Work Text:
There was someone new in town.
Tommy drifted closer, curiously, to get a better look at the newcomer. He paced nervously along the border of the prime lands, safe but also, for now, stuck. Not that Tommy was too sure the derelict church offered much in the way of holy protection these days. Badboyhalo prowled the edges even now, trying to strike up a conversation.
"I didn't catch your name before you bolted," he said, curious.
"Uh, it's Ranboo," Ranboo said, twisting the strap of his old leather bag.
Tommy made a point of stepping through Bad to get closer, just to see him shiver.
"You look like a loser," he said.
Predictably, Ranboo looked right through him.
No one could see him anymore, or hear him, or touch him. He got beaten to death once and lost everything he ever fought for. He wandered the server, alone and bored, wishing for real death or the stupid revive book to be real; either one would suit him just fine.
"Welcome to town," Bad said, with a fanged smile.
Ranboo, apparently, did not feel welcomed.
He camped out in the church until everyone lost interest, made a quick offering to Prime, and then bolted out of town.
Straight to Snowchester.
Tommy bounded ahead to see Tubbo.
He spent a lot of time in Snowchester, now that he was dead. He even had a room in Tubbo's modest home, for all that it collected dust, locked up by a grieving Tubbo and never repurposed. Sometimes he pretended to sleep on the red and white bed. Sometimes he'd sit at the kitchen table while Tubbo was cooking and pretend to tell him about his day as if he could hear.
He couldn't do that much anymore.
Tubbo had rescued this silly little piglin named Michael. Michael cried whenever Tommy got near him. He'd swear up and down, if there was anyone to listen, that the poor zombified kid could actually see him with that empty socket of his.
Michael was why he did not expect Tubbo to handle a visitor well, and he was so right.
"What're you doing out here?" Tubbo asked, with forced pleasantness completely undermined by the netherite sword leveled at Ranboo's chest.
"Oh, he's so going to kick your ass," Tommy said.
"I'm, well, I'm just looking for a place I could spend the night," Ranboo said, voice cracking and squeaking. "But I can be on my way--if you'd just point me in a good direction to go?"
"Where is it you're going?"
"Away from anyone trying to stab me?" Ranboo said, hopefully.
So of course Tubbo let him stay the night.
And then Ranboo repaid him with a fistful of emeralds and Tubbo's eyes glinted with… opportunity.
Tommy refused to call it greed. His best friend wasn't Quackity. He just recognized a generous, hardworking individual when he saw one.
"Please don't keep him," Tommy complained, kicking at the chair legs and watching the toe of his shoe pass through. "You already have a son."
"You know," Tubbo said, when Ranboo was already halfway out the door, "I wouldn't mind if you stuck around. I won't even stab you, pinkie promise."
"Oh, you're such a golddigger," Tommy said.
Ranboo laughed.
"If you're sure," he said, "I wouldn't mind staying."
So Tommy had to watch, with a sinking heart, as Ranboo stuck around.
He had all the industriousness of Tubbo with none of the bad luck; he brought home sacks of netherite and totems of undying which he tucked into Tubbo's palms without expecting repayment.
He made Tubbo smile--a lot. Big, wide, cheek-straining things Tommy hadn't seen on his best friend since before the first war.
He was good with Michael.
Tommy leaned against the kitchen window, cheek on the frosted glass, watching from the outside as Ranboo won Michael over with a crude chicken plushie made of feather and burlap. Ghosts couldn't feel the cold, but they could feel damn lonely, and Tommy hated the way jealousy clawed at his chest.
Ranboo swung Michael up into his lap and glanced out the window, right through Tommy.
He startled, hand jumping to the axe at his hip.
Tubbo jumped too, reaching for Michael, but Ranboo was already relaxing, ducking his head and laughing in embarrassment.
"Sorry," he said. "Thought I saw a mob."
Tommy checked behind himself, just to be safe, but there was only the quiet harbor and lazy snowflakes.
Tubbo hurried to the window and peered out.
"I don't see anything," he said, voice tense.
"I think it was my own reflection," Ranboo admitted. He bounced Michael on his knee.
Tubbo turned and leaned against the windowsill. He blocked Tommy's view.
"You're an idiot," he said, chuckling. "Your own reflection, really?"
"Hey! If I'm I'm idiot, you're an idiot."
"I don't trust the idiot to say that. Only I can measure my intelligence, thanks."
"Michael, do you have the brain cell?" Ranboo asked, voice high and coaxing. "I think you do. I don't think your dad does."
"You're an ass."
Tommy was losing his best friend.
Tubbo had already lost his. It was good he was finding a new one. Tommy would stick around with him forever anyway.
"You royally fucked that one up, big man," Tommy said, sitting down next to Ranboo. Ranboo tugged at his hair and let out another explosive sigh.
Tommy preferred to follow Ranboo after their squabbles. He couldn't stand seeing Tubbo upset. Not that Tubbo and Ranboo fought all that often, but sometimes Ranboo had the bad luck of stumbling across a trigger, and Tubbo would never explain it.
"I have no idea what I did," Ranboo muttered.
"You didn't do anything, you stupid fuck. Ugh, if I was alive, I would be the best relationship therapist. If you could hear me I could tell you about the, eh, three-ish wars we went through before he met you. He's scared. He'll always pretend he isn't and he had me fooled for a lot of it, but you don't have your best friend look you in the eyes when you're both about to die and say it's fine and not realize it's totally not fine." He realized his hands were shaking. He chuckled, nervously, and wiped them on his shirt, not that it did anything. Ranboo stayed hunched over his knees. "There's your Tommyinnit Trauma special of the day, now go ask Tubbo about his."
Later that day, Tommy was privy to the most awkward apology he'd ever had the misfortune of witnessing.
Tubbo slunk in and caught Ranboo before he could vanish on a mining trip.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry," Tubbo said. "I know you'd never hurt Michael. I just, I don't know, lost my head, I guess."
Ranboo took his hand and squeezed it gently.
"It's okay. He's your son. You're going to be worried about him. I'm sorry for not being more careful."
Tubbo squeezed back.
The two of them hung there, nervously, holding on to each other.
Tommy gagged.
Ranboo shifted on the balls of his feet.
"I know it's not my business but if you ever wanted to talk about anything, I'm here for you."
"What do you mean?" Tubbo said, already withdrawing his hand, shoulders going up.
Ranboo wrung his hands.
"I don't--I mean, it's obvious the scars came from something, and I'm not saying you have to tell me what happened, but I am saying I understand if you've been through a lot. I just want you to know I care about you."
Tubbo sat on that.
Tommy leaned in.
"C'mon, dipshit. Take the good thing when it's given to you," he hissed.
"Thanks, Boo," Tubbo said. He swallowed. "I made out well, all things considered, but sometimes I forget I'm not in an active warzone anymore."
Tubbo opened up after that.
Tommy stepped through the brick back of their fireplace and for one heart-stopping moment thought Ranboo glanced up and made eye contact with him. He was checking the clock on the mantle, though, watching the march into nighttime with an intense frown.
Tubbo had an old photo album balanced on his lap.
"That's the museum Eret built--we vandalized it once or twice, Tommy and I."
Ranboo dragged his eyes from the clock.
"How'd he go?" he asked, gently.
Tommy sprawled himself out on the couch.
"I got beaten to death by a madman with a potato. How embarrassing is that? And now I'm stuck here in purgatory fucking around all by myself. I got put in my own solitary confinement."
He laughed.
Tubbo had a harder time. His fingers twitched across the pages.
Finally, he flipped back to older photos, all honey-gold and grainy with age.
He tapped a picture of a completely different Dream, with a wide smile and his arm tossed over Wilbur's shoulder. Tommy remembered that photo; his leg was in the very edge of the frame, caught mid stride as he ran to tackle them both and ruin the moment.
"Dream insisted he had this revive book, and Tommy wanted to bring Wilbur back." Tubbo tapped Wilbur's likeness. Ranboo shifted closer and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. "He went to visit Dream in prison, to try and get the book and he--" Tubbo choked up. "He never came back out. Sam never told me what happened but it was a closed casket funeral. I don't even know if there was enough of a body to scrape up and bury."
Tommy twitched.
He hated thinking about his dead body. That made his death, as stagnant as it was, too real. How long did he sit in the cell before Sam came for him? Were Dream's illusions of grandeur shattered when he tried the book's ritual and it didn't work?
Did Dream regret killing him?
If only because of the smell, Tommy supposed. Lava-baked corpse couldn't be easy on the stomach.
"I'm so sorry, Tubbo," Ranboo said. "That's awful."
Tubbo turned his face away.
"I think that's everyone," he said. "Lots of people in my life you'll never be able to meet, huh?"
"Right," Ranboo said, voice shaky, but he rallied and said, "I know Michael, and I'm really glad I know you." He used that comforting arm to tip Tubbo into a hug against his shoulder.
The next breath Tubbo took trembled with unshed tears.
Tommy jumped up.
He reached out a hand to soothe Tubbo. It passed through--but Ranboo's hand rose in his place, scratching gently across Tubbo's scalp. Tommy would take the proxy. As long as someone was with Tubbo.
On the very rare occasions when both Tubbo and Ranboo were out, Tommy stayed with Michael. When his parents weren't there to hear him cry, he usually stuck to a trembling lip, looking at whatever corner Tommy tucked himself into with abject terror.
"I'm sorry, little M, but I don't want you to be alone. I promise I'm not a scary ghost."
Michael could understand Tubbo and Ranboo's babbling baby talk, but he never seemed to register Tommy's reassurances.
This time, Tommy came around to find Michael outside of his room, trudging through the snow without mittens, all alone. The second he saw Tommy, he froze.
"Hey, buddy," Tommy soothed, looking around for Ranboo or Tubbo. "What are you doing out here?"
Michael backed away slowly.
Tommy crouched down and held his arms wide, palms out and empty.
"It's okay. I don't want you to run from me, okay, that will cause so many more problems."
Michael ran from him.
Tommy followed doggedly, taking note of where they went when Michael broke free of the wall and dashed into the woods, probably making everything worse but unwilling to risk losing track of the little rascal.
Of course, it started to snow, and Michael started to cry.
He eventually tucked himself against the bottom of a tree, the wide pine needles protecting him from the worst of the snow and wind.
"Stay here," Tommy ordered, "please stay here and I'll get your dad, okay?"
He retraced what was left of Michael's trail through the snow.
Tubbo and Ranboo were back.
They held lanterns aloft as they searched every crevice of Snowchester. He ran to them and skidded to a stop.
Ranboo turned to look at him.
No, just the alleyway behind him, which he lit up with his lantern when he stepped closer.
"I know where he is. I wish you could hear me." Maybe if he shouted. "Hey!" he screamed. "I know where Michael is!"
"We haven't checked this way," Ranboo said. "Let's split up to cover more ground."
Tubbo nodded and took off.
Ranboo stepped into the narrow alleyway between quaint, empty buildings. He stared down at the drifts of snow against one wall.
"If you're real," he said. "I need you to take me to Michael."
"What?" Tommy said.
"Take me to Michael," Ranboo repeated.
"You can see me?" He was cracking apart at the seams.
Ranboo didn't answer. He stared, pointedly, anywhere but at Tommy.
"Right," Tommy said. "Michael."
He turned and ran. Ranboo followed, feet sinking in the snow right where Tommy's landed but left no track.
"Michael!" Tommy shouted. "Ranboo's here! You don't have to be afraid anymore!"
"Michael?" Ranboo called.
They both heard the wavering wail of a baby piglin.
Ranboo put on speed.
Tommy slowed down, kept his distance from the hasty reunion.
Ranboo scooped Michael up and tucked him inside his coat, babbling nonsense. He swayed him back and forth.
Then he looked up and met Tommy's eyes.
"Thank you," he said, breathlessly.
This time, Tommy couldn't look. He led them back to Snowchester, delivered them both into the arms of an insensate Tubbo, and stuck around like an idiot. Michael kept looking at him and nearing fresh tears, but Ranboo stepped between them and smoothed a hand over the pink fuzz on Michael's head. When Tubbo was busy with the kettle, he leaned down and whispered to Michael,
"That's a friend. You're okay, buddy. You're okay thanks to him."
Tubbo didn't sleep after that scare, so Ranboo didn't either, sitting on the couch with him instead, which left Tommy no time to see if he could really, truly, actually see him.
His chance came in the morning.
He sat cross-legged in the air, peering down at Ranboo when he woke up.
Ranboo blinked open and locked eyes with him, and let out only a shuddering breath to show the way his expression tightened with surprise and fear.
"You can see me," Tommy whispered, "but you've been ignoring me. Can everyone see me?" The thought twisted something sharp in his soft underbelly.
"I've never met someone else who can see ghosts," Ranboo whispered back.
It was a shock to get a response.
"This is fucking insane. Say 'I'm a stupid idiot' if you can hear me."
"I'm not saying that."
"Holy shit."
Ranboo sat up, slowly. Tommy drifted back to give him more space.
"Thank you for saving Michael," Ranboo said.
"Yeah, I'm sure he would've been fine. It's not like he went far." What was a monumental distance to Michael was a stand of trees directly outside the walls, and within earshot, too.
"I'm glad we didn't have to take that risk."
They sat there in silence.
Tommy had been dead so long he didn't know what to say.
"I think Michael took after you," he said, abruptly. "He can see me, I think, but he's totally terrified every stupid time."
Ranboo frowned.
"You do look… scary, in his defense."
Tommy looked down at himself. Same red and white shirt and khaki pants as always.
"This is scary to you?" he asked. "I'm a dude in a t-shirt."
"Uh," Ranboo said. "You're, um--you said you got beat to death, right?"
Tommy recoiled.
"Right," he said, eventually, not liking the direction the conversation had taken.
"You can tell," Ranboo said.
Tommy's hand jumped to his face, expecting to feel the gruesome damage he remembered receiving so vividly, but there was nothing. Eyelashes, overgrown hair brushing his temple--everything was intact.
Except Ranboo winced and looked away.
"What does it look like?" Tommy demanded.
Ranboo did not get a chance to answer.
Tubbo walked in and threw himself down on the couch, half on Ranboo's lap.
"Michael's still asleep," he said, burrowing closer and closing his eyes as if planning to sleep. "So I vote we take a nap."
Ranboo laughed.
"Sounds good to me."
Tommy stared slackjawed down at Tubbo.
"Holy shit," he muttered. "Holy fucking shit. You can talk to Tubbo for me. Tell him I'm here, Ranboo."
Ranboo, like he had since arriving, responded as if he could not perceive him by not responding at all. Tommy stepped forward and jumped up and down in front of him.
"Tell him I'm here!" he screamed. His voice cracked. "I have so much to say to him, please, you've got to tell him I'm here. Tell him I didn't leave him."
It didn't matter how loud he shouted, or how many useless punches he threw; Ranboo carried on in blissful normalcy until he gave up and laid down on the floor to be upset about it in silence.
In the evening, he followed Ranboo to his bedroom and yelled the second the door was closed,
"Why the fuck were you ignoring me all day?"
"I can't tell him. I'm so sorry, Tommy."
"Why not?"
"He'll think I'm crazy. I might be crazy. I don't really want him to know that. I like it here, and I like Tubbo and Michael, and I'm not risking that."
His door flew open.
"Don't want me to know what?" Tubbo asked, from the doorway, eyes dark and focused.
"Aha! Now you have to tell him!" Tommy crowed.
"Nothing, Tubbo."
Tubbo just looked at him with a mix of open curiosity and killer mistrust. Ranboo folded instantly.
"I see ghosts. You don't have to believe me, but that's how I found Michael."
Tubbo definitely didn't believe him.
"What ghosts do you see?"
Ranboo twisted his fingers together and said,
"A few. You're haunted by--um." It looked as if he didn't want to say. His eyes darted desperately between Tubbo and Tommy.
"Tell him Big Man Tommyinnit never left him. I am begging you."
"You're haunted by Tommy. He told me to tell you that 'Big Man Tommyinnit' never left you."
"Right," Tubbo said.
"What's something only we would know?" Tommy asked himself aloud. He'd had plenty of time to draft up apologies to Tubbo, to play out fake scenarios where he got to say his proper, final goodbyes. "Tell him we sat on the bench and dreamed of running away, and that he was right and we should have. Fuck, tell him the discs were never worth it. Tell him I'm sorry."
Ranboo stuttered out a repeat of what he'd said, and then he added,
"I know you don't believe me, and that's alright. If you want me to go--"
"You said you see multiple ghosts. Who else do you see?" Tubbo interrupted.
"Wilbur. Well, I think it's Wilbur. He's in a yellow sweater, and doesn't really notice me. He got stabbed, right? I see Schlatt too, uh, he's not particularly nice. They both stick around the crater."
There were other ghosts?
Why couldn't Tommy talk to them? Why couldn't he see them? What kind of cruel trick from the universe was this?
Tommy had always thought death would be a reprieve, but it wasn't.
Ranboo could talk to him, though.
Tubbo remained stone-faced.
"C'mon, Tubso. Believe him. I'm right here. I'm breathing my bad breath right into your face. I have a finger up your nose ri--oh! I can step through him. Tell him I'll make him cold to prove I'm here."
Ranboo told him.
"Three, two, one," he said, and Tommy stepped forward into Tubbo. He paused there, long enough for the brief shiver to turn into chattering teeth before backing away.
Tubbo rubbed his arms.
"He's really here?" he finally asked, voice small.
Ranboo nodded. He pointed at Tommy. "He's standing next to you, if you want to say hi."
Tubbo turned slowly, stared to the left of Tommy's head, and said, "hi."
Tommy beamed down at him.
"Hi, dipshit."