Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Lesson 3: Being noticed is never a reward (and neither is happiness)

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Ranboo was six when they were brought to XD Kingdom Church’s orphanage. It was storming. Thunder roared and crackled overhead as lightning snapped to the ground around them. Their hand was too small to fit in their mother’s, so they wrapped their fingers around her thumb and hid anxiously behind her leg as she knocked on the chapel door. It opened with a groan loud enough to be heard over the storm, and a woman in white stepped outside. She looked heavenly, almost unreal, and her gaze felt similar to Mama’s on their skin.

It was a quick exchange.

Ranboo’s fingers were wrapped around Mama’s thumb one instant, and in the next, they were wrapped around Sister Rose’s. Mama’s lips pressed gently atop their forehead, her hands cupping their cheeks as tears seared down her cheeks, and all Ranboo can remember her saying that night is “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Ranboo’s been living in the orphanage ever since. Mama’s been gone for eleven years.

***

Ranboo loves storms. 

It doesn’t make sense that they love storms, yet they do. Instinctually, they should be terrified of them. Rain burns their skin just as badly as any kind of water. Prime knows how badly it burns, but that doesn’t change anything; storms are Ranboo’s favorite type of weather.

It makes even less sense that Ranboo loves storms specifically at night. After all, they were left here on a night when it was storming. Not a light storm, either, no, it was bad. The wind was harsh, and the rain pelted down on them fast, and if Ranboo thinks hard enough about it, they can remember the way Mama tried desperately, and futilely, to protect them from it. The thunder was louder than ever; they haven’t seen a storm that bad since. Despite the negative memory, storms somehow bring Ranboo more comfort than anything else.

Maybe they look past all of the negatives because storms are beautiful. Maybe they don’t look past much of anything at all. Maybe they’ve just shoved that memory so far down that it’s been buried by everything else. It’s easy to forget the way Mama’s lips trembled as she pulled away when Ranboo’s seen blood seeping into the cracks between white tiles. After all, there is much more to worry about here than their feelings. It isn’t fair, they know, but life hardly is. And as such, they love storms despite all the reasons why they shouldn’t. 

Storms are loud. Thunder rumbles deep and low in the sky, and Ranboo thinks it’s a soothing sound. Like the lullaby Mama would sing to them when they were little, a rumble in her chest as she’d purr a melody that felt like safety, love, and comfort, and Ranboo remembers all too well how it felt to have her tail tangled with theirs. The lightning strikes between the clouds in bright flashes that turn the clouds almost purple. It reminds Ranboo of Mama’s eyes, her smile. Every good memory they still have of her. It isn’t a lot, but it’s something, and at least they have something because a majority of the kids here don’t.

The good memories only resurface at night during storms like these. They wrap around Ranboo’s mind like a shield or a blanket, protecting them from the memories and thoughts that otherwise plague their mind like an incurable disease. It’s easy to get stuck reliving the bad things when the world is silent. During storms, the comfort they’re offered is a nice getaway, a reminder that sometimes the world has to scream to be heard, too.

Ranboo gave up on trying to be heard a long, long time ago.

It shows up in their daily life like a sore thumb, the way they do their best to go unnoticed. They keep their head down, doing as they’re told when they’re told without asking any questions. It shows up in their prayers even more; they stopped praying for themself the night after one of the other kids tried to kill them— the night they tried to kill themself. It’s easier that way. They’re taught to be selfless, and so they are.

Thunder roars outside. Some of the children whimper. Others have learned to stay quiet. Ranboo does nothing more than glance around the room before returning their gaze to the rolling clouds outside the window. Ranboo matches the sound of thunder in their chest, the purr quiet and comforting for a split second before they smother it down. Shame radiates through them for giving in to the instinct. They push it down and watch raindrops throw themselves into the window. They trace the pathways the water makes with their eyes for a while before pressing their hand against the cool glass. The thought that crosses their mind is brief, though inherently bad, I wish it would give way. They take a deep breath and instead focus on how the window is Cool instead of Cold, because to them, there will always be a difference.

Cool is soothing. It’s the underside of a pillow, a bed that hasn’t been lain on all day, slender fingers trailing through their hair and behind their ears. Cool feels like comfort and quiet moments full of love. Cool is nice.

Cold, however, is the exact opposite.

Cold is words disguised as daggers. It’s the prickling underneath their skin every time Sister Bernice looks at them— every time they enter the Chapel and are forced to sit beneath God. It’s the river that runs past the orphanage, hands pressing their shoulders down, and water burning every inch of their skin. It’s you’re lucky she was there and we’re just playing, having fun, right, Ranboo?  

Cold is the gaping hole in the middle of their chest, the vortex that’s been trying to suck them in ever since they stepped foot in this gods-awful place. It’s the cracked walls and creaking floors. It’s the darkness that lurks in every corner. It’s the punishments handed out as religiously as everyone here prays. 

Cold is the numbness that seeps through Ranboo’s veins. It’s the blankness in their eyes. It’s the chemical burns on their fingertips and the scars criss-crossing up their arms. 

Cold is Hell. Ranboo has been stuck in Cold for a long, long time.

***

Ranboo was eight the first and last time they were taken to the library. Sister Rose was the one to recommend Ranboo for the trip, labeling it as a reward for being “such a good young boy.” Sister Bernice’s favorites had gone the last few times, chosen by herself and Sister Clarice. She had no choice but to allow Ranboo to come with her, lest she seem too biased. It was probably the worst reward Ranboo could have asked for.

The library Sister Bernice took them to was a small one. It was smaller than the stage inside the chapel, and she did not allow them to leave her side. Ranboo remembers it going a little something like this:

The door opened and closed with a chime. A woman was sitting behind a desk, a book raised high enough to cover her face. 

“Welcome in,” she had said, her voice gravelly and low. It did not feel welcoming.

Sister Bernice said nothing. Her cane clicked harshly against the wooden floor, a low thump punctuating each of her steps. Ranboo walked in time with her, eyes cast down to the floor. On the way to the back, where the kids' section was, they walked past a section that read “Biology.” 

Ranboo had always been a curious child. They had a knack for asking hundreds of questions and leaving very few spaces for answers. Mama had always encouraged their curiosity, allowing them to find answers wherever they could.

Needless to say, it was easy for Ranboo to get distracted.

Their footsteps quickly slowed as they glanced over the titles of books about the biology behind different hybrids. It didn’t take long before they found a book about Enderians that sparked their interest almost immediately.

The book was leather-bound and visibly old. Ranboo was quick to take it off the shelf, flipping through the pages until they found something that caught their eye. It was the start of a chapter entitled ‘The Nature of Soulmates.” It went on to discuss something about warmth, about knowing, and it wasn’t long before Ranboo was completely enraptured by the idea.

By the time they realized Sister Bernice’s footsteps had stopped, it was too late.

When Ranboo and Sister Bernice returned to the orphanage, Ranboo had silent tears burning scars down their face and a bible in their hands, the words Sister Bernice had seethed at them ringing through their ears, You are nothing if not a disgrace to our Lord. 

Ranboo had to sit in front of the statue of Dream XD and beg for His forgiveness for hours. All that it taught them was that a failure to conform led to more suffering than it was worth.

They stopped being curious after that.

That experience is why it’s so shocking that Ranboo is currently on a bus that is pulling into a field where a circus tent is set up, with hybrids of all different kinds walking in and out of the entrance. 

Field trips are a rare occurrence for the orphanage. Ranboo has a theory that it’s less tied to the money coming in and more tied to the fact that Sister Bernice wants the children to stay ignorant of the world around them. This is not something they would ever voice, obviously, but it’s certainly interesting that she has decided to bring them to a “hybrid-run circus” with no obvious evil intent. Of course, Ranboo’s learned how to read into her actions, and, if they had to guess, they would say that Sister Bernice is going to turn this into some kind of lesson about the importance of conformity, something that a majority of the children struggle with based on looks alone. It’s hard to conform to the standard of looking human when you’ve got horns or wings, after all. Ranboo would know that first-hand, even if they didn’t look like a creature that crawled out of someone’s nightmare.

The children are all talking in hushed, excited voices. Ranboo struggles to see the point in their excitement when they know that this is only going to end badly. They continue to stare outside the window, just as they have been the entire drive here, and they watch as Sister Bernice makes her way to the entrance of the red and white tent. The field they’re in is full of flowers, bursts of pinks, purples, and yellows standing out against the vibrant green grass, and Ranboo watches as Sister Bernice steps on every flower in her path. When she gets to the entrance, a man wearing a deep forest green cloak meets her. His face is shadowed by his green and white striped bucket hat. They talk for a few minutes before he disappears behind the curtain, never once turning his back on her.

Their attention is pulled away from Sister Bernice by Crumb, a girl who came to the orphanage only a few years after them. She’s the only person Ranboo would ever even consider calling a friend, though sister seems to be a bit more appropriate. Still, they wouldn’t exactly call her family. 

“Rainbow,” she murmurs, the nickname she gave them when she was three rolling off her tongue more easily than their actual name, “relax. This’ll be fun!”

Ranboo doesn’t respond. They don’t, most of the time. Not after Sister Rose. Hardly even before her. She called it selective mutism. Ranboo’s only ever heard wrong, stupid, nothing. Still, they stop picking at the skin around their claws, sitting up straighter and glancing out the window to see Sister Clarice leading the toddlers off the second bus. 

Quickly, they raise their hand and rasp their claws against the metal ceiling of the bus. The children quiet down immediately. They’ve learned to respect Ranboo, despite a majority of them having been here when Ranboo wasn’t in charge, back when Cleo and Rickie ruled the orphanage more than the Sisters did— back when it was a regular occurrence to see Ranboo with any look on their face other than a carefully crafted mask of nothing. 

Ranboo leads the children off the bus silently. The youngest of them line up behind Crumb, and the rest line up behind Ranboo. It’s an easy routine. Ranboo leads them all to the tent, stopping in front of Sister Bernice. Crumb follows by their side, her line stepping in time with Ranboo’s. She stops next to Sister Clarice. All is silent except for the music inside the tent and the wind rustling through the grass when Sister Bernice begins her speech.

“As I told you all this morning, we are here to watch the circus.” Her voice is grating against Ranboo’s ears. It sends shivers down their spine, hearing her voice. They got good at hiding their fear a long time ago. “Mr. Craft was kind enough to offer tickets for us at a discounted price. Do not disrespect him by acting like fools. Do you all understand?”

A chorus of “Yes, Sister Bernice,” rings out from everyone. Ranboo says nothing. They don’t even try. But they bow their head low in submission; they’ve found she likes it better than hearing them speak, anyway. Their silence makes it easier for her to forget about them.

Once the children have quieted, she unclasps her hands from atop her cane and lifts her chin, looking down her nose at them all. “Remember that Dream XD is always watching,” she reminds like a threat before turning sharply, walking inside. Sister Clarice follows quickly behind her, the line of toddlers following as fast as they can. Crumb sends her line behind them and waits beside Ranboo for them to do the same. They wait together until the last of the kids has gone in before Crumb starts walking, brushing her calico colored tail against Ranboo’s back, urging them forward.

“I always forget that circuses are a real thing,” Crumb admits once they’ve entered the tent. It’s dark. Ranboo’s eyes adjust quickly, and they glow red and green respectively. It casts a dull light on their face in the low lighting. “They’re something I’ve only ever read about. It’s hard to imagine we’re about to see one. Do you think there are animals?”

She looks up at Ranboo, obviously expecting an answer. Her gaze sends a tingling sensation where she looks at them, and they fight to ignore the vague way it itches. Quickly, they lift their hand and sign, “No.”

Crumb sighs and bumps into them lightly, her tail flicking against theirs before she pulls it back, seeming to catch the instinct to get as close to them as possible. “You’re no fun.”

Ranboo doesn’t respond. Instead, they stand just out of the doorway and look around, taking in their surroundings. To their right is the ticket booth. A man with buzzed hair and glasses that have one red and one blue lens stands behind it, a grin on his face as he talks to a man with dark brown hair and ram horns. To their left is a row of booths selling merch and food. On one side, there’s a machine with walls of glass. Inside looks to be a metal pot. Popping out of that pot are small, yellowish balls that Ranboo’s never seen before, but it smells like butter. On the other side, a man puts a white stick into a metal bowl, and when he pulls it out, it’s been encased in something that resembles a cloud. It smells sugary. Ranboo thinks they’d get cavities just by looking at it, so they draw their eyes away.

In front of them is a large section of folding chairs, and in front of those is a large space, which Ranboo can easily assume is the stage. On the left and right sides are metal bleachers. The left side is where the orphanage has seemed to make its home for the time being. The Sisters are sitting at the bottom, on the side closest to the wall, hidden mostly in the shadows. They look as if they don’t want to be here. Or, rather, they’re trying to pretend they’re not. The youngest of the children have filled in next to and behind them, leaving space on the other side of the bottom bleacher for Ranboo and Crumb. That would put Ranboo in the prime spot to be seen by everyone, both coming in and working. Of course. Just their luck.

Something inside of them whispers bitterly that it was Sister Bernice’s idea, a silent tactic to embarrass them. It’s irrational. It’s exactly something she would do.

Ranboo and Crumb step forward slowly, dodging two running children who do not belong to the orphanage. They’re both dressed in colorful, glittery tops and long, wide-legged black and white striped pants. One of them has dark skin and pink hair, and the other has four arms and skin as inky as Ranboo’s, without the purpleish undertones. Crumb makes a cooing sound, watching the two run fondly, probably sending a quick prayer to XD that the children they live with will find a carefreeness as nice as that. 

It isn’t long after Crumb starts walking past the booths that Ranboo feels the familiar crawling beneath their skin of someone watching them. They can tell it isn’t Sister Bernice, the feeling her eyes give them has always felt like sharp pains, and the angle it’s coming from couldn’t be the children, who are all much more intent on when the show will start than looking for them in the crowd of people slowly filling in space. They turn slightly, glancing over their shoulder and straightening up to their full height, and they see the people who are looking at them, watching as all of their eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” one of them says, the same brown-haired ram-horned man who had been standing at the ticket booth moments ago. Ranboo can see his face now. He has stubble along his jaw and chin, dark eyes with an intense but not entirely unkind stare. He is now behind the merch booth, standing beside a shorter, slightly plumper man with antennae.

“They’re fuckin’ tall,” the shorter man says, very bluntly. 

“Stop staring,” comes another voice. It’s higher in pitch, and when Ranboo looks, they think he’s human before noticing the two small horns growing from his skull. His hair is longer than the Sisters would ever let Ranboo grow theirs, the length of his bangs reaching just under his eyes. He looks to be about Ranboo’s age. “It’s rude. Besides, I think they’ve noticed us.”

Of course, he would be right, but the boy's comment about it throws them off. They flick their tail as if in dismissal and follow behind Crumb, trying to ignore the tingling sensation on their back. 

When they sit down, they feel small arms wrap over their shoulders in a hug, and they know who it is without even looking.

“Ranboo!” Clementine, a young avian hybrid, exclaims. Ranboo’s practically raised her since she aged past three. “This place is so big!”

Ranboo hums. It’s about all they can manage. They gently brush her arms off their shoulders, feeling eyes on them again that don’t belong to anyone from the orphanage. They ignore it and turn to face Clementine as she keeps chattering on about her excitement. They just nod along silently, not listening. They glance in the direction of where they’re being watched and notice the boy from earlier. He very quickly looks away upon realizing they’d noticed, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck as he turns and walks away.

They narrow their eyes but return to watching Clementine. Moments later, the lights dim to complete darkness, the only light being the glowing of their eyes, and they feel every single stare that hits them. They turn forward, away from Clementine, who has sat back again and is whispering to one of the other kids, and they close their eyes, nails digging discreetly into the skin beneath their shirt, stop staring at me stop staring STOP IT-

A light shines brightly in the center of the stage, and the crawling beneath their skin ceases. They sigh. Music starts. They don’t care to pay any attention.

***

It’s easy to conclude that Ranboo doesn’t remember a single thing about the show. They do, however, know a few facts about it. It was an hour and a half long, an hour and forty minutes counting the ten-minute intermission. The music was loud. The crowd was louder. Every time the boy with horns was on stage, he at the very least glanced at Ranboo. The way his eyes felt on Ranboo’s skin is very, very different from everyone else’s. The final fact confirms Ranboo’s suspicions: they are not here to have fun. They’re here so Sister Bernice can shame everything about it.

The show ended about ten minutes ago. The performers are still on stage, speaking amongst themselves and crowd members brave enough to go talk to them. Sister Bernice is talking too loudly about the abominations they’d just seen, obviously uncaring of the public’s opinion on her, ignoring the way some of the performers glare at her. The children are listening silently, taking in the information that these people are low-lives and that if the kids want to go anywhere in life, they must hide the things the performers had been embracing. Ranboo doesn’t know. They had expected this, so it’s easy to ignore her tangent while pretending to look invested.

In the middle of her speech, they feel two different sensations of people staring at them. Neither comes from people they know, and they hate how much they’re being perceived here. They hate how gentle one of the gazes feels, knows exactly who of the unfamiliar people is looking at them based on the feeling alone, and it’s slowly driving them insane because they aren’t here. They push down the snarl pulling at their lips, desperately holding onto the mask they refuse to let slip. If they act like they’re unbothered, if they numb themself to it, it can’t hurt.

They’re not going to acknowledge the aching in their chest or the fact that their claws have slipped beneath their sleeve.

“Rainbow,” Crumb whispers once Sister Rose is done. 

It takes Ranboo entirely too long to process the question. The tingling sensation of eyes on them is distracting, especially due to one of them feeling like Sister Rose and Mama but… more. They don’t know what that more is. They don’t intend on finding out.

Ranboo looks at Crumb, eyes carefully not meeting hers.

“Are you okay?” she signs, discreet, though not discreet enough, because Ranboo feels the gazes on them flicker away as her hands move before returning to their face and body, searching for their hands that Ranboo hesitates to raise.

I want to disappear, they want to sign. Wanna take that jump, wanna-

They lift a hand and sign, “Yes.”

Tingling flares up in their hand. They want to scream.

Crumb narrows her eyes, her cat-like ears pinning back. She’s never been good at hiding her concern. She signs, “Are you sure? Sister Bernice was being so intense.”

“Yes,” Ranboo signs again. They should leave it at that. They don’t. “I expected it. We don’t get rewards.”

With that, they turn from her and clap their hands once. The kids quickly file off the bleachers, lining up as they had before. Sister Bernice and Sister Clarice have already begun leading the toddlers to the entrance. They are quick to follow. The eyes trail them as they walk, and they glance briefly in the direction of the boy, who is standing next to a taller, blond boy with white and red wings. Their eyes meet, completely accidental, and Ranboo’s footsteps stall at the warmth that surges through them. It was enough of a stumble to play off, but Sister Bernice catches everything, and her grating voice rings across the arena, “Ranboo! We don’t have all day!”

Quickly, they snap their gaze away from the brunet, flicking their tail once, trying to ignore the sensation. It’s hard. Still, they take a deep breath and force their expression to be neutral as they carry forward to her. When they stop, her eyes graze over them with sharp, stabbing pains, as if she’s throwing daggers and all of them are hitting.

“You are better than whatever that was,” she insists, hands perfectly folded over her cane. 

Ranboo bows their head to her, though keeps their posture straight and carefully still.

She stares at them for a few moments too long, as if she’s waiting for something. An apology, Ranboo thinks, though for what they’re not entirely sure.

For existing, the dark corners of their mind supply.

For being useless, comes a voice that sounds much too similar to Cleo, a girl who just missed the mark of passing as human and used that as an excuse to bully Ranboo almost exclusively. You’ve been pretty good at that ever since Sister Rose-

Ranboo flicks their ear and glares at the ground. Sister Bernice huffs quietly.

“The Lord will have his way with you,” she says, just loud enough for everyone to hear, because her favorite activity is embarrassing Ranboo. Then, she turns and leads everyone out. 

The silence in the arena is loud. Their skin almost burns with how many people are staring at them.

“Ranboo…” Crumb trails off, near silent as she reaches a hand out to them.

Instinctively, Ranboo flinches back. Not enough to break the carefully built mask of neutrality on their face, but enough to be noticeable.

It’s okay, they think to themself, wishing they could say it out loud, but the knots in their vocal cords and the aching in their chest prevent it. They glance at Crumb, and then behind them, to the two boys still watching, horrified looks on their faces. They tear their gaze away and begin walking silently back to the bus. The children all follow just as quietly behind them.

Inside the tent, voices erupt.

***

Dream XD has always been a merciless god. Ranboo has known that for a long, long time. It seems, as they kneel to the statue of Him in the chapel, hands clutching a bible, head bent down, and knees starting to bleed, that this is a lesson they’re being forced to learn again.

Dream XD may be merciless, but Lady Death is not. She takes, and when she does, it’s with open arms and a sympathetic smile. She smells of flowers and the stars. She leads with promises of safety. She humbly offers a route of escape. 

Ranboo does not pray for Dream XD’s forgiveness anymore.

Chapter Text

Lesson 4: Know your place, know your duty (you won't matter unless you prove your worth)

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Sister Rose’s death was sudden. It was quick. Unexpected.

It was late. The other kids had gone to bed. Ranboo was still cleaning up the playroom when they smelled the blood. They remember it in vivid detail. They don’t remember it at all.

The funeral was short. A few quick words. Sister Bernice showed no emotion. Sister Clarice cried. Ranboo felt nothing.

It was bright outside. Flowers were beginning to bloom, their vibrant colors mocking as the sun shone through stained glass, spreading lime green, light purple, and white light through the chapel like a cruel joke. Ranboo doesn’t remember what the pastor said. They don’t remember what Sister Bernice said. They just know that they were asked to speak, and when they stood up, their silence said more than words ever could.

Ranboo was the last to leave the graveyard.

They sat beside the freshly filled grave for hours. Their black suit soaked in the heat of the sun until they felt as if they were burning, and that was the first time that the heat of the sun felt worse than feeling Cold. They didn’t feel like they deserved to be sitting there. She was so good. So kind. So… hurt, to have done something so awful to herself. They wished she had said something.

For a while, they sat at the end of the grave and stared at their hands. They thought about hers.

She had calluses on her fingertips from years of playing guitar. She’d play any chance Sister Bernice allowed. During prayer and worship, free time, the ten minutes blocked out before evening prayer, when the kids were given a choice between reading or listening to her play as a way to wind down for the night. 

Her hands were soft yet strong, the definition of what Cool means to Ranboo. She used to drag them through Ranboo’s hair when they were young enough to be coddled, sometimes even when they were old enough to know better than to lean into the touch. Her hands were always reaching out for others, whether that be Ranboo’s, another kid’s, or Sister Clarice, because XD knows Sister Bernice would never allow it; her hands made it a point to lay against others during every conversation, every prayer. Maybe that was her attempt at reaching out. Maybe Ranboo was too stupid to see it.

They sat at the end of her grave and stared at their hands, which could not be more different than hers.

They had tried so, so hard. But their hands were too rigid, too cold to do anything. Their hands weren’t callused enough. Their hands weren’t strong enough to hold her together.

Before Sister Rose took her last breath, she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes, “It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

When Ranboo finally left her grave, the sun had gone out. Like a flame without anything to fuel it. The world became Cold again.

Ranboo walked out of the graveyard with her blood dripping from their hands.

***

Before Sister Rose died, she gave Ranboo three gifts over the course of a few months. The first gift was her guitar, under the claim that Ranboo loved it even more than she did. Its body was burned with designs of roses; it was beautiful. Just like her.

“It was a gift from my father,” she had told them, holding the guitar out to them as if it were an offering, “And now I want to gift it to you.” 

Ranboo remembers trying to reject it. “I can’t,” stumbled out of their lips, voice weak and shaky, hoarse with disuse, and Sister Rose had just smiled and placed it in their lap. She had grabbed their hands, coercing them into holding it properly, and her hands felt so heavenly in those brief, fleeting interactions.

“It fits so perfectly,” she had insisted, her hands hesitating before pulling away. She straightened up. Thinking back on it, her smile didn’t reach her eyes like it used to.

The second gift was her necklace. The silver chain was thin, though strong. The pendant was red— the blooming petals of a rose. 

“It was blessed by my pastor growing up,” she had murmured. They were sitting together in the gazebo that overlooks the river. Kids were playing all around them, but Ranboo’s focus was entirely on Sister Rose. It was the day after she’d found them sitting on the roof, legs dangling over the edge. It was the hundredth time Ranboo had been up there. It was the second time she’d caught them. “It’s always managed to keep me safe. I… I need you to have it.”

Ranboo had said nothing at the time. They couldn’t. Not with all of the kids around to listen. Not with how she was looking at them, like they were worth protecting. Still, they turned and let her clasp the necklace for them, and, when free time was over, they hugged her and managed a near-silent, “Thank you.”

The third, and final, gift was her journal. They found it after the paramedics had taken her from them, their hands drenched in her blood, and shock preventing tears from rolling down their face. They had spent an hour in the bathroom, desperately trying to wash the blood off, their hands burning in the water they held them under. Crumb was the one to find them. She silently led them to their bed. When they got there, Sister Rose’s journal was lying on their pillow, a note taped to the top of it: For Ranboo. Never forget how much you are loved.

It felt ironic after what they had just witnessed her do.

Ranboo never managed to open it.

Now, it seems they’re too late.

The children have formed a ritual before it comes time for adoptions. It started long before Ranboo was ever left here. Each child checks for their few belongings. Special stuffed animals, blankets, maybe even photos. A favorite toy, perhaps. They all take it seriously. They all make sure they have everything in order before they go to the living space, where they will stand with their backs against the wall, waiting until the family they each hope will become theirs walks in. Ranboo, despite never having been picked after eleven years of waiting, despite knowing they won’t be, continues this ritual, always making sure they have Sister Rose’s guitar and journal. Tonight, it seems they do not have either.

Panic rises quickly in their chest as they sit on their bed, pretending to watch the others prepare. Their stomach twists itself in knots. Crumb is the only person who knows about the journal Sister Rose gave them. She’s also the only person who can tell when something with Ranboo is wrong.

She sits next to them on their bed. Close enough to offer support. Far enough away so that they don’t get in trouble.

“Hey,” she whispers. 

Ranboo doesn’t respond. Their claws pick at the skin around their fingers, which are still stained with blood. They don’t think they’ll ever not be. Their heart is hammering like a drum, their thoughts running wild— she told Sister Bernice she’s the reason they’re missing she’s- She wouldn’t do that she’s my friend she’s— and they suck in a deep, spasming breath, and they think they might be drowning.

Crumb’s tail flicks against their back. “What’s wrong?”

Ranboo’s jaw clenches. They feel the way the muscles tighten, the hardness of their teeth pressing together, and they close their eyes and shake their head slightly.

Crumb’s tail drops from their back. The bed creaks as she shifts closer, placing her hand on theirs, making them stop picking. 

“Rainbow,” she murmurs, and her gaze sends a tickling sensation through the skin of their cheek. “You can tell me.”

Ranboo shakes their head again, opening their eyes. It’s fine, they want to tell her. I’m fine.

Crumb obviously knows that they are not.

Ranboo’s usually very good at keeping their composure. Right now, with Sister Rose’s guitar and journal missing, with Crumb’s hands pressed against theirs, they realize that they’re not quite good enough at it.

Their breath comes out as a wheezing gasp as their lungs kickstart the path to a panic attack.

“Okay,” Crumb breathes, pulling their hands up to the middle of her chest easily, like she’s done so many times before. Quietly, comfortingly, she begins to purr. “It’s okay. I don’t know what’s wrong, but it’s gonna be okay.” 

It’s not, Ranboo thinks. It’s really, really not.

The door of the bedroom opens with a creak. Ranboo’s gaze snaps to it. Standing in the doorway is Sister Clarice. Her expression is neutral. Quickly, Ranboo pulls their hands away from Crumb’s steadily beating heart and attempts to force a normal breath, which only stutters as it makes its way through their airways. 

It isn’t long before Sister Clarice finds them.

“Ranboo,” her voice rings out, loud enough to catch everyone’s attention. Her gaze isn’t painful like Sister Bernice’s, but it isn’t exactly comfortable to feel, either. It feels like a pulse beneath their skin, like a warning. “Sister Bernice would like to see you in the chapel. Everyone else, if you would please follow me. We have a lovely couple looking for a nice young child to take home.” 

Her gaze falls away quickly as the children start falling into line. Crumb’s gaze finds itself back, though, and Ranboo tries hard to ignore it. Their breath catches harder. Sister Bernice found it.

“Rainbow,” Crumb murmurs again, pushing herself to a stand. Her voice sounds almost pleading. “Look at me.”

They manage to lift their gaze to a spot just above her brow. She smiles as comfortingly as she can. It cracks in the corners, wobbling with worry, as if she’s the one who should be scared.

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” she tries, but it feels like a lie.

You set this up.

“I love you,” she says. “Okay? Tell me- Oh, I pray it’s nothing. I’ll be here when you come back, okay? I promise.”

She’s lying.

“Ranboo, you don’t have all evening,” Sister Clarice’s voice rings out again.

Shakily, Ranboo ducks their head and stands. Their legs shake as they do, and Crumb reaches out to steady them when dizziness causes them to stumble. They flinch away from her and suck in another sputtering breath. There are hundreds of eyes watching them as they walk shakily past. The only one that stands out is Crumb’s, which is unwavering at the back of their head. They’ve never wanted to tear their hair out more.

***

Millions of years pass before Ranboo gets to the chapel. 

The holy structure stands tall and unwavering across the orphanage building. The garden that connects them is vibrant with sweet-smelling flowers. The sun has yet to set, though it’s close. The clouds are turning light pink, the horizon slowly beginning to grow more orange. Still, the chapel is dark. It has always been dark.

The large wooden door is daunting. Ranboo knows what’s lurking inside. Sister Bernice, a journal, a guitar, and a flame. This isn’t going to end well.

Ranboo’s been able to steel themself on the way here. They learned how to dissociate a long time ago. Their mind is right on the edge, but they know that, if they need to, they can retreat far, far away. What they aren’t here for can’t hurt them. It’s easier that way.

The door opens with a low, haunting groan. It echoes through the chapel. Sister Bernice is standing at the front of the altar.

Their skin prickles as her gaze falls on them. It hurts in a way they can’t even begin to explain; it’s like she turns their veins into ice every time she looks at them. Still, they step forward, letting the door close behind them as they do. As they get closer, they realize that none of the offerings from Sunday’s service are on the altar. But Sister Rose’s guitar is. Ranboo stops in their tracks, halfway across the room from Sister Bernice.

“Come, child,” she demands. “I did not tell you to stop.”

Ranboo looks from the altar to her. She’s holding the familiar leather journal in her hands. Slowly, they force their legs to work.

She looks at them as if they are nothing when they get to her. She’s always been good at making them feel small.

“On your knees,” she says, the same condescending tone as she always uses. She likes making herself bigger. Where she’s standing, when Ranboo looks up at her, the statue of Dream XD looms even larger over her. “Do you know why you are here?”

Ranboo doesn’t answer. She rolls her eyes.

“You kept a secret,” she says, like they’re stupid. She holds up Sister Rose’s journal. “When you keep secrets, you’re lying. When you lie to me, you lie to our Lord. Do you think He likes being lied to?”

Ranboo stares at her blankly. Already, they’re beginning to drift away from themself. The feeling of her gaze on them feels duller now than it has in a long, long time. 

“Speak,” she demands, glaring at them. When they don’t, she raises her voice, “In the presence of our Lord, speak!”

Ranboo glances up at the statue looming over her. Two halos cross over His face, though He has no prominent features. In the colored depictions of Him, His face is as black as a void. Wings spread out behind Him, shaped as if He had just landed on His feet. At this angle, it looks as if His wings are beginning to wrap around Sister Bernice. Their silence only seems to make her madder.

She drops the journal into a metal bucket at her feet and grabs one of the candles on the altar. It’s lit already, its orange flame dancing as she moves it, holding it down to Ranboo.

“Take it,” she demands. Ranboo doesn’t move. She snarls at them, her sharp teeth glinting in the light from the candle. It’s rare to see her angry like this; she keeps it under wraps most of the time. She doesn’t like to show the children that she’s just as animalistic as they are. It’s why she wears her robe the way she does, draped over her head as if she’s hiding. She is. She always has been. “Take it or I’ll burn the guitar, too.”

She’s going to do that anyway, a voice in the back of Ranboo’s head whispers. You can’t appease her. You’ll never appease her. You are nothing.

Ranboo takes the candle from her, holding it at its base. It hasn’t been lit very long, they notice. The wax hasn’t begun to melt.

“Drop it in the bucket,” she commands. When they don’t, she pushes the bucket closer to them with her foot. “Drop it.”

Ranboo stares blankly at her. For the first time in their life, they choose to look her in the eye. They drop the candle into the bucket. The pages ignite quickly. It smells horrid as the fire encapsulates the leather cover, like something acrid. They don’t break eye contact, even as every instinct screams for them to. It hurts, like their nerves are fraying, pain shooting from their eyes to their feet, and it takes everything in them to fight the urge to teleport, to run, to attack. They don’t blink. They don’t look at the burning journal. They look at Sister Bernice’s eyes and watch as her rage overtakes her. 

She is quick to grab Sister Rose’s guitar and smash it on the ground. When Ranboo doesn’t react, she very nearly screams.

“What in God’s name is wrong WITH YOU?!” she shouts, her rage unable to be contained, now. She’s snarling at them, like a rabid dog. A wolf, angry that its prey can fight back. “Have you no emotion? Can you feel no pain? Why aren’t you suffering?!”

Ranboo’s mind is blank. They feel far away, like their mind has drifted up into the air. They watch from above, their consciousness floating amongst the golden light streaming through stained glass windows. What a holy place to experience such an unholy thing.

She laughs, almost bewildered. “Have you not learned your lesson, Ranboo? Have you not had enough?”

Her hands are on them suddenly. One on their shoulder, the other on their horn. They stare at her like it’s a challenge. She accepts it like it is one. She pushes against their horn roughly. The pressure is almost unbearable. Still, they look her in the eye as she does it. When their horn finally cracks, she flings it across the chapel as if it’s a forbidden object, and she pushes them to the floor.

“You answer to God,” she seethes, looming over them, hatred undisguised and twisting her face into something unholy. “You answer to me. Do you understand?”

She should expect Ranboo not to answer. 

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” she shouts, crouching down so she’s in their face.

When Ranboo doesn’t respond, she stands and kicks them in the stomach. Hard. Something pops. Ranboo lets her, even as all the air from their lungs goes wheezing out of them. Even as it feels as though she’s broken something. She’s wanted to do this to them for years. 

“You truly are Drista’s spawn,” she breathes, stepping over them and walking to the door. “Sister Rose should have left you on the rooftop all those months ago.”

The chapel door groans as it opens. When it closes, the heaviness of it echoes through the room. Ranboo lies on the cold floor, wheezing, and digs their claws into their sides as they struggle to get air back into their lungs.

They lie there long after the fire in the bucket goes out. They lie there long after the sun has gone down. They lie there long after Crumb walks down the path with her new family, a trashbag slung over her shoulder and her ears swiveling, as if she’s listening for Ranboo to come say goodbye. They don’t. But they watch her leave through stained glass windows and pained breaths. And, by the time their mind comes crashing back down to their body, they’ve already decided that Sister Bernice will not get the satisfaction of knowing that she’s won.

When Ranboo finally leaves, it is around four a.m.. They do not go back to gather spare clothes or food. They just pick up a small, broken piece of Sister Rose’s guitar and shove it in their pocket. After that, and they know it’s probably a bad idea, they stare the statue of XD in the eye and teleport to the other side of town.

***

Ranboo doesn’t know how they end up inside a train; they just know that they do. It started a few hours ago, sometime after the sun started rising. They haven’t slept, even though exhaustion and pain weigh heavily on their body.

Teleporting was, in fact, not a very good idea.

They haven’t teleported in months. Certainly not a distance so far. It was forbidden in the orphanage for any child to express traits belonging to their hybrid side. Especially if it was Ranboo. They were always seen as the most inhuman, the most monstrous. It’s why it was always so important for them to understand the meaning of conformity, of fitting inside of boxes, of being broken down and reshaped into something XD could approve of. No matter what they did, they were never able to reach the standard Sister Bernice wanted them to reach. No matter what they did, they were never able to feel XD in the same way everyone else seemed to.

Maybe something really is wrong with you.

Ranboo shakes the thought away. It does nothing to thwart the tsunami of others that come after it.

Should’ve stayed there.

Should’ve gone to the roof.

You can still do it.

You can take the jump.

Sharp claws and thin wrists God’s made it easy.

Their chest hurts worse than it ever has. Not in the dull ache that normally resides right in the center, no. This is a physical kind of pain, one that would likely get any other kid sent to the emergency room. But Ranboo isn’t any other kid. They’re hardly a kid at all.

Seven months you’ll be an adult.

No one’ll come looking.

No one’ll even miss you.

Take the jump.

Ranboo sucks in a deep breath as best they can, though it hurts enough for a groan to push past their lips. They close their eyes and try to think of a plan. It’s hard, with all the other thoughts swimming through their head. They don’t know where the train is going. They don’t know what they’re doing.

They decide they’ll figure it out when they get there.

They carefully pull the broken piece of Sister Rose’s guitar out of their pocket, holding it up to look at it. It’s smaller than their palm, with a burnt engraving of a rose on it. They don’t know why they grabbed it. Still, they stare at it and think about her. She’d know what to do. She always knew what to do.

Something pushes into their hand. It’s soft and sudden, and Ranboo startles, jumping hard enough for pain to shoot through their abdomen. They groan, wrapping their arm around themself as if it will help. It doesn’t. They look for the thing that touched them and find it’s a cat.

“Oh,” they breathe, voice quiet. It’s much easier to talk to cats than it is to talk to people, they find. “Hello.”

They stretch their arm out to the small, fluffy creature. Its fur is black, as is its nose, which has a small pink spot on it, and its eyes are a deep amber. It stares up at them unblinkingly for a moment, sniffing their fingertips before closing its eyes and pushing into their hand. Carefully, Ranboo scratches behind its ear. It purrs, like a little box of thunder, and Ranboo smiles. It’s a subtle twitch at the corners of their lips. It’s all they can manage after going so long without being able to.

It isn’t long after the cat has curled up against Ranboo that the train comes screeching to a halt. The cat jumps and races behind a box of cargo. Ranboo watches it go sadly, but they are quick to pick themself up despite how painful it is to move. They walk to the sliding door and wince as they pull it open, just enough for them to slip through. The hinges scream as they move it, and they are quick to get out, not bothering to shut it. 

The sun is bright. It makes Ranboo’s headache worse almost instantly. They don’t let it stop them as they scout for a place to go.

Their search is cut short when they hear voices not too far ahead. Quickly, they slide between train cars, pressing themself as close to the train as possible. They peek their head out, looking for the source, and their heart sinks when they realize that it’s two of the performers from the circus. Their heart sinks even further when they recognize one as the boy whose eyes felt like Sister Rose’s and Mama’s.

The boy is play-fighting with a blond-haired boy, whose hair is long enough to touch his shoulders. Half of it is pulled up into a bun with a braid, though his bangs frame his face wildly as he jumps toward the other. Ranboo notices his white and red wings flapping excitedly behind him.

“Tommy!” the brunet boy shouts, laughter loud and maniacal in his voice as he jumps away from the blond, who has a mischievous grin on his face. “Stay away from me!”

Tommy responds by lunging at the other. His wings give him an advantage, and the brunet is unable to dodge in time. It sends him tumbling to the ground with a loud curse, while Tommy stands over him, victorious and laughing.

“You absolute dickhead!” the brunet exclaims through laughter. “That hurt.”

Tommy’s smile turns to something a little more sheepish as he offers a hand down to the other. “I didn’t mean to hit you so hard,” he confesses. Then, with a poorly hidden laugh, “But you've gotta admit, that was pretty funny.”

The brunet places his hand in Tommy’s. Both Tommy and Ranboo are shocked when he tugs Tommy down, rolling out of the way as Tommy falls face-first into the dirt. His wings do very little to soften his fall, even as they flap fervently behind him.

“You imbecile!” Tommy shouts.

The brunet snorts, pushing himself up to a stand. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh, you- Fuck you.”

“No. Thanks, though.”

Tommy makes a disgusted face. “Ew.”

The brunet grins.

While they’re distracted, Ranboo takes their time surveying the area. The train station is relatively small, and the building is only a few feet away. The only other things Ranboo can see are trees, presumably the beginning of a forest, and the shore of a lake. They must lean too far out, though, because the brunet’s eyes shoot up in their direction, and Ranboo is almost not quick enough to duck back behind the train.

“Tommy,” he says, voice lowering. “Did you see that?”

There’s shuffling, the sound of Tommy presumably getting up. His voice, too, turns serious. “No, what?”

“Over there,” the other boy whispers, and Ranboo feels nauseous when they realize that the only way out of this is to teleport again.

It’s not a good idea. They haven’t rested enough after last night to even warrant the idea. Still, it’s their only option. The boys’ footsteps are getting closer and fast. So, Ranboo closes their eyes and pictures the other side of the train, pulling the static that they’ve trained themself to ignore closer. It envelopes them quickly, sucking them into what Ranboo calls the In-Between within milliseconds. When it spits them out on the other side of the connector piece, they stumble out of sight and suck down as deep a breath as they can manage as pain bursts behind their eyes.

“There’s… nothing there,” Tommy says, not even a second later. 

Ranboo exhales a silent sigh of relief. 

Tubbo says something Ranboo doesn’t catch as they focus on figuring out what to do next. 

Something small presses against their legs. They look down quickly, heart hammering painfully in their chest, before they realize it’s just the cat from earlier. It looks up at them, blinking long and slow. Ranboo doesn’t get a chance to react before it stretches its mouth wide and lets out the loudest meow known to mankind.

Ranboo does not wait to start walking in the opposite direction.

Their footsteps are silent, but the cat chasing after them most definitely is not. Footsteps follow them on the other side of the train. Ranboo can distinguish four different pairs.

“Phil, we didn’t have a cat before now, did we?” Ranboo recognizes the voice of the brunet.

“No,” another voice answers. Phil, likely. 

“We have never had a cat before, Tubbo,” comes another voice. It’s deep and rumbly, like it comes from the man’s chest rather than his throat.

“You’re such a smartass.”

“It could’ve come from the city?” Tommy pipes up. “Oh! We should keep it! Tubs has always wanted a cat!”

Ranboo pauses at the end of a train car, closing their eyes and taking a breath. Their head is pounding to the beat of their heart, and the light from the midday sun is making them want to throw up.

Think.

The voices drown out as they look around. The forest is relatively close. They could run, but with the pain in their ribs, it's not likely they’d get there without being seen. Especially with this cat, who does not know how to be quiet. They know they shouldn’t, but it’s their only option. The static is quiet, now. Quieter than it’s ever been. They pull it as close as they can, struggling to focus on it.

As soon as Ranboo finally manages to wrap the static around themself, the brunet’s eyes are on them. It’s brief. It’s entirely too long.

The boy stops. He stares. He opens his mouth to say something. Ranboo is not there long enough to hear it.

When Ranboo slips into the In-Between, it is the most blissful, most painless few seconds of their life.

When Ranboo is spat out of it, in a patch of flowers just past the thickest point of the treeline, they begin to experience Hell.

The pressure behind their eyes is instantaneous. Like a firework has been shot through their eye, their skull feels as though it is bursting open. The pain is hot and pulsing, and black spots dance in Ranboo’s vision as they crash into the ground, a loud, static scream tearing out of their throat.

Their limbs feel as though they are being torn off. Their chest feels as though it’s being compressed. Their nervous system feels as though it’s being stretched too far and ripped apart all at once. Their stomach twists itself in knots, and their organs all seem to shift and rearrange themselves at once. Bile rises in their throat at the sensation. They feel like they’re falling. They feel like they’ve already hit the ground. They feel as though they are an exploding star.

They land on their hands and knees as bile rips its way out of their mouth. They dry-heave, gagging on the waves of pain that twist each and every nerve in their body. Their ribs ache as they do, only making the pain worse, and Ranboo gasps as if they haven’t breathed fresh air in years.

By the time they collapse onto their side, warmth is running heavily down their arms and sides. When they finally manage to open their eyes, their vision is blurry. It isn’t hard to make out their unnatural purple blood as it seeps into the fabric of their black button-up. Their mouth is suddenly very, very dry.

Oh, gods, they think. It sends a white-hot flash of pain through their skull. I’m going to die here.

That’s okay, the dark corners of their mind breathe. Give in.  

Ranboo writhes as another wave of pain hits them. They think that they just might.

Chapter Text

Lesson 5: Do not let them know how you really feel (they will not help you no matter how much you ask)

————

A couple of months before Ranboo found Sister Rose lying in a pool of her own blood, Sister Rose found Ranboo on top of the orphanage’s roof. 

Ranboo remembers it well. 

It was one of those days when their mind wouldn’t shut up. One of those days that only hit when the ache in their chest turns into a black hole, swallowing up every facade they try to put up and pulsing so hard they very nearly collapse into themself with every exhale.

That is to say, it was a Bad Day. 

The voices in their head get darker on bad days. It prevents Ranboo from feeling any kind of sanctuary in feeling Cool. On bad days, they only ever get to feel Cold. Each eye that falls on their skin feels like icicles stabbing through their skin like daggers, no matter who the eye belongs to. It results in short tempers, harsher punishments, and spirals that make them feel as though they are insane. It results in restless nights and rooftop visits that they’re never quite sure they’ll come back from.

A couple of months before Ranboo found Sister Rose, she found them on the rooftop of XD Kingdom Church’s Orphanage. It was November. It was their birthday. It was a Bad Day.

Ranboo was sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling, a headache pulsing behind their eyes, adrenaline pulsing beneath their skin. Freefall was always a release, a way to let out tension. They’d gotten closer to the ground than they ever had before. Now, they were sitting on the edge, breathing through the shock and horror and excitement that came with nearly succeeding, wondering if they should try again. Their arms stung with fresh cuts they knew would completely scar over by the next night; one of the few joys of being an Enderman hybrid: they heal three times faster than humans. 

When the door flung open behind them, they very nearly slipped off the edge.

“Ranboo?” a voice called out. It was soft and sweet and not at all what Ranboo wanted to hear.

They did not look behind them. Their eyes stayed firm on the dark grass below. The voices that swarm the edges of their mind had completely taken over, becoming less like thoughts and more like an itch to do something they couldn’t come back from.

Sister Rose’s footsteps were drowned out by the itch underneath Ranboo’s skin. Their claws only sank deeper, their eyes growing darker by the second, and when Sister Rose finally got to them, they felt as though they were too far gone to hear her.

“Ranboo,” she had breathed, voice cautious and scared as she took in the blood dripping down their arms. They felt the way her eyes carved a path from each fresh cut, each reopened scar. They couldn’t bring themself to care when the ground below felt so alluring. That all changed the moment her voice broke with a whispered, “My love.”

It was instantaneous the way they teleported into her arms, the tired, scared kid still inside of them breaking free from their grave as they got control over their body again.

“I’m sorry,” Ranboo had whispered, weak with disuse, cracking as the adrenaline shifted into horror. “I’m- I wasn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Sister Rose had breathed, somehow managing to tuck their head under her chin. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Ranboo tried to fight against the urge to push into her. They tried so hard not to melt into her coolness, tried desperately to tell themself they didn’t deserve this; she’d let go eventually. But as soon as her hand curled into their hair, they caved, and it was ugly, the way their blood and tears seeped into her beautiful white robes. 

Still, she held them. Still, she promised, “I’ll always be here.”

A couple of months later, when the roles were reversed, when she was the one bleeding out onto white bathroom tile, Ranboo couldn’t help but whisper helplessly, “You lied.”

***

It could be hours, it could be days, that Ranboo is in the forest. Time evades them. At some point, they had dragged themself up and started walking, despite the pulsing pain flaring through their nervous system. Each step sent fireworks exploding behind their eyes, bursts of colors in their vision, and shockwaves through their bones. Their chest still hurt in a bone-deep way, though the aching inside of it was beginning to feel more and more like a black hole.

They walked longer than they probably should have.

Now, they’re lying on soft, slightly muddy grass by the creek they were following. Their body keeps flipping between freezing and overheating, and the sunbeams coming through the trees hit their eyes like hundreds of tiny solar eclipses. 

It’d be just typical if you died here, a voice whispers. It sounds like it’s coming from both inside and outside of their mind, and it’s a voice they haven’t heard in years. You’re just as pathetic as I remember. Always attention-seeking, Ranboo. Don’t you remember what Rickie taught you?

Ranboo furrows their brows, confusion mixing with their delirium. Their vision blurred a long time ago, but they still look around them for any sign of her.

I could teach you again, and it’s a different voice, just as menacing as they remember, and they curl into themself as if it’ll protect them. There’s a creek right here, don’t you just l o v e how water burns?

Ranboo groans, long and low, eyes half lidded and muscles tensing as pain burns through them.

Looks like they’re suffering enough, Cleo murmurs. Ranboo can almost see her— the outline of her, at least. We could end it. Let ‘em drown this time. You’d like that, right, Ranboo?

Sister Rose isn’t here to save you anymore. D’ya wanna take that jump, now?

XD knows how much you love a good fall.

Shut up, they want to say, however slurred and pained it may be, leave me alone. But their jaw is locked in a muscle spasm, and their vocal cords are forever knotted, and the ache in their chest has started to cave in, so instead they gasp in air as if to fill the quickly growing vacuum of space.

Their eyes squeeze shut as their nerves tie themselves in knots, stretching and pulling and ripping, and it takes everything in them to muffle the moan pushing past their lips. Static distorts the edges of the sound.

No one’s going to come save you, Cleo says, and they can almost see the way she rolls her eyes at them. May as well suck it up. Be silent. We all know you’re good at that.

They don’t have a response for her. Everything they could say is jumbled up in their mind as pain courses through them. Heat flares swelteringly through their body, lying on them like a heavy blanket, and they don’t know if they’re dragging themself or if they’re being dragged to the creak. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if the water gives them chemical burns, or if their skin screams as soon as it hits, it just matters that it's cool. It just matters that, for a moment, they won’t be suffocating in hot.

The creek is shallow. Much shallower than the river Rickie tried to drown them in. Still, it is cool, and it feels like heaven. For a few, sweet seconds, they are in eternal bliss. And then it begins to burn, and their body locks up in another wave of pain, and they cannot move.

The cry that leaves their lips pulls itself from the darkest part of the hole in their chest, and it is loud. Loud enough to echo through the trees.

Slowly, painfully, they roll out of the creek. Their ribs ache, and they swear they feel something pop, and when they’re back on relatively dry land, all they can do is laugh. It’s delirious and exhausted, and it bubbles down to a near-silent sob. The pain dies down to a more manageable throb, and their arms are quick to wrap around their middle as they curl into themself, claws digging into skin, drawing blood quickly, and Cleo and Rickie laugh. It’s loud and irritating and mocking, and their skin crawls where their eyes land. 

Go on, Cleo mocks, and she’s pushing their claws in deeper, as if she’s trying to get them to go past bone. Put yourself out of your misery. You’ll be better off.

Ranboo pulls their claws away from themself with a quiet whine, lips pulling into a grimace. The world is utterly silent, apart from the mocking trickle of water rushing over rocks next to them, and they open their eyes to stare up into the canopy. In the distance, there are figures that look humanoid, and their skin prickles with the presence of multiple pairs of eyes. They deliriously hope it’s someone coming to do it for them— maybe push them back into the creek and hold their head under the shallow water, should’ve died then, can still die now.

Quick footsteps approach. They’re too soft to be anyone fully grown, but they hit the ground with enough force for Ranboo to know someone is running.

A running start to your demise, how fitting.

How eager.

How cute.

“Hello?” a small voice asks. It sounds young. Ranboo’s vision is too blurry to make out the face, but the young boy’s hair is pink and his skin is dark, and Ranboo can’t bring themself to move.

“Are you okay?” the boy asks, tiny hands flitting over Ranboo’s face before retracting, his sky blue eyes going wide. “I can- I can get you help.”

It all sounds like gibberish to Ranboo. Their head is pounding. Fireworks are exploding their skull into fractions. Their back arches as another wave of pain hits, their fingers and toes stretching out as if it’ll help expel the aching way it hurts, but the tension in their muscles only makes it worse as they gasp. Vertigo makes the world spin, and their ears ring, and more people have come over now, but Ranboo doesn’t recognize anyone except for… No. No, it’s not Mama it’s not IT’S NOT- 

“-ey, hey, it’s okay,” she says, but it doesn’t sound like her, sounds too frantic, too low. “It’s- It’s Ranboo, right? From, uh, the orphanage in Pogtopia? Right? I’m, uh- I’m Tubbo. Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

Ranboo closes their eyes as their lungs convulse, struggling to work properly, and when they finally start again they gasp loud and hungry, like they’ve just come up from water— third time’s the charm you can always t r y a g a i n— and the pain in their ribs explodes. 

“-my, call Techno.”

“Already on it. Uh. Hey. Yeah. We found them. They’re… Uh. Tubbo-?”

“...Bad.”

“Bad.”

Ranboo groans again, and the eyes on them feel like Mama’s, like Sister Rose’s, like something more, and there are hands on their face that feel warm, not cool or cold, and Ranboo flinches away with a sharp inhale and the animalistic urge to get away from things they don’t understand.

“Shit, sorry. I’m sorry. Hey, man, it’s- It’s gonna be okay,” the voice says, an attempt at being soothing tinged with a frantic edge. “Toms, what does Techno say? Mike- Hey, buddy. It’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” the young voice from before asks, much quieter than before. It sounds wobbly, like maybe the boy is near tears.

“Yeah,” the other says— Tubbo. “Yeah, I’m sure. Tommy.”

“Uh… Yeah. Right. Tech says to bring them back to the train. ‘S not… too far. Um. You know, it doesn’t look like they can walk, Tubbo.”

“Thanks, Tommy, very helpful.”

“Bo.”

“Sorry, Mike. Uhm. Here, hold Tommy’s hand, alright? I’m gonna… Yeah.”

There are warm hands on Ranboo again. They squirm away. It turns into writhing when their nerves fray at their joints, causing an unbearable kind of pain that feels near chronic, and their claws dig into the dirt as their eyes squeeze shut again.

“I’m sorry,” the source of the warmth murmurs, soft, slightly anxious, determined. His hands come back slowly, dragging searingly under their shoulder blades and legs, tugging them closer even as they moan in pain. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. It’s okay.”

All of the fight in Ranboo leaves as soon as they’re suspended in the air, being held close to a body that feels warmer than they’ve ever felt before. Their body goes limp as the wave of pain pulls away enough to be bearable. Their breath comes out stuttering as their head lolls back, one arm folded over their stomach and the other inches from hitting the ground. It’s just the pain of their ribs, now, and they gasp when Tubbo shifts them to get a better grip, an inhuman click echoing from the back of their throat.

“I’m sorry,” the voice belonging to the warmth whispers again. “It’ll be okay. We’re gonna help you.”

Ranboo sighs, and then groans when Tubbo starts walking. Their tail drags through the dirt as Tubbo continues to apologize, thumbs streaking lines of fire over their skin as he tries to comfort them. Eventually, another wave crashes over them, and it gets to be too much. 

They drift in and out of consciousness. At some point, there are voices. Ones Ranboo recognizes distantly, one that vibrates from the chest they’re being held against, one that sounds deep and rumbly like thunder, like Mama’s lullaby, and they sigh, fingers twitching, arm reaching, but they’re out again, and it’s dark, and everything hurts so bad they’re almost numb to it. 

It’s minutes, seconds, years later when they gasp like they’ve been kicked in the stomach. Their muscles ache and their ribs scream as they fly up. It feels like they’re gasping in water; all they can taste is mud and blood, and it burns all the way down. They’re both falling and hitting the ground and their skull is cracking open and their scars are tearing apart and they don’t have limbs don’t have a brain don’t have lungs can’t breathe too much TOO MUCH-

Someone with warm hands pulls them down. It’s gentle, the way they scratch over Ranboo’s scalp, blunt nails through thick hair, tracing around their horns and down to their ears, hi Mama, I miss you, I’m sorry, and they gasp again because air still isn’t making its way into their lungs.

Their body tenses and their back arches high as pain courses through their veins, now. It’s fiery, burns like water is in their veins, and at the same time, it feels as though they’re being sucked into the In-Between. It’s an odd sensation, one that hurts but doesn’t, one that feels like flossing nerves and pulling teeth and static. For a while, they stop breathing entirely. Black dots dance in their unfocused gaze, and the warm hands are gone, now, replaced instead by a face looming above them.

“Breathe, kid,” a deep, rumbling voice commands, cooler hands pressing against their chest. “Breathe.”

For a moment, the person standing above them is not a person. He is God, standing tall with glorious white wings spread out like a warning, double halos crossing over His face. He wears a grin that splits His face in two, teeth sharp and animalistic and hungry, and God hates them. God is going to kill them one way or another, emotionally, physically, over and over and over again; they are in eternal Hell. His head tilts, mocking, I’ve heard every prayer and chosen to ignore it, and Ranboo’s breath hitches further, chest tightening, eyes blown wide, and then they feel as though they’re being slammed back into their body as a low, static-filled scream rips itself from their throat.

Everyone in the room covers their ears, a collective groan leaving their lips, and Ranboo gasps when it’s over, legs and arms locked up, claws digging into the mattress, and the sound they make is somewhere between a dry-heave and a sob.

“...Ranboo?” a voice asks, hesitant, and warmth blooms beneath their skin where he looks. Hands slowly return to their hair, and Ranboo leans heavily into it despite themself. When the black spots in their vision finally leave, they see the person above them as Mama, and they hum quietly as they lift a hand to her face.

“Mama?” they whisper, nearly silent as their hand connects with skin. It doesn’t feel the way they remember it feeling; there are no scars tracing vertically down her cheeks. Maybe scars fade when you get to Heaven.

Mama’s jaw tenses, just slightly. The energy of the room shifts as everyone falls silent. Still, Ranboo’s hand grows firmer against Mama’s cheek as they suck in a shaking breath.

“Mama, I’m dying,” they whisper, completely sincere. “He’s- He’s going to kill me.”

Mama is silent for entirely too long. Then, in a voice that doesn’t really sound like her, but maybe they just don’t remember it quite right, she asks, “Who?”

Ranboo smiles. It’s a little twisted. It almost hurts. There’s no joy behind it.

Mama scratches gently behind their ear. Their half-lidded eyes close as they sigh. When she stops, their eyes open, and, again, she asks, “Who’s going to kill you, Ranboo?”

Ranboo’s smile falls. Their brows furrow. Their hand slips, and they fight hard to keep it pressed against the soft skin of her face.

“God, Mama.”

Mama is silent. She scratches over their scalp again. Her claws feel too blunt. 

They breathe out shakily. Then, closer to silence, they sigh, “Mama?”

She hesitates. Their hand slips. She catches it. “Y-Yeah?”

“H-He’s been… trying,” Ranboo confesses, voice far, far away from them as exhaustion pulls their eyelids down. “For… um… years, Mama. He- ‘S going to.”

All they hear before they slip into the depths of their mind is a quiet, shocked, “What the fuck?”

***

When Ranboo finally dreams, they dream of falling.

It’s blissful, at first. Until they realize they don’t know how far they have left to fall, and they don’t know where to teleport back up to.

The world is a void; dark, black, nothingness. It’s just them, falling through space, eternally. Somehow, they know they’re getting close to the bottom, and the longer they fall, the more anxiety roars in the chest— you’re so stupid you’re so FUCKING STUPID WHAT WERE YOU THINKING-

It’s jarring when they finally stop. Like bouncing off a trampoline, they’re sent flying high. Their stomach drops, and when they stop moving, suspended in air but no longer falling, confusion races through them. Their breathing is heavy. For the first time in years, their body does not hurt.

Floating a few feet in front of them is a woman wearing black. Her hair is dark. Her face is cast in shadow due to her large, wide-brimmed hat. Her dress drapes around her effortlessly, blending into the darkness around them. When she lifts her head up, Ranboo is able to see her face. She looks like Sister Rose, just… younger.

She smiles at them. It’s tinged with sadness.

“Ranboo,” she says, and her voice isn’t quite like Sister Rose’s. It’s similar enough for Ranboo to almost believe. And then they blink, and they realize she doesn’t look like Sister Rose at all. “You can speak to me. I won’t hurt you.”

Ranboo feels shock course through them as they realize who she is. “Lady Death?”

She hums. She holds her hands out. “You’ve been praying to me for quite a while.”

“...This isn’t real,” Ranboo murmurs. “You aren’t real.”

“Maybe not,” she says, shrugging. The gentle smile on her face doesn’t fall. “Take my hands.”

Hesitantly, they comply. They blink, and she looks like Sister Rose again, white robes and all. She smiles wider and pulls them closer. Ranboo all but stumbles into her arms.

“It isn’t your time, yet, Ranboo,” she murmurs, in Sister Rose’s voice, this time. She pulls away from them, dragging her cool hands from their shoulders to their hands. She squeezes them and whispers, “Wake up.”

***

Ranboo sits up with a gasp. Their ribs protest as they fly up, and their body hurts like it’s never hurt before. 

“Woah,” a voice says, infuriatingly familiar, but Ranboo can’t put a name to it. Their eyes fly over to it, and- No. Nonono-

“Hey, it’s okay,” he says, quick, hands up placatingly. “It’s okay, bossman. You’re safe, it’s okay.”

Ranboo feels the way their brows draw together. Confusion is starting to become a very familiar feeling. The room begins to spin as a wave of vertigo hits them.

“Lie back down,” the boy murmurs, and Ranboo realizes how quiet he’s being. When they don’t, he places his hands on their shoulders and drags them back down gently. His hands are startlingly warm. Easily, like he’s done it before, his hands find their way into Ranboo’s hair, and Ranboo is quick to pull away.

Ranboo watches the way the boy’s eyes light up in recognition, a quiet, “Oh,” falling out of his mouth. “You’re, like, awake awake.”

Ranboo just blinks at him, ears pinning back slowly. It’s then that they realize how cold they feel. They look down and realize they’re not wearing a shirt. Their ribs look swollen and bruised, a bandage wrapped around their middle that’s stained purple on the sides. Their arms, too, are wrapped from shoulder to wrist in white cloth stained with blood, and their breath catches in their throat.

The boy is quick to explain: “We didn’t assume anything! We just, uh, dressed your wounds. You’ve got, uh, a lot of cuts on you. Your sides, too. Um. And… two broken ribs. Yeah. Oh. And, uh, your horn is, uh…”

It takes Ranboo a moment to register what he’s just said to them. When it finally hits, they wince. They lie fully back down and train their eyes on the ceiling without saying— or signing— a word.

“...Okay,” the boy breathes. Then, like it’s just hit him, he goes, “I’m, uh, Tubbo, by the way. I- I realized we haven’t actually properly met and, uh, this is certainly… not regular circumstances. Um. You’re with the circus. You’re… safe.”

Ranboo glances at him. Then, they close their eyes with a slightly pained sigh. Their body aches in a bone-deep kind of way, and their skin feels too tight on their body. Tubbo’s eyes are warm. Ranboo wishes they could tell him to stop looking at them.

“You know, I expect you’re probably still tired,” he says, and Ranboo would have to agree; exhaustion is weighing heavily on them, making their eyelids feel like stone. “I’ll, uh, be quiet. Um. It’s, like, midnight, so… Techno should be coming in soon to switch with me. Though I guess I should go tell him and Phil that you’ve woken up.”

Again, Ranboo doesn’t respond. They don’t open their eyes. They just flick their ears, hoping he gets the gist. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, awkward. “Okay. Um. We’ll talk more… next time you’re up.” He stands from the chair he’s sitting in. Ranboo listens to him walk to the door. It creaks open quietly. Then, warmth blooms under the skin of their face when he looks at them. They fight the urge to turn away. “Goodnight, Ranboo.”

With that, he shuts the door. Ranboo is too exhausted to even try to think about what to do next.

Chapter Text

Lesson 2: They never come for you

————

The morning after Ranboo was left at the orphanage, they were dragged out of bed by a set of hands hardly bigger than their own. They were hardly awake when they pushed back, not yet used to the harshness of this world. They were met by their face connecting with the side of the floor.

“You’re new,” a voice said above them. It was harsh. The person it belonged to was a girl who couldn’t have been older than nine. Her eyes were sharp. Her dark hair was braided out of her face.

Ranboo’s brows scrunched together as confusion mixed with anxiety and pooled in their chest. They almost felt sick. They didn’t know where they were— they didn’t know the rules.

With Mama, they were woken gently. Cool hands tracing like comets over the curves of their cheeks, nose, and brows. Gentle scratching behind the ears, over their scalp, right at the base of their tiny horns. 

The harshness that met them here was something that immediately felt dangerous.

Ranboo opened their mouth. Their voice seemed to get caught in their throat, like something had been twisted up inside them and refused to budge. The girl above them laughed.

“Cat got your tongue?” she had asked, mocking. “Get up.”

Slowly, Ranboo did as told. Their legs shook beneath them. She took a step forward. They took a step back. It went like that until their back was against the wall and she was close enough to grab the collar of their shirt.

“You need to know something if you’re going to live here,” she said, as if she were offering something forbidden.

Foolishly, Ranboo tilted their head, curiosity pushing past their fear. Quietly, they whispered, “What?”

The girl grinned. “No one’s ever gonna come for you.”

Ranboo blinked. Shock pulled their eyes wide. A click sounded in the back of their throat, a distressed noise they hadn’t yet learned how to push down.

The girl simply laughed.

“With a face as ugly as yours, you’ll be stuck here forever. I mean, just look at your horns. You look… demonic.”

“Cleo… I kind of like their horns,” came another voice. It was slightly lower in pitch. It sounded hesitant, like the boy was nervous about voicing his opinion. 

“Shut up, Rickie! No one asked you,” the girl, Cleo, exclaimed, turning her sharp, near-painful gaze away from Ranboo to glare at the boy, whose skin was pale with green, shimmery scales inching up his neck. He ducked away, sheepish. Cleo’s eyes returned to Ranboo.

“Drista’s spawn,” she murmured, more to herself than to them. She nodded, as if she were clever, and her grin was wicked. It was then that Ranboo noticed she had wings. They were grey, similar in color to her eyes, and they flapped excitedly behind her before she forced them closed. “That’s what I’ll call you.”

She didn’t learn Ranboo’s name for months.

***

Ranboo wakes slowly. Quiet voices whisper back and forth, and, for a moment, Ranboo thinks that they’re dreaming. Their brows crease as they suck in a deep breath, and a hiss pushing past their lips when they’re met with pain. Four pairs of eyes turn to them, a majority feeling like a soft tingling, but one feels warm, like sunlight, and someone whispers, “I think they’re waking up.”

“Toms, go get Techno and Phil,” a familiar voice murmurs as Ranboo’s brows furrow, eyes slow to open through their grogginess.

“Why do I have to do it?” someone responds— Tommy, presumably. “What if I want to sit with Ranboo?”

“Tommy.” Tubbo’s voice is a warning. 

Tommy huffs. “Fine. Mike, Shroud, c’mon.”

Feet shuffle to the door without any protest. When Ranboo finally manages to open their eyes, the first thing they see is a blond-haired boy with red and white wings closing the door behind him. They blink slowly, trying to shake away the bleariness. When their eyes open again, Tubbo is sitting in the chair next to the bed, and his eyes bloom warmth under the skin of Ranboo’s face. They’re quick to look away.

“Hey, Ranboo,” Tubbo says, voice soft.

It’s quick, the way panic hits them— how does he know my name how does he know who is he— but they quickly remember that Sister Bernice had shouted it across the tent when the orphanage went to see the circus. It does little to relax them. They wince as they begin to push themself up into a sit. Tubbo’s hands fly out, hovering around their shoulders like he’s unsure if he should push them back down again or help.

“Uh, maybe sitting up isn’t a great idea right now,” he stresses, fingertips just barely brushing against Ranboo’s shoulders, and warmth radiates through their body quickly enough to stop them in their tracks, hands propping them up and elbows bent, stuck in the halfway point of motion. Tubbo’s hands are quick to pull away when they look at him, wide-eyed with a mix of shock, curiosity, and fear before they steel their expression into something more neutral. 

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Tubbo is quick to apologize. “I- uh. Okay. You can sit up, I guess. Um. I- I don’t know what you remember, but… Phil and Techno are gonna fill you in on some stuff. They’ll be better at it than I am with, uh, you know, making you more comfortable, ‘n stuff.”

Ranboo notices he talks with his hands a lot. Not sign language, just… movement. It’s like he’s unable to sit completely still. At the orphanage, kids would get their hands smacked if they got caught doing that. 

Ranboo manages to finish pushing themself up, and once they’re sitting, they shift so that their back is pressed into the corner of the wall. They poorly mask the pained hiss that pulls itself from their lips as they do.

“I introduced myself last night,” Tubbo continues. Ranboo’s brain short-circuits as his eyes spread warmth everywhere he looks, flitting from Ranboo’s face to their arms to their ribs and back to their face again. “But… In case you don’t remember, uh, my name’s Tubbo. I only know yours because, um, that… woman yelled it when you came to watch the show. Uh. Oh. You can put this on, if it makes you more comfortable.” He turns away from them and grabs something folded on the small round table next to him. Ranboo watches him with caution as he extends the item out to them. “It’s a tank top. Should be pretty loose. It’s… one of Techno’s.”

Ranboo takes it, finally, and is careful not to brush fingers. They’re quick to slide it over their head. The fabric is soft and, like Tubbo had said, loose. It’s relatively comfortable, despite the fact that Ranboo is much more used to long sleeves. Right now, even with bandages covering their arms, they feel much too exposed. 

“I also, uh… If you don’t want to talk, I mean, uh, I know sign language? I remember seeing you speak to that girl using it before… Uh. Yeah. If that would make you more comfortable, you can just… sign.” His eyes can’t seem to find a good place to stay. He fidgets, obviously nervous. Ranboo narrows their eyes.

“I don’t bite, you know,” they sign before they can think about it. Dull throbs of pain shoot through their arms as they do, an ache deeper than muscle but not quite to bone that’s difficult to explain. Warmth blooms in their hands as Tubbo’s gaze follows the motion. “You don’t have to be so nervous.”

The pinch between the boy’s brows loosens as a laugh escapes his lips. It’s bright and slightly shocked-sounding. Still, he apologizes, “Sorry, bossman, I’m just… I dunno. This is a very unusual situation.”

Ranboo watches him carefully. They find themself nodding slightly. Then, they pull their eyes away from Tubbo and look around the room. It’s small; large enough for a twin-sized bed that Ranboo doesn’t fit on but is used to despite it, a dresser in the corner, and a small chair and circular table by the bed. It’s longer than it is wide. Somehow, it’s still better than anything the orphanage could give.

As if it’s muscle memory, their fingers reach up to touch the rose pendant on their necklace, anxiously grasping at it as if it will get them out of here any faster. Tubbo watches them, and it’s starting to irritate them. They’re used to being watched, but they’re more used to tingling and cold daggers, not warmth that feels like sunbeams reaching through trees.

It hits them, suddenly, that Tubbo’s eyes feel nothing like Mama’s or Sister Rose’s. They feel like something else entirely. Something they’d probably get killed for even thinking too hard about.

There’s a reason Sister Bernice never let Ranboo go to the library after the first time.

They suck in a breath and wince at how it hurts.

Tubbo opens his mouth like he’s going to say something. He closes it when the door creaks quietly open, and two men Ranboo vaguely recognizes walk through the door. 

“Hey, mate,” the blond one says, coming in and gesturing to the end of the bed. “Is it alright if I sit here?”

Ranboo recognizes him as the ringmaster. Phil must be his name— they vaguely remember his voice responding to the name. They feel the lump in their throat grow stronger as he speaks, and their hands instinctively drop from their necklace, which has now been hidden beneath the tank top, as they let the familiarity of feeling numb overcome them, pulling their face into something less pained and more neutral instead. They lift their hands to say something, but Sister Bernice’s voice reminds them harshly that if they’re not going to speak, they shouldn’t answer at all. You can speak to God instead. They drop their hands and drop their eyes. It’s safer to appease, anyway.

Phil just hums before sitting down. Ranboo drags their legs in, curling into themself, making themself smaller. Their tail wraps itself tightly around their ankles. The position hurts their ribs, but they quiet the way their breath shakes.

“My name’s Phil,” the blond man says. “My friend here is Techno.”

The other one, Techno, has dark pink hair that’s been tied back into a ponytail, intricate braids helping to pull the hair back. He has tusks poking out from under his bottom lip and pointed ears, golden jewelry adorning them. He lifts a hand in a simple wave, and his voice is deep and rumbles through his chest when he says, “Yup.”

Both of the men’s eyes feel like a gentle tingling beneath their skin. Similar to the way Crumb’s eyes felt— safe. Friendly. Ranboo can’t bring themself to trust it.

“We’re here to explain where you are. Hopefully, you’d be willing to explain a little bit about yourself, but, if not, that’s okay too,” Phil says. His tone is soft, like he means everything he’s saying. 

Ranboo just nods. They lift their gaze, but they don’t look him in the eye.

“Okay,” Phil breathes. “You were with the orphanage, yes?”

Ranboo opens their mouth to confirm, but the word doesn’t form. 

The room is uncomfortably silent before Tubbo pipes up quietly, reassuring, “You can sign. We all understand.”

Ranboo glances at him. Their eyes meet, and it feels like all the air has left their lungs. The warmth that shoots through them is strong enough for them to have to fight the clicking sound forming at the back of their throat. They tear their eyes away and lift their hand hesitantly, finally signing, “Yes.”

Phil smiles encouragingly. “And I just want to make sure of your name.”

Ranboo spells it out. Phil nods.

“Great,” he says. “Well, Ranboo, you are currently sitting inside a train that my circus uses to tour through different cities. You’re a long way from Pogtopia.”

“We’re between Kinoko Kingdom and Las Nevadas,” Techno says, crossing his arms. His eyes feel intimidating, though not unfriendly.

“We assume you hitched a ride from Pogtopia in one of our cargo cars,” Phil explains.

“Apparently, so did a cat,” Tubbo interjects, laughing a little bit. He quiets down quickly. “It, uh, gave you away. Sorry.”

Phil chuckles, though he nods. “It did, yes.”

“We kept the cat,” Tubbo adds.

Ranboo stays silent, eyes darting from Phil to Tubbo to Techno, watching each of them carefully.

“We intend to keep you, too, assuming you have nowhere to go,” Phil continues. “I have a bit of a habit of picking up strays. But we can discuss that later, alright? We just- We need to know what happened. Before Tubbo, Tommy, and the kids found you in the forest and brought you here.”

Ranboo’s brain short-circuits, stuck at the start of that.

Keep you. Ha, the corners of their mind whispers. That’s funny. No one’s ever wanted to keep you.

Ranboo shoves the thought out of their mind and focuses on what Techno’s saying.

“This is a safe space,” the man says, all low and rumbly, and it would be soothing if Ranboo weren’t questioning everything about how nice they’re all being. “We won’t hurt you, man. We’ve all… We know what it’s like. To not trust the hands that feed you. We just need to understand where you’re comin’ from so we can help you.”

“At least what led you to run away,” Phil adds. “We don’t need to know it all. Just… You’re pretty injured, is all.”

Ranboo nods, though they don’t offer anything else. Telling them would mean giving them ammunition to use against them. It would mean telling them all how weak they are, how broken they are. It would mean admitting that they did nothing to stop Sister Bernice from erasing the last words of Sister Rose. It would mean having to relive the moment, and they sure as Hell do not want to do that. Still, they know they have to tell them something. They lift their hands.

“I broke a rule,” they sign, and it isn’t a lie— when you keep secrets, you lie to me, you lie to God. All of their eyes are on their hands as they continue, “I… was given a consequence I didn’t like.”

Techno’s brows crease slightly, though he masks his concern better than the other two.

“...What was the consequence?” Tubbo asks, curiosity getting the better of him. Phil gives him a look that feels almost like a warning.

Ranboo looks at Tubbo for a moment too long, letting the warmth he emits get a little too comfortable in their chest before they force their eyes away, looking instead at their knees. They lift their hands again, signing simply, “They won’t miss me.”

The silence that takes over the room is almost suffocating. 

“...Right,” Phil says, finally. “Okay. Well. That doesn't explain the feverish state you were in for a few days. Were you sick when you left?”

Ranboo furrows their brows. They don't recall being- oh. Bits and pieces come back to them. The feeling of warm fingers trailing through their hair, tracing over their face like Mama used to, purring to match pitch with hers. None of it must’ve been real. Which means Cleo and Rickie weren’t, either, thank XD. The pain was, though. They wouldn't be able to forget the way their nerves seemed to be tearing themselves apart, even if they wanted to. 

The recognition must show on their face because Tubbo breathes out a quiet, “Yeah.”

“You’ve been here a few days, man,” Techno says. “You’ve been runnin’ a pretty high fever and bouts of pain we haven't been able to track seemed to be the only thing to tear you outta hallucinations. You didn't seem to be able to sleep very well, either. No signs of infection from any of your cuts, though, which… is good.”

Ranboo takes a moment to process that before they lift their hands to explain as best they can. “I teleported too much.”

“So… You overexerted yourself?” Phil clarifies. 

Ranboo nods.

“Huh,” is all Techno says.

“I’ve never heard of the symptoms you seemed to be experiencing being tied to overexertion,” Phil admits. “But… I’ll do some research. I don't know very many enderman hybrids; I could just be a bit uneducated.”

“I could ask Aimsey?” Tubbo suggests. “They’re an enderman hybrid.”

Phil hums, nodding. “That would be helpful, Tubbo, thank you.” He turns his attention back to Ranboo. “Do you think you could describe the pain to us?”

This all feels very unnatural. Back at the orphanage, the Sisters never cared to learn how the kids felt. There was no comfort there. Just adults who waved pain off with rolling eyes and the cold saying Tell XD about it, and even when kids got really sick, the most they’d get was a few days off from chores. That is to say that this all feels like some elaborate trick. Some way to learn more about Ranboo so they have something to use against them— Remember when you pretended to be hurt just to get out of doing chores, Ranboo? We remember that. Know your place, know your duty. What happened to integrity and respect ? Don’t do that ever again, do you understand me?-  

Ranboo isn’t going to fall for it.

“I’m fine,” they sign, and they feel the way Cold seeps through their veins, clashing harshly with the warmth Tubbo’s eyes emit. Their jaw is clenched tight— they can feel the way the muscles tense— and their shoulders hurt from how stiff they are. They keep their eyes cast down, not meeting Phil, Techno, or Tubbo in the eye as they continue. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Ranboo-” Tubbo starts, but he cuts himself off when Techno speaks.

“Don’t do that,” the pink-haired man says firmly enough for anxiety to flare through Ranboo’s chest. They jerk their eyes to him, training their eyes just under his as he uncrosses his arms. “Don’t discredit what you went through. If you don’t want to tell us, that’s fine, but it obviously was that bad, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.” 

The silence that follows that statement is thick and tense, though maybe only for Ranboo. They rip their gaze away from Techno, glaring silently at their knees, because no matter what they do here, obviously, they can’t win. 

“That’s okay,” Phil says, finally, after what feels like an eternity. He pushes himself up to a stand. “Thank you for telling us what you could. We’ll leave you to rest now. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

He walks to the door and opens it, making his way out. He has to fold his large, void-black wings close to his back to fit. Techno dips his head to Ranboo and follows behind him without a word. The door closes behind him with a quiet click.

Tubbo is quiet enough that, if Ranboo weren’t hyper-aware of who’s around them at any given time, they could almost forget that he’s still sitting in the chair by their bed. That is, until he clears his throat and turns his too-warm gaze onto Ranboo.

“...I can leave, too, if you’d like,” he murmurs earnestly.

For some reason, asking him to leave feels wrong. Like they don’t know how to be left alone. Or maybe they don’t want to be left alone. But it would be selfish to keep him here. It’s selfish to want. 

That’s all you ever do, though. Want. Longing sits like boulders in your chest. You’re used to the feeling of it crushing you; you have been since you were little. Maybe you should let him stay.

All you know is how to be selfish, anyway.

He can’t hurt you if you hurt yourself first. Tell him to go.

Selflessness is a virtue. You should know this, Ranboo. Aren’t you a child of the Lord?

The thoughts all swim through their mind quickly. Too quickly to fully grasp onto. It almost makes them dizzy.

“It’s okay,” Tubbo says, standing up. “I get it. I’ll… bring you some food, okay? You must be hungry.”

Tubbo is halfway to the door when Ranboo’s body moves faster than their brain. They’re standing, hand reaching out to touch Tubbo’s shoulder, and when they do, warmth spreads as fast as a wildfire through their arm, going straight to their chest, and their brain seems to stop working as Tubbo turns around to look at them. He has to crane his neck up, and the longing for him to stay beats in time with their heart. They drop their hand and sign, instead, “Can I take a shower?”

“Oh,” Tubbo breathes, eyes wide, but he quickly shakes the look away with a smile. “Yeah, sure. Let me show you where the bathroom is.”

Tubbo leads them to the room directly across from Ranboo’s. Ranboo follows behind him slowly, pain flaring dully in their ribs with each step. It’s more uncomfortable than painful. Still, they struggle to hide the way they wince with each movement. Tubbo pushes the door open and pretends not to notice.

“The stuff on the top shelf is mine,” he explains. “You can use any of it. Towels are in the cabinet, as well as washcloths if you, uh, want one. Oh, shit! Let me go get you clothes, wait.”

He gently brushes past them, hurrying back to Ranboo’s room. Ranboo’s eyes trail him, trying to process all the things he said. When he reemerges in the hallway, he’s holding a small stack of folded clothes, and he’s quick to hold them out to Ranboo. “Here.”

Ranboo takes them, again being careful not to brush fingers. They open their mouth to try to thank him before remembering that he won’t yell at them for signing, so they sign it instead.

“Of course, bossman! Anything you need,” he exclaims cheerfully, mocking a salute. “I’m still planning on making food, though. I’m hungry. I’ll bring you some when you’re out of the shower. ‘S that okay?”

Usually, I’m the one who does that, they think, only slightly put off by the idea of someone else doing something for them. Despite the discomfort, they nod and sign “Thank you” again. Tubbo just smiles.

“Cool,” he says, like it’s simple. “See you soon.” He shuts the door behind him, and Ranboo is stuck staring at the wood for a few moments before they manage to shake themself out of their stupor.

When they turn, they catch their eyes in the mirror. It’s hard not to notice the way they’re sunken into their face, the skin beneath puffy with bags that have only seemed to grow since Sister Rose died. Faded tear scars trace the vertical lines of their face. They haven’t cried in months— not enough to warrant making them worse, anyway. They aren’t sure how they feel about that; on one hand, it makes it easier— people don’t ask what’s wrong with them anymore. When they were little, the light-grey, thickened skin was all the other children would comment on. Now, they’re darker, closer to black than grey. They don’t look the way Mama’s did, and that’s what’s on the other hand— a disconnect from her. They used to think they looked like her. Now, they’re all sharp-eyed and haunted-looking. They don’t look like her anymore. Not in the ways that matter, at least. Maybe if their hair were longer, they could fool themself into thinking otherwise. Maybe if their face didn’t look so gaunt, if their eyes didn’t look so empty— so dim. Mama had the prettiest glowing eyes. They were red and green, just like Ranboo’s. 

XD, they think, staring into their reflection, eyes catching on the jagged edges of their broken horn for the first time. She’d probably be so disappointed in me.

That’s not true, the part of them that has always fought thoughts like that argues. It sounds like them, just younger. More naive. She’d be proud. Just like Sister Rose would be proud. You just need to give this place a chance.

That’s stupid, they think in response. Why would I ever want to do that?

It’s warm.

Ranboo turns away from the mirror. 

Their shower is quick. They don’t bother rewrapping their arms or torso. Everyone here has already seen the cuts; there’s no point in trying to hide them anymore. Sure, there’s shame that burns through them because of it, but it’s not like any of them know. Tubbo had said they didn’t assume. Ranboo could say it happened the last time they teleported, or something.

Are you really stupid enough to think they’d believe that?

Ranboo gets dressed quickly, and they avoid the mirror as they do. They tuck Sister Rose’s necklace beneath their shirt without so much as looking at it. When they finally open the door, they don’t expect to see a couple of small children staring up at them, wide smiles on their faces and plates of food in their hands.

“Hello!” the one with pink hair exclaims. 

The other one waves with both of their left arms. Ranboo distantly recognizes them as the kids who ran past them and Crumb when the orphanage went to see the show. Neither of them can be older than nine.

“Bo made food for us!” the pink-haired one exclaims, holding one of the two plates he’s carrying up to Ranboo. “For you, too. We’re eating in your room.”

Ranboo stares at him for a moment too long, unsure of how to react. When they finally take the plate— a simple turkey and cheese sandwich— the two kids turn and start walking towards Ranboo’s room without saying another word. Ranboo has no other choice but to follow them.

When they walk into the room, they’re met with Tubbo and Tommy sitting on the floor, plates of food that match their own lying in front of them. The two kids join them, the pink-haired one instantly joining the conversation with an excited, “We brought Ranboo!”

Ranboo stands awkwardly in the doorway as Tubbo and Tommy’s eyes land on them.

“Hey,” Tubbo says, an easy smile on his face, and it’s almost infuriating how casually he’s able to do that. “I hope you don’t mind all of us being in here. We’ll leave if you’d rather be alone.”

Ranboo struggles to comprehend that they’re being given a choice. 

It’s another trick, the corners of their mind scream, and they feel inclined to believe it. 

Cautiously, they step into the room, but they freeze again when a small hand slots into their free one. They look down with carefully blank eyes, and it’s the kid with deep black hair who begins leading them into the circle. They glance from the kid to Tubbo, and then to Tommy, who is watching the boy with a soft look in his eyes. The kid takes their plate for them as they sit down, and then they hand it back to Ranboo without so much as a second look. The kid starts eating without a word.

“Did they introduce themselves to you?” Tubbo asks, almost like a reminder, and the pink-haired boy’s head shoots up, eyes wide.

“I forgot!” he exclaims. Then, he turns and smiles, and Ranboo can’t remember the last time they’d seen a kid look so happy. It pulls at something buried deep in their chest. They try to ignore it.

“My name’s Micheal,” the boy says, looking at Ranboo with eyes that feel like the equivalent of bubbling energy, and it almost tickles the skin his eyes land on. It feels like unabated joy, and Ranboo is almost overwhelmed by it. “This is Shroud. They don’t talk very much.”

Shroud simply glances at Ranboo. It’s then that they realize that Shroud has eight eyes; they just keep six of them closed. Ranboo awkwardly nods and looks away, eyes landing almost immediately on Tubbo.

“Okay,” Tubbo breathes. “Cool. Uh. You can eat if you want. Sorry, it’s not anything fancy. I’m not allowed to use the stove.”

Ranboo blinks. What?

Tommy snorts. His wings flap behind him unabashedly. Tubbo jabs him with an elbow, rolling his eyes.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. Tommy just laughs.

“Tubbo sucks at cooking,” Micheal explains matter-of-factly. “He set fire to a pot of mac-n-cheese.”

Ranboo looks at Tubbo, unable to hide the way confusion causes their brows to crease.

“Okay, look,” Tubbo defends, “I grew up in a cult!”

“Oh, like that explains anything,” Tommy snarks.

“I think it does, actually,” Tubbo argues.

“...They didn’t teach you how to cook?” Micheal asks, completely sincere. Tommy bursts out laughing, all loud and unfiltered. Ranboo presses their ears flat against the sides of their head, not used to sounds so… bright.

“No, Mike,” Tubbo says gently, though his smile wobbles as if he’s holding back a laugh himself. “They just tried to cook me.”

“Oh.” Micheal’s voice sounds entirely too solemn. Tubbo finally breaks, and his laugh is angelic. 

“It’s okay, Mike,” he manages. “I can make my own food now.”

“Just not mac-n-cheese,” a small, silky voice says. It belongs to Shroud, and the room falls silent for a beat before erupting in laughter. 

Ranboo watches in silence, unable to determine how they should act. Their entire body feels tense, and their shoulders are drawn up high, their tail wound close to their crossed legs. When the room finally quiets down, eyes fall on them.

“So, Ranboob,” Tommy says, swatting Tubbo’s hand away when the boy reaches out to smack him. “Hey! Anyways. Ranboob. How old are you?”

Ranboo blinks, confusion once again melting their perfected mask of nothing. Tubbo just sighs and picks up his sandwich, shaking his head disappointedly. Tommy quirks a brow. Ranboo takes it as their cue to respond.

“Seventeen,” they sign quickly, ducking their head as an instinctive way to show respect.

“Dammit,” Tommy sighs.

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Micheal pipes up, a mouth full of food. He swallows before continuing, “Shroud’s still the youngest here.”

Tommy just shakes his head, feigning sadness. “Yeah…” He lifts his head again, the feigned emotion fading quickly as he beams, “But that also might mean that Tubbo’s younger than you. When were you born, Ranboob?”

Ranboo lifts their hands, that’s not my name itching to be said, but they push it down, just appease him. “November.”

“Hah!”

“What day?” Tubbo pipes up, much more gentle.

“...The second.”

Tubbo nods. Then, recognition flashes in his eyes. “Your birthday is a day before Niki’s!”

“Oh, no,” Tommy says, eyes widening, and Ranboo can’t quite tell if he’s faking his disappointment or not. “No, no. That won’t do, Ranboob. You can’t infringe on Niki’s birthday. She’s, like, the only allowed November birthday here. Pick a different month, buddy.”

Good job, the corners of their mind whisper. You’ve messed it up already. You should really start thinking about leaving, shouldn’t you?

It must be obvious how they freeze because Tubbo’s warm gaze is on them, and he’s smiling reassuringly at them.

“He’s joking, Ranboo,” Tubbo murmurs. “Niki will be ecstatic to know she’ll have a birthday so close to yours. She doesn’t really like all the attention, anyway.” Then, “My birthday’s in December. The twenty-third.” 

“Mine’s February fourteenth!” Micheal provides excitedly. “I’ll turn nine.”

Shroud lifts a set of hands and signs, “July tenth. I’ll be eight.” With their other set of hands, they lift their sandwich to their mouth and take a bite.

“That you will,” Tommy agrees. He has a soft smile on his lips as he says it, but it grows brighter when he finally decides to add his birthday to the mix, “I turn seventeen on the ninth of April. The best month for a birthday.”

Tubbo hums, but doesn’t interact further than that. They all fall quiet, though it doesn’t feel tense, as they all start eating. Ranboo is hesitant, and it feels wrong not to pray before eating, but they realize that everyone else is halfway done, so they pick up their sandwich and eat, too.

Tubbo, Tommy, and Micheal talk amongst themselves about things Ranboo doesn’t pay attention to. Shroud pipes in occasionally, sometimes with sign language and sometimes with their voice, and it helps relax Ranboo slightly— at least they won’t be yelled at for simply communicating here. Still, there’s doubt lingering in the back of their mind, whispering it’s just an act to make you get comfortable. They try to ignore it.

Eventually, they all finish, and Tommy pushes himself up to a stand with a stretch. His wings open up wide as he does. Ranboo can’t help but think that they’re pretty before shoving the thought down— we don’t acknowledge hybrid traits here, we just keep them hidden. They pull their eyes away.

“Mike, Shroud,” Tommy acknowledges, “I think it’s time you guys practice some ballwalking, yeah?”

“Ooh, yes!” Micheal is quick to stand up, grabbing Shroud’s empty plate and stacking it on his own. Shroud glances at Ranboo’s and takes it, passing it to Micheal upon realizing they’ve finished their food, too. “I’ve been asking, like, all day.”

“I know,” Tommy smiles. “Let’s clean these up first.” He turns his gaze to Ranboo and Tubbo, taking Tubbo’s plate with ease. “We’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye, Tommy,” Tubbo says, waving. “Don’t do anything dumb.”

“Me? Dumb? Never.” He opens the door and lets the kids out first before following, giving Tubbo a mock salute before shutting the door.

It’s awkward for a moment. Then, Ranboo shifts, pushing themself up to a stand, and they move silently to their bed. Exhaustion has begun to hang over them like a storm cloud just waiting to let go of rain, and Tubbo shifts out of their way.

“That was pretty nice, I think,” Tubbo says. “How’re you feelin’? I can go, too, if you’d like.”

Yes, crosses their mind instantly. But, at the same time, something small tugs in their chest, that stupid longing again. Stay, whispers like a breeze in their head. Don’t go, can’t be alone again. Ranboo shoves it down. They don’t know where that voice is coming from. They don’t like it.

They nod before their body can act first.

“Okay,” Tubbo agrees easily. Too easily. Ranboo doesn’t get it. “I’ll see you later, bossman. Get some rest.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, Ranboo’s chest aches. They don’t understand why. They don’t know how he’s managed to get under their skin like this— they’ve only known him for less than a day. It doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel… natural.

Somehow, that feels like a lie they’re trying to force themself into believing.

Ranboo lies back in their bed with a deep sigh. Their tail flicks irritably as they close their eyes, teeth clenching together.

I need to get out of here.

Chapter Text

Lesson 6: Trust no one

————

From the moment Ranboo set foot in XD Kingdom Church’s orphanage, an unexplainable darkness began to seep into them. Tendrils stretched out from each dark corner and shadow. Like snakes slithering out of tall grass, the swirling darkness wrapped around Ranboo’s limbs and slid up to their face, forcing them to inhale it like smog until it could make a home in their chest and lungs.

It started when they were young. Seeds of doubt planted in that ever growing hole, turned into roots that branched anxiety and cold numbness through them, apathy becoming a thing to help them survive the thoughts in their head that never seemed to leave, no matter how much they tried to get them out.

Ranboo only made the mistake of asking for help once.

They were twelve. It was hours past bedtime. The thoughts in their head were getting louder and louder and louder, until their claws dug deep in their sides and tears streamed silently down their face, because it wouldn’t stop, and it felt like there were thousands of eyes watching them, all screaming disappointment stupid nobody fly on the wall can’t do anything right D r i s t a ‘ s s p a w n and it was taking everything in Ranboo not to scream.

It was rare that Ranboo was the kid to wander up to an older child’s bed, tapping gently against shoulders with whispered asks of “Can I please sleep with you?” and it hurt to do, they knew they’d get rejected, but their sides stung with scratches just deep enough to bleed and their breath was a staggered staccato stuck in shallow inhales.

Cleo wasn’t an option. She was curled up in her bed, her wings tucked uncomfortably under her and drool slowly making its way down her cheek. But Rickie… He was like Ranboo. Awake. Staring at the ceiling. Pretending to sleep whenever a Sister came to check on them. And it didn’t take long before Ranboo was sheepishly padding up to his bed, head aching and world pulsing menacingly around them, reaching a desperate hand out to the only other person who was conscious.

“R- Rickie,” Ranboo had whispered, almost inaudible, but loud in the silence of the night. It was desperate, almost animalistic, and their legs shook so hard their knees nearly gave out under them. Their voice was choked in a series of warbling that sounded distinctly inhuman, and they tried hard to stop, tail lashing harsh and fast around them, and it didn’t take long before Rickie was sitting up, eyes flashing with something that almost looked like concern.

“Ranboo?” Rickie had asked, and his voice wasn’t scathing like it normally was. It was almost soft. Comforting. “What’s…” He hesitated, looking around, as if making sure Cleo wasn’t watching before continuing, quieter, “What’s wrong?”

Ranboo inhaled a sharp breath, chest stuttering under the overwhelming weight of want, of longing, of pain and darkness and disappointment disgrace to our Lord XD help me what did I do wrong why can’t it stop don’t wanna die- and they stuttered out frantic and entirely incompromprehensible, “I-I-I- h- help me I’m- I- drowning-”

Rickie’s face went through a series of emotions. Shock, anger, disgust. But what stuck out most was what it settled on: concern. It seemed completely unnatural, the way Rickie’s scaly arms wrapped around Ranboo in a cool embrace, and it was the first- the only time Rickie wasn’t touching them to hurt.

“You’re fine,” Rickie had murmured, hands firm in their placement beneath Ranboo’s shoulderblades, a deep pressure reaching deep into their muscles and smoothing out the way their lungs spasmed. 

“I- I’m sorry,” Ranboo had cried, ducking their head into the side of Rickie’s neck, trying to pull away, still somehow pushing closer into the older boy’s arms. “I- I- I don’t know what to do I didn’t want to- to-” it trails into a low warble, a click sounding hard in the back of their throat, and Rickie just pulled them closer.

“You’re fine,” Rickie said again, but it sounded more like he was saying it to himself. His long, scaly tail writhed its way around Ranboo’s waist, and his claws slowly worked their way up and down Ranboo’s back, and it wasn’t soft, necessarily. Not in the way Sister Rose was. But it was soft for Rickie, and Ranboo’s breath only jumped harder as Rickie rocked them slowly side to side.

It took a while, but eventually Ranboo could breathe again. Their head was still reeling with thoughts they didn’t want to be thinking- take that jump don’t wanna die just don’t wanna live she left SHE LEFT YOU nobody n o t h i n g fly on the wall- but it was manageable. Tens of thousands of eyes were no longer watching them, and when Rickie sent them to bed again they were able to suck in air well enough that it filled up the entirety of their lungs, not just the shallowest parts of them.

What Ranboo didn’t know was that, after that night, Rickie’s bullying was going to get a lot worse. Less taunts and more fists, elbows into ribs, and glares that felt like daggers, as if trying to make up for the brief stint of kindness he showed to them.

What Ranboo didn’t know, was that Cleo had woken up at some point during that interaction, and it took all she had right then not to tear them and Rickie to shreds.

***

“Oh good, you’re still here.”

Ranboo jumps, eyes blowing wide as they turn to the voice behind them. They’re sitting in a patch of grass not too far from the train, watching the sunrise with a weight in their chest that they can’t seem to shake. 

They hadn't left their room with much of an intention. Sure, the thought of leaving has been floating around since after lunch yesterday, but them leaving their room wasn't related to that. It was more motivated by the same thoughts that caused Ranboo to go up to the roof back at the orphanage, an incessant need to get out crawling from the cold, icy depths of that hole in their chest, curling dark tendrils through their mind and locking their voice up as if prohibiting them from being able to ask for help— not that they would.  

They left their too-quiet room much too early in the morning after drifting in and out of uneasy unconsciousness. The sky had been dark, then. Stars blinked at them like Mama’s glowing eyes, and Ranboo’s always found solace in the idea that she's up there somewhere, dancing amongst the heavens, looking down on them with her soft smile, the trill of a deep rumbling lullaby caught in her throat. They like to think that maybe she’s looking out for them. To the best of her ability, at least.

They stayed out and watched the sunrise. The sky turned velvety purple and light pink before finally settling on light blue. Sister Rose used to have a saying about them— something about fresh starts. New beginnings. Ranboo had been thinking about that, about her, a barely contained keen stuck in their throat, when Techno came out of nowhere and startled them.

“Kinda thought you’d bailed,” Techno continues, a low hum in his chest. He shrugs, as if he doesn't really care. “You hungry? I'm hungry. C’mon.”

He doesn't wait for Ranboo before walking into the train car to the left of him. Wearily, Ranboo pushes themself up and follows.

When Ranboo enters, they take in the space. Half of it is set up like a kitchen. The other half is set up like a dining room. Techno has made his way groggily to the coffee machine, fiddling with a few things before he turns with a lazy smile. His blood-red eyes are half open, assumedly from tiredness, and the golden chains hanging from his glasses shine in the light that comes in through a window. It feels… safe, somehow. Comforting. Simple.

“You know how to make pancakes, Ranboo?” Techno asks in that lazy drawl.

Ranboo nods rigidly, standing up straight like they were taught, tail carefully still behind them as their hands clasp behind them. 

“Good.” Techno grabs the mug from the coffee machine. The rich smell of it wafts through the room as he brings it to his lips, eyes slitting closed for a moment as a hum rumbles in his chest. When he opens them again, his eyes feel like a gentle weight beneath Ranboo’s skin, like a comforting hand on their shoulder, and it's inviting. Ranboo struggles to keep their mask from crumbling, and, oh, he’s good. “Mind helpin’ me?”

Ranboo doesn't respond, but they walk across the room like a shadow, heading to Techno’s side, who has put his coffee mug down in favor of rummaging through cabinets.

“Milk, eggs, and butter, please,” Techno asks in a tone that is gentle, but it’s a command Ranboo is quick to follow. They jerk the fridge open as carefully as they can, grabbing the ingredients with ease. When they put them on the counter, Techno has laid out a display of various ingredients, organized for easy access. He's sipping from his coffee mug as he pushes a small plastic cup to Ranboo. “Put some butter in here.”

Ranboo does as told, and Techno easily grabs the cup and sticks it in the microwave above the stove. He hums a tune under his breath as he waits, bopping his head to some inaudible rhythm, and he opens the microwave door before it can beep.

It’s easy, the way Techno asks Ranboo to do things. It turns into something like a dance, them moving around each other, mixing batter and pouring it onto a hot pan, and Techno grins wide as he picks the pan up by the handle, the underside of the pancake cooked and ready to be flipped.

“Yo,” he says, drawing Ranboo’s attention away from where they’ve begun setting up the table. “Ever flipped a pancake like this before?” With a flick of his wrist, he sends the half-cooked pancake flying, and he catches it easily, raising a brow as his lips pull in a crooked smile.

Ranboo feels a twinge of amazement burst through their chest, and the ease with which Techno speaks begins slowly pulling down their carefully crafted walls as their tail flicks somewhat excitedly behind them.

For the first time, they raise their hand and sign, “No.”

Techno hums, putting the pan back on the stovetop. “Wanna try with the next one?”

Ranboo responds a little too excitedly, a nod that throws their hair into their eyes, and their ears pin back as they catch themself— show no emotion can’t give him something to use— but Techno just gestures them over with a lazy grin.

It’s stupid, the nervous excitement that bubbles up in their chest, but they feel like a little kid again when Techno hands them the pan, gently explaining how much force to use. Their tail sweeps across the floor in fast, flickering arcs, curling and uncurling around their feet, and they're unable to stop the excited yet shocked sound that breaks free of their chest when they do it right the first try.

“There ya go!” Techno exclaims, clapping a hand quick and gentle and proud against Ranboo’s shoulder. “You’re a natural.”

Ranboo tries to push down the pride surging through them, tries to steel their expression into something more cold, but warmth spreads through them fast and shocking and all they can manage to do is look down to hide their smile. They manage to shrug, though, as they go back to the table, continuing their mission of setting it up. Techno just chuffs, amused, and goes back to pouring batter.

It’s quiet and comforting and free, and for the first time ever, Ranboo can't seem to find the double meaning behind the interaction.

It’s in the middle of them walking over to Techno that the door on the kitchen side of the car slams open. Ranboo freezes instantly, pulling their walls up fast, and they stand up straight, tail still, head ducked as Tommy, Micheal, and Shroud come crashing through the room. Behind them, Tubbo walks more slowly, wrapped up in a blanket with an exhausted look in his eyes.

“Tommy,” he whines, walking through and plopping down in the chair in the corner. He lays his head down against the table and breathes, “Too loud.”

Tommy just rolls his eyes, though he freezes when he sees how the table is set up. “Who did this?”

Ranboo feels anxiety pulse through their veins. It’s dizzying. But they feel Techno’s hand brush quickly against their shoulder, and the pressure is grounding.

“My good friend here,” Techno says, dropping his hand from Ranboo as he saunters by, holding a plate stacked full of pancakes. “They’ve got manners. Unlike the rest of you. Helped me make breakfast and set the table. Didn’t even haft’a ask.”

The anxiety calms slowly at the praise. They’re quick to follow behind the man, picking up the small bowls of fruit he’d gotten out of the fridge a few moments earlier. 

“Oh,” Tommy says, a bit delayed. He's quick to be loud again, though, and his eyes fall on Ranboo, shooting a tingling sensation through their skin as he grins, “Thanks, Ranboob. ‘S there any batter left?”

Ranboo nods quickly and turns, going back to grab the bowl Techno left on the counter. The door swings open again seconds later, though it’s more gentle this time. Phil and a girl Ranboo doesn’t recognize come in. Phil’s eyes feel like how they remember— tingly and friendly and supposedly safe— but the way the girl’s eyes feel has Ranboo stopping in their tracks. It’s softer, feels more like a cool breeze on a summer day, like moonlight soft smiles and home, and that thought spreads cold through their veins because that’s how Mama’s eyes felt, how Sister Rose’s did, and she’s not, they don’t even know her, and there’s no way there’s no WAY this is happening can’t fake out instinct you know she’s safe motherly familial familiar you know these people are safe- they are NOT- and Ranboo has to remind themself to breathe.

“I told you it was pancakes,” the girl says, voice soft and sweet and breathy as a laugh falls like honey from her lips. She elbows Phil gently before walking towards Ranboo- no, to the coffee machine. “Must be gettin’ old, Philza. Can’t smell pancakes anymore.”

She brushes past Ranboo with a gentle, “Excuse me.” Ranboo almost stumbles trying to move quickly enough.

“I smell things fine, thank you,” Phil snaps good-naturedly as he makes his way to the large, round table. He sits in the chair beside Techno.

“Philza Minecraft,” Tubbo hums, sing-songy, and Tommy, Shroud, and Micheal all join in, “is quite old.”

Phil cackles. Techno rolls his eyes. Ranboo stands in the middle of it all awkwardly before remembering that Tommy had asked for the leftover batter. They walk to the counter, grabbing it quickly before the girl can turn around and look at them again.

“Hey, Tubbo?” her voice rings out, a gentle clinking sounding behind Ranboo as they walk to the table. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Oh, yes, please, Niki,” Tubbo sighs. “You’re a godsend.”

Ranboo hands Tommy the bowl of batter, and he takes it with a grateful smile before his face twists into something like offense, and Ranboo almost thinks it’s directed at them before he turns away from them to look at the girl- Niki- and all but shouts, “I’d like some too, Niki!”

“Oh, boy,” Techno sighs at the same time as Phil and Niki both say, “Absolutely not,” Tubbo following up with a stern but tired-sounding, “Tommy.”

“Sorry!” Tommy is quick to apologize, clearly meant just for Tubbo, before rounding on Niki again. “Why not?”

Ranboo is still standing awkwardly, not knowing where to sit. Techno lifts a hand and waves them over to the seat on the other side of him, right next to Tubbo. Gratefully, Ranboo scurries over and sits down, wincing at how their speed pulls on their ribs.

“Tommy,” Niki says, exasperatedly. “Have you met yourself on caffeine?”

“I think I’m perfectly normal-”

“Tommy,” Tubbo says again, a little more bite to it. “Leave it, man. ‘S… loud.”

The tone of his voice has everyone turning to him, brows low and confused, and Ranboo sits with their hands carefully still in their lap, eyes cast down because they don’t know what to do.

It’s uncomfortably silent for a moment. Niki walks over and slides Tubbo’s coffee to him before sitting down with her own. Tommy is the first to break the silence.

“...Are you okay?” 

Tubbo lets out a deep breath, closing his eyes. When he opens them again they’re apologetic. “‘M sorry. Got a migraine and… i-it was just a… rough night. But… caffeine and food should fix it, I'm just- Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nightmares?” Phil asks sympathetically.

Tubbo nods. He picks up his mug and lifts it to Niki. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” she smiles, soft and warm and Ranboo tries not to stare, but their head is starting to feel fuzzy from all the conversation, how open all of them are, how easily they’re all able to read each other.

“Alright,” Tommy huffs after a moment, scraping a finger against the side of the bowl he’s holding, and that’s all it takes before everyone is loading their plates with pancakes and fruit. He passes the bowl to Tubbo, who does the same thing while he loads his plate, and they pass the bowl back and forth. 

At some point, it gets offered to Ranboo, but they shake their head, nervous about intruding and also about what Sister Bernice would think, but they shake that thought away with a flick of their ear, thinking she isn’t here but still not accepting when they ask again a little later. 

It’s odd, not taking a moment to pray together before eating. Ranboo tries, but their mind roars with insults and disappointment and… threats. So, they bend their head down and close their eyes, pressing their palms together like they were taught, thinking something quick and fast despite knowing that XD won’t receive it— never does not when it’s you— but finds they can’t not. It just feels… wrong.

Breakfast passes by in a blur, after that. Ranboo is the first to finish eating, used to having to be quick about it, and it’s automatic when they start gathering empty dishes to wash. Tommy hands his over gratefully, at this point picking fruit from the bowls without any care, and Tubbo’s voice is soft under the steady flow of conversation when he murmurs, “You don’t have to do that.” His eyes are warm where they land on Ranboo’s face, and they’re quick to look down, taking his plate anyway and feeling the way his eyes follow them as they walk to the sink.

They nearly jump out of their skin with Niki walks up next to them, but they’re quick to still themself, forcing their breath to be even when she smiles. Her eyes feel the same— summer breeze friendly tingle moonlight smiles Mama and Sister Rose— so Ranboo knows it isn’t a fluke, but their shoulders are still tense and their jaw hurts with how bad they’re clenching it. 

“It’s Ranboo, right?” she asks softly, and it’s only then that they realize she’s also carrying plates. She waits for them to nod before continuing, “My name’s Niki. It’s actually my day to do the dishes, but you can help me if you’d like to.”

Ranboo nods again, knows they need to be helpful, and her smile widens a little.

“Okay,” she says, handing them a towel. “I wash, you dry.”

Ranboo follows along, drying plates that she hands to them and putting them where she points, starts to get lost in the repetition when someone bangs on the table and their mind rattles up the memory of a journal dropping into metal, guitar smashing against the ground twanging loud like it’s crying out for help, last things of hers they were for you aND YOU RUINED THEM JUST LIKE HOW YOU RUINED HER-

Ranboo closes their eyes and sucks in a deep breath. It rattles down into their lungs, and they try to focus back on drying the plate in their hands but someone bangs on the table again, laughter loud and- and- splash of water take that jump don't you just love-

“Ranboo,” comes a voice, soft and sweet, and there are eyes on them that tingle like starshine and moonlight smiles and it takes everything in Ranboo not to fall into it when they turn their head entirely too fast in her direction, realizes numbly that's it’s not either of the people they wish it were. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Niki murmurs gentle and light, and Ranboo haltingly puts the dish they're holding away. “They get to be too much for me, too, sometimes.”

Ranboo says nothing, but they take the last plate from her and dry it, putting it carefully in the cabinet where it belongs and shutting the door. When they turn to her again, she’s leaning back against the sink, holding her coffee mug in her hand, watching the table with a soft smile on her face. When she realizes they're watching, she turns her soft gaze to them and says, “Thank you for helping me, Ranboo.”

The sincerity with which she says it startles them enough to look away. They turn to look at the table, offering her nothing in response, knowing their vocal cords won’t work no matter how hard they try— no matter what her gaze feels like.

Tubbo seems to be in a slightly better mood. The blanket he’d had wrapped tightly around him is now just draped across his shoulders, and he's poking at Tommy, who is indignantly squacking and slapping his fingers away. 

It won't last long, something in their mind breathes, low and dark and swirling. Happiness isn't a reward, remember that Ranboo.

I know, they think back, but Micheal and Shroud are laughing as they team up with Tubbo, tiny fingers jabbing into Tommy’s sides, and they're all biting quips back and forth and they look so natural like that, like that's how kids are supposed to look. 

Ranboo drags their gaze away, looking instead at the floor as if to remind themself that they can't have that.

Why not? the stupid, quiet voice that sounds like a younger version of them asks, and Ranboo shuts it down before it can continue.

Because I'm not them.

“You should join us for dress rehearsal,” Niki says suddenly. Her fingertips are fleeting when they brush against Ranboo’s arm, but, for some reason, they're not startled by it. 

They turn their head to look at her, brows pinched together in confusion, but she smiles and Ranboo can't ignore how utterly safe she feels.

“You don't have to,” she clarifies. “This is your first day up, after all. I just… Maybe you’ll feel a bit more comfortable after getting to know us a bit. Not just watching, this time. Seeing.”

“She’s right,” Phil says, and Ranboo hadn’t even noticed he’d gotten up. “I understand if you’d like to keep resting, but a little movement wouldn’t be so bad for you. It’d actually help with your broken ribs. Are you still having those bouts of pain?”

The combination of Phil’s warm smile and Niki’s eyes has them nervously shaking their head, overwhelmed at the attention they’re being given. 

Phil hums, nodding to himself. “That’s good.” He shifts his gaze to Niki, then, and says, “Techno and I are gonna go ahead and head to the tent. We’ve still gotta grab all the apparatuses and organize them for Schlatt.”

“Okay,” Niki easily agrees. “I’ll go find Jack and we’ll be out to help you soon.”

“If Ranboo comes to rehearsal, they can sit with Sneeg and Charlie,” Tubbo pipes up from the table. His warm gaze sends trails of fire over Ranboo’s face, and they turn to look at him, knowing their mask has fallen again as soon as he smiles. “You ever had popcorn before?”

Ranboo blinks stupidly. Before they can respond, Micheal exclaims, “How about cotton candy?!”

When Ranboo manages to shake their head, Tommy gasps like it’s a personal offense.

“How have you not had popcorn or candy floss?” He doesn’t give Ranboo a chance to answer before he’s pushing himself to his feet. “You’re coming to rehearsal, now, Ranboob, we’ve gotta show you what you’re missing.”

Ranboo knows better than to argue, so they just bow their head like they were taught. Someone might say something to them, but they don’t pay much attention to it when the door opens and closes. Soon enough, it’s just Ranboo and Tubbo in the room, and, despite themself, they feel their shoulders relaxing when he looks at them.

“We should probably start gettin’ ready,” Tubbo says, brushing against Ranboo as he washes his mug in the sink. Ranboo steps easily into spot, taking it from him to dry it. “Change out of our pajama’s, ‘n all. I can… We can walk to the tent together, if you’d like?”

Ranboo nods a little too quickly. Tubbo doesn’t seem to mind, though, because he just grins and tells Ranboo where to put the mug. 

It isn’t very long before they’ve gone back to their rooms, gotten dressed, and made their way to the tent. Even before they walk inside, Ranboo can tell that it’s going to be busy. There are people laughing loudly, and music is playing through speakers even louder. Ranboo pins their ears against the sides of their head, but Tubbo’s eyes glance up to them and he smiles, and it makes the anxiety stuttering to life in their chest lessen.

As they walk in, the music is lowered to something more manageable, and Ranboo is able to find the source of the laughter— Tommy, who is leaning against a table pressed back against the tent on the left side of the entrance. Behind the table is one of the men Ranboo recognizes from the last time they stepped into this space. It’s weird, not having Crumb by their side here; they remember how excited she had been to see the circus, and now, here they are, about to watch the dress rehearsal for a show they’ve seen but hardly remember.  

“Tubbo!” Tommy exclaims, noticing their appearance first. “Ranboo! Get your asses over here! Sneeg’s gonna cook up some popcorn for you to try.” 

“Can we have some?” Micheal asks, bounding over to Tommy with his hand in one of Shroud’s.

“Uh, yeah,” Sneeg says, fiddling with his glass machine. “I’ve got, like, a stupid amount of this stuff. Just don’t get anything on your costumes.”

Micheal nods excitedly, bouncing from foot to foot. Shroud looks to be excited too. Their eyes drag over to Ranboo, and they offer a small smile as they wave Ranboo and Tubbo over.

When the two of them get to the table, Sneeg greets Tubbo with a complicated handshake before extending a hand out for Ranboo to shake.

“What’s up, man?” he greets. “Heard you’ve never had popcorn before. Lucky for you, I make the best in town.”

Ranboo doesn’t have anything to say, which is good because Sneeg is quick to turn around when popping sounds start coming from the machine. 

The popcorn is done quickly, scooped into bags and handed off to Ranboo and Micheal respectively. Micheal and Shroud go running off to the bleachers, and Tubbo leans up against the table, a brow quirked up as he looks at Ranboo.

“Go on,” Sneeg says, a grin on his face. 

Ranboo glances at Tubbo, who nods encouragingly, and Ranboo finally pops one of the puffy, cloud-like snacks in their mouth. It’s more buttery than anything they’d ever have been allowed back at the orphanage, and their tail flicks in surprise at how good it is.

“Soooo,” Tommy drawls, wings fluttering behind him, and it’s anxiety-inducing, the amount of eyes looking at Ranboo for an opinion. “Is your life forever changed?”

Ranboo looks at Tubbo again, hesitant to respond in sign language.

“‘S alright, bossman,” Tubbo encourages, moving his hands along with his words, and it’s seems so natural for him that Ranboo finds themself loosening up about it. Still, they check over their shoulder before lifting their hands, a small, nervous smile pulling at their lips.

“It’s… good, yeah.”

“See! Told you!” Tommy exclaims. “C’mon, let’s get you a good front-row seat.” He grabs some popcorn from Ranboo’s bag before bounding off, his wings fluttering and helping him to go faster.

Ranboo looks back at Sneeg, who shrugs with a grin, and signs a quick, “Thank you,” as Tubbo leads them after Tommy.

“We’re probably gonna start soon,” Tubbo admits once Ranboo is seated. “Mike and Shroud might come over and sit with you. They’re not technically a part of the show, but they ballwalk during the pre-show and during intermission, so. We all will probably end up sitting with you at some point; we don’t really go backstage during these because it’s the only time we get to watch each other."

“‘S really unfair,” Tommy pouts half-heartedly. “We put so much effort in just to sit backstage for a majority of the show.”

Tubbo rolls his eyes. “Anyway.” He looks at Ranboo again. “I’ll come back after acro, alright? I’ll give you some insider information while the show goes on.”

Ranboo nods, and Tubbo smiles. It’s bright and warm, just like how his eyes feel, and this up-close Ranboo finally notices his dimples, thinks how cute they are before shoving that thought out of their mind just as fast as it had arrived. 

“Cool,” Tubbo hums. He wraps his arm with Tommy’s and pulls him slightly away. “We’ll see ya soon, Ranboo! Enjoy the show!”

Ranboo watches as he leaves, hands wrapped securely around the small bag of popcorn they don’t have the appetite to eat, mind starting to go a hundred miles per hour as they wait. They don’t get why everyone is being so nice to them— giving them any kind of attention. It’s overwhelming, having people their own age and older looking at them as if they’re worth something, as if they’re safe and wanted instead of just… needed. They can’t help but think it won’t last long.

They’ll get sick of you eventually, the corners of their mind whisper. They’ll get tired of taking care of you. You have nothing to offer them, anyway. You’re not that interesting, not talented at anything, can’t do anything right-

You can play guitar, something that sounds like them responds, and the weight of the piece of Sister Rose’s guitar is suddenly heavy in their pocket. She taught you how to play, always said how good you were, maybe if you ask you could prove-

What? That you haven’t played in months? Probably lost all that skill when a part of you died. After you killed her-

I didn’t-

Sure you did, blood on your hands flowers in a casket, all the same you couldn’t save her just like how these people can’t save you, you know what’s coming you know the end just- 

Something presses against their legs, startling them out of their mind. When they look down, it’s the cat that had been on the train with them— the one that had given them away. It stares up at them with large, amber eyes before meowing. Ranboo sticks a hand down, brushing gentle fingers along its spine.

Hello again, they think, and it’s a bit dumb. They know the cat can’t hear them. Still, it presses into their hand. And then music starts, loud and emphatic, and the cat startles, running away. Ranboo watches it  scamper off under the bleachers before turning their gaze to the stage.

The show begins with Phil saying something about this show being a reenactment of their journey as a group. Niki and a man with hair cut close to his scalp come out, Tubbo and Tommy behind them, and they do an acrobatics routine to upbeat music. Ranboo is easily sucked into it— since they aren’t worried about Sister Bernice turning this into some twisted lesson about knowing your place, they’re able to take in how awe-inspiring the tricks are. Every once in a while, Tubbo’s eyes fall on Ranboo, sending warmth curling through their chest as if trying to melt the ice that’s made a home there, smiling brighter than all the light in the world, before his eyes fall away as he and Tommy do another trick. It’s still just as confusing as it has been— why do his eyes feel like that, like something more like something only he can give— but it’s starting to feel less jarring. When Niki’s eyes fall on them, their heart spikes in the same way it did whenever Sister Rose would look at them, excitement fluffing the tip of their tail out wide before they can remind themself that Niki isn’t her, and that’s just as confusing, just as frustrating, and they think, the longer the act progresses, the more eyes that tickle instead of stab fall on them, they might be making all of this up. But they can’t make this up, they know, because eyes don’t feel like anything when they’re dreaming. Eyes don’t feel like anything when they’re hallucinating, either, which means this is real, they’re safe here, must be, and that sends a wave of vertigo through them right as the act ends.

When the spotlights turn off, Tubbo doesn’t go back to where he had come out from. He walks straight to Ranboo, chest heaving but a smile on his face, and he practically falls into the seat next to them. Tommy is right behind him, and Niki and the man Ranboo doesn’t know the name of, but knows that his eyes feel far too kind, walk over, sitting on the opposite side of Tommy. They all are breathing hard, smiles on their faces and pride obvious in how they look at each other, quietly breathing out words of praise and encouragement to each other.

“Not gonna lie,” Tubbo hushes as the lights come back on, “I fucked up a little on purpose so tomorrow goes well.”

Tommy scoffs, but it turns into something more fond as he bats at the brunet with his wing. “I didn’t purposefully. I just did.”

Tubbo laughs, pushing at him lightly, and Niki looks over at them with color high on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” she says, all soft and breathy and full of pride for herself and her friends, “I think we all did that. On purpose or not.”

“Anything to get the real thing perfect,” the man on the opposite side of her agrees, shrugging. 

Everyone else nods before turning their eyes to the stage, where Techno has come out. From the ceiling, two long ribbon-looking things hang down, loops at the bottom opening up as Techno slides his hands through them. 

Tubbo leans closer to Ranboo as the music starts, and warmth blooms where his shoulder brushes their upper arm. “Those are called straps,” he murmurs. “They hurt like a bitch. Tech’s the only one of us who can do ‘em.”

“You can,” Tommy interjects. Tubbo waves him off.

“I’m learning. Still not good enough to perform them. I’m okay at best.”

Tommy scoffs, but there’s no real bite behind it. They fall silent, and Ranboo looks back at Techno, watching the way he performs with powerful, strong movements, as if he’s dancing with the apparatus instead of fighting against it. It’s clearly an emotional routine, but when Techno comes down it’s with a smile.

Hesitantly, Ranboo admits to themself that they wish they could do that, too.

***

Dress rehearsal ends an hour and a half later, but work is yet to be done. Sneeg and Schlatt work hard to reorganize apparatuses in places that make sense and are easy to grab for rigging changes, and a man named Charlie fiddles with the lights, making sure they’ve all been placed where they should be. Throughout all of this, Ranboo trailed behind Tubbo like a shadow, helping when asked but generally standing awkwardly to the side, hands clasped behind their back and head bent down, waiting for directions to be given to them.

“You can sit down, you know,” Tubbo had said at some point after Ranboo had followed him backstage, hands bleeding grey with how hard they had them clasped behind them. “Or… go rest, maybe? I just- You’re still hurt, ‘s all.”

“I’m not incapable,” Ranboo had signed, eyes narrowing as they watched Tubbo pick up backstage. “I’ve done more feeling worse. Tell me what I can do.”

Tubbo had opened his mouth as if to argue. He closed it upon realizing Ranboo was serious, but the expression on his face was complicated, as if he were trying to pick something apart. Still, he gestured over to a box of throw pillows and blankets, asking Ranboo to set them up in the middle of the area.

“We like to have somewhere comfortable to sit,” he had explained while helping. “Since we’re back here a majority of the show, I mean. It’s a nice hangout space.”

That was over an hour ago, now. Ranboo’s back in their room, staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the logistics of leaving. It shouldn't be that hard, it’s just a matter of figuring out where to go.

The corners of their mind scoff.

Like you need a place to go. You already know how it ends, Ranboo, find that roof, that river, that creek. Third time’s the c h a r m-

They flick their ear, rolling onto their side. Their ribs still hurt, but they ignore it as they fish out the guitar piece from their pocket, lifting it up to look at it. She would've had a plan.

She did, their mind whispers back. It'd be easier for you. It's not like you have much of anything to give away.

Oh, come on, something else whispers, small and child-like. I keep saying this. She’d want you to give this place a chance. A real one. Mama would, too-

Mama l e f t she wouldn't care about anything-

That’s not true and you know it.

Ranboo groans quietly, tail flicking haphazardly behind them, and they press the broken guitar piece to their chest as they close their eyes. The breath they release is heavy, weighed down by the frustration swirling through them at their thoughts.

I’m not supposed to be a burden, they think miserably. But that’s all I've managed to be recently.

Or ever.

Very helpful.

You should leave tonight. Forget about this morning with Techno, about the way Tubbo and Niki’s eyes feel, about that stupid, fairytale show. You don't belong here and you know it. If the orphanage doesn't miss you, nobody here will. The only person who would is already dead just g i v e i n-

There’s a knock on the door before it creaks open, warm eyes landing on Ranboo’s back that could only belong to one person.

“…Ranboo?” Tubbo’s voice asks, breaking through the thoughts snowballing in their mind. “You awake, bossman?”

Ranboo flicks their tail, taking a deep breath as if the exhale that comes next will help send the thoughts away. When they manage to turn on their back again, they hold the guitar piece close to their side, not wanting Tubbo to see it— not wanting him to take it. They glance at Tubbo long enough for him to know to continue before training their eyes on the ceiling again.

“Uh… Tommy and I planned to explore the city some, but he doesn't wanna go out anymore. I… was wondering if you wanted to come with me?” Tubbo asks, a bit hesitantly. His eyes flicker around Ranboo’s face before falling away, returning seconds later. “I thought maybe we could get to know each other.”

Get to know each other, yeah, right, the darkness scoffs, expanding ice through them with each breath. More like figure out how to pick each other to shreds.

Maybe you could go just to explore the escape routes, find a river, maybe?

How about a cliff?

It’s been so long since you've-

XD, just- Shut up.

“Uh,” Tubbo says awkwardly. “I- It’s okay if you don't… want to.”

Ranboo closes their eyes and tries to straighten out their breath. They feel the way their ears have pinned themselves back, can feel the pinch between their brow and the tension in their jaw, and they try to let some of it go as they exhale. It feels like exhaust burning through their lungs. Somehow, Tubbo’s eyes still flickering around their face, waiting for an answer, helps to ground them as they sit up.

Shakily, they lift the hand that isn’t holding onto a shard of Sister Rose’s guitar so hard it hurts, and they sign, “I’ll go.”

“…Are you sure?” Tubbo asks, and the heat beneath Ranboo’s skin gets warmer the longer Tubbo stares at them. “I’m not trying to force you, or anything. I- I get it if you’d like to rest.”

Ranboo shrugs, pulls up their mask and stands, shoving the broken piece of guitar back into their pocket as they sign, “I’m fine.”

Tubbo stares at them with scrunched brows, lips tipped down in a slight frown, like he's trying to figure out some puzzle as he looks at them. Ranboo looks away from him. He finally turns away from them.

“Okay,” he says. “C’mon, then. There’s this little café a friend of mine works at. I was thinkin’ we could grab some late lunch there and then explore a bit.”

Ranboo nods, despite knowing Tubbo isn't looking at them. They follow behind him closely as he leads them out of the train car, eventually falling into step by his side as he leads them to the town.

“I don't really know what you like to do for fun, but, uh, there’s this little bookstore near Q’s café that’s really neat. I don't really read, but… I dunno, you kinda seem like the type,” Tubbo says as the field turns into a cobblestone path, shrugging a bit. His eyes flick up to Ranboo’s face, almost as if he’s looking for something, but Ranboo is quick to shove down the excitement at being able to go into a bookstore. They haven't been in one since the incident with Sister Bernice years ago, back before they knew that their curiosity would get them killed. In fact, they haven't read anything but the bible and children’s fairytales in years.

The more they think about it, the harder it is to shove the burst of excitement down. Still, they try. They know they're not doing a good enough job when they glance down at Tubbo and see the way he's smiling, like he’s proud he guessed right.

You know better than this, the darkness breathes, curling thick like smog through their mind, and it sounds like Sister Bernice. What would the Lord say, seeing you like this? Excited over what, disobeying everything we’ve taught you? Sister Rose gave her life for Him.

I don't believe in Him anymore, Ranboo shoots back, but they find their tail stalling in its wide, sweeping movements. The spark of feeling in their chest dies quickly alongside it.

You believed in her, the darkness bites back, and Ranboo’s feet stutter below them.

Tubbo asks something, but Ranboo doesn't hear it as they bump into someone walking by.

“Watch it,” the person bites, but they're gone before Ranboo can think. 

Tubbo is quick to be by their side, his eyes flickering over Ranboo’s face before falling away as he looks in the direction of where the man was going. His hands hover around Ranboo’s arm as he whispers, “Fuckin’ dick,” under his breath. When he looks up at Ranboo again, his eyes are full of concern. “Are you okay?”

Ranboo takes a moment to process what just happened. They blink slowly, tail coiling tightly around their leg, and it takes a moment but they nod.

“I’m fine,” they sign, hands low, like they're trying to hide the fact they're not actually talking.

“…Okay,” Tubbo says, but he’s slow to pull his warm gaze away, and instead of dropping his hand from Ranboo’s arm, he loops his elbow with theirs and pulls them along slowly. “The café’s over here. It’s quiet. Peaceful. I think you’ll like it.”

Ranboo doesn't respond. They have no reason to. But they pay more attention to the environment around them, making sure to stay well away from the other people walking through the street. A majority of the buildings are tall, made of stone and wood, and mushrooms and vines grow along the walls of a majority of the buildings. When Tubbo pulls them into a shop, it’s one with a sign that reads Kinoko Café, and Ranboo realizes that Tubbo wasn't lying when he said it was peaceful.

The lights are dim, but Ranboo’s eyes adjust quickly. The walls are painted a dark blue color, string-lights in the shape of stars lining the tops of each wall, and the smell of coffee and baked goods fills the air with a rich aroma that has Ranboo’s mouth watering. Paintings line the walls, depictions of other buildings, sunsets, and vegetation that are beautiful, and, standing at the counter is a man with a crooked grin and a scar splitting through his left eyebrow.

“Tubbo!” he exclaims, immediately walking out from behind the counter with his arms held out wide.

“Big Q!” Tubbo exclaims, just as excited as he pulls his arm away from Ranboo’s in favor of running into the man’s arms. 

“I didn't know you guys were in town!” the man— Big… Q?— says, hand thumping against Tubbo’s back once before he pulls away. “How’s it goin’, man?”

“Oh, you know,” Tubbo shrugs. “Same old, same old. We start shows tomorrow, just got through dress rehearsal. You and Karl should come by!”

“You know we will,” the man says, and he sounds sincere about it. 

Ranboo stands awkwardly in the doorway, watching the interaction silently until Tubbo pulls away from “Big Q” and gestures them forward.

“Quackity, meet Ranboo,” he facilitates easily. “They’re, uh… staying with the circus for a while. I’m just showing them around, thought to bring them here. You guys make some of the best pastries out of anywhere I’ve ever been, so.”

“Awh, thanks, Big T, that means a lot,” Quackity says, bringing a hand up to his chest as if pressing the compliment to his heart. He reaches out with his other hand for Ranboo to shake, dragging his gaze up to Ranboo with a dull, tingling sensation as they land just below Ranboo’s eyes. “It’s nice to meet you, Ranboo! Hope this one’s not givin’ ya too much trouble.”

Ranboo looks at Tubbo, who just rolls his eyes and slugs Quackity in the arm.

“I am a joy,” he states.

“Yeah, yeah,” Quackity breathes, dropping Ranboo’s hand. “I’ll send Karl over to you guys. Sit literally anywhere. We’re not that full today.”

“Awesome. Thanks, bossman.”

Quackity smiles before turning around to go back to the counter. It’s only then that Ranboo realizes the man has wings. They’re a bit smaller than Tommy’s and gold in color, folded up against his back tightly. It reminds Ranboo of how the kids at the orphanage hold their wings— tucked up tight in an attempt to hide them.

They drag their eyes away as Tubbo starts leading them to a table in the corner. They're only a few feet away when one of the other customers backs their chair up into them, and Ranboo is quick to freeze, mouth opening to apologize but snapping shut when no words come out.

“Woah, sorry, man,” the man says, and his voice sounds scarily familiar as he crouches down to pick up something. “Didn’t mean to run over you. Uh, I think you dropped someth- Wait. Where did you-?” he picks it up, and Ranboo’s eyes widen when they realize what it is, who it is they're talking to, because when the man holds the broken piece of guitar up, a rose burned perfectly into it, his eyes are confused and then shocked, and the skin where his eyes fall on Ranboo’s face hurts in the way it only does when he looks at them.

“R-Ranboo?” Rickie asks, incredulous. 

Instinctually, Ranboo takes a step back, their breath getting caught in their throat as they struggle to steel their expression into something that doesn't give away the primal fear racing through them.

“Holy shit, it is you!” Rickie exclaims. “I- Wow. How- How’ve you been? Finally age out of the orphanage?”

Ranboo doesn't respond. They do hold their hand out, though, hopelessly expectant. They’re shocked when Rickie actually hands the wooden piece back. He takes his time examining it, though, and when he finally hands it back, it’s with more questions.

“That’s a piece of Sister Rose’s guitar, isn't it? How’d you get it? Did- Did Sister Bernice break it? Did you?” he asks. Ranboo shoves it back into their pocket without a word, though they have to hold back a flinch. How dare he assume I did it.

You did though, didn’t you? It was your fault you didn’t listen you never listen-

Rickie sighs. “Still don’t talk?”

Mute silent fly on the wall no one would miss you if you-

“Uh,” Tubbo finally, gracefully, speaks up. “Hi?”

“Oh, sorry,” Rickie finally drags his prickly gaze off of Ranboo to look at Tubbo. “Ran’s just… an old friend. Are you…? Wait. Did you actually manage to get adopted?”

When Rickie looks at Ranboo again, he looks almost… excited. Proud, even. Ranboo pins their ears back and shakes their head.

“Oh.” The look falls off Rickie’s face quickly. “Well. I was about to leave, but… I- I actually would like to talk for a second, if that's okay.”

Tubbo looks at Ranboo. The warmth that blooms under their skin is not enough to calm them down, but Ranboo doesn't have a choice here. Not with the way their mind is spinning— he set this up can't trust it, can't trust him why would you come out here you know the rules, the consequences-

Ranboo swallows nervously but stands up taller, bowing their head like they were taught, tail carefully still behind them. Something about it makes Rickie’s face fall.

“Look, Ranboo, I'm… I'm really sorry about how I treated you,” Rickie starts. He's fidgeting with his hands, his thick, scaly tail sweeping the floor anxiously as he… apologizes. “I won't bore you with any excuses, I swear, I just- I was really jealous of you, you know? And Cleo-” Ranboo struggles not to flinch- “was so awful, but… I mean, you know, she ran the place. I felt like I had to appease her and it wasn't- She scared me more than Sister Bernice, truthfully. But… yeah. I'm just- I’m really sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me or anything, I… wouldn't, if I were you.” He laughs, but it isn't happy. His jabbing gaze flickers around Ranboo’s face, but they give him as close to nothing as they can, despite how fast their heart is beating— despite how far away they feel.

Ranboo keeps their eyes on the ground. Rickie’s and Tubbo’s eyes feel dull, now. But the world is starting to spin, and they think they might be stuck in freefall, because this can't be real. Rickie wouldn't ever apologize. Rickie wouldn't- How is he even here? Why is Ranboo here? Should've- Should’ve followed in her footsteps, blood on your hands dripping down onto tile onto the rooftop the ground is so alluring from up here isn't it Ranboo-

“…You know, I heard about Sister Rose,” he says after a long, awkward moment, and Ranboo grits their teeth, doesn't want to relive that moment again, but they always do when someone brings this up. “She always seemed to struggle a little. Before you came along, I mean. You actually helped her, I think. She, uh… She was good. Like you were good. It… made sense, you know? Anyway. I’ve just… been thinking about you, ever since. How you’d cope, I mean. I know how much you leaned on her, so I know it’s probably been pretty hard. They, uh… They wouldn’t let me come to the funeral, can you believe that?”

Ranboo almost scoffs, mocking distantly, Can you believe that, no really I can’t why the f u c k would they ever let you back in after everything you did- Like you k n e w her, you have no right to talk about her, talk about me, how hard it was for me, like she didn’t die in my a r m s like I could have-

They flinch when Rickie reaches out to them, lifting their arms like they used to when they were little, futilely protecting them from the blow they’re about to take when… nothing happens. Tubbo’s eyes are hot where they flicker all around Ranboo, and it’s obvious he’s trying to help when he steps between Ranboo and Rickie.

“Look, bossman,” Tubbo says, voice pointed as Ranboo drops their arms. “I think it’s best if you go.”

Rickie doesn’t respond for a moment. His eyes drop away from Ranboo before returning, prickling beneath their skin like their veins are being frozen, and the only other people whose eyes feel like that are Cleo and Sister Bernice.

“I- Okay,” Rickie sighs, finally. “Yeah, I get it. Uh. I just wanted to let you know that I’m sorry and that I- I know-”

What, you know what? Ranboo thinks, poorly restrained anger surging through them as their mind goes haywire. That I could have saved her? That things could have been d i f f e r e n t?

“Ranboo-” Tubbo’s voice cuts out as the roaring static screams don’t trust him don’t trust anyone, and Ranboo is gone before anyone can finish their sentence.

Chapter Text

Lesson 7: You do not belong to yourself and neither did she

————

The world is deathly silent when Ranboo stops running. Silent like it was at Sister Rose’s funeral. Silent like it was when Ranboo sat kneeled at her grave for hours. That is to say that their mind is gone somewhere above them, and all the sounds of the bustling city behind them are muffled, and the dock they’ve found themself on stretches far out into the water, where inky blue depths call to them like the winds call to them atop rooftops.

The sun is close to setting, now. It’s been hours since Ranboo’s seen Tubbo, hours since they started running, dodging through the crowds of people walking the streets of the town, ducking into alleyways and trying way too hard not to scream when their knees gave out from the pulsing, terrible pain coursing through them, right in front of a church. It all felt like a cruel joke, a reminder that Ranboo doesn’t get to be comfortable, doesn’t get to break the rules, sit down shut up know your place, be normal be human happiness has never been a reward, you’re so selfish for leaving, for thinking you could escape Him, aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Drista’s spawn the water’s nice don’t you love how it burns-

Ranboo curls their hands into fists and sucks in a breath sharp enough to hurt. The wood beneath their feet is dark. The sun is still relatively bright, the inkiness of night tinging the edges of light blue as it sinks down lower, and the wind pushes Ranboo forward, farther along the dock, right up to the edge. When they look down, their broken, ugly reflection stares back at them. Their left horn is jagged and sharp, their face gaunt and hollow, and their eyes don’t seem to glow anymore, haven’t in a long time. They don’t know when they stopped, probably around the same time the darkness in their chest started to take over, probably after they took that first jump, probably when they heard that loud thud too late at night while they were still cleaning, red blood pooling on white tile and- no. No no no they are not thinking about that right now- but you are you need to haven't let yourself- SHUT UP!

Ranboo hasn't let themself think about this for a reason. They're fine. It doesn't bother them anymore, Rickie didn't know what he was talking about, doesn't know anything, but- but how you’d cope she meant a lot to you I'm sorry-

Ranboo tears their eyes away from their reflection, looking instead at the slowly setting sun. The horizon is starting to turn gold, the water turning orange and red, and Ranboo tears their eyes away from that, too, because that color is too similar to what’s forever stained on their hands, crusted under their claws, and they suck in a breath but it gets caught in that aching hole in their chest, and they can't help the way tears start to sting at their eyes, because they're watching the sunset and she isn't here.

The weight of her necklace sits heavy on their chest as it rises and falls in uneven breaths. The world is blurry, now. This far out on the docks, the only sounds are the whispers of the wind on the water and the faint shuffling sounds of the city winding down. 

Ranboo has heard things about grief before, that sometimes it waits to hit until space has opened up for you to feel it. That it hits you hard and fast and sudden. And maybe that's what’s happening now, months later, hours after someone reopened the wound. They just… they don't get it.

This is stupid, they can't help but think, frustration building beneath their skin, and their claws dig harder into their palms. I've been fine I've been coping fine its not anything I'm not used to I should be fine-

But you're not, that stupid, tiny voice that sounds like them whispers, and reality doesn't seem to actually exist anymore as Ranboo chokes back a sob. You haven't been coping. You haven't been even close to fine in a long time. You've just gone numb in order to survive.

Ranboo’s knees feel weak. It's completely involuntary when they sink to the ground, knees folding clumsily underneath them.

You don't have to be numb anymore. You’re free.

“I’m not,” they gasp, ragged and torn at the edges. The wind pushes against them, carrying their words and their poorly choked down cries away. 

Ranboo sniffs hard. Their chest jumps with the action, and they feel as though they're caving in on themself. They don't know when it changes, but the voice in their head doesn't sound like them, anymore.

You are.

It sounds like Sister Rose.

Let go, Ranboo.

And so they do.

***

The day had been like any other. Wake up before the sun, help the youngest get ready, morning prayer, breakfast, chores, afternoon prayer, lunch, classes, freetime, evening prayer, dinner, chores, worship, bedtime. Ranboo had done something to piss off Sister Bernice— not difficult to do. Their existence seemed to upset her. Maybe they hadn’t spoken to her, maybe they were too spacey, maybe they’d fumbled a chore or simply breathed too loudly. It didn’t matter. The other kids had gone to bed, and Ranboo was still up, forced to wash the floors with nothing but a rag until it was sparkling clean. It didn’t matter if it took all night— that was their punishment.

It was well past midnight when it happened.

Ranboo had finished the floors of the bathrooms, kitchen, dining room, and living space— in that order. They just had the entry space left. They were on their way there when they heard it. The thud. 

The orphanage was known to make odd sounds. Low groans, creaks, cracks. These were normal, sounds Ranboo came to know like the back of their hand. It was like the building was constantly on the verge of collapse, exhaling its woes as if the darkness hiding in its walls would magically vanish, as if the darkness was not the only thing that kept it standing. 

The thud Ranboo heard was not a normal sound.

It did not come from upstairs like they would think a sound like that would come from. It didn’t come from a child falling out of bed or tripping over tangled sheets trying to find someone who would comfort them. It didn’t come from a footstep that was too hard or even something falling over. It came from a room behind them, reverberating through the wooden walls and tiled floor of the bathroom, too loud to ignore.

Ranboo could have kept walking.

They thought they had imagined it. Maybe they were hearing things, hallucinating. They hadn’t slept in a few days, after all. But something inside of them was curious, and that’s always been their downfall. So they turned back. They walked to the bathroom. No one had been in there hours ago, when they started. Obviously, that had changed.

Bleakly, they had thought, Maybe Sister Bernice finally keeled over, before shoving the thought out with a flick of their ear, teeth gritting because that isn’t kind, isn’t something they should think about the woman who’s helped raise them.

The thought— the guilt was quickly forgotten when they stepped in something leaking out from beneath the door. They looked down and realized dimly that what they were stepping in was blood.

They opened the door, and what laid before them was a scene straight out of a tragedy.

Sister Rose laid on the ground, her beautiful white robes turning red as her blood seeped through, a bloodied knife in her hand, and that thud Ranboo had heard had been… her. Falling. Collapsing under the weight of whatever was in her head that was dark enough to make her… do that.

The paramedics didn’t get there in time.

As it seemed, neither did Ranboo.

***

It’s another hour before anyone finds Ranboo. They’ve curled up at the edge of the dock, had fell to their side a while ago when the force of their sobs knocked them down. They’ve curled into the fetal position, tail wrapped tight around their knees, fingers curled too-tight in their hair as they hide their face in their arms, fresh, open cuts stinging as the cold evening air hits them. At some point the thought crossed their mind that maybe they’d die there, slip off the edge into the water, dissolve and take their grief with them. Maybe they’d see Sister Rose in Heaven, but who are they kidding— they’re not going to Heaven. 

Obviously, they didn’t give in to that thought. Not because they don’t want to, but because they’re sobbing so hard they physically cannot move. And, wow, how pathetic is that?

It’s Tubbo who finds them.

Ranboo can feel his eyes on them. Warmth blooms against their back, and the wood creaks as Tubbo walks on it. They try to silence themself, try to hold back the sob building in their chest, but it bursts out loud and gutteral when Tubbo can’t keep his stupid mouth shut, “Oh, Ranboo,” falling out quiet and concerned, and Ranboo doesn’t think before words tumble choked and incomprehensible from their mouth, “I-It sh-sh-should ha-ave been mm-me.”

Tubbo walks up behind them, slow and careful and obvious, and when he crouches down behind Ranboo, he’s hesitant. They can feel his hand hovering over them. They don’t bother to push themself away— can’t, even if they wanted to, which they do. 

No you don’t, something small and knowing breathes, sounds like the moon and the stars, like Mama, like Sister Rose when it continues, you know who he is he’s safe let him help pull you out.

I don’t want help, they want to say, but instead they cry harder. The edges of their sob is tinged with static, and they curl their hands tighter into their hair as they scream loud enough to hurt, and the hole in their chest feels as though it’s going to rip them in half.

“Ranboo…” Tubbo trails off, and it’s obvious he doesn’t know what to do. He still hasn’t touched them, he’s just… hovering. There but not. So close yet so far away, and Ranboo wants to yell at him to leave, wants to push him away and scream that it’s his fault this is happening, you drug me out made me think it was safe I haven’t learned a thing, wants to hurl themself out into Crater Lake and drown, because maybe that would be better than feeling all of this. The anger, the guilt, the all-consuming sadness that pulses through them like blood, like her blood, coating their hands no matter how hard they press them against her abdomen, slick and hot and red and they couldn’t hold her together couldn’t help CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT CAN’T EVEN K I L L Y O U R S E L F SHOULD’VE BEEN ME-

They gasp, and it stutters all the way through them, has their chest jumping erratically, back pushing against Tubbo, and everything cold and dark swirling inside of them squirms away from the warmth he radiates. When they don’t immediately pull away from him, that seems to be all he needs to justify placing a hand on Ranboo’s bicep, fingers brushing gentle and soft yet firm as he sits down behind them.

Ranboo’s eyes have been shut tight for a while, now. If they pretend long enough maybe Tubbo will morph into her, and it’ll be like that time up on the roof, when she’d pulled them down and wrapped her arms around them and promised she’d stay. But her eyes felt nothing like his, her touch not even close, and it’s infuriating because he isn’t her and all Ranboo can think about is everything they had with her, everything they’ll never have again.

Tubbo’s hand trails to their back, between their shoulders, trailing sunlight over their tensed muscles, and Ranboo sobs again but feels themself unwinding, just a little. It’s enough to encourage his other hand to join, and he presses both firmly against their back, fingers tracing the curve of their shoulders and venturing into their hair briefly, and Ranboo keens long and low in the back of their throat as they push back into it.

They stay like that for a while. Long enough that the tears burning scars down Ranboo’s face have begun to slow, that their guttural scream-sobs have turned into hiccuping whimpers, that their fingers have gone slack in their hair and the anger swirling like ice shards through their veins has turned to nothing but a deep-seeded ache of pain. 

Tubbo’s hand trails into Ranboo’s hair, higher, this time, and it’s pathetic and sad but that’s all Ranboo is right now, so they don’t entirely care how it comes across when they twist into it, chasing after all the warmth they can get because, right now, they feel colder than they have in years. Somehow, they end up in Tubbo’s arms, wrapped up in a warm, strong hold, hiding their face in the crook of his neck as he knocks their heads together and whispers, “I’m here.” Those words are enough to spur another round of crying. Softer, still just as ugly. But Tubbo just holds them and curls those sunlight fingers into their hair, one hand tracing down their back, and Ranboo somehow just knows he means it. 

Eventually, Tubbo murmurs, “Do you wanna talk about it?” It doesn’t come off like a demand, just a simple offer. A strong, calloused hand offered out to them, step away from the edge, Ranboo, and they don’t want his help, but they need it, and they think they’re starting to realize that, now.

The knot in their vocal cords loosens enough for them to whisper, “I miss her.” It’s all they can get out before they’re choked up again, tears burning hot and painful in their eyes, searing down their cheeks, and Tubbo just hums quietly, continuing the soothing motions of scratching through their hair and tracing down their back.

When it’s clear they’re not going to say anything else, Tubbo lets out a heavy sigh and breathes, “I think we should head back.”

Ranboo sniffs and nods, but they make no move to uncurl from Tubbo’s arms. It takes a few minutes before they gain control over their limbs enough to lift their head from his neck, pushing back enough to wipe their eyes, but the shaking breath they exhale warns of more tears to come.

“It’s okay,” Tubbo says, ever patient. “I’ll help you.”

And he does. All the way back to the train, his arm stays looped around their waist, keeping them up even as their knees threaten to give out, even as the sobbing kicks back up in their chest, even as they stumble and nearly fall every few steps. When they finally make it back, Tommy and Phil and Techno are waiting outside, concern evident on their faces and questions just waiting to be asked, but Tubbo doesn’t stop, just leads Ranboo past them and into the train, into their room.

It’s careful, how Tubbo drops them into bed. It’s careful how he brushes the now-silent tears from their eyes, their hair out of their face, and it’s careful how he pulls his hand away, like he isn’t sure if he should or not.

Before he can fully pull away, Ranboo throws a hand out and catches his wrist. They must look pitiful, they know, but he’s warm and they’re cold, and they don’t think they could handle him leaving, too.

It’s almost as if Tubbo knows that when he settles back down next to them. It’s easy, when he wraps Ranboo up in his arms— like he’s been doing it for years. Ranboo doesn’t have the energy to think about it, just lets his warmth consume them as everything they’ve ever had to grieve comes crawling out of the ache in their chest.

When they finally fall asleep, it’s in a tangle of limbs and a selfish prayer that he won’t let go.

It’s early the next morning when Ranboo wakes. It’s slow. There’s crust in their eyes, the skin around them puffy. A headache has formed behind them, and their throat feels scratchy. They swallow once, hoping it will help. It doesn’t.

There’s warmth wrapped around them. A kind they’ve never felt before— a kind they can only attribute to Tubbo. It’s in this moment, lifting their head careful from his chest and looking at his peaceful, sleeping face, that they realize what had happened last night. A mixture of emotions flow through them. Embarrassment that they had cried like that in front of someone they hardly know, shame that they fell apart like that, that they needed help, that they kept Tubbo here all night. But there’s also a lighter feeling settling itself in their chest, like a part of the darkness they’d been holding onto has gone, pushed out of them with the force of their cries, released into the air and carried away with the wind with every guttural scream-sob.

There’s a guilt, there, still. It feels stronger, like in the space that was left behind it’s decided to grow bigger. Guilt for feeling lighter, for feeling even infinitesimally better. Guilt for not being able to save her. Guilt that it wasn’t them that the darkness had killed. 

They look at their hands and can still feel the blood. 

They look at their hands, and they don’t feel as though those are the hands that killed her.

The guilt inside of them grows.

***

It’s a few days later when Ranboo finally finds the strength to leave their bed.

The guilt inside of them has gnawed a hole through their chest, they're sure of it. Each breath stutters and shakes, rattling the dark, curling tendrils of darkness inside of them. It’s almost unbearable. 

For days, they have been suffocating in their grief, as if their breakdown had finally opened up the room inside of them to properly feel again. If they're honest, it sucks. The longing stuck inside of them hurts worse than anything— including the way their nerves seemed to fray and break after overexerting themself a week ago. All they've felt is pathetic and sad, and coldness clings to them like ice in winter. No matter what they do, it just seems to stick; it only seems to thaw when Tubbo’s around.

He's been spending the nights with Ranboo, recently. Maybe they're selfish for letting him, maybe it's that longing in their chest that keeps convincing them it’s okay, but they know they should tell him to stop, that they don't need to be looked after, that they're fine.

That's the issue, though. Because they're not. They aren't fine. They're stuck in a hole they can't seem to get themself out of, and Sister Rose is the only person who ever could. 

That nagging voice in the back of their head whispers that they know that's not entirely true.

It’s almost as soon as they're done thinking that, that the door creaks open. Ranboo has been laying with their back to the door, hands pressing the broken piece of Sister Rose’s guitar to their chest, eyes staring unfocused at the wall in front of them for hours now, but they feel the eyes landing on their back. They feel intense but kind, just to the warm side of cool, heavy like a friendly hand on the shoulder— it’s Technoblade.

“Ranboo,” the man says, voice rumbly and full. His eyes trail over their arm, which is littered with fresh cuts, before dragging over to their head. Ranboo pins their ear even flatter to the side of their head, curling tighter into themself.

Technoblade sighs, but does not leave. The door shuts with a click behind him, and his footsteps are heavy as he walks over.

“You can't hide forever,” he says. “Can’t lie here and waste away. Life keeps goin’, man. You gotta get with the program.”

Ranboo frowns. What if I don't want to?

As if Techno can read their mind, he huffs, “Or you could die tryin’ to fight it.”

The bed dips where he sits beside them. He doesn't touch them, but his presence is there. Somehow, it's exactly what Ranboo needs.

“You know,” Techno drawls after a beat of silence. “I got all the ingredients for these reaaally good no-bake cookies an hour or two ago. I could use some help in the kitchen.”

Ranboo’s brows furrow. They don't do anything more than glance back at him, but they know he caught it because he keeps going.

“They’re chocolate peanut butter. I don't know if you've ever had ‘em, but they're pretty damn good. Not super sugary, either, so they don't feel like they're rottin’ your teeth out. Easy to make, I just like an extra set’a hands. Besides, you're pretty good at helpin’ me. Wayyy less annoyin’ than Tommy.” He pushes himself up, turning and sticking a hand out to Ranboo with a raised brow. “Whadd’ya say you help a guy out?”

Ranboo stares at his hand blankly. Their entire body hurts from lying here so long, the cuts lining their arms sting from the air hitting them, and the hole in their chest aches so bad they wish it’d just swallow them up. But somehow they know Techno won’t leave until they agree, and Tubbo’s been trying to get them to eat but they haven't been, so cookies actually sound kind of good— and that definitely has nothing to do with the fact they're being offered some when Ranboo hasn't been allowed any in years.

It doesn’t take very long before they give in and take his hand.

Techno pulls them up easily. His hand is warm, his palm calloused, and Ranboo holds on a little too long before letting go. They sway on their feet slightly, but they steady themself, staring intensely at the floor as they drop their hand to their side.

“Alright,” Techno says after a moment, turning away from them. The feeling of his eyes dropping away makes something complicated swirl through Ranboo’s chest— enough for them to absentmindedly place a hand over it, as if trying to hold an open wound closed. 

Techno leads them through the short distance it takes to get to the next train car. When he opens the door, the fresh air hits Ranboo like a high. They stand outside for a few moments too long, looking out past the tent, off in the direction Tubbo had brought them back from a few nights ago. They cringe just thinking about it, and the lump that so often has their vocal cords knotted up isn’t there as they mutter, “You’re so stupid,” to themself.

“What was that?” Techno asks, turning to look at Ranboo from where he’s holding the other door open.

Ranboo jumps slightly, having forgotten he was there. They just pin their ears and look down, walking quickly past Techno, finding themself in the kitchen.

“Ooookay,” Techno muses, stepping in behind them. The door creaks closed. Technoblade takes his place behind the island, where different bowls and ingredients are spread out. He grabs two small jars and turns around to face the stove, where a pot is sitting on the top. “Can you grab the milk and butter from the fridge, please, Ranboo?”

Ranboo does as told, but their limbs feel heavy and slow, and it takes longer than they’d like to admit before they register where said items are before they pull them out. They place the butter and milk on the counter carefully, earning a steady “Thank you” in return.

Techno works silently for a while. Ranboo’s given up on trying to stand at attention, has relaxed enough to lean up against the counter. Somewhere along the way they started fixating on the way Techno stirred the ingredients together, the circular motions soothing enough to shut the thoughts in their head down completely.

Techno’s voice startles them out of their daze when he apologizes, “Sorry there’s not much for you to be doin’. It’s really just stirrin’ until it’s ready to be put on the bakin’ sheet. I’ll let you do that, though, if you want.” While he talks, his eyes find their way to Ranboo’s face, sending a gentle warmth beneath their skin. Ranboo drags their gaze from his hands to Techno’s face, but they freeze when they make eye contact, registering what he had said.

If you want, of course you do you’re selfish wanna do everything yourself how could you let him think you deserve choices what would Sister B-

“Just wash your hands, first,” Techno rumbles, pulling his eyes away again and focusing back on stirring the ingredients together.

Her blood on your hands he sees it too wash it off WASH IT OFF but you can’t wash away the guilt it’ll be there forever crusted under your nails a hole in your chest it’ll never go away it’ll never get better-

Ranboo grits their teeth and straightens up, walking robotically over to the sink. It used to hurt to wash their hands, back before they were stained permanently with blood, before washing their hands turned into a desperate attempt to fix it, before they gave up and started using the water as a punishment, instead. It’s almost instinctual, how they keep their hands beneath the water even after all the soap has been washed off. The familiar burn shuts their thoughts up, satisfies some of the guilt eating away at them with the assurance that they haven’t forgotten, satisfies that what would Sister Bernice do to you if she knew with a prompt I’m already on it. They only pull their hands out when they register Techno’s eyes on them, realizes it’s too late when they hear the sizzling, knows they have to do damage control when they turn around and raise their hands and… oh. 

Technoblade is staring at them carefully, concern obvious in the way his eyes flicker from Ranboo’s ashy grey hands to their face. Something about the way he’s looking at them— maybe it’s something about the way his eyes feel, comfortingly heavy, like a hand on their shoulder, like a weighted blanket, like he’s safe— has everything Ranboo’s been feeling these past few days crashing through them. They feel everything all at once as the numbness that’s crept over them crumbles, and it feels like their chest is caving in, like their heart is beating so fast it’s trying to push them into themself, like the center of them is a black hole and there’s nothing they can do to escape it. 

“Ranboo,” Techno says, slow and careful, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. He shifts to show his hands, free and open, not dangerous, like he’s done this before. “Breathe, kid. It’s gonna be okay.”

Their breath stutters in a way it hasn’t in a while. They open their mouth to say something, anything, fix it fix it fix it, but nothing comes out. They stare at their hands, raw with fresh burns, covered in blood, and it feels like they’re there again, Sister Bernice standing over them, God towering above her, both of them looking down at them as if they’re something sinful, a murderer, and they’re not. They're not they're not they're not I’m not I’m not I’M NOT-

You did this to her, and it’s Sister Bernice’s cold glare, the dismissive way she talked to them unless she needed to get her anger out.

You did this to her, and it’s the way all the kids looked at them after, like it was their fault she didn’t survive. Like they were keeping a secret, like they were an animal-

You did this to her, and it’s themself, sitting in front of her grave whispering that she lied. It’s them sitting on the roof the night after, jumping off just to feel something, teleporting back up because… she would have talked them off the edge if she were still there. 

You did this to her and it’s God. XD with his crossing halos, his wings that promise of more to come, hands held out like a warning, a gleaming smile with sharp teeth and that’s not God that’s s o m e t h i n g e l s e - 

Ranboo doesn’t know how they end up in Techno’s arms, they just know that their face is pressed into his neck and his arms are wrapped strongly around them, and he’s rumbling low in his chest like thunder, and Ranboo can’t help but match its pitch. It loosens up their vocal chords enough to choke out, “It wasn’t my fault.”

Techno strengthens his hold on them, chuffing low. It’s soothing. Ranboo hesitantly wraps their arms around him, curling their shaking hands into the fabric of his hoodie. Techno lets them, and it's subconscious when Ranboo matches their breathing to his, coming down from their panic attack slowly and yet more smoothly than they ever have before.

It isn’t much longer before Techno is pulling away. “You okay?” he asks, hands firm on Ranboo’s biceps, and Ranboo’s eyes stay cast down as they nod, lifting a hand and signing, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Techno rumbles, firm but not harsh. “It happens. What’s important is that you’re feelin’ better.” He drops his hands from Ranboo’s arms, stepping back. “Are your hands okay?”

Ranboo’s brows furrow, their mind foggy and confused before it dawns on them why they’d just had this whole episode, and they look down, ashamed. They sign quickly, “Yes.”

“You sure?” Techno asks.

Ranboo nods, swallowing nervously. It’s nothing I’m not used to.

“…Okay,” he relents, shrugging. “The, uh, cookie… mix… thing should be cool enough, now, if you wanna help shape ‘em with me.”

Ranboo nods, but stays out of the way as Techno puts a sheet of parchment paper on a long rectangular pan. 

“Bring the bowl over here, Ranboo,” he instructs casually, as if he hadn’t just calmed them down from a panic attack. It makes Ranboo’s head swim, the way he’s not making it a big deal. Still, they do as told, freezing with the bowl in their hands when they turn to find he’s taken off his hoodie. It’s then that they realize they’ve never seen him without long sleeves, and they try to recover quickly, but it’s obvious they’ve failed when Techno glances at them, lips quirked up in a sly smile.

“It’s alright,” he says, like it’s that simple, like the thick, shiny scars tracing up his arms are something that can just be… alright. He shifts around Ranboo to wash his hands before grabbing some of the mix out of the bowl, shaping the cookie into a ball before putting it on the pan. Ranboo tries not to stare, knows how uncomfortable they get when people stare at them, but Techno just smiles like he knows.

“‘M not ashamed of ‘em, you know,” he says, rolling more of the dough into a ball. “It’s a style preference, mainly, coverin’ ‘em up. I just like big, flowy sleeves and hoodies, really.”

Ranboo doesn’t respond. They drag their eyes away from him and begin helping shape the cookies, placing an imperfect ball on the sheet next to the one Techno puts down. 

“Some of ‘em are self-inflicted,” Techno continues, like it’s easy. “Some aren’t. I grew up in an underground fightin’ ring. The whole thing was fight and live or don’t and… you know. Die.”

“…I’m sorry,” Ranboo signs after placing another ball of peanut butter and oats onto the parchment paper. “That sounds really hard.”

“It was,” Techno agrees. “The ring was all I knew when Phil got me out. Kinda thought it was like that everywhere. But I learned better. Started to get better, too. The guilt never left, though.”

Ranboo’s hands still where they’re pressing some of the mixture onto the pan. They realize they’ve almost covered the entire pan when they pull their hand away.

“I guess that’s what I’m gettin’ at,” Techno shrugs, placing a ball next to Ranboo’s. His eyes land on theirs, but it isn’t as shocking as it was earlier. “I don’t know what happened, before you came here. I can’t really say I blame you for not tellin’ us. Especially if you’ve got it in your head that it’ll be the same. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about guilt, about pushin’ any of your feelin’s down, it’s that they’ll only come back harder, and whatever you’re runnin’ from will catch up to you if you don’t do somethin’ about it. Talk to someone. Write it out. You know, whatever. It really does help, Ranboo.”

Ranboo feels like they’re unable to move, jaws locked tight together and hands frozen in fists at their side. It’s as if Techno just reached into their chest and forced that hole to stop swallowing them whole. They furrow their brows, trying hard to say something, do something, but, like always, it doesn’t work. 

Techno pulls his eyes away and grabs the now full tray, moving around Ranboo to put the cookies in the fridge. 

“We’ll wait about twenty minutes and they’ll be done,” he announces easily. “Will you help me clean up?”

They’d been cleaning while working for the most part. The cold-ingredients made their way back into the fridge almost as soon as Techno was done with them. Still, the utensils need to be washed, and the counters could do with a wipe-down, so Ranboo picks the bowl up and walks to the sink.

“Why don’t you wipe the counters, instead, Ranboo?” Techno suggests, walking next to them. They open their mouth as if to argue, but Techno’s eyes are kind and just to the side of warm and he’s all too honest when he continues, “‘M not sayin’ you can’t do it. I’m sure you’re real careful. ‘S my mess, though.”

Ranboo relents without any fight. They know he’s saying it because of their moment earlier. Still, they’re quiet as they clean. It opens up space for that near-silent voice that sounds like them and like Sister Rose to speak up, whispering like the breeze on top of the orphanage’s roof, you’re safe here he’s safe he wants to help tell him, and Ranboo sucks in a slow breath and feels the knot in their throat tighten at the idea of it.

She taught you how to sign for a reason, the voice murmurs, not being able to physically speak isn’t an excuse. Ranboo sighs. They know that it’s right.

They finish cleaning long before Techno does. They hover awkwardly by his side, tail flickering around anxiously as they tap their hands together, a nervous habit they had as a kid that’s seemed to come back now that they’re a little more comfortable. Something about Techno soothes them— at least, enough for them to feel like this is okay.

Techno glances at them briefly, quirking a brow up in question before returning to cleaning the sticky cookie mixture out of the bowl. It doesn’t feel condescending, just curious. For the first time in a long time Ranboo feels like they won’t be judged for what they’re going to say.

“I…” they start, unsure. They cast their eyes away from Techno’s face, staring at the man’s hands, instead. They can feel his eyes on theirs, though, and they know he’s listening. 

“I don’t know… how to start.”

Techno hums. “Wherever you want,” he says. Then, like he knows that’s too broad, “But, typically, you start at the beginnin’.”

Ranboo nods. That makes sense. They rake an anxious hand through their hair, which is longer than it ever has been, buying time to figure out their wording. Finally, they manage, “I… don’t remember when I decided Mama was dead.”

Techno hums again, urging them to continue. Ranboo watches as he rinses the bowl out, having finally gotten it clean, and waits until he’s dried it and puts it away to continue. It’s more daunting, now that there isn’t anything to distract him. It also makes something in their chest flutter with the idea that they’re finally being heard.

Their hands hesitate before moving the next time. “Sister Rose told me she had to. That she didn’t have a choice but to leave me there. And I don’t blame her! Not really. Who… Who would want-” They cut themself off, sighing. Pull it together. “She tried her best from what I can remember,” they decide, instead. “She really did love me. I know that. Sister Rose told me that it just… wasn’t enough. I think that’s what made me start thinking of her as if she’s dead. Hell, she might be. Everyone I’ve ever loved has had a tendency to want to-”

They stop themself again, frustrated. Techno didn’t sign up to hear their self-deprication. He didn’t sign up to hear their internal voices, didn’t ask to know how much they blame themself.

Except he did, that tiny voice whispers, for some reason more present than the other, darker ones. He asked you to talk to someone. He’s listening. He’s here.

“To what, Ranboo?” Techno asks. His voice is steady, just as careful about not pushing too far as it is about not pushing enough.

Ranboo stares at their feet intently. Their heart is racing so hard they’re starting to feel dizzy. Instinctually, they straighten up, going completely still as they focus entirely on not throwing up, learned how to look and act okay through even the worst sickness a long time ago. But you don’t have to anymore. 

After a few more beats of silence, right before Techno takes his eyes, which have been tracking each of their movements, off of them, they sign, “…kill themselves.”

Techno is quiet for a moment. When he doesn’t say anything, he leaves room for Ranboo’s hands to move on their own, before Ranboo can think any better of it.

“I think I’m the problem.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” Techno drawls, almost instantly. Ranboo’s eyes snap to him, shock obvious in the way their eyes widen, but Techno just shrugs. “I don’t know you very well, but you seem like a pretty good kid, Ranboo.”

Ranboo pins their ears back, looking away quickly. They cross their arms, shaking their head. But somewhere inside of them, they know he’s right, they just don’t want to acknowledge it.

Techno seems to get that. He backs down easily, not pushing as he leans back against the counter.

“You mentioned a name, before,” he says instead. “Sister Rose. Who was she?”

Ranboo’s jaws clench harder. They close their eyes, taking in a slow breath as the hole in their chest aches so terribly it feels as though they might cave in again.

She was a saint, they want to say.

She was a sinner, the darker thoughts, tainted by Sister Bernice and the Church, whisper.

She was my savior.

Slowly, they uncross their arms.

“…She was…” they hesitate. The ache inside of them lessens a bit, though, as her voice swirls through their veins, it’s okay, and they finish it with shaky hands, “Family.”

Techno hums. Ranboo feels his gaze travel all around them, taking in how tense they’re standing, how shaky they’ve gotten. They prepare to be told off for it, pull yourself together you look pathetic, but it doesn’t come. Instead, it’s an offer, “Come sit at the table with me.”

So they do.

It’s quiet for a long time. Techno has taken to tapping out a gentle rhythm on the table. Ranboo watches, finds themself calming down the longer he stays by their side.

Finally, they raise their hands and sign, “I feel guilty that I couldn’t save her.”

Techno pauses his rhythm. Ranboo continues when the man turns to face it, feels a little conflicted at being given such undivided attention.

“I feel guilty that I’m starting to think it’s not my fault. I feel guilty for leaving. I feel guilty for being happy I left. It’s just- I feel so stupid. Like- Like I shouldn’t be here.”

They look down with a wince. They don’t understand why they’re afraid of his reaction. They don’t know why they’re choosing to admit all of this. Still, their heart is pounding in their chest and the hole between their ribs is still aching, and they don’t know if they feel better or even worse.

“You know,” Techno drawls evenly. “I felt the same way when I was in your position.”

Ranboo furrows their brows, lifts their hands and asks incredulously, “You did?”

“Sure.” Techno shrugs. “It wasn’t just me in the ring, you know. There were kids my age. Younger. Older. Most died before they got half my age. Some… died by my hand.” He sighs. It’s heavy. For the first time since Ranboo’s met him, he looks exhausted. “I still carry the guilt of leavin’ ‘em. Of killin’ so many. But I also came to realize that I was doing what I had to to survive. Even if it was immoral. Even if I can’t ever take it back. It took me a really, really long time, Ranboo,” he lifts his gaze to meet Ranboo’s, and there’s a fierceness there, like he’s trying to press the message of all this into their head and keep it there, “but I had to realize that I was a kid, too.”

Ranboo doesn’t respond. They don’t know what to say to that, and the man’s gaze is intense, sticking them in place so hard they couldn’t move even if they wanted to. When he sighs, he shakes his head and presses fingers against his temple, a weary smile worming its way onto his face.

“I know you prob’ly don’t want to,” he guesses. “I know it’s hard. I know it doesn’t feel like it. But nothin’ that’s ever happened to you is inherently your fault. You’re just a kid, Ranboo. No kid deserves to grow up with as much responsibility as you did.”

Ranboo… feels stunned. Their chest hurts. They swallow thickly, eyes burning. They sniff. Techno smiles softly as he reaches forward, clasping a large, calloused hand over Ranboo’s, and they can’t help but think it’s the perfect kind of hand to help pull them out of the hole they’ve got themself stuck in.

“I don’t say this a lot,” he murmurs, low and rumbly and impossible for Ranboo to ignore. “Let alone to people I hardly know. But I’m real proud of you, Ranboo. Thank you for openin’ up to me.”

And Ranboo knows he means it.

“Let’s have some cookies, now, shall we?”

And Ranboo can’t fight back the way their lips pull back into a smile.