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The thing is. The thing is that Ranboo really doesn’t want to make a nuisance of himself. He’s already burned too many bridges, of late.
He doesn’t know what it is that he’s doing wrong, that he keeps having to watch the shock-hurt-anger sequence of betrayal play out in quick succession on the faces of his friends, but surely he’s doing something. You can’t hurt as many people as he has recently without messing up somehow. And the voice that sounds like Dream hadn’t even had to tell him that one – he’d figured it out on his own. He thinks he’s cursed, sometimes – he has a spectacular capability to forget, whether he wants to or not, but his memory can dig its claws into hurt like nothing else. Most of the things he experiences leave him, moments slipping through the cracks in his mind, but he remembers the betrayed looks on Tubbo and Fundy’s faces with an arresting, sickening clarity. He hurt them. He can’t go back to them, or the sides they’ve chosen.
Which is precisely why he can’t fuck this up. Phil has been so kind to him, kinder than he deserves. He heard Technoblade say once that he believes in absolute reciprocity, and at the time, he wasn’t completely sure what that meant - until Phil had answered his call on the day Ranboo’s world fell apart, voice steady as ever, and asked if he needed a place to stay. Since then, he’s understood - there’s a debt owed there, possibly one he can’t repay. There are far worse people to owe your life to than Philza Minecraft, though, he’s learned. Philza, who is the first person to look at him in weeks without disdain or thinly-veiled mistrust. Philza, who talked Techno into letting him stay.
So, when the headache starts, he doesn’t say anything – doesn’t want to be an inconvenience. He spends the day gathering resources – drags himself out to the guardian farm, even, and manages to get some of his levels back. The pain isn’t any better, but he decides to sleep on it – rest will do him some good, and he’ll be better in the morning. He falls asleep curled up with his rabbit by his side, blankets holding the chill of the arctic at bay.
Morning comes, and he’s not better. When he opens his eyes, he’s freezing cold under his blankets, too cold to chalk it up to the climate of the snow biome alone, and his headache has gotten markedly worse. Shivers rack his body, and his rabbit sniffs at him concernedly. He sits up, groaning audibly at the spike of pain in his head as he does so. “Well. I guess I’m not getting much done today,” he mutters to no one in particular. He grabs his memory book and flips through the pages, reading, ignoring the slight tremors in his hands from the fever chills. Once he’s done, he puts it away, calmed somewhat by the ritual. Even sick, he can’t let himself forget.
He lays back down, pulling the covers over his head. He knows he should probably make himself get up – go get food, or something – but all he wants to do is go back to sleep, so he does.
His sleep is fitful, drifting in and out of bizarre, fevered nightmares. When he finally wakes, the sun is low in the sky, and if it’s possible, he somehow feels even worse than he had that morning. He should really make a healing potion – it’d probably do wonders for his fever. He doesn’t have a brewing stand on him, though. The thought occurs to him – Techno and Phil have brewing stands, and health potions aplenty. But the thought of imposing on them, or accidentally giving either of them whatever illness he’s come down with, makes his heart sink. He thinks of Phil, and of the kindness with which he looks at him. I can’t trust myself, Ranboo thinks. What if I get him sick? What if he decides I've overstayed my welcome?
Some part of him knows he’s not thinking clearly. But the rest of him is ill, and afraid, and just wants something to stay, for once, to be good and to not fall through his fingers as he watches. He drives so much away by accident – his memories, his allies, his friends. If being sick alone in his bed in the arctic is what it takes for him to not fuck things up with Phil and Techno, then he knows he’d do it a thousand times over.
His resolve doesn’t waver until night is beginning to fall. He decides he needs to at least try to get food into his body, even if the thought makes him nauseous right now, but when he stands to go get something from his chests, he suddenly feels so faint that he has to grab onto the bedpost to keep himself from physically falling over. His head is pounding now, each heartbeat a new drum of pain at his temples, and he realizes – okay. Okay. He might need help, after all.
It’ll be fine. He’s sure it’ll be fine. He can just go up to the front door and ask Phil and Techno if he could please borrow a healing potion, promise to replace it later, and then he’ll be on his way, and he’ll be fine. And if the thought of actually forcing himself to ask them for help makes his hands shake a little more than they already were, then – well. That’s just the fever chills.
He leaves his shack with subdued movements. The snow slows his walk, and his boots feel like they’re made of lead. To his credit, he makes it a good third of the way to the cabin before things go terribly wrong.
He hears the low hiss coming from behind him, inhuman and low and horrifyingly familiar. Creeper, he thinks, and then he swears he feels his heart stop as he realizes: I forgot my armor. He stumbles forward in blind panic, desperate to get away. He doesn’t even turn around to look before taking off running, and those precious seconds probably save his life - he manages to scramble far enough away on reflex that the explosion doesn’t kill him, but he’s launched to the side, to his horror, directly into the half-frozen pond. He shrieks at the impact, and feels the shock of cold hit him as he breaks through the ice, moments before the water soaks through his thin layer of clothing and he burns.
The thing is, Ranboo can handle water, in small amounts, or when he’s wearing armor. He kind of has to, living in this land full of humans and demi-humans and all other kinds of folk who need it to survive. Tubbo had laughed when he’d taken to referring to it as his “water allergy”, but it honestly wasn’t far from the truth - his body’s response is really more of an itch than a burn in the kind of quantities he’s usually exposed to. He’s only half enderman, after all.
But the pain that hits him moments after he plunges, armorless, beneath the surface of the frozen pond is excruciating. His body is on fire, and he’s sinking, and he’s screaming futilely into the water. And then he feels something shift, feels the molecules comprising the fabric of the space around him part, and then he’s just - gone.
In the single, blissful moment that he spends suspended in the void, he thanks god and the ender dragon and anyone else that might be listening that endermen can teleport.
When he reappears on the material plane once again, he registers three things. The first thing is that he’s in a dining room, one he recognizes as belonging to Technoblade. The second thing is that Techno and Phil are sat down at the table, food on the plates in front of them. Both of them are staring at his crumpled, soaking wet form in stunned silence, eyes wide in a mixture of shock and abject horror. And the third thing he realizes, swaying on his feet upon materializing, is that he is absolutely going to pass out.
He manages a weak, strangled “oh jeez,” before the black spots swimming in his vision converge, and everything goes dark. His knees buckle, and the last thing he hears before he hits the ground is the scraping of chairs against hardwood floor as both of them jump to their feet, Technoblade shouting something that Ranboo can’t quite make out.
He wakes up slowly. He discovers with an odd, delirious thrill that his senses are returning to him, that he hasn’t respawned. The first feeling to hit him is the warmth – so that’s a start. He’s not dead, and he’s somewhere warm, and there’s something heavy over him. He can’t be at his shack, it’s too cold there. He opens his eyes to a confusing sight.
He’s in a four-poster bed, under a layer of furs and a thick down comforter. He’s not in agonizing pain anymore, so that’s a plus. His head still hurts terribly, though, and he’s still shivering slightly. How did I get here? Is this Technoblade’s house? I don’t remember walking here, Ranboo thinks. Then again, I could’ve walked here and just forgotten it. He goes to push himself up to a sitting position, trying to get his bearings, and hears motion off to his left. He looks over to see Phil, sitting in an armchair with a book in hand. Their eyes meet, and Phil startles upon realizing he’s awake, almost dropping the book.
“Oh! Good morning. Nice to see you awake. Fuckin’ hell, you had us worried there for a minute,” Phil says. “How’re you feeling?”
Of all things, it’s the panic that hits him the moment their eyes meet that brings the memory back to him. It comes flooding back riding on the wave of fear, and he feels his throat constrict. The fever, the snow, the creeper, the water.
“I’m sorry,” Ranboo croaks out when he can force himself to speak.
Phil laughs, and shakes his head. “What for?”
“Bothering you,” he says weakly. I didn’t mean to mess things up again. Phil’s brow furrows in concern.
“Aw, mate, no. You’re not bothering me. I don’t know what gave you that idea, but I’m just glad you’re safe. You gave us quite the fuckin’ fright, yesterday.”
“Sorry,” Ranboo repeats.
“No, I don’t mean – no. You’re okay, I promise. We’re glad to have you.” When Ranboo doesn’t respond, he continues, “I should tell Techno you’re up, hang tight, I’ll be back in a few.” Phil stands, setting his book down on the nightstand, and leaves the room, leaving Ranboo alone with his thoughts.
The moment Phil is gone, panic shoots down Ranboo’s spine at the thought of the Blood God himself. He thinks about absolute reciprocity, and about how he’s shown up, uninvited, to Techno’s home, with nothing to offer in return except inconvenience and a lot of worry. He hears it again, then, in that moment - cold and assured, the voice of reason, wearing the cadence of the smiling green tyrant he knows so well. Dream, in his mind, asks him, “If even you can’t trust yourself, what makes you think Technoblade would trust you? Why would Techno want you here? You know how powerful he is, and you’ve decided to make a nuisance of yourself.” And the certainty hits him like a ton of bricks that he has to go, he has to leave, now, before he makes this worse.
With no small difficulty, Ranboo pushes himself up and drags himself from under the heavy covers, but when he tries to stand, the rush of pain in his head hits him so suddenly that he loses his footing, dark spots dancing in his vision once again. He tries to right himself, flinging an arm out to grab the nightstand, but missteps, and he’s sent tumbling to the wooden floor with a crash. No, no, no, no, no, this can’t be happening. He hears the door open behind him, and looks up.
The man he locks eyes with stands nearly as tall as the doorframe he occupies. His pink hair is wound neatly into a braid that falls over the left pauldron of his armor, and just the glint of his red eyes is enough to make Ranboo think about how breakable his bones are. When he opens his mouth to speak, the pointed tips of tusks are visible jutting out from behind his lower lip.
“Well, this is awkward. I’m gonna be honest, I was comin’ in here to bring you some soup, but you look like you’re very busy, uh, faceplantin’ on the floor right now, so if you need me to like, come back later or anythin’, then that could probably be coordinated.”
Ranboo stares at him, frozen in place. Techno stares back.
“Do you – do you need a hand up?” Techno asks, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He reaches a hand towards Ranboo to help him. At the sudden motion, the enderman hybrid flinches back, hard, and it seems to finally compel him to speak.
“I’m so sorry Technoblade, I can get out, I’ll leave you and Phil be, I know I’m not supposed to be here, I didn’t mean to teleport here, it’s just instinct to teleport somewhere safe, I didn’t mean to bother the both of you and I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow,” he says in a jumble, words strung white-hot with anxiety.
Techno’s brow furrows, and for a moment, Ranboo’s worried he really has decided to kill him for this. “Ranboo. What on earth are you talkin’ about,” he says flatly. He leans on the doorframe with a tilt of his hip, the expression on his face utterly unreadable.
He opens his mouth to try and explain better, but what comes out is a strained, “please don’t hurt me.”
To Ranboo’s surprise, Techno laughs. “Well, that would just be counterproductive. Wouldn’t have wasted my regen and healin’ potions on you if I’d been plannin’ on killin’ you. Plus, I could have done that, like, twenty times by now if I had wanted to, so just logically you could’ve worked out that we’re tryin’ to help you here, but whatever, blame it on the fever or somethin’.”
It’s - well. It’s not comforting, exactly, but it helps him slow his breathing to a normal rate again. Ranboo’s eyes flick down to Techno’s still-outstretched hand, waiting to help him up, and cautiously – cautiously – he accepts it. The porcine man pulls him to his feet immediately, like he weighs nothing, and Ranboo sits back against the bed to steady himself, still lightheaded.
The moment is followed by what feels like a good ten seconds of awkward, uninterrupted silence, before Techno clears his throat, and says, “So, are you going to want this soup, or –“
Ranboo starts, noticing the soup bowl Techno’s had in his left hand this whole time.
“Oh! Uh, yeah, that’d be – that’d be great. I – thank you.” He hesitates for a moment, clears his throat, and then says, “Thank you for all of this. I’d imagine without your help, I’d have died and respawned by now.” The thought makes his stomach turn.
“I mean, probably not,” Techno says. “I don’t know if you’d have kicked whatever it is you’re sick with on your own, because I don’t know the first thing about like, internal medicine, but burn wounds like you had are survivable. You mostly had first-degree burns, and topical application of regen potions takes care of those pretty well, so long as you keep them on hand. But like, if you really wanna swear me a life debt or somethin’ for helpin’ you out, I’m not sayin’ I’m opposed.”
Ranboo stares in surprise, curiosity getting the better of him. “You know, uh, a lot about medicine for someone who’s not a doctor.” When Techno doesn’t reply, he continues, “Wait, you’re not, like, actually a doctor, are you?”
“Naaaah. Just picked up a lot of first-aid from the Hypixel duelin’ circuits. You know how it is,” he says dismissively.
“Oh, for sure,” Ranboo replies, not knowing in the slightest. They lapse into silence. Techno picks at the fur lining of his cloak, rolling up lint between his fingertips and flicking it away. Ranboo swallows. “Just. Thank you. I’ll pay you back for all this,” he says earnestly, pulling himself up so he’s fully sitting on the bed instead of leaning on it.
Techno looks at him oddly, for a moment, and then huffs out a laugh. When he speaks, his voice is strangely softened. “Heh. Don’t mention it. You can, like, fix creeper holes for me or somethin’ if you really wanna make up for it once you’re feelin’ better.” To his surprise, Techno puts the back of his calloused hand to Ranboo’s forehead gently for a moment, feeling for fever, and appears to decide that he’s still unwell, because he continues, “You’re still feelin’ warm, so you should eat your soup and get some more sleep. Just yell if you need anything.” Ranboo nods, and Techno backs out of the room, closing the door behind him. And then he is left alone with his bewilderment and his cooling soup. He takes a sip of it experimentally – it’s potato soup, he discovers, and it’s quite good. He sets the bowl on the nightstand when he’s done.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes again, he can hear voices from the other room. It takes him a moment to make out which one is Techno and which one is Phil.
“…should be worried about him, maybe. I don’t know what the government did to him back in L’Manburg, Phil, but he really seemed to think I was gonna hurt him earlier. Like, maybe he’s just naturally anxious or somethin’, I dunno.”
Ranboo feels a pang of guilt for eavesdropping, but it’s not like he can really go anywhere to be out of earshot without causing a commotion, so he decides to just listen, guilty conscience be damned. There’s a sigh, followed by what Ranboo is pretty sure is Phil’s voice. “Anything helpful from the voices?”
“Nah, they keep sayin’ somethin’ about ‘Dream’s voice’, but I’m gonna be honest, they get baited by a fake Dream, like, every five minutes, so I don’t think that’s actually anythin’. The verification checkmark exists for a reason, chat.” Phil snorts out a laugh in response.
Dream’s voice? What? Ranboo has no idea what to make of that statement - except that somehow, some way, Techno knows about the voice of Dream that he hears sometimes. He supposes he shouldn’t even be surprised – if anyone was going to somehow find out about it, it’d be the Blade. Still – how? He’s never told anyone about that.
“Yeah, they do do that, don’t they. Fuckin’ hell.” The conversation lulls for a moment.
He hears Phil’s voice again. “Do you want to stay with him and keep watch again tonight, mate? I know you were worried about him last night, but you’ve gotta sleep sometime.”
“Ehhh. The kid looked better this morning. The healing pots workin’ through his system should break his fever soon, if they haven’t already, and his burns were mostly gone before he even woke up, thanks to regen, so he’ll be fine. He should probably stay here for at least the rest of the day, though.”
Phil hums in assent. “Alright, then. I’ll go check on him – you had hunting you wanted to do today, right? You can go on ahead, I’ll make sure no one fuckin’ dies or anything while you’re out.”
Techno laughs. “Okay. Catch you later, Phil.”
There are footsteps, and then a few moments later, the door swings open, and Philza steps in. Ranboo doesn’t have time to decide whether or not to pretend he wasn’t listening, and by the time he’s looking at the man face to face, it’s too late to feign not having overheard their conversation.
“Hey! You’re up.” He tilts his head to the side. “Were you listening to all that?”
Ranboo nods, guiltily.
“Right then. So, er – are you alright? Do you need anything?” Phil asks, concern written plainly in the furrow of his brow.
Ranboo hesitates, fear trading blows with his curiosity for a moment, before curiosity wins the fight, and he makes himself ask, unable to keep the tremor from his voice, “How does Techno know about the Dream voice?”
Phil blinks. “The Dream –“ he pauses for a moment, and then his eyes widen. “Wait, you mean Techno wasn’t gettin’ jebaited by the voices for once?”
Ranboo shakes his head. “What – what voices? I just don’t understand how he could know – I mean, I haven’t told anyone about that?”
Phil takes a deep breath, and takes a seat in the armchair across from the bed. “Right, well, you’re gonna have to explain what on earth Dream’s voice has to do with anything, but Techno, uh – Techno hears voices. It’s not the easiest on him sometimes, but it sounds like in this case they were actually trying to tell him something had been up with you.”
Ranboo feels his stomach twist like a vice at the revelation. I’m not the only one. Techno hears voices too. Phil looks at him expectantly. “I, uh.” What do I even have to lose. He already knows. “I hear voices too. Or, just the one, actually, and it sounds like Dream,” he admits.
Phil’s jaw tightens. “Sorry, Dream’s been – what, manipulating you? Messing with your head somehow?” The look in his eyes is barely a shade shy of murderous.
Ranboo’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands out in front of him placatingly as he rushes to clarify, “No! I mean – no, it’s not actually him. It’s – it’s me, I think. Just like, a part of my mind.” Phil seems to relax slightly at that.
“D’you think you’re having intrusive thoughts, then, mate?”
Ranboo frowns, arms crossed and bracketing his body protectively. “I’m not, like, a hundred percent clear on what that is, but maybe? I don’t really know, I guess.”
Phil nods. “It’s something that happens to - ah.” He looks away from Ranboo for a moment, steepling his fingers in his lap. “It’s something that used to happen to Wilbur, a lot. He would get thoughts that he didn’t want that were disturbing or, like, fucked up somehow, and it was hard for him to get them to leave. I’d – I’d offer to help you, if that’s what you’re dealing with, but if I’m being honest, Techno was always better at talking Wilbur down than I ever was.”
Ranboo swallows, reeling a little. “That sounds kind of a lot like it, actually. Like, I told you all I thought I had blown up the community house – that was why. It got into my head, and I couldn’t stop convincing myself I had done it. And I appreciate the offer, but I, um. I just don’t really know if Techno would want to talk to me. I feel like I’ve been doing an awful lot of imposing, and I know he has his whole thing about reciprocity.”
Phil sits back in his chair at that, and he purses his lips for a moment, like he’s not quite sure how to explain something. His words are measured, when he speaks again. “Y’know. He probably wouldn’t like me telling you this, but Techno was in here all last night, mate. Treating your burn wounds and the like. Used a lot of potions ‘n shit. Didn’t really sleep so he could make sure you’d be alright. The only reason I was the one in here when you woke up instead of him was because he was making lunch. I’ve known him for years, Ranboo,” Phil says, with a fond smile, “and he didn’t do any of that because he thought you had something to offer him in return. He did it because you were in danger, and because it was the right thing to do. He - he says things sometimes because they’re a safer way to look at the world when you’ve been hurt a lot. It’s not really my place to talk about why he thinks the way he does. But if you ask, you’re gonna find him to be a kinder man than you might expect given the way he talks.”
“Okay,” Ranboo says after a long time, doing as good of a job as possible of keeping the sudden wateriness out of his voice. Someone can help. I don’t have to keep doing this alone. I didn’t fuck things up.
“I can talk to him about it for you if you want. Or at least mention it,” Phil says gently. Ranboo nods, and chokes back a sniffle, conspicuous despite his best efforts. Phil takes immediate notice, eyes warm with empathy. “Aw, mate. Don’t cry – is it alright if I hug you?” Ranboo nods, staring up at the ceiling beams to keep the tears from running down, but he breaks the moment Phil wraps his arms around him. He buries his face in Phil’s shoulder and sobs quietly, letting the hiccups rack his frame. “It’s okay,” Phil reassures quietly, “You’ll be alright, I promise.”
Ranboo pulls away a few moments later, wincing at the burn of the tears on his face. “Thank you,” he says weakly.
“Of course.” Phil stands back up to his full height, and puts a hand to Ranboo’s forehead for a moment. “Hey, it feels like your fever may have broken,” he says cheerfully. “Are you feeling up to moving around a little bit? You could come hang out in the common area.”
Ranboo considers for a moment. He really is feeling a good deal better. “Yeah. Um, is there – do you have something I could write on, by any chance? I want to write all of this down so I don’t forget.”
“Oh, yeah, sure! Hang on, why don’t you come sit by the fire, I’ll bring you paper and you can write down whatever you need to.” Phil extends a hand to help him up out of bed, and Ranboo takes it gratefully, letting the man pull him to his feet.
He leads him out into a common area lit brightly by tall windows looking out on the blanket of snow outside, and gestures to a couch placed diagonally to a stone fireplace. As he sits down and sinks into the cushions, he can feel the warmth from the fire curling around him. Phil brings him pen and paper, and he takes a few minutes and writes himself a note. After he’s done, he folds it up and stuffs it into his pocket.
Phil has been busying himself at the brewing stands that are strewn across the room, and when Ranboo looks up from his writing, he’s pouring drops of a viscous, pearly fluid – ghast tears, probably - into several individual potion bottles already suspended above the flames. He watches the process for a few moments more, as the liquid in the bottles turns to a cloudy magenta color. Must be regeneration potions, then.
“Can I help?” Ranboo asks. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.” Phil glances over at him, eyebrows raised.
“Sure! I’ve got these just about finished, actually, I was just going to brew some healing pots after this. Replenish the stores, y’know. Any chance you could crush melon slices up while I make awkward potions?” Ranboo nods, and pulls himself to his feet. Phil hands him several melon slices on a plate, along with a fork, and then turns back to the brewing stands to take his finished regeneration potions off of the heat.
They settle into a quiet rhythm of work. Ranboo mashes the melons into a grainy red pulp with the flat of the fork, letting the juices run off into the basin of the plate, and when he’s done, Phil hands him a stoppered bottle of gold powder to combine in, so the mixture glistens in the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Phil measures out nether wart in metal tablespoons, levelling off portions of the mealy fruit with a butter knife before dumping the product into the bubbling water. They add the crushed-up melon a few minutes later, as soon as the liquid has gained the glossy, sticky quality of an awkward potion, and Phil smiles as it slowly begins to turn the characteristic red of a real healing potion. Once they’re done, Phil takes them off the heat with a pair of metal crucible tongs, and he has Ranboo roll out a cooling rack to set them on. They’re just finishing up when Ranboo hears a door slam from downstairs, and Phil smiles.
“Techno must be back!” He exclaims, turning to look at Ranboo, who is biting his lip. Phil’s voice goes quiet for a moment, looking up at him seriously through blond eyelashes. “Do you want me to ask him about what we talked about earlier?”
Ranboo swallows. “Yeah, I – I do, I think. Maybe, like, a little later, though, it seems like not a good idea to bother him about it right after he’s just getting home.”
Phil nods, considering. “Alright. I’ll bring it up with him in a bit, then. Or you can, if you want. If that’d be easier. Whatever works.”
The pair turn around at the sound of heavy footfalls making their way up the ladder that leads to the second floor of the cabin, and then the trapdoor is pushed up to reveal a crown and a pink head of hair, quickly followed by the rest of Technoblade. It takes a second for Ranboo to realize that the fur slung over his shoulder is not, in fact, just a part of his cloak – he’s carrying two dead rabbits by the feet, draped across one of his pauldrons. Must’ve been a successful hunting trip.
Techno waves hello to Phil, and then notices Ranboo stood behind him. “Hullo,” he greets them both, nodding in acknowledgement at Ranboo. “Ranboo, nice to see you up and about.” His eyes land on the freshly made healing potions on the counter. “Healing pots? Oh, this is fantastic. This is fantastic. We were gettin’ low. Did you do this?” he asks Phil.
“We both did, actually! Ranboo was helping me out just before you came in.”
“That’s fantastic,” Techno repeats, slinging the dead rabbits off his shoulder and onto the counter. Ranboo gets a good look at them – the only wound on either animal is a lone trickle of blood from the head, where Techno appears to have shot them both cleanly through the eye. Jesus. He’s seen how fast those things run. He had enough trouble catching a wild rabbit for a pet – forget about trying to kill one with this degree of lethal precision using a bow.
Techno catches him staring, and seems to completely misinterpret the look on his face, because he asks, “Wait, you’re not, like, vegan or somethin’, are you? I was plannin’ on havin’ these for dinner, but if you’ve got, like, some kinda dietary restriction for enderman reasons or somethin’ – “
“No! Nothing like that,” Ranboo clarifies, tearing his eyes away from the carcasses. Techno nods, and pulls a carving knife from a knife block on the wall, beginning the process of deftly removing the skin from the rabbits.
“Do either of you feel like helpin’ me cook once I’m done with these?” Techno asks.
Ranboo says “Sure!” at the same time as Phil says “Ehhhh, not particularly.”
“Hah. Alright, in that case, Ranboo, grab a basket, I need to clean these - we can collect all the viscera we can’t eat and feed it to the dogs - and Phil, you’re excused for – I dunno, best friend privileges or somethin’. Uh, basket is in that drawer. No, the one to your left,” he says, as Ranboo locates the woven container and holds it out awkwardly to Techno, who takes it and sets it on the counter, and then begins the process of skinning and gutting the rabbits. Ranboo looks away – it’s not that he’s squeamish, exactly, he’d just really prefer not to watch. So instead, he looks over at Phil, who is over by the couch, retrieving the contents of a rectangular brown box underneath it.
“Techno! Chess?” He calls out, unfolding the black-and-white board from the box, and Techno sighs dramatically in response. Phil doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts setting the pieces up.
“Alright. I guess. You want white, or black, old man?”
“I’m not old! Fuckin’ hell!”
“That’s not what I asked!” Techno replies, the barest hint of a grin flickering on his face despite himself. “White, or black?”
“Oh, fuck off. Black,” Phil replies with an eyeroll, and Techno wheezes out a laugh.
“Wait,” Ranboo interjects, peering curiously at Techno. “How’re you going to play if you’re not at the board?”
Techno looks up at Ranboo, wiping a stray spatter of blood from the bridge of his own nose with the back of his forearm. “We got really good at playin’ chess in our heads back when we used to live in Antarctica together, ages ago – it’s somethin’ to do on long plane rides, if you can get the hang of vizualizin’ the board. Only, Phil’s gonna beat me right now, because he can see the pieces physically and I can’t, and it’s a massive advantage for him.” He looks up before continuing to speak, like he’s no longer addressing Ranboo. “And really, chat, if I lose, we can blame it all on that. Nothing to do with my skill whatsoever. Pawn to C4,” he says, and Phil moves a piece on the board. Ranboo blinks. Chat. That’s what he’d called the voices earlier, when he was talking to Phil. He almost opens his mouth to ask, and then thinks better of it.
“Pawn to E6,” Phil replies from across the room, narrating for Techno as he moves his piece on the board.
“Knight to C3,” Techno says as if by rote, punctuating the statement by pulling a cleaver from his knife block to start on the heavier butchering work. Ranboo gives up on trying to follow the game from just their conversational exchange, and steps away from Techno to go watch Phil move the pieces on the board as the game is played.
By the time the rabbits are fully butchered and ready to use for actual cooking, the sun is lower in the sky outside and the game has drawn itself out into a stalemate, which causes Techno to laugh, and Phil to curse under his breath – “Ah, fuck. Thought I had you that time.”
“Does that happen often?” Ranboo asks.
“With us? Yeah, mate. We gotta play Fischer random half the time if we want either of us to actually fuckin’ win,” Phil says with a laugh. “Hazards of playing against the same person for years.”
“Yep,” Techno confirms from across the room. “Alright, now I actually do need your help, Ranboo, can you grab garlic, mushrooms, and olive oil from that chest over there by the brewin’ stands?” Ranboo nods, and does so.
“Great. Here, wash your hands, you can chop the mushrooms, I’ll do the garlic. We’re makin’ stew.” Techno hands him a knife and a cutting board, along with the mushrooms he’s just retrieved. Ranboo rinses his hands with soap and water at the cauldron in the corner, and then they chop their respective ingredients in silence. After a little bit, Phil leaves the room, heading down the ladder to go check on his farms and make a few supply runs, and then it’s just him and Techno. It’s nice, working in the quiet together - feels peaceful, in a way that hasn’t happened to him in quite a while.
So he’s not sure what triggers it, this time. Maybe he really is cursed – or maybe he just lets his mind wander too much. He’s staring down at his hands, and he’s chopping the mushrooms, and he’s thinking, they’re being so nice. Maybe this time, things can work out. Somewhere within the optimism must lie his fatal error, because he hears it a moment later.
“Can it, though?” the voice asks, and were it not for how many times this has happened to him, he could swear that if he turned around he’d be face to face with the smiling mask itself. Ranboo grits his teeth. It can, he thinks in response.
“You betrayed everyone before, though. What makes this different? Someone is nice to you once, and you think they won’t pick sides like everyone else?” the voice of Dream asks.
They’re anarchists. Their whole thing is not starting sides in the way that L’Manburg was a side, I can be safe with them, Ranboo thinks in answer.
“Right. Sure. And you were safe in L’Manburg for how long, again, before you started ruining things?”
That was different, he thinks.
“How long did you spend there, before you betrayed everyone? Before you blew up the community house?” Dream’s voice asks. It could almost be mocking if it weren’t so painfully matter-of-fact, drenched in cool rationalism and thrown in his face like a slap.
I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t even remember it.
“Yeah, I mean - you’ll betray them too, and probably won’t even remember it.”
Leave me alone.
“And this time you won’t escape with your life, that’s for sure,” Dream’s voice continues.
Please. Please, stop.
“Ranboo?” someone asks him. He doesn’t remember who. He’s hyperventilating, he realizes, the knife still in his hand and halfway-embedded in a mushroom on the cutting board. “Ranboo, who are you talkin’ to?” the voice asks, quieter this time, more concerned. Had he been speaking out loud? Hah. That’s funny. He’s sure he hadn’t meant to talk out loud. The Dream voice keeps going.
“You’ll betray them all. They didn’t even want you here, and you’ll betray them anyway. You can’t trust yourself not to.”
“Ranboo,” the voice that isn’t Dream comes again, and after a moment, there’s a hand on his shoulder. “You look, uh. Not great, I’m gonna be honest. Are you havin’ a panic attack?” When he doesn’t answer, the voice continues, “I’m just gonna - take the knife, now, hang on just a sec.” He feels something being pried from his grasp.
“You want to know the best part? You won’t even remember you did it when it happens.”
“Ranboo,” the other voice counters. “Can you look at me, for a sec?”
He does. His eyes don’t focus, not really, looking through the man in front of him rather than at him. Fear lances through him with each shallow breath. I’m going to betray them.
“Breathe with me for a minute, deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth,” The voice instructs. Ranboo nods his head, minutely. Someone far away is taking exaggerated, slow breaths - in, held for a few seconds, and then out, and he tries his best to follow suit, forcing air in through his nose and out through his mouth. The voice keeps talking. Technoblade, he remembers, distantly. Techno is talking.
“You’re standin’ in my house. Nothin’ is gonna hurt you. Like, I mean, obviously, because nothin’ comes near here anyways, we can’t even get mail delivered, it’s scuffed honestly, but that’s beside the point, uh. What I mean is you’re safe. You’re real and everythin’, you’re standin’ right in front of me, and you’re in control. Are you -”
“Sorry,” Ranboo interrupts. “Sorry. Don’t mean to. Didn’t mean for – I don’t know why,” he stutters, sentence fragments half-coherent and punctuated with ragged, forced breath, arms wrapped around himself protectively, still staring vacantly at Techno.
“It’s okay, man, it’s okay. Sit down, maybe? Here,” Techno says. Numbly, he feels himself being led towards the couch, and he sits down.
“Just keep breathin’,” Techno says, sitting down next to him. Ranboo stares forward at the fireplace. He can feel his heartbeat in his fingertips, his hands clenched into fists in front of him. The Dream voice doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t know how much time passes before he starts to come back to himself – could be ten minutes, could be ten hours, and he doesn’t think he’d know the difference. He looks over at Techno. The man’s expression is unreadable.
He swallows thickly. His face stings from tears he hadn’t consciously registered shedding. Techno squints, eyes scanning the swelling on Ranboo’s face attentively.
“Is – does cryin’ hurt you? Cause it’s water or whatever?” Techno asks. Ranboo nods, and Techno hums sympathetically. He pulls a handkerchief from a pocket on the inner lining of his cloak, and offers it to him with slow, deliberate movements, like he’s trying not to frighten a small animal. Ranboo accepts it with trembling fingers, drying the remaining dampness beneath his eyes. Techno steps away for a moment, and when he returns, he has a regen potion in hand.
“Spread some of this on your face, it’ll take the swellin’ down,” Techno instructs. Ranboo does so, and the cooling sensation of the potion calms his irritated skin.
Ranboo takes a deep, shaky breath. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know – this happens, sometimes,” he says, not meeting Techno’s eyes.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. You don’t have to try to explain,” Techno says dismissively. “Like, you can if you want to, but you don’t owe me an explanation. Whatever happened is your business.”
Ranboo shakes his head. He gathers his courage for a moment, and then forces himself to say, “Phil, um. Phil thinks I’m having intrusive thoughts? I’m not actually sure if that’s what it is, but I hear voices, sometimes. Uh, or, actually, voice. Just the one.” Techno’s eyes widen slightly, when he mentions voices. Ranboo swallows, and continues, “Phil said I should ask you for advice about it.” He hesitates. “You hear things too, right?”
Techno starts. “Phil told you about that?” he asks with an edge to his voice, looking at him with raised eyebrows. Ranboo shrinks back on instinct.
“No! I mean – yes. I overheard you talking about them earlier, and I asked him about it, he didn’t just tell me for no reason. I know that’s probably privileged information, and I didn’t mean to pry, and if it helps I’ll probably forget about it anyway, but Phil said – he just thought you could help, maybe. It keeps happening, and I don’t know what to do. Every time, I just shut down. And I don’t know why this is happening to me. Or maybe I used to know, and I forgot. I forget a lot of things. I just – I can’t keep living like this,” he stutters, rushing to explain. “And it’s okay if you can’t help, or if I’m asking too much, I promise I’ll find some way to repay you for all of this, and – and –“ Techno puts a hand up to stop him, and Ranboo cuts himself off immediately. Techno blinks owlishly, regarding him. He pushes his glasses up his face.
“Well. I’m not a therapist,” he says, slowly, and Ranboo’s got a million apologies already forming on his lips – yes, of course, I know, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked – before Techno continues. “And you should probably go see an actual one of those, because I don’t think we’re experiencin’ identical phenomena, and even if we were, I’m not a professional. But, I can tell you what works for me.”
Techno goes quiet for a moment, and Ranboo looks over at him, searching. The pink-haired man has his eyes fixed on the fireplace. He’s suddenly struck by how frighteningly human he looks - this isn’t The Blade, capital B, in this room with him, nor is it the Blood God. This is Technoblade, the person, sitting before him on his living room couch and trying his damnedest to think of how to help. The feeling dawns on him that he’s being trusted with something precious, that Techno does not often allow himself to be witnessed as fallible in any capacity, and that this is not a trust he wants to break.
When Techno speaks, there’s a new gravity to his voice, lowered to just above a whisper. “For me, uh, it’s not just one voice. There’s kind of a ridiculous amount of them. Used to be harder to deal with than it is now.” He looks over to see Ranboo, visibly hanging on his every word, and sighs. “And I didn’t get better from it bein’ that way overnight. Recovery doesn’t happen in a day, and you gotta be patient with yourself. But, um. What helps me to remember is that ultimately, at the end of the day, I’m in control. Like, even when your thoughts are tellin’ you otherwise, you decide what you do, and who you are, every day, and that’s not somethin’ anyone can take from you. When it’s gettin’ hard to deal with, try to remember that your thoughts are just thoughts, and you don’t have to listen to them. I don’t know if that’ll help you to remember, but, I don’t know. It helps me. It, uh. It used to help Wilbur, too.” Techno looks pained, for a fleeting moment, at the mention of Wilbur, and then just as soon as it arrived, the expression is gone.
He takes a deep breath, and after a moment, he continues. “And the other thing is that when somethin’ is overwhelmin’ you, you don’t have to deal with it on your own. It’s important to have, like, a support system. Cringe, I know, relyin’ on other people – imagine bein’ a member of an interdependent social species, couldn’t be me - but it helps. You can even come to me and Phil, if need be. I’m gonna be honest with you, you moved in, like, a week ago, so I don’t really trust you yet – nothin’ personal – but that doesn’t mean I want you to have to deal with gettin’ sick on your own, or havin’ whatever these episodes are on your own. Alright?”
Ranboo nods. “Alright. Thank you,” he says. “It’s just – hard, sometimes. It sounds like you have it worse than I do, honestly, and I’m really sorry that happens to you.”
“Nah,” Techno says, huffing out a mirthless laugh. “It’s all good. Like, would I love to go a day without hearing the words ‘rainbowchat’? Absolutely. Have I made my peace with how deeply unlikely that is? Also absolutely.”
“What’s rainbowchat?” Ranboo asks confusedly.
“Exactly,” Techno says. “Anyways. You should take it easy, I’ll finish the rest of the stew. You’re stayin’ for dinner at least, but if you feel up to headin’ home this evenin’, that’s fine – just, like, take a regen potion or two with you so you don’t keel over on the way there.”
Ranboo laughs. “Okay. Will do.”
Techno works on the soup, and after a little bit, Phil comes back from his errands – Ranboo hears Techno explaining what happened in hushed tones, and when he’s finished, Phil comes and sits down next to him. He asks if he wants to play chess - Ranboo takes him up on it. After Ranboo’s lost two games to Phil and just barely managed to eke out a stalemate in the third, Techno announces that the stew is done, and ladles out bowls for everyone.
They sit down at the dining room table, the same one Ranboo had collapsed in front of, what feels to him like eons ago. Phil tells them about a new farm he’s working on while they eat, and the stew is good, and the cabin is warm, and – and it’s nice. He finds himself wanting to stay a little longer with each passing moment. And when the evening is winding down and Ranboo bids them farewell to head back to his shack, Techno, true to his word, sends him back with several regeneration and health potions in hand, and the promise that he can come back, if he finds that he needs to.
Ranboo sleeps soundly, that night.
-
The hour is late when Techno finds the piece of paper sitting on the floor – he’s just getting ready to go to bed, actually, and he nearly slips on it.
“Hey Phil,” Techno calls over to where he’s sitting, half-asleep by the fireplace.
“Mhmm?” he hears in answer.
“Is this yours? There was a note on the ground,” Techno replies, holding the paper between his thumb and forefinger.
Phil turns to look at him, bucket hat sat slightly askance on his head. “Uh – nah, I think that’s Ranboo’s, mate. I gave him paper earlier – said he wanted to write something down so he wouldn’t forget it. He must've dropped it.”
“Hm. Remind me to run it over to him tomorrow, then,” Techno replies. “It’s too late tonight, he’s probably already asleep.” He goes to set it on the countertop of his crafting table, before his eyes catch the words Ranboo wrote on the page. “Huh,” he says, voice suddenly quiet. “Would you look at that.”
“What?” Phil asks, reaching over the back of the couch for the piece of paper. Techno hands it to him wordlessly so he can read, and upon doing so, Phil smiles.
Techno and Phil are safe to be around. When you were sick and hurt, they helped you. Techno hears voices too, like you. I think you can trust them both.