking up a crumbled piece of obsidian from the floor, they carefully broke the lock on the chains forcing Dream’s arms above his head, catching him gently as he collapsed, unable to hold his own weight. They removed the gag, tossing the dirty, saliva-and-blood soaked rag to the side, and carefully maneuvered Dream so that they were holding him in a way that put as little pressure on his wounds as possible. Then, they concentrated, feeling the pearl inside their chest warm; friends, they needed friends, someone who would know how to heal someone as broken as this, and someone who had the same kind feelings towards Dream as they did. The path he had chosen meant that this was not a lot of people, and they couldn’t risk whoever had done this getting their hands on him again. They thought of snow, and piglin tusks; Technoblade would work. With a tug and a jolt, they were in the Arctic, right in front of his little cabin. Dream shivered in their arms, eyes wide and confused, likely sensing the change in temperature. “…∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹?” He rasped, bewildered and hopeful, and they winced are the strain that must have put on his damaged vocal cords. Instead of answering him, they knocked on the door, ever polite even in desperate circumstances. “ℸ ̣ᒷᓵ⍑リ𝙹!!” They called, “ᓵ𝙹ᒲᒷ ᑑ⚍╎cꖌ!! ∴ ᒷリᒷ ᒷ ↸ ⍑ ᒷ ꖎ!¡!!” Dream went limp in their arms, breathing a sigh of relief at the sound of their voice. “∷ᔑリʖ𝙹𝙹,” he breathed, “thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you so much—“ He burrowed his head into their chest, warm tears soaking their shirt, as he babbled out broken apologies and thank yous in mixed Enderspeak and English, too out of it to make much sense. Techno, of course, chose that exact moment to open the door. He stared at them, their vibrant purple eyes and angry expression, and then at Dream’s broken form in their arms. “Ok,” he muttered, reaching up to massage his temples, “what the actual fuck.” Then he sighed, opening the door further. “Enderboo, right?” He asked, “come in. Phil, could you get out the medical supplies? We’re gonna need them.”