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Unsurprisingly, Ranboo isn't typically a protective, tactile person. He's shy and reserved, quiet and collected, preferring to stay far, far away from any sort of conflict or large, overbearing situations that would possibly somehow involve him in one way or another.
The teen makes sure to remind himself that he has to keep away from everything most of the time, if not all.
He doesn't like disputes.
He doesn't like arguing.
He doesn't really like people in general when it truly comes down to it.
People are loud. They're noisy and brash, turbulent and vexing. They get in his face and point fingers in each and every direction. They spit words full of venom and unrelenting rage and leave Ranboo flinching underneath their piercing gazes.
People are mean. People are bad. People are cold-hearted and cruel.
Sometimes, Ranboo likes to imagine that people are just a little bit evil, too. Because, of course, everyone has a little bit of evil inside of them, no matter how sugary and sweet and overwhelmingly saccharine they might first portray themselves as. It's just human nature, isn't it?
And the Lord above knows that there's no changing human nature – not when some are too far gone to turn away from the immoral and the sinful.
So, as a (much needed) precaution, Ranboo isn't one to hang around others too often. If at all, nowadays.
He keeps himself away from the ex-residents of L'Manburg, or- perhaps the survivors of L'Manburg. He skillfully ignores Fundy's wishes for a reunion between the two, brushes off Niki's attempts at a cracking friendship; he even ends up turning his back on Sapnap's desperate pleas for aid in reconstruction and damage control.
Ranboo has Snowchester now. He has Tubbo, Techno, and Phil. He has the Arctic Empire and Michael, and that's enough. It's more than enough.
At least for a little bit.
All it takes is a murder, a miracle, and the old-time scriptures of a dusty, brittle revival book for Ranboo's world to come to a halting, grating stop.
Somewhere, somehow, completely out of the blue and entirely at random, Tommyinnit – Tommy 'wife haver, woman lover, danger' innit, has become a new exception to Ranboo's delicately constructed rules.
"I've got you, Tommy. You're okay. You're doing well."
Ranboo doesn't know how he's ended up in that position, a long arm wrapped securely around Tommy's frail waist, just barely keeping the limping teen steady as they stumble across the prime path together. The wood groans underneath their shared weight, echoing, bellowing noises reminding them of just how old it is.
The older sighs.
He still doesn't know why he's there, how he's there, or why Tommy is willingly letting Ranboo hold him so close (or why Ranboo had even gotten so comfortable with him in the first place), but the hybrid isn't willing to risk asking about it now.
Mainly for Tommy's sake.
The mismatched teen wasn't too sure on how comfortable and agreeable Tommy would be with answering such probing, prodding questions like that just yet. If ever, actually – a traumatic event can really screw somebody up for a long, long time, after all.
"Don't patronize me," Tommy mumbled in bitter response, another slip-up almost taking his feet right from underneath him.
The blonde was wobbly and unsteady, tripping up every few seconds as if he'd completely forgotten how to walk. He was like a newborn fawn, just barely staying upright on knobbly knees and jelly-like ankles.
A part of Ranboo, a tiny, indecorous part of Ranboo, desperately wanted to start calling Tommy' Bambi.'
Though that idea probably wouldn't be in his best interests. Not at all. (Not unless Ranboo wanted to end up on the ground with a broken nose and a bruised ego.)
"I'm not patronizing you. I'm trying to be encouraging."
A huff. "Well, it's not fuckin' working, big man."
"Oh, really? You seem to be doing pretty well after my motivated cheering, actually."
Tommy's nose scrunched, pale, pale eyes brightening into something just somewhat similar to the striking blue that had made up his gaze days before he'd left for the prison.
He was amused – that much was clear, having found some sort of humour in Ranboo's sarcasm-dipped words even despite their occasionally awkward situation. It was funny enough to light a tiny spark within Tommy, to start a flame that had the possibility to bring back what once was lost, hopefully permanently this time around.
Ranboo gripped onto that knowledge and held on utterly tight.
On the other hand, Tommy just attempted to brush it off almost immediately after it had happened.
"It's not cheering either, Ranboob. Not at all."
"Hm?" Ranboo blinked, giving Tommy's side a tiny, careful squeeze. "Why not?"
A recurring lapse of silence brushed over them for a second or two, pressing at their exposed emotions and curling around their teetering bodies. It went on for a slight, momentous break in time and space itself, unsure and hesitant in its movements before somebody spoke up to split it apart again.
Unsurprisingly, it was Tommy who broke the quiet.
"...Because you don't have pom-poms."
The reaction was instantaneous.
Ranboo burst out into uncontrollable, bellowing chokes of laughter, painful tears springing in the corners of his scrunched eyes, and his lips were stretched through into a blistering smile. His whole body was shaking from the force of his howling and vivid convulsions of ongoing hysterics.
Pom-poms.
Pom-poms.
It was such a Tommy thing to say, such a familiar thing coming from the blonde teen, and Ranboo practically adored it.
For a moment, it was as if the current Tommy had disappeared – the Tommy that was left thin and frail, as delicate as attenuated glass; the Tommy that had handprint-shaped bruises covering his face and throat and had boot prints practically tattooed over his chest; the Tommy that was afraid of the gripping dark and masked monsters underneath his bed.
This, this right here was the other Tommy.
The original Tommy.
The Tommy with a blinding smile that could light up an entire nation and all its inhabitants; the Tommy with a flicking tongue and admirably quick wit that rivaled even Wilbur's; the Tommy that joyfully ran around shouting about 'Sam Nook,' and his new, blooming hotel to anyone willing to listen (or even not so willing.)
This was the Tommy that they'd all lost the moment he'd stepped foot inside of that prison with Dream, only to return an empty shell of his former self.
Ranboo wiped a stray, humoured tear away from below his eye.
(Not even the hissing, writhing pain could distract him from this incredible, memorable moment.)
"Tommy-"
"Nope! Stop fuckin' laughing at me!" Tommy waved his shaky hands about in a rather dramatic manner, still half-leaning into Ranboo's open side, though he was doing his best to come across as intimidating as humanly possible in his compromised state.
(Ranboo just thought it was even more so amusing and perhaps a little reassuring.)
"I'm not laughing at you!" The hybrid spluttered around bouts of chuckling, "I'm laughing... with you?"
A plausible lie, perhaps?
"You're so not! You're so fucking not! Liar!"
Or maybe not.
"Oh, come on! It was funny!" Ranboo protested," Like- like seriously, Tommy, pom-poms? Pom-poms?”
"It's what cheerleaders use, innit!?"
Ranboo swiped a hand through his two-toned hair, doing his best not to let himself fall into another pit of out-of-control comedy.
He shook his head.
"You're ridiculous, Tommy. So ridiculous, dude-"
"You're being ridiculous, Tom."
Ridiculous?
Ridiculous!?
"Ranboo?"
Tommy turned his head slightly, brows pinched, and hands were shaking desperately at his heaving sides. The outside world had disappeared – a shining blue sky full of promises and blossoming clouds had begun to bleed a deep purple, unfortunately, familiar cracks emerging within the surrounding atmosphere and pressing together to resemble neat rows of obsidian blocks.
Some weeping, some not.
Obsidian.
"Oh, Tommy. You’re being ridiculous.”
The teen's gaze flicked upwards, azure oceans and cerulean tidal waves filled to the brim with brewing confusion. He swallowed roughly, mouth suddenly feeling far too dry, and his tongue was left infuriatingly immobile in an arid expanse.
"The revival book is real. Why would I lie about something so important? I have no reason to."
Tommy's heart was beating faster and faster, slamming against his cracking rib cage and sending shockwaves of aching pain through him. He had no idea what was happening. Where was Ranboo? Where was the prime path? Where was Sam?
Why was everything so dark?
"You lied to save your own skin."
The words were dripping from Tommy's bleeding lips before he could attempt to stop himself, the sound of his voice appearing foreign and far away, even though he knows that it was definitely him who had said it.
"There's no such thing as a revival book. Jschlatt is dead. He's gone. Buried. Six feet underground, and he's not coming back-"
A calloused hand shot out, wrapping around the delicate exposure of Tommy's throat, jagged nails digging into pale flesh. The teen let out a quivering breath, eyes blown wide and lips tinting blue.
His words had clearly warranted a nasty reaction.
"Oh really?"
Tommy finds himself nodding, even though he doesn't know why.
There's blood dripping down his neck, pooling amongst the torn collar of his block-coloured shirt and mixing in with the encrusted fluid already smeared across it. Tommy can feel the phantom punches before they land; he can feel them against his battered body - can feel the memories of his life being ruthlessly ripped away from him far too young.
He doesn't want to go through it again.
He really doesn't want to.
But these days, he never really gets what he wants.
A sadistic, splitting grin morphed its way over Dream's exposed face, blonde wisps of hair cupping his mauled features as he stared Tommy down.
"Why don't you go and see him then?"
Tommy can only scream as he's bombarded by the PTSD-induced flashbacks and harrowing memories of a brutal murder.
He can only scream as his last, canon heart is ripped away from him once again. Over and over and over again.
Ranboo can only sit and hold Tommy close to his chest as the teen convulsed, the shaking blonde pressed against the Enderman's firm - though lanky – body in a restrictive, grounding grip.
There's nothing else that he can physically do, nothing else that he can offer or aid the younger teen as he suffered through haunting, plaguing remembrance – a remembrance that Ranboo can't ever begin to imagine how incredibly terrible it is.
Because it definitely is terrible – more so, probably.
His tail wrapped loosely around Tommy's waist, defensive in a way that the Enderman hybrid wasn't able to properly explain.
Ranboo didn't know why he was so set on helping the blonde, helping him through his varying panic attacks and bouts of PTSD, even after the harsh words about his and Tubbo's platonic relationship that Tommy had previously thrown at him.
Most people in Ranboo's situation, in his shoes, would hate Tommy. They'd despise him, despise the way that he is, despise the way that he acts.
But Ranboo can't.
He doesn't see a vile, snarling human with horrible morals and a selfish personality. He doesn't see somebody who has taken and taken and taken, giving nothing in return except for pain and torment – except for destruction and rage.
He just sees Tommy.
Young, traumatized Tommy. A sobbing, screaming victim that's gone through so much with so little reward and help.
Ranboo saw somebody that deserved far more.
A sigh.
The hybrid buried his face into matted strands of curling hair, letting his delicate fingertips rub soothing circles into the quivering teen's sides. He couldn't see what Tommy saw – what kind of flashback he had been sucked into, but it was sure to be bad.
So, Ranboo would continue to sit there and hold him.
Even if this was breaking his own rules, even if he was going against his initial plan to keep away from the main drama of the server, to stay in his humble little abode with his pets and his sugar cane farms, it didn't matter.
Ranboo would choose Tommy's guaranteed safety and protection over that in a heartbeat.
(Even if Ranboo still didn't really know why.)