Chapter Text
Ranboo had a happy childhood.
He did not remember much of the times when he was still a child, the faint memories weaving in and out of his memory and never quite staying in his mind. He did, however, distinctively remember the scent of freshly-baked bread and held onto that single precious memory, a priceless artifact that could never be replaced. Apart from this single memory, splotches of his mind remain blank, pitch black like the cell he is held captive in, and Ranboo can only gnaw on his fingers repeatedly, tasting blood on his tongue, as he tries to fill in the blanks to no avail.
The taste of blood is sickening, lingering on the tip of his tongue, but Ranboo soon grows accustomed to the taste, falling into a habit of opening and licking his wounds a lot more.
Ranboo might have had a happy childhood.
They came one day, invading the lands. Ranboo never knew what his home was called. He was perfectly content to call it the lands , because it was a simple name and he likes simple things. Invasion, however, was far from simple and Ranboo was thrown into the turmoil and chaos he did not want to have any participation in. Fate is unkind, and it did not grant Ranboo the opportunity to choose. And as such, Ranboo could only watch, rather helplessly, as the lands was burnt to the ground. Columns of thick gray smoke engulfed the lands whole, accompanied by its partner in crime, the fire, a starved monster which devoured the lands hungrily and quickly.
When Ranboo looked down, he couldn’t tell the difference between the crimson earth and his sticky hands.
But that was okay, because Ranboo always had blood on his hands.
There isn’t a single device that measures time in this place, but Ranboo doesn’t need it. He keeps counting the time in the back of his head, and he knows his counting is accurate, because there is a certain rigid schedule the circus master always adheres to no matter the day or disturbances.
Ranboo doesn’t know who the circus master is, or why he is specifically called the circus master by the other occupants trapped in their own dark, dreary cells. He only started calling him the circus master because the other occupants did, and Ranboo doesn’t want to be left out. Being left out is akin to being left alone, and solitude is scary for the Split. Ranboo much rather prefers to be in the presence of someone, even if their gazes remind him of bubbling pools of acid and the comfort they provide is far from warm.
The circus master brings them food at very specific timings, 3 times a day. He starts from the far left, going down the rows of the cells, until he reaches the far right. Once he is done, the circus master leaves, barely sparing a single glance at the occupants.
Sometimes the occupants want more than what they are given. They clamor, holler, yell, shriek at the top of their lungs, banging the metal bowls against the cold, rocky ground, and they won’t stop until the circus master comes back. Ranboo doesn’t know what the circus master does to shut them up, but he guesses that whatever the circus master does isn’t pretty, because their shrieks always cut off abruptly, as though their necks have been snapped.
Ranboo can picture it, the circus master wrapping his hands around the neck of the occupant and twisting it. He can even hear the sound of their necks being snapped echoing faintly in his mind, as though he has done such an act before with ease.
Sometimes the circus master comes in with other people, and leaves with a few occupants. They whisper among themselves in hushed voices, pointing at various occupants as they walk up and down the row of cells. Because light is always so faint in this place, Ranboo can barely make out any of their facial features, their faces being pits of murky darkness. At one point, the circus master and his friend had stopped in front of Ranboo’s cell, their voices coming to a halt.
Ranboo jerks his head towards the unfamiliar figure standing in front of him, the bars forming a solid barrier between the two. He had been licking at his fingers as usual, more than satisfied with his food for today. Almost instantly, Ranboo turns to the mental clock in his mind, which tells him that the sun should be rising anytime soon. With the unfamiliar figure still standing in front of him, Ranboo cocks his head at the person, fingers drenched in his saliva, and wondering what could the person possibly want from him.
The circus master extends a hand, and Ranboo watches as the bars start to rattle by themselves. “Come here.” The circus master beckons in a gruff voice. It is the first time the circus master has ever spoken directly to him, and the thought of such a special occasion has Ranboo scampering towards the bars too eagerly. He stops in front of the bars, blinking his eyes curiously, staring at the unfamiliar person who bends down to take a good look at Ranboo.
They stare at each other for a good few seconds before the unfamiliar person sighs, a sound Ranboo knows, one that conveys the feeling of disappointment. Ranboo slouches back, away from the bars, inferiority gnawing away at him as the unfamiliar person turns to the circus master, shaking his head lightly.
“Why did they bring back a Split?”
“I don’t know.”
“He is dangerous, Quackity. You have to keep him here forever.”
And without another glance at Ranboo, the circus master and his friend turn around to walk away.
Ranboo feels his shoulders sag. He’s slightly disappointed, but he won’t let it get to him. Someone will eventually want him, Ranboo tries to convince himself as he ambles towards his corner of the cell, raising his fingers to his lips once more.
But Ranboo knows better.
It is around dusk, when the person arrives, together with the circus master. Like many other friends of the circus master, they walk up and down the cells, occasionally pausing to scrutinise the occupants.
This friend is different. Ranboo feels the veil of mystery surrounding this friend, emnating a strong, suffocating sense of danger and superiority in every other way, causing Ranboo to press his back against his corner of the cell in terror.
Danger, danger! Ranboo’s mind screams, but he knows that his mind can never be fully trusted.
The man walks down the row slowly, so light and bare it is almost as if his feet never touch the ground. He drifts aimlessly, never pausing as much as the other friends, before he comes to a sudden halt in front of Ranboo’s cage.
Ranboo’s breath hitches in his throat. He stops breathing all together, fear lodging itself in his windpipe as he stares at the silhouette of the man, wondering if his interest is piqued. Silence ticks on, as does the hands of Ranboo’s mental clock, and Ranboo finds himself gasping for air for he had been holding his breath for far too long. Not a single sound passes over them, the world that is Ranboo’s single cell deathly silent. The circus master must have found it strange too, for he nudges the friend lightly and utters a single word.
“Dream?”
Sometimes Ranboo dreams of a heavenly paradise sculpted specially for him. A world of profound beauty that instilled the warmest sense of safety he could ever feel. A world that would never be razed down to the earth, not like the lands-
“This.”
Ranboo blinks, and the utopia he dreams of melts away before his eyes, the light fading, casting him into an eternal darkness, back to the world confined within the bars of his cell. The friend had muttered that one word, a word aimed at Ranboo, and the circus master seems to disapprove of the claim from the way he shakes his head, features concealed.
“Are you sure about this? He might lose himself in front of you.”
“I’m sure, Quackity. Let him out. I’ll take him.”
The circus master, which Ranboo learns is named Quackity, sighs loudly, a sound which causes Ranboo to flinch harshly and retreat back into his corner of the cell. He presses his back against the solid wall, wishing that he can melt away, when Quackity fishes something out of his pocket and raises his hand towards the bars of Ranboo’s cell. Just like before, the bar starts to rattle viciously in their spot, metal scraping against metal, before they ruthlessly snap like flimsy twigs of a tree, allowing Quackity to step through.
“Come here, boy.” Quackity attempts to coo, his voice gruff and placid. He beckons Ranboo with a motion of his hand, trying to get Ranboo out of his corner of his cell, but Ranboo refuses to move, firmly flattening his entire body against the wall.
Friendly, friendly! His mind screams, but Ranboo doesn’t trust his own mind and peels his eyes away from Quackity, squeezing his eyes shut and clamping his hands over his ears, his heart in his throat and the fire boiling his blood. A guttural breath rings in his ears, and Ranboo soon realises that it is his own breath, one that is akin to the cries of dying animals.
Quackity makes a sound of annoyance, one that makes Ranboo flinch again. Flicking one eye open, hands still clamped on his ears, Ranboo stares up at Quackity, whose gaze resembles toxic pools, and presses himself against the wall even more, if it is even possible. The friend watches from outside of the cell, expression undecipherable with all the darkness.
Quackity takes another cautious step forward. An involuntary hiss leaves Ranboo’s lips, one that he didn't know he is capable of making, and causing Quackity to freeze in his spot, hand hovering in the air.
“Quackity, get out.”
Ranboo’s gaze flickers to the friend, who has one hand resting on the destroyed bars of the cells. His voice is loud and bold, carrying a tinge of violent authority that makes Ranboo shudder in his corner of the cell. He returns his gaze back to circus master Quackity, who has let his hand drop to his side and starts to retreat out of cell, shoulders slumped in defeat, or resentment, or both. Quackity squeezes out of the cell, muttering a few words to the friend in a low voice, before he moves and disappears out of Ranboo’s sight completely.
Danger? Ranboo’s mind trails off, as if it is uncertain whether the man standing in front of him is an ally or a foe. He stands in front of Ranboo for a long, long time, staring down at the Split, before cocking his head in a casual manner. Then slowly, he raises one leg and steps through the threshold that is the bars of the cells, before entering the cell in one swift, fluid motion.
Ranboo is captivated. He stares at the man, the accumulated tension quickly leaving his body. Before he even knows it, the hands clamped on his ears have dropped to his side, making the world a little louder, just for a few seconds. Ranboo’s gaze remains fixed on the man, before his head starts to lower itself as the man crouches in front of him, the cloak draped around his body fluttering with him. He inches closer towards Ranboo, closer and closer until they are mere inches apart from each other.
Within seconds, the man has knocked the walls Ranboo has built precariously around himself, and Ranboo himself doesn’t even know his mental line of defense is gone.
The man raises a hand to his face. He seems to be removing something, before two pools of glowing white light appear.
The eyes of the man glow , like the celestial bodies that hang in the sky deep into the night. They shimmer and twinkle like precious crystals, glittering like the surface of lake at twilight. A sound of pure surprise leaves Ranboo’s lips unknowingly as he scampers towards the man, fascinated by the white glowing eyes. He reaches up both hands and finds himself patting the face of the man, not caring about the potential dangers that lies in doing so, completely enthralled and allured by the beauty that is the eyes of the man. A warm chuckle leaves the man’s lips, a sound that lets Ranboo know he is safe.
“You like it?”
Ranboo nods his head, beaming. He lifts both hands off the face of the man, and curls his fingers, leaving one finger extended and aimed directly at the jewels of eyes. He thinks about tapping on them, but that would mean pain and Ranboo doesn’t want to hurt this man. He shudders and shrinks backwards, hands quivering violently as he shakes his head.
“Want to touch them?”
Ranboo is taken aback. He stares shell-shocked at the man, who takes Ranboo’s quivering hand into his and raises it to his eye. The hand of the man is much larger than Ranboo’s, and it emanates a gentle heat which soothes Ranboo’s insides instantly. The man guides Ranboo’s fingers to his eyes, and nods at Ranboo.
The tip of Ranboo’s finger touches the eyes of the man ever so gently, feeling as though he has just tapped against ceramic, or glass. With a bated breath, Ranboo watches as the colors seep into the eyes of the man, swirling and mixing, before they settle on a brilliant shade of green, vibrant like the blades of grass that tickled Ranboo’s ankles.
Another sound of astonishment leaves Ranboo’s lips.
“I could do more colors, but I’ve already hit my limit for today. You’ll forgive me for that, won’t you?”
A hand is on Ranboo’s head, ruffling the grimy clump that is his hair. And instantly, Ranboo melts into the touch, eyes and shoulders drooping as he makes a sound of strangled comfort, for this is all he has ever yearned for. He shuffles closer to the man, trying to curb his insatiable hunger for warmth, before burying his face into the velvety fabric, letting his eyes flutter shut.
And softly, his mind whispers, not danger.
“Do you want to come with me?”
Ranboo hums. The stroking stops, and Ranboo makes a sound of discontent. He wants more. Even more. So Ranboo raises a hand and taps on the hand of the man, hurriedly gesturing for him to continue. A light chuckle fills his ear, before Ranboo feels his hair being ruffled again and he squeals in a raspy voice. Remembering that the man had asked a question, he nods his head as a reply, humming an idle tune that lingered in the back of his head.
“You’re going to come with me without knowing who I am?”
Ranboo opens his eyes, falling back into the emerald pools of light. He nods his head again.
“I guess I should tell you who I am then.” The man murmurs, continuing to stroke Ranboo’s head without stopping, a gesture that Ranboo is grateful for.
“My name is Dream.” The man breathes. “I’m a Brilliant, and I wish to die.”
Ranboo blinks. For a few seconds of silence, the two sit side by side, before Ranboo forces his voice out, raspy from years of being unused.
“I like dreams.” Ranboo says softly.