Chapter Text
I saw all of existence at once.
Thunder booms through the open air, shaking everything from the ground up. Streaks of lightning web out from a single, undefinable point, casting silver linings to the dark clouds swirling ominously above. Strong wind pushes golden stalks of field grass closer and closer to the soil as a cacophony builds, demanding every bit of noise be heard, all the way out to the cosmos. A rumbling grows louder, as if the steady beating of hooves had chosen to accompany the flashy show in the sky instead of its usual companion, riding just beneath the gale that threatens to topple anything in its way. Hard, fast rain cuts streaks of its own through the greenery, striking the ground with the fury of a fox ready for prey.
I saw a dark storm, a living hunger eating it from within.
Ranboo wakes with a sheen of cold sweat slicking down the back of their neck, and an odd fuzz around the edges of the world. The room is unfamiliar to them— Where are we? Did I die? Is this the afterlife? No, you're definitely alive, dumba- "Focus, please"— but they swallow the panic with a trained ease. Exits, we need to find exits first. There's the door, obviously. The windows don't look very sturdy but what if I'm fifty feet in the air and when I go to climb out I plummet to my death? Why would a room like this be fifty feet in the air? Just to spite me, personally. "The door presents too many loose ends, though, like, I don't know, someone else coming into the room?"
Almost as if on cue, the door presses open, and despite better judgement, they freeze, foot dangling an inch above the wooden flooring. When did we start moving? I think that was my fault. A man pokes his head in with a neutral expression, bucket hat tilting slightly atop his head, but his eyes quickly soften as he processes the scene.
“Oh, hey, you’re up. Good morning,” he says with a smile, tone light. Ranboo swallows thickly— Why does this always have to happen? After what feels like an eternity of tense silence, the man speaks again, stepping ever slightly into the room.
“You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, I simply wanted to see how you were doing. Yesterday seemed… rough, to the say the least,” he winces sympathetically, and Ranboo— Oh goddammit. Strange room, strange building, strange person they supposedly already met. Another few tense beats of silence, and several lights seem to turn on in the man’s eyes.
“Do you remember yesterday?” he asks earnestly, voice attempting at being unjudging. With the question, the anxiety that Ranboo had kept buried to that point was unearthed so violently it made them physically ill, eyes welling on instinct and mouth drawing taut. Quickly, the man begins to approach, but seems to stop and think, then approaches with more caution.
“I’m going to come over there, ok? It’s not a big deal, we can work through this, alright? You’re not in trouble or anything,” he soothes, taking careful steps and eventually settling a comfortable distance from Ranboo, nearer the foot of the bed. All Ranboo wants to do is sink into the pillows behind them and disappear entirely; they can’t stand the feeling of being scrutinized, though they’re not entirely sure that’s actually happening. The man seems nice enough, after all; all patient smiles and soft voice, Ranboo doubts he could be of any real threat. A surge of thoughts hits them all at once, overwhelming their senses.
But what if he was? It could be a very elaborate ruse, everyone has motivations and some require a bit more subtlety than others. Is this this man’s house? Why would he have brought me in? Was he going to use me for something? Maybe we crawled there in the dead of night and the stranger has simply lent us kindness? They couldn’t remember, I don’t remember this man or getting here or even leaving where they were before. You can’t remember where you were before, why can't I remember? They felt like their brain was freezing over and combusting simultaneously, fog enveloping my thoughts and feelings and surroundings almost entirely. The world shifted and blurred in weird colors and shapes circling around them endlessly, no matter where they turned their head or how vigorously they tried to shake it away.
Ranboo felt a strong grip on their hands, felt the way their hands squeezed back just as tight, heard the voice of the man again.
“— breathe with me, ok? In and out, like this. That’s good, you’re doing good.”
They could feel the pressure of the world again, the gravity pressing them into the soft mattress, the covers slung over their legs, the chill of the ground leaching into the sole of their foot.
“Ranboo,” the man said uncertainly after a bit more guided breathing, and Ranboo flinched. Right. I’ve met this man, he knows our name, that’s normal.
“My name is Phil, we met last night, you were brought here from a shelter, you said your name was Ranboo, you met my other kids. This is a safe place, but you are by no means obligated to stay,” Phil clarifies, gentle patience and worry weighing heavy on his brow. Ranboo bobs their head once in acknowledgement, head still too full of shouting they're desperately trying to tune out to properly respond.
"I think it's ok to stay," they try to soothe their thoughts internally. Phil's mouth quirks into a smile, and he nods. You said that outloud. 1000 IQ plays. "Hush," they mutter under their breath, more careful this time.
"I can warn them about your memory if you'd like, I can promise they're very understanding. I've fostered quite a few kids with similar needs," Phil smiles warmly, "Or you can tell them yourself."
"I– I think…" It would be a lot easier on us. But what if they are judgemental? What if they make fun of me when his back is turned? It might be better to just do it ourselves?
"I can tell them," they decide with a small, final nod. Phil keeps his warm smile as he nods back, moving to leave the room.
Minutes blur together, and a knock startles Ranboo enough out of their stupor—
"Morning, Ranboo!" A young brunet, with delicate horns beginning to grow barely out of his hair, practically bursts through the door. In one swift movement, he has his arms around them tightly, and they let out an undignified squeak. The goat hybrid boy smiles at them brightly as he pulls away, before something seems to click in his mind and his face morphs into a nervous expression.
"Please don't tell Dadza I gave you a hug," he requests desperately, and Ranboo cocks a curious eyebrow. Dadza? Do you think he means Phil?
"One of his rules is that I can only give people I've known for more than a week a hug, it sounds dumb but there's a purpose to it," he says the last part like it's been rehearsed several times, a sheepish smile on his face. Yeah, certainly dumb. Hey, I think it's a good rule! It should honestly probably be longer. Does the kid not know what stranger danger is or something?
"Ok," Ranboo drags out, "I won't say anything," they promise, messing with their hands awkwardly. A thick silence passes for a beat, before they remember their conversation with Phil.
"I will warn you that, uh, I kind of–" they suck in a breath, "I don't really remember yesterday? Whatsoever?"
Several emotions flicker through the boys eyes, all of them indecipherable, before he goes back to his bright smile.
"Ah! Ok! You can call me Tubbo," he announces.
"I think we're the same age? Uh," he drags out with a thoughtful expression, "I'm trying to think of what else I introduced myself with."
He's certainly straightforward. Maybe he really doesn't know what stranger danger is. They shake their head, giving a small smile that doesn't sit quite right on their features. Much too patient for someone so young, much too understanding for someone… Well.
"It's fine, Tubbo—" Ranboo begins.
"Oh! I like bees a lot," Tubbo blurts out suddenly.
"There's actually some in the garden! I usually go out on hot days and make sure they're hydrated, you should come with me," he offers, holding a hand out to Ranboo. They take it reluctantly, and find themselves being pulled to their feet quicker than expected.
We are kind of skinny. What if Tubbo is just secretly really jacked? Wait, that reminds me, we're not gonna talk about the fact the kid is named Tubbo? The way he said it made it seem like it was definitely not his actual name though. "Fair."
Tubbo looks at them, head cocked to the side quizzically. They give an awkward half-smile back and shrug, before realizing why.
"Just, uh, thinking out loud." Ranboo clears their throat, and Tubbo shrugs, seeming satisfied moving forward.
Ranboo's tail swishes against the stairs as they make their way through cream coloured halls into a large living room decorated with some slightly wilting greenery, among many other miscellaneous things.
A tuft of pink pokes barely over a dark green couch, before it shifts and red eyes meet red and green. It goes to stand, unfurling to just below Ranboo's height, and blinks.
"Hallo," it greets with an awkward wave, "an' good mornin', to both of you."
Big… big pig… pig man… Those tusks look sharp. Everything about it looks sharp.
Ranboo waves back just as awkwardly, and Tubbo springs into action.
"Technoblade!" he shouts, launching himself over the back of the couch and into the mildly surprised arms of the Piglin hybrid in front of them, from the looks of it.
Technoblade? What a name. Do we really have room to judge?
Technoblade grunts, lip twitching into a restrained smile around its tusks. It lifts Tubbo quite a ways into the air, tossing the boy into the cushions of another couch nearby. Ranboo hears a wheeze as Technoblade dives after Tubbo into the sea of faded blue fabric and chuckles to themself. After a minute of Tubbo’s shrieking giggle filling the space, a mop of blond appears from the top of the stairs, blinking sleep out of his eyes.
“Tubbo, can you please be fucking quiet?” the newcomer calls, no real malice in his bite. Technoblade laughs dryly and the boy’s blue eyes spring open suddenly.
“Blade?” he yells excitedly, nearly throwing himself down the rest of the stairs and dashing past Ranboo.
Anyone else feel like we’re intruding on something?
They move slightly to see the Piglin hybrid trapping Tubbo on the couch while holding the blond in a headlock, which he desperately tries to escape.
“Tommy, help,” Tubbo croaks out exaggeratedly between laughs, face bright red. Tommy, the blond, I’m assuming, finally gets a good grip on Technoblade, trying to use the height difference to flip it over him and loosen its grip. It works… mostly, as both of them land in a heap on the ground with an ear piercing scream and a grunt respectively. The three of them dissolve into a mess of laughter and swearing as Ranboo looks on, awkwardly messing with their shirt sleeves. Tubbo stops laughing first, getting up and approaching Ranboo again, breathless and smiling wide.
“Ok, you don’t have to feel bad for not remembering Techno because he wasn’t here yesterday,” Tubbo starts, and Techno pulls a face.
“Actually, an ‘it’ day,” it corrects, and Tubbo turns with a surprised look, then nods and makes an affirming hum.
“Its our oldest sibling, at the moment,” he snorts at his own joke, and Ranboo blinks in confusion. Probably isn’t Phil’s first time taking in kids. That would make sense.
“Dadza takes in other kids all the time, Techno is the oldest who has stayed,” he explains, and Ranboo just barely catches Techno snort.
“Still callin’ him ‘Dadza’?” it asks, still resting on the floor.
“Habit,” Tubbo says with a shrug, trying to play off the embarrassed blush on his cheeks.
“Anyway, the bees!” Tubbo exclaims, once again tugging Ranboo along by the wrist. They move through a nice, if slightly outdated, kitchen, into a smaller room with a sliding door.
Gentle guitar strumming sounds through the glass, slightly muffled by both distance and the sounds of the early summer noon. Heat swells into the room as Tubbo positions himself like he was going to rip the door off its tracks, though it opens quite slowly.
“Gets stuck sometimes, gotta pull it a certain way,” he explains, panting slightly like it took all of his energy just to open it. Ranboo thoughtlessly tests it as Tubbo steps out onto the multi-levelled wooden deck. It slides easily for about a foot, getting caught slightly before closing all the way. Wimp. Don’t be rude! It’s true. “Still rude,” Ranboo mutters subconsciously.
Tubbo bounds onto the second layer of the deck, artfully dodging various plastic and cloth chairs strewn about.
“Morning, Wilbur!” he calls, presumably to the brunet sat focused more on the guitar in his hands than his surroundings. He jumps ever so slightly, noiselessly, as Tubbo lands next to his white plastic beach chair. However, he smiles and gives him a little wave, turning and doing the same for Ranboo.
“We’re checking on the bees since it’s starting to get warmer!” he announces proudly, beckoning Ranboo down into the grass as he steps carefully around the dandelions and fragile violets poking through the green. Wilbur just smiles bigger, putting his guitar in his lap to sign something to Tubbo.
“Holy shit, really? Is it still in there?” he asks, to which Wilbur shakes his head and signs once again.
“Oh. Ugh, wasps already?” Tubbo comments as Ranboo joins him by a small shed with various markings and paintings adorning the sides.
He likes bees but not wasps? Do you like wasps? Fair, but we don’t like bees either. “Speak for yourself.”
“You like wasps?” Tubbo whips around, incredulous expression.
Ranboo flinches, shaking their head vigorously.
“No, no, I was thinking about something else. But, they’re not entirely bad, either?” they offer with a shrug, and Tubbo gives an exaggerated sigh.
“You’re right, you’re right.” His eyes scan the ground, and upon finding, or perhaps not finding, what he was looking for, he moves toward the shed.
He pauses, suddenly, a wicked grin on his face.
“Ok, wasp boy, if it doesn’t bother you, could you get a watering can out of the shed for me?” Tubbo asks, voice sickly sweet.
Oh, we in it now. Ranboo shrugs it off, moving to retrieve the requested item, and finding they do so with no problems. Tubbo hides his mischievous disappointment, only nodding in thanks and moving to a hose behind the small structure to begin filling it.
As they move around the yard, Tubbo excitedly talking about each flower and which ones the bees like more, how he, Phil, and Techno had planted them one exceptionally nice spring day, and how he’d taken up the mantle of keeping them happy and healthy, Ranboo genuinely considers staying in this strangely comforting place.