There's a moment, Ranboo notices, right as his head turns as the glass window behind him shatters, where the world seems to slow down and stop.
He can see the dreamon, not the one in the front of the house, he assumes, because he can still hear the muffled sound of fighting and Tommy screeching about something or other, and the cries of the other dreamon as it is hit. It's small, not small like the squirrel but it isn't any bear-size, either. It's probably closer to what resembles a deer, but instead of hooves, they're hands. Human hands, or something akin to them. Monkies, maybe?
He can see it, reaching through the window. The eyes are all black, like the rest of its body, but there's a white reflection in the eyes or the white in its eyes is its pupils, either way, Ranboo doesn't like being this close to it when it's reaching out for him.
No, no, no, God, please, get me out of here, lead me to safety--
Ranboo forgets about the phone in his hand, the one he's mid-calling Phil because, well. Wilbur told him to call Phil if they're not back in five minutes and he isn't good at keeping time but if there's two on the property, they should really get help, right? Plus it was probably five minutes anyway. And Ranboo was left alone. All by himself. To panic.
It only makes sense he would call Phil quickly, because he doesn't know what else to do. And Wilbur and Tommy and Tubbo can get angry at him all they want-- he doesn't care-- he does care, actually, he wants to have good relationships with his new family-- but they needed someone more, um. Trained to kill these things or whatever. Wilbur left with a small dagger that looks like it should've been a butterknife to kill the dreamon, they need all the help they can get.
A moment, of pause. Where the world seems to slow and pause. Right as he's recoiling, trying to get back away from the grasp of the dreamon's too-human ugly awful hands, and he feels it.
It feels like a string has been looped through his chest and around his heart, and there's a tug at his core and the world goes all different shades of color but they're all wrong. Everything turns neon green and bright blue and pale pink and red and purple for not even a second.
Vwoop--
And the next thing Ranboo knows, he's hit the ground harshly, stumbling after the tugging in his chest stopped.
This is it, I'm dead, I'm dead, I've been eaten, I hope no one reads my new journal--
There isn't any pain.
Well, there is, but it doesn't feel like he's being killed. It feels more like a twig digging into his side.
Now that he thinks about it, the growling of the dreamon going for him and the sounds of fighting outside have ceased. He keeps his eyes closed, but underneath him feels more like the leaf-covered forest floor than the stomach of a monster who devoured him. He feels the leaves, the damp dirt underneath, and even the root of a tree.
Ranboo dares to open an eye.
He's not in the office, anymore, that's for sure. The colors that were weird for a second are back to normal. Large trees with colorful orange leaves loom above him and decorate the forest floor. It's not a clearing, per say, but there is a little bit of an open patch in the woods where the late afternoon sun hits it at the right angle, and it shines on the floor and on his pant legs, which, he looks very much not-eaten.
Which is good.
Where am I?
That is bad.
He stands up slowly, leaning up against the tree for support. His head is buzzing. Everything feels like it's buzzing, like--
Like Tubbo said.
YOU ARE READING
Promised Land
FanfictionRanboo remembers the days when he would kneel at his bed to pray before the nuns turned out the lights and begged God that he'd be the next kid to go. He was a good kid; he was helpful, he was kind, he was humble, he was everything the nuns raised h...
