Chapter Text
There is an ancient tradition for all enderians who have been blessed with a mutual dragon bond, alongside the title of waitstaff. It's an act of true loyalty and devotion, and has been embraced by their culture since the beginning of time. Enderians all serve their own purpose, the role of the enderman is simple. Servitude. They owe everything to their ruling dragons, and they deserve nothing more and nothing less than what their dragon will give to them. That includes everything, even their life.
Even if they disagree, no dragon has ever denied their hoard their right to this ritual. Not until ranboo attempted to discuss the rite with his chosen bond.
“I don't give a shit! You don't owe me anything, you're absolved of any debts to me. I don't want you to help me because you think I own you, I want you to be by my side as my friend. I've done nothing to rob you of your autonomy, much less your own life,” Tommy hisses, letting his tail whack the enderian's shoulder with contained anger. “And stop fucking bowing to me! You're literally older than me, it's weird.”
Ranboo shakes their head, refusing to budge. “You've never robbed me of anything, you've never hurt me, even when I had hurt you on the day we met. You've given me everything I could ever ask for, all that I need and desire. You've stolen nothing, but earned everything. This is what I'll give back to you, undying loyalty.”
“The loyalty isn't undying if it dies alongside me.” Tommy growls, moving from his shrine to lift the stubborn teen by his armpits, like he was nothing but a pesky cat in the young god's way. “The day I die, I want you to live. If you kill yourself, I'll teather you to your own corpse, to watch the consequences of your actions for the rest of the time you'll be remembered. That will be your punishment. You'll watch your loved ones cry at your funeral, stare lifelessly at your burial, you'll hear them speak to your tombstone and grow weary with each time they don't receive a reply. You can't reply. That will be your punishment.”
His heart sinks at the last line, letting the venom from each word fully seep into his bloodstream.
They imagine being tied to a rotting corpse, waiting for years to hear tubbo's voice, only to realize he has either forgotten his sworn best friend, or died. They imagine the occasional visit from the slime, hearing short news updates, maybe the occasional joke, before being revisited by silence. They imagine the comments from passers-by, those who didn't know their story.
Some may comment on his age at death, others may vandalize the stone beyond the point of recognition. He imagines the day he's forgotten. Nothing to the living, and nothing to history. The day he's never crossed a single person's mind. The deafening silence of the graveyard falling abandoned and unkempt. Reclaimed by nature.
He doesn't like the feeling it draws from him.
“That's quite the threat, my lo-” they start, still wrapped under the clawed clutches of his sworn master.
The plea is cut short with a sharp command, one that catches the syllable against their teeth with lethal accuracy.
“Iwatosela tika,” it comes out like a reptilian hiss, every sound was intentional, every emotion was conveyed. It forces the teen's jaw shut with a loud click, lips sealing any further remarks away from expression.
No servant would dare disobey a direct order like that, especially not a bonded one.
Tommy takes the time to nestle ranboo into the shrine, a nest of pillows, blankets, and cooling sheets, all embedded with glowstone. He quickly settles behind the teen, wrapping a membrane wing around the fearfully shaking servant.
“I am not your dragon lord, I'm a teenager with a curse. I am strong, and I intend to protect you with everything I have, but that is not because you belong to me. That's because you are my friend. You're a good person, and you really try to help the others when you can. I protect you because I admire you. Not as a trinket to be owned, or a servant to be toyed with, but as a child would admire their hero.” Tommy explains, letting his claws gently run through the other child's hair, as if any of this was calm and casual. As if he wasn't attempting to rewire ranboo's very being.
“So you deny me my duty, but still command me in my language? After commanding me to ignore an instinct that's written into my genetic code?” They argue, eyes itchy as tears attempt to form, despite the enderian aversion to water.
“You can still work, if you must. I would never deny you the right to satisfy your instincts. I'm not that cruel,” Tommy sighs, reaching to dry the tears before they even fall. It's terrifying, how he seems to know these things before they even happen. “I just also recognize our unique situation. I'm not a dragon, not really. The bond may have worked, but there's a storm brewing inside of me. Our situation is not one you're genetically prepared to handle, so I'm explaining my expectations to you now. I give you authority over your own being, but I trust you to take care of it, like a gift.”
As always, the young god has won the argument. It's hard to debate something like that.
Ranboo doesn't even know how to feel anymore.
That, also, is answered for him, as gentle hands reach to bring their head down, next to the false avian with care. Comforted. They should feel comforted.
And so, the situation is comforting. Just like that.
Tubbo sighs, bracing his right hand with his left, and resting both arms on the table. Even with the added stability, his tremors can't seem to calm enough for him to continue working on the microscopic inner workings of this drone without risking breaking everything. As much as he has been making these true-to-life bee drones, they are actually very time-consuming to build. It was only very recently that he's been able to make these drones without stealing mumbo's technology mastery, and even then, they've not turned out quite right yet, despite his years of apprenticeship under the best engineer.
Maybe his friends were right about his caffeine intake. He can't exactly remember when he slept last.
He should do the rest of his rounds and go to bed. His drones can wait.
So, he grabs his cover to lay over the drone. It feels ridiculous, a small cover for a small device, but it's absolutely necessary. Just a little dust inside the inner workings can cause clogs in the machinery.
Carefully, he leaves his seat and walks to the doorway, pausing to make sure the light automatically turned off before he closes the door. It does.
First, his feet drag him to their new guest's room. Boomer, formerly known as leapfrog. He's not asked for anything yet, which is equally a relief and also suspicious. Either he feels too shy to ask for something, or he's intentionally trying to be forgotten in the middle of the haven's headquarters, an opportunity to sneak around unnoticed.
“Room service” He calls out, knocking on the locked door. Shifting sounds from the other side, a yawn, and then locks disengaging. Interesting, he used all of them. What is he afraid of? He's about as dangerous as the others in the haven.
The door eventually swings open, revealing an exhausted man on the other side. Luckily, he doesn't look as dry as he did earlier, it seems the humidifier has done the trick. “Oh, the kid,” he notes out loud, rubbing his eyes with a sleepy huff. “Sorry, I knocked out pretty fast, did I sleep through something?”
He slept this entire time? It feels excessive.
“Just checking in before I ended my shift,” he explains equally tired in the opposite direction. “Do you need anything before I head home? The next caretaker will be here in the morning.”
The man blinks, face blank. “Morning?” He mumbles before checking the clock in his room. “You've been working for 18 hours? Are you okay?” He asks suddenly, stepping dangerously close to the teen.
Tubbo takes a large step back. “Please don't touch me,” he asserts, before answering, “I was actually supposed to end my shift around the time I brought you here, I just got caught up in a project instead of finishing my actual obligations. That's all it is, there's no reason to worry about me.” He explains, leaning against the wall behind him.
The man seems ultimately unconvinced, but backs off regardless. “I'll be alright until morning. I think my body planned to sleep at least until then anyways, given the sleep momentum I'm experiencing.”
Momentum, like newton's laws? Tubbo snorts softly “well, it's a scientific fact that an object at motion will stay in motion,” he gestures to himself, “and an object at rest will stay at rest,” he waves both hands in the rogue's general direction.
Boomer pauses, squinting at the boy. “Unless acted upon by an outside force. Go to bed.” He corrects, taking his turn to make a vague gesture to the general direction of the haven's exit.
With a small smile, tubbo quietly nods in agreement, offering a short wave before making his way to Tommy's room. There's no way he's walking home in this state, ranboo is just going to have to scoot over.