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Music could be heard all the time. Whether it be from Tommy's jukebox or humming quietly from any of the various establishments on the server, music was always coming from somewhere.
Ranboo usually adored the soothing mundane-ness of the atmosphere with it's unchanging routine. Each building standing either completely silent and still or bustling with patrons, all talking and shouting within. The prime path lit with lanterns at night that hummed quietly, flames gently pressed against the glass.
But it wasn't always so.
Sometimes the air was too stagnant and empty. This would send Ranboo into a spiral, anxiously knocking on every door until he found someone, anyone. The silence would press down on their chest and shoulders like an anvil, ears muffled and twitching in fear. Was this going to be the day he was finally alone, his mind slowly going fuzzy and numb until he couldn't even remember how to survive? Their eyes would widen in terror, the eerily calm silence pounding through his head. Paths would widen and swallow the landscape whole, shops and homes almost invisible as his panicked vision would crumble and shrink.
And then an annoyed someone would poke their head out a window and holler at them, their sight snapping back into focus, slightly misted by tears.
Silence was so deafening.
—————
Wind blew against the trapdoor windows, clashing together roughly as the storm tore through Snowchester. A tiny zombie piglin on his hip, Ranboo gazed at the haphazard docks. They were strewn with bits from the ocean, or pieces of trees and plants, gathered up by nature's breath to scatter across the stone.
Michael let out a little squeak, his adoptive father looking down at him for a moment then smiling.
"Would you like to go back up, Michael?" Ranboo asked, his tone motherly and gentle as he lifted the little one properly into their arms, his little piglin hands fiddling with the black and white hairs on Ranboo's neck. Michael nodded, then laying his head on his father's shoulder, padded underneath the velvety suit material.
Maneuvering awkwardly, Ranboo used his free hand to climb the ladder, hoisting Michael through the attic trapdoor before climbing in himself. Swinging his rather long legs out of the gap, Ranboo closed the door behind them, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Michael excitedly dived into his favourite corner, the young boy holding himself up on his tip toes to gaze out on the small seaside town and the yet to be fully constructed mansion. Ranboo noticed how often Michael would stare at the insanely large building just half a mile away. They smiled gently, turning to look back as he heard the trapdoor creak open again.
His husband's head peeked through just before the rest of his body, green eyes sparkling with a greeting as he sat next to the marginally taller ender hybrid. Michael remained undisturbed.
"Hullo,"
"Hi, Tubbo,"
Ranboo's voice was soft, even softer than when he talked to Michael. The voice he used with his best friend was small, and always sweet, laced with honey and sugar canes. His love for Tubbo was unconditional, and the thought of them messing up this relationship kept him up many nights.
Former president of L'manburg, Tubbo was strong, but still the best friend that Ranboo met so many months ago. They fought alongside each other, and shared too many moments to count. There was no romantic feelings involved, but something better than that. A deeper feeling, a connection that felt more like steel than thread. Soulmates didn't sound right, but the pair preferred just 'friends' or 'husbands'. Even through the final fight for L'manburg, Tubbo fought for him. And Ranboo promised to do the same.
The silence was getting heavy.
"Did you want to play some music?" They asked, nodding towards a jukebox nestled just in arm's reach. Tubbo paused for a moment before shrugging, grabbing a random disc and placing it inside the box, sliding it in smoothly.
Record scratching could be heard for only a second before the crackling gave way to a minor melody. It was a familiar tune, Ranboo cast an uneasy smile back at his beaming husband, who was bobbing his head along.
The cuffs around his wrists felt tight suddenly, the silver clasping them together neatly burning coldly into their skin.
He didn't recognize the song.
There was no time for him to listen to all of Tubbo's music library, so it wasn't an odd thing to hear a different, new song. But it was the unnerving familiarity that set Ranboo's heart to pick up speed.
There was no use in asking Tubbo to turn it off, no one knew of his condition. No one knew that they couldn't remember what he used to, even with the memory books he kept so meticulously.
The panicked enderboy stared at their son, trying to ground himself.
"Why can't I remember this song?"
"Why does it feel so out of place?"
Questions he couldn't answer as he stared at Michael's face, pink fur flecked with bits of dirt from playing just a few hours ago. They were aware of their surroundings, but it seemed to be darker than it was a minute ago. The lights shifted and suddenly...
This isn't Snowchester.
The music continued to play from the jukebox, but it was implanted into the floor instead of by a shelf. The floor was near black, a deep purple encasing Ranboo. Looking around with wide eyes and a mouth agape, he saw an exit, supposedly underwater. The walls were lined with signs, messages scrawled on them. The one just opposite the exit was the only one written clearly enough to read.
They took a step forward, now on his feet.
Ink stained fingers brushing against the splintered wood, he read the words scribbled there.
"Dream is the enemy."
Dream?
The server owner, the man who...
What did he do?
Ranboo couldn't think of him. Flashes of a mask with a crudely drawn smile was all he could make out. All the other signs were written in another language, looking nearly Cyrillic or Enderian. But it was so messily written that it was illegible.
Something was screaming inside him, deep inside their gut. To run. To escape this obsidian box and find his way back to Snowchester.
But he couldn't move.
The song hadn't stopped.
It only looped. Again. Again. Again.
Ranboo brought his shaking hands up to his ears, for the first time in his life craving silence. Each note drove a pin through his skull, it was so incessant.
"Traitor."
A voice whispered from nowhere. It was almost lost within the music, but it rang through Ranboo's head like a pinball, ricocheting off every surface of his brain, leaving bruises.
"Let me out." He could only croak, throat sore as if he'd been screaming. Maybe he had, there was nothing to hear but the damn unknown song. Once spoken, the phrase was repeated again, and again, and again, and again. Ranboo felt himself falling down, knees hitting the obsidian with a painful impact that they could only feel.
He still couldn't remember the song.
He still didn't know why the voice called him a traitor. Ranboo hadn't betrayed anything or anyone.
"Traitor." The voice returned again, only this time behind him. Ranboo's head whirled around, catching sight of green and white before it disappeared.
Their breath trapped in their throat, he looked around once more, tears burning a hot, wounding trail across his face.
It was torture, sitting in this darkened room with only voices and music keeping him chained to the floor, jukebox unable to be pried open.
Ranboo took off a hand from his ears, wincing at the sudden volume change. Using his nails, he scratched and hit at the jukebox, fingers catching on sharp bits from the floor and splitting open. The pain was nothing, red and green eyes focused on the small brown music box that just wouldnt open.
The notes reverberated inside Ranboo's head for a moment and he cried out for the first audible time, a guttural scream of fear and frustration. They felt as though each next tune would be the one to rip through his ears and worm into his brain, wiping him of everything he loved. As time went on, his ability to keep his grip on the memories he was fighting so hard for was slipping.
After an age of ripping and tearing at the closed opening, Ranboo was able to pry out the book that had been wedged in there to keep it closed. Throwing it aside, they shoved their hand inside the box and pulled out the record, the song coming to a screeching halt, leaving behind a static filled silence.
Falling back against a wall, the enderman let out the breath he was holding for so long, a strangled sound of anxiety and relief pouring out of his mouth. Head listlessly leaned against the wall, they turned to look at the book he'd tossed aside. It had been knocked open.
" :) "
No.
No.
Ranboo couldn't tear his fear stricken eyes away.
The smiley face was suspended in front of him, drawn crudely on an old white mask. Worn by a tall man in green.
A hand.
It stretched out to him.
It was from the man in the mask.
Without reason or thought, Ranboo took his hand.
Cold struck him in one fell swoop as the man helped him to his feet. Standing unsteadily, Ranboo met the eyes that peeked through small holes in the mask. They gleamed.
"Traitor."
As if wrenched through a timewarp, Ranboo saw a flash of blurred lines before blinking and seeing something completely different.
He stood in the middle of the destroyed community house, next to Tubbo. The walls were flooded, the only thing dry being the crafting table floor. The water cast shadows across ever surface, surrounding them in cool shade.
Ranboo cast a glance around, catching sight of almost everyone on the server, all gathered around here. Looking back at Tubbo, he noticed that he was talking to Technoblade and...
Tommy?
"The discs were worth more than you ever were!" Tommy shouted, finger pointing accusingly at his friend, Tubbo's face hard as stone.
What was going on?
Ranboo watched their exchange further, watched as Tommy joined their side. He saw Dream stand next to Technoblade, reaching out a hand for a disc. Everyone's speech is muffled, as though they were underwater rather than surrounded by it. Ranboo watched as Tubbo handed over the music disc, heard Dream's laugh.
"-Can't even run your nation right," Dream's voice becoming clearer, his grin and tone mocking the young president. Much to Ranboo's surprise, the man in green points an accusing finger at him. "Ranboo, is a traitor! One of your most trusted friends!"
What?
How was he a traitor?
"It is true!" Dream's voice cut through the defiant shouts of disbelief, throwing a book on the floor at Tubbo's feet, labelled 'do not read'.
Was that his memory book?
"There's his memory book, he was meeting with Techno and Tommy and told them everything!"
He would never do that, he would never betray L'manburg like that.
Voices went muffled again, Ranboo's voice caught in his throat again. All he could muster were pathetic starts of words, wide eyes staring at the hostile faces of the people he thought were friends. Even Tubbo didn't even look at him.
Time warped again, and they felt that pull forward. Another blink and he stood in the grass, looking at the ruins of L'manburg.
He remembered this.
Ranboo looked over the crater with resignation, knowing that somewhere here was the man in green.
It didn't make sense. Why would he betray L'manburg, the Butcher Army, Tubbo!? He didn't choose Tommy and Techno. He chose his friends in his home.
He felt a gust of wind, and suddenly his hands were heavy. It was his book.
Shaking fingers pulled apart the pages as they flicked through, eyes scanning the messily written notes.
"I can be friends with people on both sides, can't I?"
"Tommy and Techno are my friends. And so is the people in L'manburg."
"I can trust my friends."
Each entry left the pit in Ranboo's stomach deeper.
He had betrayed L'manburg. He has betrayed Tubbo.
How had his friend ever forgiven him?
Ranboo's mind was spinning, and the first memory book fell to the grass with a thump. Faintly, he could hear Tommy's discs in the distance.
"Ranboo?"
The voice of his husband alighted from behind him, and the wrecked enderman turned to smile weakly.
Tubbo stood a few feet away, loose brown pants and forest green shirt rumpled in the wind. His hair was outlined in gold from the setting sun and his eyeborws were furrowed in concern. Ranboo realized what a mess he must have looked, hands bloody and face burned with freshly marked scars.
"Hi, Tub," Their voice was as frail as they felt. Looking at the boy he betrayed, Ranboo's chest seized in pain, tears welling up again. "I'm so sorry." He exclaimed, not meaning to speak so loudly. Tubbo only looked confused, his own scars faded and barely visible.
"Sorry for what?" He asked, taking a step forward and taking Ranboo's hand. "What's happened?"
It was nowhere near possible to explain enough. The agony of remembering was a pain that was impossible to convey. Strings of glass were less fragile than they were in this moment.
"I remembered, what I did to L'manburg." The statement was charged with anxiety and fear, Ranboo's terror of being abandoned by the friend he trusted most. But his words wouldn't stop there. "I remember us in the community house. I remember Dream telling you and everyone else that I was a traitor. And he was right."
Tubbo's expression was barely readable, back straight and eyes hard. Just like the day before doomsday.
"I forgave you, Ranboo."
"But why?"
To ask that question of anybody is a task that's difficult if impossible. The reason of forgiveness is often not a conscious reasoning. But Tubbo answers anyways.
"You were a traitor to our nation. You never betrayed me."
The blame would never leave his shoulders, neither of them. Tubbo, carrying the weight of his dead nation and Ranboo carrying the knowledge that he might've been that catalyst or accomplice in it.
Ranboo leant on Tubbo as Tubbo leant on him, laying on the grass next to the ruins. The warmth of their presence was the most comforting thing they'd felt in so long.
Ranboo preferred the silence.