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Tubbo Underscore was never one to believe in ghost stories.
So when he opened his eyes, clinging to a charred and soot dusted bee plushie, he didn't expect to be dead. Tubbo always had strange dreams, branching from a bit uncanny to full-on horror-filled, so it was only safe to assume that he was just experiencing one of those dreams that seemed real. At any minute he would be awoken by his alarm clock and rushed out the door by his parents. He let go of the bee and started to wander around what he thought was the dreamscape. It looked suspiciously like his local Goodwill, except it was night out. The only person around was the guy in the security office, asleep at the desk.
So Tubbo returned to where his bee plush was and decided to fall asleep. When he woke up again, he would probably be home in his bed.
Right?
When Tubbo woke up again, he was still in the Goodwill.
It was now daytime, sunlight filtering through the tinted windows and hitting the racks of clothes and shelves of trinkets. A beam caught him straight in the eye, so he raised a hand to block it. The sunlight cut straight through his hand like a bolt, the nearly transparent hand doing nothing to stop the ray from hitting his eye.
And that's when the reality started to sink in.
Tubbo guessed that all of those stories that his friends used to say were true, about how the unfairly deceased would become attached to an item that meant a bunch to them while they were alive. The ghosts would be confined to the area that the item was in, and if they were unlucky, they would be attached to a room or a person. If the ghost tried to leave the object's area, they would simply fade to the void. Tubbo had always found those stories a bit depressing, being stuck in one place forever? Not cool at all.
Now he was the ghost, attached forever to his old bee plush.
He hadn't even paid the plushie much attention in the past few years, it had collected dust sitting on the shelf above his door. So if he had died, and he had formed a connection to his plush, he would make the best out of his situation.
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Months passed, and Tubbo started to get comfortable with the idea that he was dead.
Sure, he would never know what really killed him, as there weren't any computers in the Goodwill and he didn't have the resources to search himself up online. He resorted to messing with the late-night shoppers at the Goodwill and keeping the security guard up and awake by messing with the cameras. He watched as a new donation to the store was dispersed over the different sections, clothes going to the racks, and toys going to the children's area. The entire shipment was made of clothes and toys suited to a very young kid, 5 at the max. A rather cute chicken plushie was placed next to his own bee, in pristine condition as compared to his.
So later that night, when a new specter appeared, Tubbo really didn't know what else to expect.
The ghost was of a very young kid, 5 years old from what Tubbo could tell. He had close-cut and bright pink hair, though it was dulled with the slight transparency that came with being deceased. There was a bandage wrapped around one of his eyes, decorated with an army of stickers. He looked deadly sick, with a green tinge to his pale skin coupled with the bright red of a fevered face and the dark circles under his eyes. He was wearing a cream sweater that hung loosely off of his small frame, nearly drowning the poor kid in extra fabric.
Tubbo stared at the boy, holding onto his chicken for dear life.
It was as if he could pinpoint the moment his heart broke in two. This little boy, not even 6 years old yet, had died of sickness. He had died due to something that could have been easily cured in this day and age. He would never grow up and go to school, never make a friend in the corner of a fast-food play place. He would never chuck a controller to the ground in mock fury as his friend lapped him in a racing game, he would never throw his cap in the air when he graduated from high school.
He probably wouldn't even remember his own name.
Tubbo took a hesitant step forwards, watching as the boy looked up and locked eyes with him. He had dark brown eyes, nearly black if the light didn't hit them right. Tubbo kneeled to the kid's level and then sat down on the Goodwill floor.
"Hi there little man...do you remember your name?"
The little ghost boy shook his head, clutching his plushie even closer. He held the chicken like there had been an apocalypse, and it was the last meal on Earth.
"Well.." Tubbo hummed, thinking what to do. Should he give the kid a name? That seemed like the best thing to do.
"Would you like a name?"
The kid nodded yes, walking a bit closer to Tubbo.
"How about...Michael! You seem like a Michael," Tubbo decided, smiling at the kid. Tears were pricking in the corners of his eyes, but he didn't mind. He had to show this little kid that there was nothing to be scared of.
Michael smiled, walking over to Tubbo fully this time. He tried to wrap his tiny arms around Tubbo's chest, in some form of a little kid hug.
There was no warmth coming from the hug, even though Tubbo could definitely feel Michael hugging him. It just rubbed in the fact that they were both dead, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.
The tears at the corners of his eyes threatened to spill over, but Tubbo just wiped them away with his shirt sleeve. He hugged Michael back, running his hand through the little kid's hair, whispering sweet promises of safety and protection.
And he meant every single last one of them.
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In the days that passed, Tubbo and Michael grew as close as father and son.
Tubbo would steal children's books from the racks and hurry them off to Michael's room, hoping to god that none of the Goodwill shoppers saw a floating book or two being carried to the backrooms. In the way back of the store, there was a makeshift house made of cardboard boxes and old blankets. It reminded Tubbo of blanket forts at his house, held together by clothespins and chairs. He attempted to teach Michael how to read and write, despite most of the information going in one ear and out the other. Tubbo assumed it was due to the fact that Michael's brain wouldn't be able to fully develop, so remembering things may be a bit of an issue. He was good at names, however, and though he would never admit it, a tear formed in Tubbo's eye when Michael greeted him with a "Dad!"
He didn't really have the heart to correct the boy.
They would leave the "house" near closing time, walking through the aisles of clothing and fineries. Tubbo would show off the jewelry to Michael, knowing that the little boy loved the way that the gold glinted in the dying rays of the sun. They would walk through the aisle of mirrors, Tubbo holding Michael on his shoulder so he could see into the mirrors on the top shelf.
Shoppers would swear that when you looked into the mirrors at around closing hours, you could see a horribly burned boy lifting a toddler onto his shoulders. They would smile at you, the toddler would wave, and then they would walk on. You would turn around and look down the aisle, and realize no one was there.
They loved the attention that they were getting from the rumors flying around, but it meant that people would come in with instruments that resonated at too high of a frequency and saw too much so they had to stay in the back rooms more. Tubbo had to stop going out for books and gold necklaces, telling Michael that they had to "be comfortable with what they had". So the only glints of sun-kissed gold that Michael would get were the few necklaces dangling over what he had claimed as his bed, standing in the place of a child's bedroom mobile.
Neither of them complained because they both knew that once the teams looking for a quick buck were gone, they would be able to have the whole store to themselves at night. Spare the security guard, of course.
Messing with the security guard was one of Tubbo's favorite things to do, letting himself become visible and running past a camera at full speed. He would become invisible at the next camera, and watch as the poor security guard would rush out of the office with a flashlight only to be met with nothing. Tubbo would die laughing, occasionally letting the guard hear and observe the poor man mutter about how he should "lay off the coffee" and "find a new job".
Things were going pretty well.
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Tubbo and Michael had gotten so used to "living" in the Goodwill, that they both completely forgot that someone could just easily pick up and buy the plushies that kept them confined to the walls of the shop.
Well, at least Tubbo forgot.
He wasn't quite sure if Michael knew that he was dead, and he didn't exactly want to explain it to the 5-year-old. So whenever Michael asked why they couldn't go outside and play in the small strip of grass in the parking lot, Tubbo just said it was going to rain later and that he didn't want to get wet. It wasn't a complete lie, he hated the feeling of wet clothes on his skin. But the only problem was that every time that he used this excuse, it never rained.
Michael didn't care. He stayed in his room, reading children's books and playing with the fake mobile that Tubbo had made out of gold jewelry. Tubbo was out in the store at the moment, sitting on top of a light and making it sway slightly. No one noticed the soft movement of the overhead light and just continued with their shopping.
Tubbo watched as people scoured the racks, flipping through hand-me-downs upon hand-me-downs. He saw people enter and leave, some clutching bags full of treasures and others empty-handed. Some people walked in to donate things, others to look for clothing. Tubbo watched as a boy around his age walked into the store, hair dyed black and white down the middle. It was kind of obvious that it was dyed, as the brown roots were beginning to show at the top. He was carrying a bag of what seemed to be a few shirts, as well as a few pants. He waved over an employee and seemed to explain that he was donating the clothes.
Or, that's what Tubbo assumed, as he couldn't hear the conversation from on top of the light.
He jumped down, landing a few aisles away from the boy. Just as Tubbo thought, he was talking about donating the clothes. The employee took the bag, with a "Thanks" and a smile. Tubbo trailed the boy as he wandered around the Goodwill. He stopped at the music section, lingered on the Hawaiian shirts for a bit, but never really stayed in one place for a while. Thank god for the fact that Tubbo could fly after the kid because he had obnoxiously long legs. For what reason? If Tubbo was following by foot, he would've been lost 5 minutes ago.
Finally, the kid stopped at the children's toys section for more than a minute. He was looking at the plushes, glancing over them. Eventually, his eyes rested on one and he picked it up. He placed it in his bag and started looking more. Tubbo moved over a bit, trying to get a good look at which plush he had picked. His heart nearly stopped when he realized whose it was.
It was Michael's chicken.
Michael's chicken plush, the only thing linking him to the store. The only thing linking him to reality for a fact. Tubbo wouldn't know what to do if he woke up one day and found that Michael wasn't there, lest what Michael would do if he randomly woke up somewhere that wasn't the backroom of the Goodwill.
Time started moving in slow motion, like a dramatic scene in a movie. The boy started moving away from the shelves holding the plushies, and Tubbo jumped into action. He tried to swat at his own plush as quickly as he could, but time seemed to work against him. It seemed like an hour as he slowly watched the boy start to walk away, waiting for his hand to make contact with the bee. Eventually, time decided to catch up to itself and let Tubbo smack the bee out of the shelf. It fell to the floor right in front of the kid, in all of its soot-covered, scorched glory. The boy bent down to pick it up, and carefully turned it over in his hand like it was some kind of precious antique. He put the bee in his bag as well and continued to the register.
Tubbo sighed, walking away from the strange half-and-half boy. He wasn't as worried now because wherever Michael was going, he was going too.
Later that night, as Tubbo made sure that Michael was all comfortable for the night, he found that he didn't have the energy to mess with the security guard tonight. He was barely keeping his eyes open as he re-read Michael's favorite book to him, and only realized that the young boy had fallen asleep near the beginning a few pages from the end. He didn't even have enough energy to get up and walk to his own bed, a mess of blankets and pillows stolen from the shelves. He instead just fell asleep right next to his son, waiting for the morning light.
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When the two awoke the next morning, they were no longer in the Goodwill they had come to call home.
They were in someone's room, in an apartment complex by the look of it. It was fairly messy, shelves laden with different trinkets and objects. Some had polaroid photos being held up with half-full cups of water, others decorated with merch from a game that Tubbo thought he recognized. Minecraft, was it? Tubbo used to play Minecraft a lot. On one of the shelves, there sat Michael's chicken. It sat like a ruler watching over their kingdom, seeing everything but understanding nothing. Sitting at its right-hand side was Tubbo's bee, freshly cleaned and dusted of soot. Unfortunately, the burned edges would stay forever.
Michael blinked awake, rubbing a sweater-covered hand over his eyes. Tubbo held his breath, not knowing how the kid would react to a change in environment. Would he cry? Would he start messing things and throwing them off the walls? Michael looked around, taking in the new room. Eventually, his eyes rested on the corner of the room that the bed was hidden away in. He pointed and said one simple word.
"Dada?"
Now, this threw Tubbo off a bit. He knew that Michael thought that he was his dad, but he was always referred to as "Dad". Not "Dada". He looked over to where Michael was pointing, and then everything clicked. Asleep on the bed was the kid that had bought their plushes from the Goodwill yesterday, and now they were apparently in his house. House? Room? He didn't quite know. All that he knew was that in Michael's little toddler brain, he thought that half-and-half boy was his other dad. He didn't want to explain to Michael about the "whole being dead thing", so he just let it slide.
"Uh..yeah Michael, that's your other dad. I'm Dad, and that's Dada. You're so smart!" He smiled, before taking Michael's hand and opening the bedroom door a notch. "Let's go look around Dada's house, I have a feeling we're going to be staying here for a bit."
Michael nodded, gripping Tubbo's hand, and followed him into the living room of the apartment. They wandered around the small living room, sitting on the couches and watching Michael roll around in the blankets that had been left out. They walked over to the kitchen, which immediately put Tubbo on edge. He didn't know why, there wasn't really anything that could harm him. He just...didn't want to be around that stove anymore. He quickly hurried Michael out of the kitchen, under the guise of "wanting to look at the rest of the house more".
They found a closed door that was probably half-and-half kid's parent's room, which they wisely left alone. It took the two 10 minutes tops to look around the whole apartment, before walking back to half-and-half's room. Tubbo realized that he would probably have to learn the kid's name, to convince Michael that he was actually his other dad.
As the two were walking down the hallway, Tubbo was too distracted with other things to realize that half-and-half was standing in his doorway, squinting at the hallway. The lights weren't on, so that meant that Tubbo didn't find the need to be invisible. He and Michael had been wandering around, fully visible this whole time. Tubbo mentally cursed himself for that, as there were most likely security cameras hidden throughout this apartment. As half-and-half reached for the light switch, Tubbo quickly faded both Michael and himself away.
The lights flicked on, and half-and-half rubbed his eyes in a mixture of shock and confusion. Tubbo silently laughed at this tall, bumbling idiot's confusion, before ducking under his arm and running into his room. Michael was being dragged along the whole time, looking up at Tubbo with a look of confusion that nearly rivaled the tall kid whose room they were stealing.
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It went on like this for a few months, Tubbo finally learning the name of the boy whose house they were haunting via a school paper left out on his desk. His name was Ranboo, which Tubbo would have laughed at, but had to stop himself before he realized that his own name was equally as strange. Michael seemed fine with the new house change, following either Ranboo or Tubbo around all day.
He always seemed confused as to why his other dad didn't seem to see him, but Tubbo still didn't have the heart to break it to him.
They weren't exactly friends per se, but Tubbo did enjoy messing around with Ranboo on the occasion.
So when Ranboo decided to get up early to "catch the apartment ghost", he didn't look like he expected to see Tubbo setting his shoes by the doormat.
There was the sound of a camera taking a picture, and Tubbo quickly went invisible as he realized that Ranboo had seen him, ignoring his shouts urging him to wait, and to come back. He was so stupid! How could he have let his guard down so easily! Now that Ranboo had his picture, he would be able to call over the people with the noisy boxes and the radios with the high frequency that hurt his ears. So instead of going back to the living room, Tubbo watched from the corner of Ranboo's own bedroom as he rushed into the room and hastily opened his computer. There was a sound of quick tapping on a keyboard, as Ranboo started frantically typing...something.
Tubbo quietly walked over, trying to keep the smallest amount of noise from exuding from his footsteps. From what he could see, Ranboo was talking to someone on a program of sorts. He typed things into the text box, waited for a bit, and got a response. Obviously, it wasn't the response that he wanted. Ranboo sighed, typed something else, and then waited for the response. This went on for a rather long time.
Eventually, Ranboo seemed to tire of not getting the responses that he wanted, and just stopped typing into the text box. He looked down at his phone, then deleted the picture of Tubbo that he had caught.
Tubbo breathed a sigh of relief.
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Nothing changed after that, Tubbo and Michael kept haunting Ranboo's apartment. Tubbo stopped putting out his shoes for him, out of fear that he might have screwed up again. Ranboo eventually forgot about the encounter he had with Tubbo, squaring it off as a trick of the mind.
Michael kept following Ranboo around the house, confused as ever as to why his dad didn't seem to realize he was there.