Promised Land

[25] Life Moves On

"Ranboo," Phil says, slowly, looking at him deeply. He can't tell Phil's exact expression-- Ranboo still feels a little warm from his fever and it's also two in the morning, so the combination probably isn't helping him much.

But it was either tell Phil immediately when Dream was done and fight through the general feeling of sickness that fogged his brain a bit and the warmth from his fever, or risk waiting until morning when he's a little better rested-- but also, could have forgotten some things.

"I-- I know, it's a lot to believe." Ranboo feels his mouth go dry, and he glances away, tugging his hand nervously through his hair. "But--"

"No, I believe you, mate." Phil says, leaning back in the kitchen chair. He's got a few maps spread out on the table that Ranboo has never seen before, but they're all labeled with interesting names of places out in the forest behind the city. The forest behind the city that is technically part of some strange state park-conservation-hybrid thing, Ranboo doesn't really know, but it's where the dreamons mostly come from.

Apparently.

"It's-- oh, you believe me?"

Phil nods, his blond hair falling in his face. "Seems just about right that the guy who asks everyone to call him Dream has dream-related magic. Should've seen it coming, honestly." He laughs, but it's a bit bitter. "And where did you say he was?"

"Um. He said..." He takes a moment to focus on his thoughts. He has to remember-- no, he will remember, and for once, his memory doesn't fail him. Ranboo glances down at the maps in front of him, and points out a section of wood that is labeled, in handwriting, that he would consider worse than Tommy's, school ruins. "Here."

Phil glances to where Ranboo points, and lets out a sharp gasp. More of a mixture between a tsk and a hiss, with a bit of a whistle, really, and it wasn't a sound full of anything pleasant. "Of fuckin' course, it's in the middle of dreamon-infested land."

Where else would the dreamons keep their King, except in the most protected space they can?

"Sorry," Ranboo says. Force of habit.

"It's not your fault." Phil replies, instantly. "You should get back to bed, Ranboo, you're still not feeling well."

For a second, Ranboo wonders how Phil notices-- he thinks he's doing a good job of trying to keep his eyes open and his head upright-- but he remembers that Phil has that empathy gift and can probably tell by reading his mind or however it works that Ranboo just wants to sleep for another twelve hours. Or, maybe, he isn't doing as good of a job as he thinks he is.

It's the latter.

"'M fine,"

"No you're not." Phil rolls his eyes, and this time, his laugh is a bit warmer. He helps Ranboo to his feet. "Let's get you to your actual bed tonight, yeah?"

"Sure." Ranboo's left a book by the couch downstairs-- a book of poems that Techno gave to him during his "babysitting" duty earlier that day-- but he can get that in the morning, he thinks, as Phil wraps his arm around Ranboo's and awkwardly tugs him up the stairs and to his room.

His room. His family.

The bed is cold when he hits the sheets, but it's a good feeling against his hot skin. Phil didn't even turn on a light to help Ranboo up the stairs, instead-- well, Ranboo can't tell quite clearly, since the adrenaline of spilling everything to Phil that he got from Dream is starting to wear off, but he could swear that Phil was glowing, ever-so-slightly, to illuminate the hall to guide them so they wouldn't trip over anything.

When the door shuts, Ranboo expects to hear the clicking of a lock. But he was no longer at the orphanage, stifled under rules and expectations. Instead he was home.